Pamela's Little Thank-you Gift

On the Saturday before Christmas, Amy got a call from her friend Pamela. She was in the emergency room and needed a ride home. She'd been bumped by a distracted driver in the Safeway parking lot. She hadn't been seriously hurt, but she'd sprained her ankle and pulled some muscles in her back.

Amy told me this on her way out the door. I'd met Pamela once or twice, but I'd never particularly thought of her and Amy as close friends. A couple of hours later, Amy called and asked me to help her ferry Pamela's car from the parking lot back over to her apartment.

When we got to the apartment, Pamela was sitting on the couch in obvious discomfort. I barely even remembered what she looked like. She was in her early thirties, several years older than Amy and me. She had shoulder length brown hair that was now in complete disarray.

She couldn't use her crutches because it hurt too much to bend her back. She didn't think she could make it upstairs to her bedroom. Amy offered to fix up a bed on the couch, but I could tell that what Pamela really wanted was for Amy to stay there with her overnight. Instead, Amy suggested that it might be better for her to come over to our place. Our house was all on one floor, and there was plenty of room since our third housemate, Tom, had already gone back to spend the holidays with his family.

I could tell that Pamela didn't want to leave her apartment. But, she realized that it would be less of a burden on Amy if she did. So she finally agreed, without making too much of a fuss. Amy packed a few of her things, and I helped her out to Amy's car.

I still had a bit of Christmas shopping to do, so once we got Pamela up the front steps at our place I left them to settle in. When I got back later, Amy was in the living room.

"How's it going?"

"She's taking a nap in my room. I guess I'll stay in Tom's. She took another pill. I think they're starting to kick in."

"So what's the deal? Does she really not have anybody closer than you to take care of her?"

"I guess I was just the first person she thought of."

"How long will it be before she's up and about?"

"They couldn't say for sure. The ankle might take a couple of weeks. But she should be able to get around on her crutches as soon as her back stops hurting. Hopefully that will be before Wednesday." Wednesday was Christmas Eve, the day Amy was supposed to fly back to visit her folks.

"Listen," she said in an earnest tone, "I didn't really check with you if it was OK for her to stay here. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not. She's a friend of yours. It's fine."

—

The next day, Sunday, Amy knocked on my door. "Are you going to be around some today? I need to do a few things. Pamela will probably be fine, but if it's all right I'll go out while you're here. Then there'll be someone in the house at least if she does need something."

Pamela didn't come out of her room all morning. I knocked once just to be sure she was still alive. I told her she could watch TV in Tom's room if she wanted. Maybe later, she said.

That evening, Amy fixed some soup and invited me to join them. Pamela had combed her hair, and she made a much better impression than she had the day before. She tried not to let her misfortune dampen the holiday spirit. She even made a few jokes at her own expense.

On Monday, Amy and I both had to go to work, so Pamela was on her own. I had my office Christmas party in the evening, so I didn't see either of them all day. On Tuesday morning I touched base with Amy.

"Well, she's feeling a lot better. I've been giving her back rubs, which seem to help. She's still having a lot of trouble with the crutches, though. She can hop around the house, but I don't think she feels ready to go back to her apartment. I'm off work today, so I'll take her out and see if that helps her get a little more motivated. Otherwise, I'm not sure what we'll do."

"Doesn't she have any plans for Christmas herself?"

Amy raised her eyebrows and gave a little shrug. "But listen, we're going to have a little pre-Christmas dinner tonight. Her idea. Can you be here? She'd really appreciate it if you were."

"I guess," I said. "Do you want me to bring anything?"

"We'll pick up everything while we're out. Her treat."

—

They fixed spaghetti with mushroom sauce and garlic bread, and we opened a bottle of chianti. They'd gone grocery shopping and to the mall. Pamela was doing a little better on her crutches, although she still didn't have as much stamina as she would have wished. She was determined to go back to her apartment that night, though. She said it bravely, but I could tell she was afraid she still wasn't quite ready. She just didn't think she had any other choice.

I got to hear a little of her life story. She'd grown up in the Midwest, like I had. She'd gotten married just out of college, but the guy had turned out to be a real jerk. She'd gotten a divorce, lived in Seattle for a while, then moved here a couple of years ago.

