Health Care

There is a knock at my front door at 9am. I hear my mum flap around until finally she pulls it open.

“Sam!” I hear her cry with joy. I sit up in bed instantly. I’m not meant to be collecting him from the station until gone ten.

“I’m sorry I’m so early,” I hear the low rumble of Sam’s voice. “I managed to catch an early train, and then I couldn’t resist walking here. It’s a lovely day.”

I peer out of the slats in my blind. He was right. The sun was beaming down through an almost cloudless sky. The Thompson’s sizeable garden would look beautiful. I knew their gardener, Roy, would’ve had his work cut out under Mrs Thompson’s orders.

“Alex is still in bed,” Mum informs him. I hear Sam beginning to bound up the stairs. “Feel free to jump on her, the lazy cat.” Before long, my bedroom door flies open and an all-too-excited Sam bundles himself on top of me. I wheeze as his weight presses down on my stomach.

“No, no, no!” I gasp. Sam sits up slightly, checking he hasn’t hurt me. “I need a wee!”

Returning from the bathroom, I see Sam has wrapped himself up in my duvet and is pretending to be asleep. I take a running leap at him, but he senses it. Throwing the duvet off him in a nanosecond, he catches me around the waist and pulls me into a rib-cracking hug. It’s been just over a week since I’ve seen him last.

At ten, Mum announces there are four bacon sandwiches and cups of tea in the kitchen. She is already half dressed, floating around in a pair of bright white linen trousers. My dad has chosen a smart pair of navy blue trousers and a loose white shirt. Before long, a juicy blob of tomato ketchup lands on his breast pocket.

“Oh fuck,” he says thickly through a mouthful of bread and grinning guiltily. My mum sighs, flapping around him with a damp cloth and insisting he changes.

Upstairs, Sam pulls out a smart pair of grey chinos and brown leather shoes and tops it with a navy blue check shirt. He squeezes a small dollop of wax onto his palm and rolls it around his fingers. He tugs at his soft tufts of hair, creating that smart-but-sexy look. God, I could melt. I wrap my arms around his waist in the mirror and kiss his back.

“Are you going to get dressed or what?” he asks me, tugging at my pyjama shorts. “Or do I have to do it for you?” He sounds chastising, but his eyes flicker slightly.

“You do want to dress me, don’t you?” I challenge, staring into his eyes. He stares back. A solid, smouldering stare. Silently, I lift my arms up expectantly. The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch seductively. He steps towards me and grasps the hem of my t-shirt. He pulls it up and over my head. He stares at my breasts appreciatively. I flush slightly, resisting the urge to cover them up with my hands. He glides his hands around my waist and leans in closer, nuzzling into my neck. I grip hold of his biceps as he sweeps kisses lightly across my collar bones. His hands slip up from my waist, and begin to fondle my breasts. He squeezes and kneads them, building up some cruel rhythm. I groan softly into his ear.

He bends down, grazing my chest and stomach lightly with his stubble. It sends a welcome shiver across my body. The deepest part of my belly seems to squirm. He rest on his knees and grazes my hips with his nose. His fingers find the waistband of my shorts and pants, and in one slow, agonising movement, he slides them both down my legs. He stares at me longingly from the floor. I dread to think what an awful angle this must be. His nose travels up the insides of my thighs. God, I should be lying down for this. Suddenly his nose touches me there. He kisses me, the softness of his lips making my whole body ache. Before I have time to grip hold of his hair, the hair he’s only just styled, he runs his electric tongue across me. I let out a stifled groan, throwing my head back.

Sam stands up suddenly, grabbing hold of my waist and walking me backwards to the bed. He lets me sit, and then lay, my legs draped over the edge. Sam resumes his kneeling position and grips hold of my ankles, spreading my legs apart. He traces the line of my leg with slow, sensual kisses until he’s back where he started. My whole body quivers as I grip hold of his wrists. He interlinks are fingers as he presses his tongue into me, harder. I can feel the hotness of his mouth. Every stroke rattles my every nerve ending. I push my hips upwards to meet his rhythm. A magnitude of pleasure is building at his touch. I stifle more moans and close my eyes. I can’t bear to watch. He doesn’t stop his relentless rhythm, my thighs beginning to quake as my impending orgasm presses deep inside of me. I feel my body tense, my legs are clenching, and before I know it my pent-up frustration is released in a weight of frenzied gasps, my legs convulsing. Catching my breath, I clench my legs together as Sam rubs my knee in an odd, congratulatory sort of way.

“Good?” he breathes. I nod, closing my eyes and exhaling deeply. “Good,” he nods. “Right, by my watch you’ve got thirty minutes to get gorgeous, now come on.” He pulls me up by my wrist sand roots around in my underwear drawer, pulling out my best white bra and a pair of lacy panties. He eyes them seductively and gives me a wink. He helps me step into the panties and takes a deliberate slowness as he pulls them up around me. I pretend to swat him away.

Draping the bra straps over my shoulders, he grabs a handful of each breast and pretends to weigh them in his hands.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “I’m just checking this is the right bra.” He pulls the cups down over me and gives them one last fleeting grope. “Yes, a perfect fit,” he says. On my instruction, he finds the silky blue dress hanging in my wardrobe and pulls it over my head. It barely reaches my knees; a short little summer number. Sam gives me the ‘You Look Good’ nod.

I pull my hair up into a messy ballet bun, pulling soft tendrils around my ears. In a few quick swipes, I am equipped with bronzer, heavy eyeliner and mascara. Sam and I stare at each other.

“Socks?” I ask, pointing at his crotch.

He shakes his head, grinning.

“You don’t need them,” I wink, pulling him out of my bedroom by the hand. I choose a pair of nude ballet flats from the cupboard and we head into the kitchen. Dad is ketchup-free at last.

“You kids look lovely,” Mum says. “Shall we leave?”

I was taking my own car, as Mum had promised a lift to the ladies who didn’t drive. Dad had originally insisted I follow them, before remembering that I did in fact know where Christopher’s house was. He smiles awkwardly at Sam. I apologise.

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam says, kissing my forehead. “You’ve convinced me that I shouldn’t be worried.”

“No, you shouldn’t be,” I reaffirm. “It’s just … awkward.”

“I know,” Sam nods understandingly. “But you’ve got me now.” We kiss briefly before unlocking my car door.