Silver Linings Ch. 01

Sometimes even dark clouds have silver linings

I broke my right arm while mountain biking with my wife Samantha. We were about two miles into a ride when my front tire slipped on a rock and I went over the handle bars. It happened so fast that nothing hurt at first, but I felt the snap as the bones near my elbow broke.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Samantha said as she rushed up to me.

"Uh, I don't think so. My arm's not right and there's something wrong with my ankle."

"Can you stand on it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay, let's wrap your arm in your shirt like this," she quickly tore my riding jersey and fashioned a makeshift sling for my arm. Samantha then ripped a few long strips of cloth from her shirt and bound my ankle. "I don't think your ankle is broken and that should hold it well enough for us to get out of here. Your arm doesn't look too good though." My wife's take-charge demeanor was exactly what we needed at that moment. She was a trauma intensive care unit nurse and my injuries were nothing compared to what she dealt with at work every day. "I'll take the bikes if you can walk, otherwise we'll need to leave them here."

"I can do it," I gritted my teeth and took a step. My ankle hurt, but the binding made it possible for me to walk. Samantha, despite her petite five-foot-one stature was strong. She hoisted the two bikes onto her shoulder and led the way back up the bike trail and toward our car. "We'll stop as often as we need to," she said.

It took a long time to get back to the parking lot. Never once did Samantha complain, not that I expected her to. She was tough as nails. We'd met at a Krav Maga martial arts class. As soon as I saw her, I wanted to take her out on a date, but she was so attractive that I assumed she was already with someone. Thankfully I was wrong. One evening we paired up to spar. Even though I was more than seven inches taller than her and weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds to her one eighteen, she declared, "If you hold back, I'll really pound your ass." The match ended in a draw with the entire class circling us and cheering as we fought. After the instructor stopped us and we shook hands, Samantha grabbed my shirt and pulled me in close, "You're taking me out for drinks tonight. Just thought you should know." The intensity that we shared that night continued as our relationship flourished. Less than a year later we were married.

At the car I slumped into the passenger seat exhausted and in pain. "We're going to my hospital. It's farther, but I know the orthopedic guys there and I trust them. You can make it, can't you?" It wasn't really a question and I nodded, trusting my wife's medical judgement. At that point everything hurt so much that I didn't care where we went, just so long as whatever was wrong with me got fixed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on holding as still as possible while Samantha raced to the hospital. "Don't fall asleep," she said through gritted teeth. "Keep talking so that I know you're okay."

We made it to the hospital without any problems. Because she'd called ahead to the ER, I got VIP treatment and was immediately ushered back into a treatment area. It's one of the advantages of having family member who's well known in the hospital. However, like any other injured patient, I was stripped naked, examined over every inch of my body, prodded and poked with needles, and x-rayed until I practically glowed. Samantha had been right, my ankle injury was just a sprain and all I needed for that was a plastic walking boot. My right forearm however, was broken in two places. The treatment was a rigid cast that extended from my fingertips almost to my shoulder and made it impossible for me to use my dominant arm and hand.

"Looks like you're going to learn to be a lefty," the orthopedist said. I was too gorked out on pain meds to really understand the significance of that comment. By the time we were discharged from the hospital, I was so tired that I fell asleep in the car. As I drifted off I heard my wife say, "You a lefty? This is going to be interesting."

The next few days were a haze of soreness and downright pain as I made the initial recovery from the accident. Samantha took a few days off work to help me. Losing the use of my right arm and hand was harder than I thought. Day-to-day activities, like eating, dressing, and typing on the computer were difficult since I had to relearn everything using my left hand. It was a challenge, but I got pretty good and eventually Samantha declared me safe to left alone while she went back to work. Normally she has excellent judgement on that kind of stuff ... normally.

I was working from home and had a pile of papers in one arm while I gripped a coffee cup with my injured hand as I shuffled to our second floor home office. I don't know what I tripped on, maybe it was just the tip of the plastic walking boot, but with extreme bad luck it happened at the top of the stairs. I remember falling, hearing a familiar snap from my left arm, and seeing the steps swirl around me. I do not remember hitting the floor at the bottom of the steps.

