A Helping Hand

By: DL
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
dl@tickiestories.us

Chapter 3
 

Shortly after we'd set out homewards, sensing that Juan didn't want to talk, I switched the CD player on and started ELO off again; out of deference to having a passenger, I quickly turned the volume down to a more acceptable level.

I took the direct route this time, but kept the speed just below the speed limits. The traffic wasn't bad, as it was past the home-time rush hour and it was just coming up to 21:10 according to the clock in the dash as I exited the A45 and headed off for the back road to home. Fifteen minutes later, we'd passed through the last small hamlet and were only a mile and a half from home. Juan had fallen asleep soon after we set out and I hadn't done anything to disturb him.

I turned into my drive, killed the CD player and switched off the ignition. There was only the sound of the cooling engine ticking. I turned to Juan, and gently shook his shoulder; it took several shakes, but finally he stirred, stretching and yawning simultaneously. "We're home," I said, opening my door and getting out. I closed the door and walked round to the passenger side; opening it for him. He groaned as he undid his belt and tentatively turned to get out of the car; I leaned down and helped him up by grasping him under his right arm and supporting him as he stood. He stretched again and stumbled slightly as he turned away from the car; I reached over and held him as I closed the door, keyed the remote to lock the car and then lifted his arm and draped it over my shoulder as we moved towards the house in the dark.

Unlocking the front door, I helped him inside and through the door on the right into the lounge-diner; guiding him over to the bed/settee against the back wall. After helping him sink into it, I left him and went to close and lock the front door. Returning to the lounge, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and realised that I just had enough time to call my boss [the company's Managing Director] and start to straighten things out.

As usual, the phone only rang a couple of times before my boss answered. He was anxious to talk to me, and we talked over the events of the day for some 10–15 minutes; he'd heard me leave [well heard my car leave!] from his office and found out what had caused me to flip [it had never happened before]. We talked things through and once he was happy that things would sort themselves out work-wise; he relaxed and started to just talk about miscellaneous things as we often did – and knowing that the call would soon be over, I told him that I'd need to take most of the following morning off to take care of some personal business that had cropped up unexpectedly. He wasn't overjoyed, but accepted my explanation, knowing that I would put in the hours needed to do my job. We said our 'Goodnights' and I hung up.

Turning back to the room from the phone, it was obvious that Juan had been listening to my side of the conversation. He may not have comprehended the work-related first 10–15 minutes, but had picked up on my finishing statement about 'unexpected personal business'; and was looking at me oddly. "We'll have to talk in the morning." I answered his unspoken question. He nodded [and grimaced after doing so], and I said "Well, seeing the way you're moving, I think you'd better have a soak in a warm bath to ease your aches a bit. I'll run a bath for you." And I disappeared down the hall at the far end of the lounge to the bathroom; fortunately, having an oil-fired boiler means the water is usually fairly hot. I filled the bath much higher than I would have normally done for myself and added some Radox bath cubes [a present from my Mum; I never used them] and returned to the lounge.

"OK, let's get you into the bathroom" I said, stopping by the settee and offering him a hand to help him up. He didn't resist and accepted the helping hand; once on his feet I helped him over to the hallway and then let him walk slowly, leaning against the wall, under his own steam to the bathroom. "I'll get some fresh towels, pyjamas and a robe for you." I said, as I turned and left him.

I returned to the bathroom, the door still ajar several minutes later, and I knocked softly. I stayed outside until I heard a groan followed by a thump. I gingerly pushed the door open to find Juan slumped on the floor against the towel rail, with his jeans around his ankles. It was obvious that he'd lost his balance while trying to step out of them. As I saw him in a semi-undressed state for the first time it became apparent just how badly beaten he had been. His slender body was a mass of multi-coloured bruises as were his legs and arms; I could fully understand the hobbling and groaning now.

I dropped the towels etc. I was carrying in a heap by the toilet and quickly stepped over to help him stand. As I put my arm around his naked shoulders and helped him up with his arm over my shoulders, I could see him blush far deeper than he had before. Upright, I steadied him as he stepped out of his jeans; I'm not sure who was more embarrassed, him or me. We stood clasping each other for thirty seconds or so; it seemed far longer. Eventually I said "Let's just get you in the bath shall we?" and he nodded slightly [he was learning not to move his head suddenly].

I helped him over to the bath and supported him as he bent and grasped the side of it before gingerly raising his right leg and stepping in; and then doing the same with his left leg. I helped him lower himself into the water, still with his underwear on. Handing him a fresh bar of soap, I said "Take it easy and relax; a soak will do you as much good as cleaning yourself." He nodded slightly again, still flushed with embarrassment. "I'll leave you for about forty-five minutes, and then I'll help you out. Yell if you need help for anything." and I left him to it.

I watched the Ten O'Clock News on ITV with the volume turned down in case he called out; and then flicked the channels, finding nothing of interest. Finally I walked down the hall to the bathroom and knocked gently on the door, waiting until I heard him call "Yeah". Pushing the door open, I saw him leaning against the far end of the bath, submerged in the water up to his neck; he looked peaceful for the first time since I'd met him. "How're you feeling now?" I said, and he looked up at me and smiled, saying "A lot better, thanks."

I sat on the edge of the bath and watched him for a couple of minutes, he seemed relaxed and at ease; so much so that I was reluctant to disturb him. Eventually I thought I'd better make sure he got out before he fell asleep; and so I said "I guess we'd better get you out now. You need a hand again?" He blushed, but not as deeply this time, and then grinned; "Yeah, I don't think I can get out on my own yet." I smiled at how he had relaxed enough to manage to say that, and moved down to the end and slipped my arm under his and round his shoulders, and then helped him stand.

Once he was out of the bath, I pulled the plug and then helped him over to the towel rail. "I guess this is going to be uncomfortable for both of us," I said, "but I think the best thing is for you to grab the rail so you stay upright and I’ll gently towel you down." He thought about it for a moment, and I felt his body stiffen slightly, and then he shrugged and said "I guess you're right; I'd probably fall again if I tried to dry myself." As he said this he leant forward slightly and grasped the top rail with both hands.

I let go of him and turned and picked up a clean towel from the pile I had dropped earlier. Then I gently towelled him down, starting at his neck and working down back and front alternately; I really did try to be gentle, but even so, there were more than a few moans and groans as I touched a part of him that was particularly sore. I skipped his underwear-clad mid-section and lightly towelled his arms and legs, then lifted his legs and dried his feet.

Turning away, I picked up the robe and draped it over his shoulders and held the right side out so he could slip his arm inside and then repeated the performance with the left side. I picked up the unused towel and the pyjamas and turned back to him, lifting his right arm and placing it across my shoulders. He let go of the towel rail and we started to the door.

He went to go down the hall back to the lounge, but I stopped him and steered him into my bedroom on the left just outside the bathroom. Feeling him tense, and seeing the look on his face, I quickly said: "Don't worry, I'm going to sleep in the lounge; after seeing how badly you're bruised, I think you'd better have the bed for now." I felt his body relax and saw him blush at the same time and couldn't stop myself chuckling slightly, deepening his blush a bit.

I lowered him onto the bed and dropped the towel and pyjamas on the bed beside him. "I'll wait outside while you get out of your briefs, dry yourself and get into the pyjamas, yell when you're done and I'll turn off the light for you." He nodded, blushing again, and I left him to it. Five minutes later, I heard him softly call "Dave?" I pushed the door open to find him standing by the bed, bare-chested, in the pyjama bottoms. "You OK?" I said, and he grinned and said "Yeah; thanks." I smiled at him and watched as he gingerly got into bed. Then I said "Goodnight" and switched off the light and closed the door.