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Kris Me












By: Kris Me



  1. Preface:


Dale has to get his life back in order after a nasty accident left him a paraplegic with nasty twitches. His one bright light is his live-in carer. Does his feelings for her stem from gratitude, or are they the real thing?




Copyright © 2016 Kris Me - All rights are reserved


This story is the work of Kris Me. You must contact me before you copy more than one page or ten percent of the content, as per the Copyright Act 1968, Australia.


First Published by Storiesonline World Literature Company: 8/14/2016. https://storiesonline.net/home.php




Disclaimer and data:

This is an Erotica story, and it does contain swear-words, nudity, sex and adult content. It is not recommended for those people who are under the legal age to access such stories, depending on the country of origin of the reader and those who are offended by the type of content mentioned.


If you find any of my assumptions fictitious, I would like to remind you this is a fabrication and I have probably taken liberties with reality, as you know it. The people in this story are not based on anyone I know or have read about.


This story is my own work, and you must contact me before you copy more than one page or ten percent of the content, as per the copyright laws of Australia.


Australian based dictionaries were used for reference, and Grammarly was used as part of the editing suite.


The story was written in Microsoft Word, and the book cover was designed in Microsoft Paint 3D. Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay, https://pixabay.com/vectors/boy-female-girl-health-illness-2026283/


If you find spelling, grammatical or homophone errors, they are not the fault of PapaKilo14 and Johnny Sinclair who did try to proofread my original version of this story.


However, I do tend to fiddle around after the fact, so all errors are my own.




Some Australian colloquial terms that were used:


Bickies - or biscuits are called cookies in some countries


Drongo - is a term generally used to describe someone who doesn't think out their actions before acting and generally fucks things up


Donga - is a demountable building used at remote mining campsites to house the workers. They can also include amenity buildings suck as offices, kitchens, washrooms, toilet blocks and laundries.


Durrie - cigarette


Gotta - 'got to' or have to do something.


Haul trucks - Huge dump-trucks that are roughly 15m in length, 6.5m in height and 10m in width. They can carry approx. 400 tonne and have a top speed of 65 - 70km/h.




If any other colloquialisms need clarification, or you just wish to correspond, I'm more than happy to answer your emails if you send them to:



I hope that you enjoy the story.


Kris Me.




  1. Chapter 1


Dale Anderson was disorientated when he awoke.


He squinted at the bright light that was overhead, as he wondered where he was. He went to sit up when he felt a big hand touch his chest. It gently pushed him back down.


A familiar voice said, "G'day mate, welcome back to the land of the living."


Dale peered in the direction of the voice. "Jake?" he inquired with a dry, scratchy voice. Using his tongue, he tried to form saliva in his mouth to alleviate his condition.


"Yeah, mate. You had us all fucking worried for a while," Jake Sandman answered as he picked up the cup with a straw in it from the side table. He popped the straw into Dale's mouth and held it still as Dale gratefully took several small sips to wet his throat.


Dale lay back into the pillows as he tried to focus on the big man who sat back down beside the bed. Jake was in his late forties and over 183cm tall. His short-cropped predominantly dark-brown hair had acquired a salt and pepper look.


His face showed the evidence of years working out in the sun in his youth with crinkles around his eyes from squinting. While not as tanned any more, the Caucasian skin from his Irish heritage, highlighted the freckles that were still thick across his nose.


Jake's large guts hung over the waistband of his pants and threatened to pop the lower buttons of his short-sleeved, white, dress shirt. The belly was the result of too many hours behind a desk in more recent years and eating too much camp food on one mine site or another.


"Where the fuck am I?" Dale asked, looking around with uncertainty.


"Brisbane Base Hospital, mate. Do you remember much about what happened to yah?" Jake asked.


"Happened?" Dale mumbled. 'What happened?' he thought as he tried to recollect his last thoughts and actions. "The bus? I was on the bus heading back to camp," he said hazily. His head throbbed with him just trying to remember what had occurred to have him end up in the hospital.


"Yeah, a fucking haul truck cleaned you up. Marty told me you were up the front, behind the driver."


Seeing the confusion on Dale's face, Jake then explained that the plant operators had given the bus driver the go-ahead to proceed along the haul road, but there had been a communication breakdown.


The haul truck company hadn't called the operators to say that the trucks were back on the road. The drivers had been at a stop-work meeting concerning pay and conditions.


Dale had the privilege of being the most severely hurt when the haul truck side-swiped the work bus, and it had rolled over onto the passenger doors. Dale had been thrown into the stairwell that was opposite the seat he had occupied. He had smashed into the railing and the metal stairs as the bus rolled.


