The last brutal day of finals week started this morning. If anyone slept last night, it was only out of exhaustion, or perhaps surrender. Andrew wondered if anyone else noticed how many people were wearing clothes from earlier this week. Obviously laundry, if not personal hygiene as a whole, was a common omission from the student body’s list of priorities. He couldn’t believe how much stress could change a person’s behavior. He barely recognized half the people he crossed paths with all year, so stripped of their behavioral norms. In fact, maybe that’s why he noticed the trend of recycled laundry, because the only thing familiar about these people seemed their outfits. Skirts and shirts carried yesterday’s food stains, dresses showed Monday’s patches of sweat, and jaundiced socks slouched around scurrying ankles.
Andrew waded through the swirling tide of bodies, unaffected by their frantic pulse. He was immune to their panic, which stemmed from academic unpreparedness, a disease common among students who believe studying isn’t effective if exams are more than a week away.
His last final wasn’t for another hour, but there wasn’t much else to do. He knew the material inside and out, and he hoped the professor would give him the test early. Just as he approached the steps, a mass of bodies hit the door, whipping it open. There was a dark-haired girl ahead of him, and he winced as he saw and heard the door handle crack the knuckles of her outstretched hand. Her face was turned away, but something in her movements, the way she pulled her hand against her chest instead of jolting or yelping, told him she was more hurt than surprised.
Bodies burst through the door like arterial blood, too absorbed in twisting tourniquets about their procrastination to empathize with or even notice the paralyzed girl. For a few seconds, the rush of the crowd parted around her. But as both doors gave way to the flood, she lost her balance, and several people slammed against her.
Andrew watched the girl hurtle toward him, skimming over ten steps, her shoulder catching the next, causing her to tumble and skid. She finally came to a halt in front of him, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd as they all froze at once. She lay on her back, hands reaching reflexively for her head. He looked down at her splayed legs, skinned knees and shins already forming droplets of blood. Her checkered skirt had fallen up over her waist as she fell. The girl wasn’t wearing anything else beneath her skirt, and all he saw was her pale skin, clean shaven and exposed.
He took in all of this as if in slow motion. Dozens of mouths gasping, heads just beginning to turn. Andrew fell to his knees, failed to find the hem of her skirt in that split-second, and pressed his pelvis against her, covering her with his own body.
“Holy shit, are you ok?” Andrew asked leaning close to her face, seeing the stiffness that pain had given her expression. Almost instantly her features softened, and she pulled her bruised fingers against her chest once more.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she sat up to look at the people around her. “I’m fine, no worries.”
The crowd seemed to instantly lose interest, turning away and hurrying off to somewhere else. After a few seconds the area was deserted, and he watched the girl lay her head back, still focused on the pain in her fingers.
“Sorry, did I fall on you?” she asked, finally noticing Andrew’s proximity.
“Uh, not exactly,” he said. “Your skirt came up when you landed.” Her eyes flew downward. “I tried to cover you up before anyone saw.”
“Anyone else,” she corrected.
“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “So, I’ll stand up now, if you’re ready.” As he leaned back, she scrambled to yank down her skirt, face going dark red.
“God, I can’t believe you saw…me,” she groaned, looking at the ground.
“It’s no big deal,” he said, “it’s just parts. I mean, fifty percent of the population has basically the same anatomy.”
“If it’s no big deal, why’d you cover me then?”
“Because people suck.”
“I’m not a slut,” she said, limping beside him down the sidewalk.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it,” she accused.
“You can read minds?” he asked apathetically. “Oh please teach me how…”
“You see a girl in a skirt with no underpants on, what else would you think?”
“That you need to do laundry,” he said, leaning in to smirk at her.
The girl just laughed at him.
“It isn’t funny,” he said, “shame on you. Gross.”
“That’s actually why though,” still laughing, “that’s why it’s hilarious.”
“I wondered if anyone else noticed,” he smiled, “but maybe not.”
“Noticed me you mean?”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “But not that.” He caught her arm as she stumbled over a gap in the pavement.
“Look how fucked up my knees are,” she said, letting him guide her while she examined her legs.
“That’s a lot of band-aids”
–
“She just gave me the whole box,” she hefted a first aid kit as he held the door.
“Did you know this was a DIY clinic?” he asked, looking back at the sign.
“They close early on Fridays I guess.”
“I guess that makes you the nurse.”
