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This year, Paul plays Santa.
"I think you should rest. No more reading." I reached forward and picked up the book which had been on the bed. Suddenly I realised why Mr Thompson had placed it there. Just below his waist there was noticeable ridge in the bedclothes.
"I'm sorry, it's being stuck here in bed for so long and not being able to take care of certain things," he began. I wasn't sure what to say or where to look.
Mr Thompson continued, "And then when you came in wearing that skirt..."
I glanced down and realised that where the buttons were missing, most of my legs were visible, to mid-thigh at least. Sitting down for my break, I'd crossed my legs and it must have been quite a show.
"I'm sorry, Mr Thompson. I didn't even think about it. Will you be okay?"
"I think so. It normally disappears after a little while." He didn't sound too convinced. Being used to regular sex with my husband, I wasn't too sure either, not really knowing about these things from the man's side. I decided to get on with the work again.
A couple of times I glanced at Mr Thompson and he seemed to be dozing. This was good, I thought, as hopefully other parts of him would have become similarly relaxed. I reached across to brush some dirt off an awkward bit of the wall and found that the skirt was restricting me. Another quick look at Mr Thompson suggested he was still asleep, so I undid a couple of the remaining buttons on the skirt. As I did so, I was quite pleased with what I saw. The exposed leg was shining nicely in the light and looked toned. Still, back to work. I made good progress on the wall and before that long I was ready to finish for the day.
As I climbed down the steps, Mr Thompson woke up. Depending on when he actually woke, he might have caught a fair eye full of my legs. He didn't say anything though and I told him I was on my way home and that I'd be back the next day.
It was only when I'd opened the front door that I remembered my car keys were in the spare room, left there when I'd changed clothes. I closed the front door and went back up the stairs. Just before I could say anything, I realised I could hear strange noises coming from Mr Thompson's room. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing, so I rushed in.
"Jan!" he said. "I thought you'd gone! I heard the front door..." His voice trailed off as I looked at him. The covers were down and his 'problem' from earlier had obviously returned with vigour.
"I thought you were short of breath...I left my car keys..." I said by way of explanation. I didn't know what to do or where to look. Again. Mr Thompson pulled the covers up and sighed.
"It's no use anyway. I just don't have the strength to finish the job, if you get my meaning." He looked sad and frustrated.
Without thinking, I sat down in the chair next to the bed and crossed my legs. As I did so, the bump in Mr Thompson's bedclothes twitched. Immediately, I realised it was the effect of me crossing my legs. I felt bad that I was making his condition worse.
"If only I could just get rid of it," he said. "I just don't know how I can. That fall seems to have taken my strength in ways I never thought possible."
I was in a dilemma. I felt at least partly responsible for his state but what was I meant to do? I'm a very moral person and have never cheated on my husband, nor would I want to. Those same morals also made me feel that I should help people when possible, especially if I've been the cause of their need. I sat there trying to work out what I could do to help. As I did this, I absent-mindedly ran my hand up and down my leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Thompson twitch. Suddenly, I had an idea.
"Mr Thompson, I feel partly to blame for all of this.