She gave a little self-conscious speech about how kind we'd been and how grateful she was. I could see why Amy liked her. She was the kind of person who would come back in after everyone else left and quietly put things back in order. The kind of person who would much rather have things run amiably than run her way. She was not really all that bad looking. She would make some lucky guy a loyal and loving wife.

"Listen," I said, finally. "You're welcome to stay on here for a few more days if you want. I'll be here, so it wouldn't be any problem at all. In fact, it would probably be nice to have someone else in the house. I'm going to go up and see some friends in the city on Christmas, but I'm sure they'll be glad if you want to come along too. So if you think you might need a couple more days to get back on your feet . . ."

Pamela hadn't expected that at all. She didn't know how to respond. She did her mental calculation of need versus burden. Finally she decided to take me up on it, as long as I was sure I didn't mind, and just for a couple days, and only if I let her at least do some of the cooking. I felt I'd earned a couple brownie points in Amy's eyes as well.

—

The next day was Wednesday, Christmas Eve. I got up early and drove Amy to the airport. I gave her her present, a pair of flashy earrings that I thought she might like. She had a little present for me, too.

I had to go in for a half day of work, but I stopped by the house first. Pamela was up and in good spirits. She assured me that she would be fine. I checked in again by phone after lunch. Everything was still hunky dory. I had a couple of last minute errands to run before I came home. Did she need anything? No, she was all set. She was excited about fixing supper. Would I be home by six?

When I got home, there was a delicious aroma of roast chicken coming from the kitchen. The table was nicely set, and Pamela was at the stove stirring a pot.

"Hi," she said. "Dinner will be ready in about half an hour."

"It smells great."

She smiled sweetly. "Did you get everything done you needed to?"

"Yep, I did. And it seems like you've got everything here pretty much under control?"

"Slow and steady wins the race."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"You can open the wine."

She also let me mash the potatoes and take the chicken out of the oven. She hobbled to her room for a couple of minutes and came back all dressed up in a red skirt, a black cashmere sweater, and a pearl necklace. She actually looked a lot more sophisticated than I had given her credit for. It was nice to see her notice my appreciation. The dinner was lovely, with a kind of a first-date feel, the two of us trying hard to make things lively and enjoyable.

After dinner I washed the dishes, and then we went into the living room. I lit a fire, and it was nice and Christmasy. We chatted about this and that. Eventually, though, I noticed her face starting to get a little tense.

"Amy told me she's been giving you back rubs."

I could tell she really didn't like having to depend on anyone to do things for her. But she accepted her temporary condition as a patient with grace and dignity. I liked that about her.

I thought maybe we could do it by the fire, but the sofa wasn't quite long enough, and putting the cushions on the floor would have been too low. So we went to Amy's room. Amy's room was still a kind of mysterious, forbidding, feminine territory to me, with its frilly bed cover and its pots of creams and lotions. It was right across the hall from my room, but I'd only ever been in there a couple of times before.

Pamela took off her necklace, and then her sweater. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. She tried to act nonchalant, the way she may have thought that Amy and I would have expected someone our own age to act in such a circumstance. I caught a brief glimpse of her breasts as she lay down on the bed.

I don't really know anything about massage, but anybody can give a back rub. Her skin was smooth and soft, and my firm strokes did seem to bring her a little comfort.

—

The next morning, I made coffee and scrambled some eggs. Pamela came out wearing one of Amy's robes. We wished each other a merry Christmas. After breakfast I asked her again to come with me to the party. It would be a mix of friendly people, some of whom I knew, some of whom I didn't. My friends had assured me that she'd be more than welcome. It would be nice for me to have someone along for the drive. Besides, it was Christmas.

She relented. "I'll have to take a shower, though. I'm pretty sure I can manage, but I'll leave the door open. If you hear a crash, would you mind coming to check if I'm still in one piece?"

I helped her fasten a plastic bag over her bandaged ankle and then left her to it. The shower apparently went well. No major crashes. After she was finished I took my own shower. Then I got dressed and knocked on her door to see if she was ready.

"I'm afraid I need a little help," she said.