“No that makes you the nurse,” she said.
“Why are you punishing me? I did nothing wrong.”
“Ogling my lady bits must have given you brain damage,” she deduced. “Justice is served.”
“I seem to remember saving your lady bits from being ogled,” he said. “You’re welcome.”
“Saving it all for yourself,” she taunted, “you’re so greedy.”
“No, not at all. Watch, I don’t mind sharing,” he made as if to lift her skirt, which she flattened spastically.
“I will fucking axe murder you,” she laughed nervously, looking around as if someone might have seen.
–
“I can’t believe you’re carrying me up the stairs.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” he gasped, “I’m saving four hours of my life waiting for your gimp ass.”
“I’ll wait til we’re at the top to strangle you.”
“Wait in case I die naturally of a heart attack.”
“Good idea,” she said, “too much work to dispose of the body.”
–
Andrew dropped her unceremoniously on her apartment’s living room couch and immediately went for a glass of water.
“Is that how you treat all the princesses you rescue?” she yelled.
“You’re not a princess,” he said between gulps, “obviously.”
“Oh really? How would you know?” she glared.
“A real princess always has clean undies to wear,” he ducked the flying pillow.
“Come over here so I can beat you.”
“You can put your own band-aids on if you want.”
“I’ll beat you afterwards then,” she said wistfully.
Andrew opened the first aid kit and sat beside her legs.
“There’s a whole box of band-aids,” he held the kit open for her to see, “but only one alcohol pad.”
“I guess they use the term “nurse” loosely,” she said. “Well, just use the band-aids, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Should I amputate your legs now, or after they turn black? Princess Paraplegic has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“If my legs fall off I’m suing you.”
“For what, my student loans?”
“Your bright ideas, got any?” she gave him a smart-ass grin.
“Yeah, just go take a shower.”
“Fine,” she shifted her legs over the edge of the cushions. He watched her grit her teeth trying to bend her knees. It didn’t take much for the raw skin to split, and she straightened her legs with a little cry. Several drops of blood rolled down around her calves. He wiped the blood while she fought back tears. “Help,” she said, offering up her hands. He lifted her, and waited while she gasped, taking her weight on shivering legs, bearing down on the pain. He helped her limp to the bathroom, and she braced herself against the wall while he fixed the water temperature.
She was trying to raise one stiff leg over the edge of the tub, but after a minute she gave up. “I don’t think I can do this,” she sobbed, wiping at her eyes.
“Ok look,” he leaned down until their faces were close. “If I were hurt, you would help me.” she nodded. But you’re hurt, so I help you, ok?” she nodded again. “Whatever you tell me I’ll try to do ok?” She nodded. He took his shoes off, put one foot in the tub, and lifted her with both arms wrapped around her middle, then gently set her down. He kept hold as she shuffled forward.
“Ah!” he felt her body tense.
“What?” he panicked.
“No it’s okay,” her voice tight, “stings.” She inched forward over agonizing minutes. When she finally started to relax, their clothes were soaking wet. He knelt down to look at her scrapes, plucking bits of dirt and gravel with delicate fingers. “I’m cold,” she mumbled.
He shut the water off, lifting her out of the tub. She stood there shivering, incoherent and helpless. “I’ll turn around,” he said, “You need to get out of your wet clothes. I’ll pass you a towel when you’re ready.”
“Just help,” her teeth chattering, “I’m cold.” She could barely raise her arms as he pulled her shirt over her head. He unhooked her bra, drew it off her shoulders, opened the button of her skirt and let it slide to the floor. Then he wrapped a towel beneath her arms, and wiped the beads of water from her neck and shoulders. He braced her in the corner of the door and wall, stripped without ceremony, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He led her back to the living room, propped her legs up, and layered her beneath blankets. When she stopped shivering, he unwrapped the damp towel and slid it out. Her eyes might have been open a sliver, or she might have been asleep, never once moving.
–
He pulled the blankets back down over her legs, which were so spackled with band-aids they seemed like a fashion statement.
“Nurse, how long was I out?” She grinned at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
“Long enough to put your hand in warm water and make you pee your pants.”
“Liar.”
“Did you really just check to see?” he asked.
“To see if I was wearing any pants.”
“What’s the verdict?”
“No pants.”
“That’s the third time,” he scolded, “I’m not putting them on again.” She wasn’t remotely fooled. He put a cup of tea in her hands and helped her sip.