The bus didn't have seatbelts. Their union had been asking for them to be put in the work bus but to no avail. As a result, Dale had been trapped. He had his hips busted during the rollover as well as getting a nasty concussion, a broken arm and other cuts and bruises.


Dale nodded as the memory came back to him. "I was half asleep. I don't really remember much, a loud bang and then I was flying. After that is blank," he replied. Jake nodded. "Anyone else hurt?" Dale asked with concern.


"Mostly cuts and bruises. Vic gotta busted leg, but he'll be okay in a couple of months," Jake said as he glanced down Dale's body.


Dale also looked. "Oh, fuck! Just how bad am I?" Dale asked with anxiety.


He then noticed that his left arm was in a cast from his fingers up to his elbow and it was throbbing softly. He was to learn that he also had seventeen stitches down the left side of his face near his jawline, which explained why his face hurt. He already knew that his guts ached, as did his head in several places and he felt battered and bruised.


'What the fuck is with my hips and legs?' he thought as he realised that there was some sought of cage over his legs.


He tried wiggling his toes, but he couldn't feel them move. He also realised he could feel his lower back on the bed but not from his arse down. He flipped the sheet back to find a contraption bolted to his hips and down his legs. A bandage hid a row of stitches on the inside of his left hip.


Layers of bandages covered his upper legs where the bolts entered his body. A tube was coming out from under his guts feeding over to a bag hanging on the side of the bed. Yellow liquid with streaks of pink was dribbling through it. He was pissing in fear, but it wasn't coming out of his cock.


"Oh fuck!" he whimpered as he looked at his bashed-up body in horror. He shook his head, "This is not good. No, no, this is not good."


"Nah it isn't, I'm sorry, mate. The Doc said you have a badly bruised kidney, but that layer of fat on your guts, and because you still had your hard hat on your head during the roll, saved you from a lot of even worse damage," Jake told him.


Dale lay back and let the tears fall. He didn't cry often, but on this occasion, he felt it was warranted.




Dale was in a bad mood when he looked down his body.


His abdomen wasn't quite a six-pack yet, but if the little Hitler-bitch who was his massage therapist and live-in carer had her way, it soon would be. The skin was now taut, and his mid-beige colouring had darkened with the sunshine that she made him get every day.


His thick, mahogany brown hair had recently been cut into his favourite short back and sides. His vibrant brown eyes reflected his disgust. Dale had a widish mouth that in better times was prone to be smiling and showing off his perfectly aligned teeth, but not today.


His nose was slightly flared and not that prominent. His jaw was square as was his forehead, and his chin showed a determined nature. He liked to be clean-shaven, but he would be bristled up with dark stubble by the end of the hours of daylight.


He didn't consider himself a particularly handsome bloke, but he didn't always see the appreciative looks women sent his way, despite the wheelchair. Dale laughed bitterly. At thirty-one years of age, he was fitter now than he had been in the last ten years.


Sitting at his computer for too many years and eating junk food at home or camp food on the job sites, had him rolling around at a good 115kg at the time of his accident. That had been seven months earlier.


That much weight on his 178cm frame had made him a real lard arse, and he'd had a big pot-belly. He knew he had dropped a lot of weight and he would be lucky if he were now as heavy as 85kg.


He also knew that most of it was now muscle and not fat. His legs were looking better, at least. He just wished that they worked. He now had some serious upper body strength and had little trouble getting around in his wheelchair.


He still got phantom twinges as if his legs were working, but none of the tests the specialist did seem to prove whether they were real feelings or useful for his recovery.


The feelings came and went like little twitches and spasms, the muscles in his legs would shake and then nothing for days. Sometimes he felt hot temperatures and occasionally cold but not in any reliable fashion. He knew it could have been worse.



Regardless of his injuries, generally, he was still a glass half full type of bloke. Today, however, and despite his normally positive attitude, Dale was heartily sick of being in and out of hospitals. The first four months had been the worst.


At least he could still piss after a fashion and have a crap when required, as long as he wasn't constipated. His biggest worry was his cock. It let him dribble out the pee if he pushed his bladder hard, but it otherwise remained flaccid.


Yanking on it had no effect whatsoever. Dale could barely even feel if it was still attached to him and often thought it was just a remembered sensation from years of regular masturbation. He had never appreciated what a stress reliever having a good wank was.


His cock certainly didn't arise for any sexual situation or temptation, and it didn't even seem to shrink when he was cold. It just hung between his legs with his useless balls. He felt as if he was a lesser man with his family jewels, not working as they should.


The Company had flown his mum, Kate, out from the Isa (Mount Isa, QLD) to see him. She only stayed a couple of days. She couldn't bear to see Dale trussed up in bed with all the metal and tubes hanging out of him.


At least she did call him once a week. She could talk to him on the phone or Skype; she just couldn't look at his broken body. He didn't really blame her, as he didn't like looking at himself either.