She was sitting on the bed, wearing the same skirt, sweater, and necklace as last night, although I noticed she now had on a bra. She had a pair of lacy black panties in her hand. She was quite embarrassed. She couldn't teach far enough to get them on by herself. I held them out so that she could put her bandaged foot through the hole.

"The other way around," she said. Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. I turned them the right way and threaded them over the bandage and up to her knee. Then I looked away as she put her other leg in and tugged them up the rest of the way. I helped her put on her socks and tennis shoes.

The day was brisk, but sunny. The party was delightful, with more than enough good cheer to go around. Pamela seemed to really enjoy herself, and I was glad that she had decided to come. It took a lot out of her though, and we were among the first to leave. It was a long drive home.

It was dark by the time we got to the house, and Pamela was exhausted. She went to the bathroom, and when she came out I asked her if she would like her back rub.

I took off her shoes, and then she took off her sweater and bra and slid off her skirt as well. She seemed only barely aware that I was even in the room. She pulled back the covers before she lay down. I could feel the tenseness in her shoulders, and I tried to knead it gently. I also massaged the small of her back, running my thumbs along the hem of her lacy panties. I was about to run my hands down her thighs and calves as well, but by that time she was snoring lightly, so I covered her and turned off the light.

—

Friday, Boxing Day, dawned dark and rainy, but Pamela was feeling herself again.

"Thanks so much for insisting that I go to the party," she said. "Your friends are really nice. I had a great time, I really did. Goodness, I slept so well that I feel almost back to normal.

"Today's the day I'm supposed to take my bandage off. The first thing I want to do is take a nice, long, hot, bubble bath. Do you think that would be all right?"

Tom's bathroom had an old fashioned claw-foot bathtub. We didn't use it very often, and it was a bit dusty. But a quick rinse took care of that.

Pamela came in wearing Amy's robe. We turned on the tap and put in some of Amy's bubble bath. She sat down and I unwrapped the bandage. The skin underneath was pale, but there was not a lot of swelling.

"How does it feel?"

She stood up and put some weight on it. "It's still a bit tender, but I can stand on it."

When the tub was full, she took off the robe and draped it over the back of the chair. She was naked underneath, and I could see not only her soft round breasts and her perky nipples, but also the soft flare of her waist and hips, her trim pubic hair, the dusky slit of her vagina. She was trying to be aloof, like a patient in front of an attendant.

"So how should we do this?" she asked.

The edge of the tub stood almost three feet off the floor. She couldn't step in with her good leg, and she couldn't step in with her bad one, either.

"Maybe if you sit down on the edge, you can swing your legs in," I suggested.

I helped her sit down. She had trouble twisting her back enough to get a good support with her arms, so I braced her and put my other arm under her legs to help boost them over. Essentially I was holding her, naked, in my arms. When she got her legs into the tub she was able to scoot herself along to the edge and then slide down into the bubbles. She rested her head back and closed her eyes.

I didn't want to leave her unattended, so I sat down on the toilet seat.

"I don't know why I don't take baths more often," she said, without opening her eyes.

"No time, I suppose," I said. "I haven't really taken a bath since I was a kid."

"Hmmm," she replied.

After a long while she picked up the sponge and ran it over her arms. Then she sat up and began to soap her neck and her chest. When she finished I came and sat on the end of the tub. I took the sponge, and she lifted her hair out of the way so that I could soap her back. The bubbles were starting to disappear, and I could see all the way down to the cleft of her bottom.

Then I went and sat toward the other end. "Do you want me to do your feet?"

She reclined back. That brought her breasts down into the water, but the bubbles were too sparse now to hide them completely. She lifted her good leg. I held it by the heel and washed her foot and her toes, her ankle, her calf. I could see down her thigh all the way to the dusky patch between her legs. Then she lifted the sprained leg and let me wash it as well.

I added more bubble bath and more hot water. She closed her eyes again, and I went back to my seat.

"I was thinking about making grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch," I said.

"Ummm," she replied.

I was in no hurry, though.

