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by Arty

The doorbell rang and Friday considered not answering it. She felt like death and the last thing that she wanted to do was to entertain visitors. The bell rang again; Friday dragged herself out of the chair in which she was slowly dying and staggered to the door. She had to answer it now, if only to give whomever it was a piece of her mind!

"What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mommy get you anything for Christmas so you had to come and play with my doorbell?"

"I was worried."

Friday looked up to see a tall, overweight and very concerned-looking British guy.

"Oh. Sorry for shouting, you'd better come in."

Arty followed her in.

"Come here."

Friday turned and looked at him listlessly. Two steps had him with his arms round her and stroking her hair gently.

"Come let's get you into a bath and then into bed."

She looked at him appalled.

"Not like that, you daft bat. You need rest and some TLC."

"OK. You're the boss."

"Now I know you're very ill."

Friday was too tired to continue the banter and this worried Arty even more. With an efficiency born of long practice (and the fact that he was the author) he soon had Friday's bath ready for her. She stood passively as he disrobed her; even looking like death warmed up she was still a sexy package, but he ruthlessly suppressed his desire to molest her and helped her into the bath. Friday sighed in relief as the warmth seeped through her skin and began to ease the aches and pains that had been plaguing her for the last few days.

Arty looked about for a washcloth and then removed a packet of soap from his pocket. It was at this point he realised that he was still wearing his coat. Friday giggled.

"Some author you are. Forgetting your coat indeed!"

"It just shows how lost I am without you."

"Stop it, or you'll make me cry."

Arty shrugged himself out of his coat and knelt by the bath as he wet the soap and the washcloth and proceeded to make lather.

"What is that?"

"It's a herbal soap from Cornwall; it from a herb farm on the way to Goonhilly. It's supposed to make you feel better. I have no idea if it works, but it does smell nice." Then he spoilt it by adding, "and it gives me a chance to feel you up under the guise of washing you." Friday stuck out her tongue, she was too slow to prevent him from catching it in his mouth. But then he stopped and suckling and started to wash her back in long soothing strokes. Once he had washed and rinsed her back he did the same for each arm. As he began to soap her breasts, purely for the sake of completeness you understand Friday leaned forward and started to lick his ear; before he could retaliate she had completely engulfed it in her mouth and was tickling it with her tongue. He groaned and she let him go.

"Someone is feeling a bit better then?"

He continued to rinse off the soap from her breasts then he leant forwards to lick each nipple in turn.

"Have to make sure that I rinsed them properly."

As Friday was starting to look tired, he sped up his careful washing of her and helped her from the bath and onto a bath stool over which he had draped a large fluffy bath towel. He quickly dried her off and then half carried her into bed. Placing her under the bedclothes he stroked her forehead and hair until soft snores told him that she had fallen asleep. He hooked a chair closer to the bed and sat down in it and prepared to watch her sleep. He always felt so helpless when people he loved were ill - everything he did seemed inadequate. He sat back in the chair and prepared to wait.

It was the least he could do.


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