“Seriously, how long was I out?”
“Want a hint?”
“Don’t make me torture it out of you.”
He stood up and walked away, returning a moment later.
“The hint is an empty basket…” then she put the pieces together. “You did my laundry!” she guessed, laughing bashfully. “Uh, did you do any weird things to my delicates? I know you did,” she glared with curved lips.
“Well, before I washed them, not after.”
“Eww,” her nose wrinkled, “I knew you were a perv.”
“The public flasher just called me a perv,” he smiled at her blushing cheeks. “Why did I waste quarters washing your delicates, you don’t even wear them.”
She was smiling openly now. “I hate you.”
–
“I wasn’t going home for summer either.”
“What was the plan?”
“Road trip,” he said, “camping in the mountains. You?”
“Hang out, distress. Get into trouble,” she shrugged. “When do you leave?”
“I don’t. My copilot backed out.”
“Dick.”
“For a girl, which qualifies as an excusable absence.”
“It should only be excusable if he shares her.
“So you’re misogynist and adventurous…” Andrew laughed.
“You know what’s weird?” she asked.
“I know what you’re about to say.”
“Wow, you can read minds,” she mimicked speech impairment, “please teach me!”
“We’re having a conversation like we’ve been friends for years,” he ignored her, “and we don’t even know each other’s name.”
“Lucky guess…” she admitted.
“So?”
“What?”
“Our names.”
“We shouldn’t,” she argued.
“Because…”
She hesitated. “Because I like you. But right now we’re strangers. If I tell you my name, and if I know yours, we won’t be strangers.”
“And if we’re no longer strangers…?”
“If we’re not strangers, there’s no reason I shouldn’t pull off these blankets and find out if you like what you saw yesterday.”
“Andrew.”
“Clara.”
–
Clara paused for a moment, not out of uncertainty, but to savor the look on his face. She reached up, exposing her arms, then laid her hands on the thick cover. She slid it down past her shoulders, slow but not agonizingly. She wasn’t shy, nor trying to build tension, she wanted to watch him discover her a section at a time, and enjoy the hunger in his eyes. The blanket slid below her breasts, and he met her eyes.
“I did not expect you to be so beautiful.”
“Shh,” quietly, “want to know a secret?”
She continued to draw the blanket down, exposing her belly.
“I still had a pair of clean panties left yesterday.”
They were both very still after the blanket sat bunched below her knees. Andrew could see a handful of the band-aids he’d applied while she lay unconscious. Their flesh color seemed dark against her pale skin, smooth cream that ran up her thighs, over the curve of hips, form flattening along her belly. Her silky whiteness flowed unbroken except for the warm blush that seemed to deepen as it slid from view where her thighs were pressed together.
“Tell me what you see,” she whispered.
“The strings of an instrument too fine for me to play.” She laughed with unhinged delight.
“It wants you to play it,” suddenly serious, “I want you to play it.”
“I’ve never,” he swallowed, looking into her eyes. “…played anything like it.” Andrew shook his head. “I’ve never played anything at all, actually.” She saw what really lay behind the words. His reluctance wasn’t about inexperience. When he looked at her, he saw that no matter how much he gave, it could not be enough for someone so priceless in his eyes.
“You should know,” she admitted, “that you’ll be the first to play.”
They smiled at each other, mocking the musical overture but enjoying the shared childishness of it. They were speaking openly through a pretense, as if unaware that she was lying nude, watching his eyes roam her figure. Again she felt that thrill, the awareness that were she to cover herself and deny him anything more ever again, he would feel as if she’d given him everything he wanted and be grateful to her.
“No one’s ever looked at me that way.”
“With desire…?”
“With contentment,” she corrected.
“You say that like it’s unheard of.”
“Kind of, I guess,” she looked down at her thigh, wiping a spot and checking her fingertip as if it might show grime. “Guys look at me, tell me I’m beautiful, but never stop trying to get more, as if that wasn’t what they were looking for. It’s why I’ve backed out from going to bed with multiple guys.”
“The way you’re sitting there, perfectly comfortable wearing nothing, enjoying the way I look at you like a work of art,” he paused. “I’ll never experience this again.”
“Perfectly comfortable, yes, but also excited,” she smiled mischievously. “Can I ask you to do something?” After his nod, “Explore me, with your hands,” she said, propping herself up on the pillows and closing her eyes.