Finally she roused herself up. She stood up gingerly in the middle of the tub, letting the water and suds rain down from her breasts and her thighs. I wrapped a towel over her shoulders and helped her sit down on the edge again and swing her legs out onto the bathmat. She stood up and dried herself off. Then she took a couple of steps toward the sink and looked at herself in the mirror.

She put down the towel and took up a bottle of lotion. She squirted some in her hand and rubbed it over her shoulder and her arm. Then she applied some to her breasts and her stomach, continuing down to her groin and her thighs, as far as she could reach without bending.

She seemed to have forgotten all about me. Did she just assume that since I lived in a mixed household I was used to female nudity? Or were women who had once been married just less concerned about their privacy?

I took the bottle of lotion and rubbed some on the parts she couldn't reach—on her calves and ankles, on the tops of her feet. I made sure not to let my eyes stray too far from my work.

Then I stood up behind her and rubbed some lotion on her back; down along her spine, down over her butt.

"Thanks, Hector," she said. "I think I can manage from here."

"OK," I said. "I guess I'll go make those sandwiches then."

—

I tried to picture what the rest of the day would be like. Maybe we'd watch a movie together in Tom's room. Then we'd warm up something for dinner. We'd open a bottle of wine. We'd light a fire. It would be time for her back rub. I'd let my hands wander, down over her hips, down over her thighs. I'd lean in and kiss the back of her neck . . .

She came out from the bathroom wearing Amy's robe. She smiled pleasantly as she hobbled down to her room. In a couple minutes she hobbled back, wearing slacks and a blouse. The rain had stopped. The sun was peeking out. The sandwiches were ready.

"I'm really feeling a lot better," she said as we ate. "My back hardly hurts at all." She bent this way and that. "I was able to get dressed"—she gave me a coy, little-girl grin—"all by myself."

"Do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

"I was wondering, do you think we could go over to my apartment for a little bit? I'd like to make sure that everything is OK over there."

"Sure. I don't see why not."

She hobbled back to her room and packed a few things..

—

Her apartment was still there, just as we'd left it. She was able to get around pretty well using a single crutch as a cane. She collected her mail and put it on the entry table. She picked up a bit in the living room. She clumped upstairs and down again. "Piece of cake."

She wanted to try driving her car. It was her left ankle that had been sprained, and she was able to drive without much trouble. We went over to Safeway. She showed me where the accident had happened. We went in and she bought a few things. When we got back to the apartment she put them away in the kitchen and did a little more tidying up. Then she took her traveling bag upstairs.

I didn't really know what to do with myself. I sat down on the couch and listened to her clumping around overhead.

Eventually she came back down and put something in the hall closet.

"I can get around better than I thought," she said. "I was worried about the stairs, but it looks like I can manage pretty well." She looked pleased with herself, more chipper than she had all week.

"So I'm thinking that I'll just stay here tonight."

I hadn't been expecting that. "Are you sure? You're more than welcome to spend another night in Amy's room if you want."

"Thanks, but it feels nice to be back home."

"I could stay here with you tonight, I suppose."

"I think I'll be alright."

I realized that what she was telling me was that she didn't need my help anymore. That it was time for me to go.

"But what about your back rub?"

She didn't answer. Instead she gave me that patient look that women give when you've said something you shouldn't have but they're willing to pretend they didn't hear it.

Had my question really been inappropriate? Hadn't I been giving her back rubs this whole week?

"Hector," she said. Her tone was serious, but sincere.

"This has been the best Christmas I've had in a long time.

"Being with you and Amy, meeting your friends, it made me feel connected. Made me feel . . . like I was a part of things in a way that I guess I haven't been in quite a while. Thank you for that."

It was pretty clear, though, what she really meant. She was drawing the line on any further intimacy between us. She didn't want to hurt my feelings, but I wasn't the one she was looking for. Not even for a one-night stand.

"And thanks too for . . . looking after me, for taking care of me. I couldn't have managed by myself."

In other words, I shouldn't read anything into the fact that she'd allowed me to give her the back rubs and the bubble bath. She'd only allowed it because her incapacitation had made it necessary. If it had given me a little thrill to see her naked, to touch her naked body—well, I could consider that my little thank-you gift. But that was it. She was better now. The normal rules of friends-of-friends propriety were back in effect.