I woke up back in the same ER where I'd been treated after the bike accident. Once again, I was naked laying on an exam table with an IV as the x-ray machine hummed above me taking pictures of various painful body parts. My sojourn that day ended that day without any life-threatening injury, but with the same orthopedist looking down at me. "At least you're symmetrical," he said with a smirk as he finished putting a long cast on my broken left arm. "I had to recast your right arm too since you knocked it out of place. It's going to be a least six weeks before you get out of plaster."

I looked down at my two useless arms. "What the hell am I going to do?" I asked.

"You're going to need some help at home, that's for sure. Good thing your wife is a nurse. She knows about that kind of stuff." He patted me on my shoulder and gave me a look of genuine pity. "You're in good hands with Samantha. She'll take care of your needs." He shook his head and walked out.

"I really should be angry with you," Samantha said approaching the stretcher where I lay. "I mean really. My first day back at work and you do this. There are better ways you could have gotten me to stay home, you know." She leaned down and kissed my swollen and bruised forehead. "You've got to quit scaring me like this," she murmured. "I nearly had a heart attack when the neighbor said you didn't answer the door after she came to check on you." She held me close for a moment as best she could under the circumstances.

"What are we going to do babe?" I asked and nodded to my two immobilized arms.

"Don't worry. I've got a plan." That was my Samantha, thinking ahead and in charge. "You're going to have to learn to go with the flow. But I'm sure that you'll get used to it." She stared at me with mixed look of compassion and challenge. I had no idea what was ahead.

With both arms casted and out of commission about the only thing I could do by myself was operate the remote control on the TV. "Don't get used to being waited on hand and foot mister," Samantha said the day after I got home. "I've got to get back to work and you're going to learn how to take care of yourself, with some adaptations." She outlined her plan. "I'll be doing a modified scheduled at work, go in an hour later than normal and get done an hour or so earlier. That way I can help with breakfast and dinner. During the day, you'll have water and food in fridge so you can manage by yourself. This is going to take flexibility on your part." Her voice was stern. "You can use your laptop with that voice command thingy you set up, and we already know that you can work the TV remote. I'm sure that you can manage a book or the newspaper as well."

This wasn't sounding so bad.

"I'll help you get dressed in the morning. You'll have to be up when I leave anyway."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You're going to have to be up and use the toilet before I leave. That's not something you can manage on your own."

It hit me like a ton of bricks ... the toilet. I couldn't move my arms past my hips. There was no way I could clean myself after taking a dump. My wife was going to have to wipe my ass for me. My face flushed red with embarrassment. Samantha saw my reaction. "Didn't think about that, did you? Leave it to a nurse to pay attention to the important stuff."

"I'm, I'm so sorry," I stuttered, mortified by the thought of putting my beloved through that.

"Don't worry about it," Samantha waved her hand dismissively. "I wipe butts every day at work. At least I know yours and where it's been," she grinned. "You're pretty regular in your 'routine', but I need to get you on plenty of fiber and water, so you stay that way, especially with the pain meds you're taking. I figure once in the morning for a bowel movement and maybe again at night. That way you can be on your own during the day. And by the way, you need to sit when you pee. I don't want you spraying the walls or floor with bad aim. I'll show you how I want you to do it."

I'd never thought of that aspect of her job before, but was immediately glad. Samantha knew just what to do, even if it I felt humiliated. My stomach rumbled and the discussion about bodily habits left me with a sudden urge. "Umm, sweetie. I kind of need to go now."

"Perfect. We can practice."

With my boot on and both arms immobilized in a sling, we made our way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the toilet I wracked my brains trying to figure out how to get my pants down so that I could relieve myself. I fumbled for the drawstring holding up my pajama pants. The pressure in my bladder grew. I bent over and tried to pull my waist up toward my plaster encased hands. It was no use. I looked over to her.

"Come on. Try something else. Maybe if you sit first," Samantha suggested. I sat on the toilet seat, gritting my teeth as the change in position compressed my bladder. I struggled to grip the drawstring, but it was folded under the waistband just out of reach. "Uh. I really got to go. Can you please help me?"