Unfortunately for him, he didn't have much choice.




  1. Chapter 2


Terry breezed into Dale's bedroom to help him dress for his morning workout.


She said cheerfully, "How is my hunky man today?"


Dale groaned. Terry had become his therapist four months before when they finally got him out of the casts and the external fixators. They had to operate to remove the pins, and his bones at least were healed.


He had scars in four places on his hips and two on each leg where they had bolted the external fixators to his femurs and hip bones. The fixator had been used to keep his hips in place and stop his legs from moving, due to a fracture in his left ischium bone. (The lower and back part of the hip bone.)


He also had scars front and back of his hips and on his left side, where they had opened him up to stabilise the fractured section of his iliac (the crest or wing of the hip bone). They had bolted in two titanium plates to hold the crest of the iliac in place, and they would be with him for life.


The doctors told him that the bones of his hips would fuse over time, but in the meantime, the plates kept everything where it belonged. His lower back, above his hips (near the sacrum), often ached and often stabbed him with pain, so that he had to lie down to ease it.


His kidney had healed, so he didn't piss blood anymore. His busted left arm had also healed, and he was thankful that he had full use of it again. Dale had a nice scar along his left jawline from opening his face up on one of the metal steps.


They'd shaved him after removing the stitches, and he had been delighted to be clean-faced. If he let his beard grow a bit, he now had a long, thin, streak of white hair either side of the scar. He thought it looked stupid, so it was just as well he didn't like beards.


He hadn't enjoyed learning how to use a wheelchair but learn he did. Dale wasn't the sort of bloke who let things get him down for long. He was a problem solver and had never been shy about doing any job. He treated his rehabilitation as if it was a job that just had to be done, a problem he had to solve.


The physical therapy was murder when Terry had first started working with him. Trying to lift his fat arse off the bed and get into the wheelchair had exhausted him. Getting back into the bed had been a whole lot of other pain and frustration.


He couldn't lie on his left hip without it aching and being flat on his back for extended periods was nearly as bad. He hadn't been able to sit up until they took the fixators off and even then, he had to stay semi-reclined with a pillow in his lower back to ease the pain.


They had sent him home after four months and assigned him a live-in carer while he continued to heal.




The first bloke who had been assigned to Dale as a carer had left after four weeks saying that he had gotten a better offer.


Dale wasn't that sad to see Wanker, as he had christened the carer, go. Wanker was forever asking for cash to go and do shopping. However, after a couple of weeks, Dale had stopped doling out the cash. Since he never got the change back and Wanker never bought as much food as he should have.


Dale had gotten suspicious, so he asked his neighbour Sally Hahn, who was also his part-time housekeeper, to go food shopping for him instead. The Wanker wasn't happy when Dale told him that Sally was doing the shopping.


She also cooked meals for him a couple of times a week, after she had copied his diet plan off his fridge. Wanker had rarely followed the program, and he had served up some piss-poor meals. It was just as well Dale didn't have a lot of appetite at the time.


At least he wasn't paying for all the beer Wanker drank anymore. Dale had also hated the fact that the bloke had gone through every drawer and cupboard in the house searching for money.


Dale didn't have a lot of valuables other than his computers in the house, so there wasn't much for Wanker to steal. He got Bob, Sally's husband, to put a hasp and lock on his office door and took to locking his office just to be safe. He kept his wallet and E-pad in there too.


He also made damn sure he never gave Wanker his PIN number for his debit card no matter how often the man had asked. Workers Compensation had paid for Wanker's wages, so he didn't have to give him anything.


Dale had complained about Wanker several times, but it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. Workers Comp, his lawyers, his company and the Haul Company, were still arguing about just how much he was going to get paid, due to negligence.


At least he still had a job. His company wasn't game to sack him from what he could tell. He couldn't do the job exactly as he did before, but he was still employable. He was glad that Jake was still his immediate boss. Jake spent more time in town these days and made sure Dale had plenty of work to do.


At least working on the projects kept him sane.




Workers Comp had trouble locating him a replacement carer when Wanker had finally left.


He had tried three different people, but he had gotten rid of them within days of them being with him. He refused to have them in his house and sent them on their way. He wasn't trying to be difficult, but he did have to live with the person.


The bloke was a geriatric and spent the two days he was in the house drinking some disgusting wine that stank the place up. He was even worse than the Wanker was.


The first woman wasn't any better. She couldn't lift him to help him in and out of things, other than to hold his chair while he tried to move himself. She bitched about everything, and she left her crap lying around so that it fouled up his wheelchair.


The second woman left of her own accord after just one night. Once she realised that he didn't have cable TV or even a DVD, she bitched about the lack of entertainment in his house.