He moved to sit beside her on the couch, but didn’t touch her. This close, he could smell her hair, her skin, scents that didn’t have names, didn’t come from bottles, but were just her. She just sat there with her arms at her sides, and still there was an openness to her. He watched her face, raised one hand, and trailed a fingertip gently across her cheek. She smiled, eyes still closed, the simple pleasure of getting what she’d asked for. He traced invisible lines across her face, through her hair, around her ears. When he stroked the sides of her neck she shivered and rolled over, the long curve of her back arched downward slightly. She squirmed when he touched her sides, ticklish but not asking him to stop. He could tell she wanted to be touched and didn’t really care how, as long as he didn’t stop. At her waist, he ran his fingers down the sides of her hips, past her buttocks to her thighs. He heard her whisper and leaned down, chin brushing the back of her shoulder.
“Touch me everywhere, I want to feel what it’s like, every part of me.”
He ran his fingers over every curve, slid his hand between her cheeks, between her thighs, between every toe, careful not to pull any band-aids She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, and with a flick of her eyes, asked him to undress. He stripped without rush, watching her eyes travel, turning almost as if they were nudging him with their own will. She held out a hand and drew him down beside her, separated by fractions.
“Go on,” she said, closing her eyes again. Once again he brushed a single fingertip across her cheek, expecting that smile, gasping silently when it came, her simple invitation to his touch more erotic than anything he’d known before. She shivered again when he stroked her neck, his thumb on one side, fingers on the other, palm skimming the curve of her throat. He felt her holding her reactions back, barely keeping them in check. He lifted his fingers, laid his palm against her throat, and wrapped his fingers around her neck. The only pressure was the weight of his hand, yet her body seized like an electric shock, head going back, lips parting. He jerked his hand away in surprise, listened to the sharp shallow breaths she took to calm down. Her eyes never opened, and he let his hand trail down one shoulder.
When he’d stroked every inch of her arms, she raised them, squealing then laughing while he touched her armpits. He explored her breasts, rubbed her belly.
She sat up, turning to face him, swinging her injured legs over, laying one across his chest, the other beside his face. “Watch me,” she whispered.
She had a strange way of touching herself, just from what he’d seen. She slid two fingers between her lips, catching her clit between them, forcing it to squeeze between each pair of knuckles. Then she slid her second and third fingers down, pinching herself between both knuckles. Then her third finger and pinky. She did this over and over in a set pattern, never changing tempo.
“Each of them feels different, I don’t know why I do it this way,” she rolled her eyes and laughed at her own quirk. Andrew brought his hand up, she pulled hers away with a nod. He began imitating her pattern, pinching softly between each pair of knuckles. “You won’t hurt me, trust me.” He continued gently until the pattern started over, but now as her clit slid between each set of knuckles, he squeezed his fingers together as hard as he could. He instantly felt the change in her body, felt her thighs become taut, saw the muscles in her neck stand out. Slowly she leaned farther back until she lay flat. Without breaking rhythm he sat up, stretched his free hand out, and just when he started her pattern over, wrapped his hand around her throat, pressing down just hard enough not to choke her. For the first few seconds she stiffened but barely moved.
Then he felt the tremble in her body, growing gradually in strength. Her hips began to buck, making it impossible to follow the pattern, so he caught her between the knuckles of whichever fingers he could, losing it and pinching over and over. Her body was jolting so wildly, when she opened her mouth he didn’t know if she would scream, or grunt, or curse. Instead he heard the purest, most erotic sound, one long moaning sigh of pleasure and relief, her voice caught in her throat, struggling to escape and getting louder, then tapering off into a quiet, throaty rasp, like a single ha of delight. She was still moaning when her eyes opened, an expression he’d never seen but instantly understood. What she felt now was so intense, so much excruciating pleasure, that it terrified her. Her thighs clamped shut, pinning his hand against the heat, her smooth softness rolling against his palm, feeling surge after surge of thick fluid flow between his fingers.
It took him a moment to realize that what had come before, the tension and shaking, was only the part leading up to her release of pleasure. She had only now begun to come, and it was almost as if the nerves in his fingers were letting him feel what she felt, pleasure so intense it was like a dip into madness. He was helpless to look away, but as she finally began to descend, he watched the endless streams of milky fluid splash across her neck, drip down her chin, and fall slickly across the red of her lips.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/bsv1ie/mf_finals_week_andrew_plays_claras_nurse_when