"What are you going to do when I'm not here?"

I wriggled on the toilet trying to get the pants to twist so that I could get them undone. The intense urge to urinate was almost overwhelming. Sweat popped out on my brow as I fought back release and struggled to undo the pants.

"This definitely isn't going to work," Samantha finally said. She pulled me to my feet, tugged on the drawstring, and yanked the pants down. "Sit backward so that you don't miss." I did what she said and straddled the toilet so that I was facing the tank. It was a good thing that I did, because the urine came out with such force that had I been facing forward it would have shot past the front of the bowl. The relief was immense and I sighed audibly. As my bladder decompressed the pressure in my bowels became more noticeable. I looked up at Samantha. Recognizing my expression, she said calmly, "Turn around and sit like normal. It will be easier that way."

Although I felt completely ashamed defecating in front of the love of my life, it was also a deeply intimate moment. Never before in my adult life had I been so dependent on another human being and at the same time felt completely safe doing so. Samantha stood next to me, her hand resting on my shoulder in a comforting way as if this was the most natural thing in the world. When I finished, she got some wet wipes out from the cabinet and gently cleaned me. Reclaiming a slight dignity, I managed to flush the toilet myself.

"The pajama bottoms are going to be a problem. We'll have to figure something out." Samantha looked at me with compassion. I'd never felt more loved.

The rest of the day we talked and planned, rearranged some things in the house to make it easier for me, came up with smoothie shake recipes, which would be easy for me to drink without help, and eventually made dinner. She did the actual cooking while I read out the instructions, but it felt like we did it together. Dinner was delicious and I didn't feel embarrassed as Samantha fed me. It was kind of romantic and a little bit sexy. I helped her clean up as best I could and we headed up to our bedroom, me sore and achy and her tired from the long day we'd had.

Samantha, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and guided me through another session on the toilet. When it came to putting on pajamas, she suggested that I leave them off. "I'm thinking that they're just going to be in the way. That is unless you're feeling incapacitated from the waist down." Her eyes sparkled.

We have an excellent sex life and I consider us adventurous. We've experimented with all types of sex, discovered some things we don't enjoy (my wife doesn't like anal sex) and others that we love (role playing and toys). We had even talked about having a threesome, but hadn't ever done anything to make that happen. In all things that we do, neither one of us is passive. However, with two casted arms and my foot in a boot, I was severely constrained and spent the whole time flat on my back. "Don't worry," Samantha said as she finished one of her amazing blow jobs then mounted me and began riding my cock. "I'll get all my needs met," she thrust herself up and down on my rod with increasing speed. "And," pant, "you'll," pant, groan, "make it all up to me. Oh, god yes!" she shuddered when her orgasm hit immediately before my own release. After, we curled up together and fell into a deep sleep.

I woke up before Samantha the next morning. My arms and ankle ached intensely. I eased quietly into the bathroom, peed the way my wife had instructed, and shrugged on a loose tank top shirt. I didn't even try and put on pants. I grabbed a couple of pain pills that I'd left out on the counter and headed down to the kitchen. Because we had a Keurig style brewer, I was able to make a cup of coffee and using a straw, swallowed the medication with my coffee. Samantha came up behind me while I was standing at the counter sipping the brew. She palmed my bare butt then wrapped her hands around my waist and hugged me. "Good morning babe. How are you feeling?"

I leaned back into her grasp. "Not bad."

She rubbed my stomach and let her hands drift down to my groin. "You felt pretty damn good to me last night." One hand wrapped around my cock and the other cupped my balls. "I like you this way, bottomless. It's easy access to everything I enjoy playing with." She stroked a few more times, then released me and reached for the coffee pods. "It actually makes a lot of sense you know," a serious tone replaced the sexy playful one.

"What does?"

Samantha took a sip of her coffee. "No pants. You're here alone, nobody to see you half naked. And after the fiasco yesterday with the toilet, I don't think there's a workable pair of pants for you to wear while I'm gone. It's just be easier for you to stay like this."