Then, when he refused to give her access to his internet since it was paid for by his Company, she got really pissed at him. She hadn't even had the courtesy to help him out of bed the next morning, and he had to call Bob to come and assist him.


Dale had to give in when Terry had said that he was going to have to put up with her until they found someone with whom he could live with. Since he had left the hospital, Terry had been coming by twice a week to do special therapy sessions with him.


He had dreaded those sessions as she took no crap from him and forced him to exercise. Terry had learned from Sally that the Wanker hadn't been following the program that she had mapped out for Dale's rehabilitation and that he hadn't been feeding Dale properly.


Terry had a major blowout with the Wanker and reported him. Hence, Wanker had left before he got fired, leaving Dale in the lurch. Terry had also agreed with Sally and Dale that the next three candidates were not suitable.


Terry had felt sorry for Dale and had moved in as a result. Since then, it had been six weeks of torture as far as Dale was concerned, but he never complained about her, because he knew she was doing her job.


Terry also seemed hell-bent on getting him on his legs and walking again. She had been working like a demon to stop the muscle atrophy in his legs and to make sure they didn't look like sticks attached to his torso.


The weird thing was that he often felt the nervous twitches worse after she had worked him over. It felt like little pinpoints of fire in his legs. As much as the sessions with Terry could hurt, he had hope that he might get better if by her will alone.


However, neither Terry nor the specialist could find any actual improvement with the nerve damage other than his legs didn't look malnourished after six months from the accident, like many people who were destined never to walk again.


He and Terry did hold out on some hope.




Dale looked over at his nemesis.


Terry was lucky if she was 155cm tall. She had broad shoulders and muscular arms. The hips were wide and the thighs a little heavy, but the arse was firm, and she did have shapely calf muscles with her short but strong-looking legs.


Dale reckoned that if she ever got a bloke in a leg-lock or a headlock, he wouldn't be able to break free. She might be small, but she was incredibly strong. She did have a beautiful set of 'C' cups, and while she wasn't textbook gorgeous, she wasn't paper-bag ugly either.


He liked her dark, aqua eyes and her pretty little nose. He loved to stir her up, as she was really cute when she was reading him the riot act. Watching her beautiful round breasts heave was definitely one of the highlights of his day.


Her wacky sense of humour and good cheer had grown on him. The lady had no inhibitions whatsoever. Any topic was fair game and freely discussed, and his or her nudity was a non-issue as far as Terry was concerned.


When Terry moved in with Dale, she had warned him that she didn't like wearing a lot around the house, especially in summer. While the just above the knees, slip style dresses that she liked to wear in the house were not cut to be particularly sexy, she didn't wear anything under them.


She often wore her nighties without a robe over the top. Her other favourite outfits were bike shorts and a singlet style top with no bra or a bikini top without the singlet. She laughed and said she couldn't leave the house without wearing a bra but hated them otherwise.


Dale hadn't complained, as he loved the view. She was also a lot better looking than Wanker, to his way of thinking.




Terry had been with Dale for two weeks before the first time she had gotten into the shower with him naked.


She shocked him with her boldness. He had honestly wished that his cock was working that day. Terry didn't do anything sexual and had explained that she was sick of getting wet when washing him, so she may as well get clean at the same time.


She may not have encouraged him, but his hands and brain sure had ideas of what he wanted to do to her. His eyes had feasted on her body. She wasn't fat, just solid, and he could see that most of her mass was muscle. She had managed to haul his larger frame around as if he weighed next to nothing.


Dale didn't particularly like skinny women, so she looked pretty darn good to him. He thought that her hips were definitely designed for a bloke to hang onto. He was also surprised by how small her waist was and that her feet were quite dainty.


Terry's short brunette bob had flattened under the water, but the colour matched her thick, curly, thatch below. When she moved, he could see the lips of her labia poking out at him, and he really wanted to lick and suck on them.


He hadn't been with a woman for over two years, and the sight of Terry naked made him very horny. The sway of her lovely round tits, the hard and hot pink nipples and the water sluicing over them had his cock hard as a post in his mind.


When he looked down and saw his cock lying flaccid in his lap, he burst into tears. It wasn't until he felt the water on his shoulders cool that Dale realised that he had his head buried between those lovely titties he had been admiring, and it had been there for some time.


He went to nuzzle one, but she moved back and released him. She turned the water off and threw him a towel. He watched while she dried the water off quickly, put on a thin towelling robe and covered her lovely assets.


She was all business, as she helped him get dry and dressed. She left him to find his way to his desk and said she was going to make coffee. She came back a half an hour later with their coffees and curled up in the comfortable chair that was in his office.

That was a preview of Twitch. To read the rest purchase the book.

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