13
My pulse is in my throat as I undress Erica. She lets me gently lift her mini dress over her head, leaving her in her white lacy bra and panties, the same panties I was looking at not that long ago with the wet spot on the crotch of it.
Trying to ignore the feeling of getting excited, I pick her up gently to bring her to the bathroom, then put her in the tub.
Ideally she would be naked, but she doesn’t have to be for this part. What’s most important is that she gets her temperature down.
As she sits down in the tub, Erica leans back, her dreadlocks in a high ponytail so she doesn’t get them wet.
After she soaks in there for a while, I sit on the edge of the tub, keeping her company.
“Don’t leave me,” she chatters, her teeth sounding like some horror movie creature clicking in the dark.
“I’m not going to leave you to freeze,” I smirk.
She tries to give me a smirk too, but it’s hard because she’s so cold, her arms folded over her chest, most of her body buried under the water with just her neck, head, and upper shoulders exposed to the air.
As she’s sitting there, I take a washcloth, fold it in four sections, soak it in the water, squeeze it out, and rest it on her forehead.
“This is torture,” Erica says feebly.
“I know. I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
She looks like she’s falling asleep, but I stay with her. Then I take the thermometer to check her forehead again, and a second time after five more minutes without the washcloth.
“I think this is good enough,” I say encouragingly.
Starting to drain the water, I place my hands under her rib cage and pick her up like a little child, under her arms, facing me, her legs dangling below, and set her down to sit on the closed toilet lid.
Using her pink towel with the white polka dots on it, I dry Erica off, her face, her arms, as gentle as I can. Erica has her eyes closed, head still drooped a little forward as if trying and fighting not to fall asleep.
Oh no.
Her bra and panties are wet. I didn’t think about this. Obviously she can’t sleep in wet underwear.
“Stay here. Don’t move,” I say.
I want her to be comfortable, so I get a clean towel, a bigger one, and layer it on top of the bed covers. Then I head back to the bathroom, pick her up bridal style, and lay her on the towel so her bra and panties don’t soak through.
She’s still shivering a little bit, but not as bad. Erica just lies there on her back, sprawled out, fast asleep.
There’s a very slight part of me that wonders if she’s faking it, but seeing how she looks and having seen firsthand what someone looks like when they’re sick, especially because she drank alcohol on top of already feeling this way and probably from all the exhaustion, I know she’s not.
“Okay… just relax, okay? I’m going to take off… I’m going to remove your underwear so I can… put some dry clothes on you,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Removing my socks, I fold them and put them on the floor next to the bed. I climb into the bed so that while I’m kneeling, I can start to remove her clothes.
Reaching behind her with one hand, without her ever having to move, I unhook her bra. Then I remove my hand from between her back and the mattress and take off the bra. I place it on the nightstand momentarily. When my eyes look back to Erica, I’m absolutely frozen.
Her breasts. I’ve never actually…
A strange overwhelming sensation of lightheadedness overtakes me, the front of my pants tenting with expectation and appreciation of her beauty.
The beauty of her breasts, bare and supple, nipples puckered.
Breathing into my nose, I steel my resolve and start to work on her underwear, my fingers dipping gently between the waistband and her skin and pulling it down over her thighs, her knees, and her legs, and then her feet. Erica remains lying still on her back.
Sitting back on my knees… I can’t help it. My eyes take in her body.
My penis swells at the sight of her vagina, completely shaved with a little bit of fuzz growing back. Tiny little red hairs.
It takes a minute to realize that my mouth is open. I close it and take my discipline. “I… where are your clothes?” I ask.
There’s no answer.
Leaning forward a little bit, trying my best not to look at things I shouldn’t be looking at, I ask again. “Erica? Erica?”
“Hmm?” she groans tiredly, her eyes opening, looking confused before they land on me.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask her slowly.
She then points to her feet. I’m confused for a little bit until I realize that she’s pointing to the closet at the end of the bedroom.
Nodding, I get up off the bed and open the closet to see her shirts hung up on the top rung, skirts and pants on the bottom.
“A big one. And I don’t want any underwear,” she says, her words slurring slightly as if she’s half asleep.
I exhale through my mouth, cheeks inflated in the shape of an O, letting the air out slowly to steady myself.
“I’m going to pull you up,” I say as I take her hand and then her other and pull her into a sitting position. Her head falls forward for a minute before she catches herself.
“I feel dizzy,” Erica says.
“I’m sorry. This won’t take long,” I reply gently.
As I put on her shirt, my phone buzzes from my pants pocket. I look down, feeling the embarrassment at my very hard erection. Still kneeling on the bed, I swing my feet over the side, hoping Erica didn’t see it.
It’s Aaliyah.
I just stare at the contact.
The last thing I want to do is talk to Aaliyah right now. I ignore the call.
“Skin. My skin is dry,” Erica says lethargically.
“Your skin? What do you mean?” I ask.
“Lotion. I want lotion on my skin,” she says tiredly, falling backwards, breathing deeply.
“Where’s the lotion?” I ask, and then I have to ask again.
“Bathroom,” Erica whispers.
I almost miss it, but I understand and get up to get the lotion. Then I come back. Erica is still lying on her back on the bed, over the covers… in just her T-shirt.
Does she want this over her whole body?
Is it just her legs or…
“Do you… do you want me to put it all over or…?” I ask, confused.
Erica nods extremely slowly, her head barely moving, eyes half-open, staring down at me as I’m still kneeling by her feet, the motion so weak it looks like it takes all her strength just to tilt her chin once.
Using the lotion, I rub it in my hands, then scooch over so I’m positioned at her left side. Starting to put some of it over her face and neck, then on her chest under the shirt from the neck area, I proceed carefully.
Then her arms and hands. Since it’s a short-sleeve shirt, it’s pretty easy to do this part. I should have done this before I put on the shirt, but I had no idea what her routine was.
I find myself gulping every now and then just at the touch.
Then I look down at her chest, still covered by the shirt.
“King?” she says, causing my eyes to flick back slowly up to meet hers. “You can touch me,” she says tiredly.
Breathing in deep… I take my time and lift the bottom of her shirt over her belly button, diamond stud still inside of it. Then I lift the shirt over her breasts, leaving her beautiful body once again fully on display.
Erica trusts me to do this for her. I need to put away this flesh. She’s sick. I’m taking care of her. This isn’t sexual.
God would do the same… and He would not look at her like this.
Matthew 25:40 says, “And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Even though I can’t see myself doing this to Jesus, that would be weird, but if I was ever in a situation like that, or anyone who was sick and needed help, I would have to put my pride aside. So that’s what I’m doing. That’s all I’m doing.
Slowly, with my hands shaking and my pulse racing, I start lotioning her chest again, then glide the lotion over her breasts. My breath catches when I touch her hard nipples.
The feeling of them under my palm, the sensitivity, the way my erection throbs in my pants at the contact… it fills me with an all-consuming fire.
I don’t want to spend too much time on her breasts in case it feels inappropriate, so I slide my open hands down to her stomach, then to her feet.
I take my time with all of it, rubbing the lotion in slowly and calmly so it feels good for her.
Since she’s not feeling well, I want it to help her relax.
It feels good to me too.
Swallowing again, finding it harder to swallow, I move from her feet, kneading the muscles under the bottom of her soles, and then move up to her inner thighs.
Two hands on one side and then each hand on each side, moving my hands so that both palms are on each of the inner thighs, then moving upwards and then around so that my thumbs are almost touching her vagina but then they go back down to the thighs.
My temperature is high too. I’m boiling right now. This is so hard for me.
But I can do this.
I can do this.
There’s nothing… wrong… because… she needs me. She’s sick.