Two People

by Brian Vincent

I was walking with my friend Rich around my apartment building. We were walking down a hill back to my place and the streetlights had come on. I’d never seen them actually come on before, so when they did, I checked the time (7:30PM) and wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. Rich had been telling a story, rabbiting on about where he used to work, while I listened as usual:

“Craig was actually a very intelligent old man of about 70 who suffered from schizophrenia and probably a lot of other things. This was obviously not his fault and his mind was pretty quick in spite of it. I don’t even know how stocks and the stock market, all that, how those things work. He did, and when we would talk about it, he made me feel pretty stupid. I had a feeling he liked making me feel stupid like that, but I could never really tell. I don’t know, though, and he was technically insane, so he might have just made up a whole system of how the stock market should work in his head. I honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
Anyway, me and another caregiver (she was a bit tougher than me, she’d worked there a lot longer. She didn’t get fired like I eventually did, either, at least not while I was working there.) are going around the property cleaning.
So, anyway, we’re supposed to make our rounds and go by his house to help him clean it. I say ‘help’ because that’s what we’re supposed to do, but he would just sit there with his feet up, kind of treating us like the maid. Like I said, he really was a pretty sharp old guy in spite of his insanity.
So, anyway, we go over to clean; we knock and tell him we’re coming in. We open the door and he’s sitting in his favorite chair, out in the living room with his shirt off, jacking off with Vaseline, watching a Red Wings game, unstopped by our coming in. The woman I worked with, she was firm. She immediately moves toward him and shakes her head, pissed.
‘NUH-UH, Craig. You know what I fuckin told you, man.’
She walks over, gestures to him to zip his cock away.
‘I told you, you can’t be fuckin jacking off like this when staff is in the room cleaning for you. I’m a woman, you can’t jack off in front of me.’ She gestures to me. ‘And you can’t jack off in front of him either, he doesn’t want to see that. He just works here.’
She sets her cleaning bag down and she’s kind of right. A guy who’d worked there about a decade had told me Craig liked young boys and that he had a crush on me. I liked Craig, but I didn’t really care for the idea of him jacking off to me while he was telling me to do a better job wiping off his kitchen counter.
Anyway, Craig still hasn’t put his cock away. He sort of looks at me pleading for help in a way that makes me feel really bad, as any of his usual semi-obscured slyness has left his face. I can tell he wants me to say something, so I do, reluctantly.
‘Craig, I don’t really care if you jack off.’
‘NO! Rich, this is not okay!’
I’ve made her more pissed. She thinks I’m trying to undermine her.
‘He can NOT be jacking off in front of staff when we come around cleaning. I’ve told him so many times!’
‘Well, I mean, this is his house, right? We kind of walked in on him.’
I start to stand on the side of his chair opposite her. We start bickering with each other with him in the middle.
‘I don’t have a problem with him jacking off in his own home but we’re here! In the room with him!’
Anyway, Craig is still going. To him, the whole situation is probably ridiculous. He’d just been jacking off in privacy before two people had walked into the room and started yelling. He’d really just wanted to quickly bust during a commercial break (which I assume he did routinely, since he kept the
Vaseline on his coffee table.). Now two people at least 50-60 years his junior have surrounded him, debating whether or not they should let him cum, while his eyes move between us like we’re his parents deciding what they’re going to do with him.”

It was a good story, I liked it.