I thought about what she said for a minute and nodded my agreement.

"Besides," she added. "It makes me hot to think about you wandering around the house with your cock hanging out. When you surf internet porn sites after I go back to work and get hard, there won't be anything constricting you. It'll be just you and your flagpole" I opened my mouth to protest, but she interrupted me. "Don't think that I don't know how much you enjoy porn when I'm not around. Except now you won't be able to do anything to relieve yourself. You'll just get all hot and bothered. When I come home I'll be able to take full advantage. Yep, no pants, it's definitely the thing to do."

There's no arguing with Samantha when her mind is made up, especially when she's right. We sat and ate breakfast, which consisted of her feeding me eggs and bran muffins. "Making sure you get your daily fiber," she said. After we finished and put away the dishes Samantha announced, "Time for your morning constitutional. We've got to keep you on schedule. I'm headed back to work the day after tomorrow." The toilet ritual was pretty similar to the day before, except unmarred by fumbling with a drawstring. Going bottomless really was easier. I also felt less uncomfortable having her clean me. It was a routine that I knew I'd get used to.

Showering was next. It was an even more involved process than the toilet. First Samantha covered my casts in plastic, then taped the edges shut to keep the water out. I also had to get out of the boot, but make sure that my ankle was stable enough to support me on the slippery wet tile. Fortunately, we'd remodeled the bathroom the year before and traded out the bathtub/shower combo for a large walk-in shower stall. There was more than enough room inside for both of us. It had been a sexual playroom for us and we'd had enjoyed some wild times in there. This time I knew it was going to be more like a chore. However, after washing my hair and body Samantha spent plenty of time soaping and rubbing my cock and balls bringing me to a full erection before rinsing everything clean. "So easily excited. I think you like the service I provide. I'm glad about that, but tit for tat my lovely husband. I expect some service in return."

I waved my plastic wrapped casts. "I'm kind of limited."

"You didn't seem very limited last night, and your tongue should work just as well as ever. I'm sure that we can come up with some new ways for me to enjoy all of your functional assets."

"Happy to oblige in any way that I can." We finished in the shower, removed the plastic wrappings, dried off, got my boot back on, and pulled on a fresh tank top shirt. I felt great, really clean for the first time in days. "Thank you honey. I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything that you're doing. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Probably in some awful rehab facility with a bitchy nurse wiping your rear." She kissed me. "And you can show me your appreciation later."

Samantha went work as planned two days later. We'd practiced everything to the point where we both felt comfortable. She did forbid me from carrying more than one item at a time, especially at the top of the stairs. "I don't think you'd survive another fall. You'd either kill yourself, or I'd kill you out of spite for scaring me again." The routine worked and little by little I healed, each day looking forward to getting out of the casts and returning to normal life. On the first visit back to the orthopedist a week after my second injury, I got out of the boot. But he said it was too early to tell how quickly the arm fractures were healing. "At least six weeks like I told you before. I'm not going to short cut it and risk long term complications," he said. Samantha squeezed my thigh encouragingly. "It's not so bad. We can do it." She leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Besides I like the service debt your building up. Now that you're out of the boot, there are more ways that I can collect."

I made good on my debt that night. With two stable feet on the ground I met Samantha's demand to fuck her hard and fast from behind while she bent over the arm of the sofa in our living room. "I liked that," she said after cumming loudly. "I think that we'll try out the kitchen table or countertop next time. It should be just the right height for you to sit down and get those casts out of the way while you take care of me with that magic tongue of yours." I imagined doing exactly that as I fell asleep.

The next morning while getting ready for work Samantha said, "There's a package scheduled to arrive today. You won't have to sign for it." She patted my bare butt cheek, "Wouldn't want you to freak out the neighbors. I'll pick it up on my way in."

"What did you order?"

"I'm off work tomorrow and I'll show you then. Have a good day sweetie," she kissed me on the cheek. "Find some good porn while I'm gone. I'm going to think about you all hot and bothered, your hard cock swinging free. Mmmm, I love that thought." She breezed out of the house.