Never ill Laura laid low.

Friday 14^th November & Saturday 15^th November (Run together.)

We drove up to Dad’s mid-afternoon, well everyone else skives off why shouldn’t we? We stopped at Sedbury Layby at Scotch Corner to give Callie a loo break and pour some tea from our flask. Laura said she was going to get a bacon buttie from the café and did I want one. I declined and asked for a chocolate bar instead.

By the time I got back from stretching Callie’s legs the Lollster was almost through the bacon buttie. She declared it was delicious. I made do with my Double Decker instead. This could be relevant to subsequent events.

Dad was back home when we arrived and the evening meal about half an hour from being ready. I gave Louisa a hand with the veggies whilst Laura whipped round to her Mum and Dad’s to tell them we were here and she’d see them tomorrow.

We had belly pork and veggies and baked apples. It was all delicious. I must admit I ended up giving Callie the fat from my piece of pork (and Laura did the same with hers). This also could be relevant to subsequent events.

I took the pack for their final walk after a night spent avoiding ‘Children in Need’ on the TV. It does drive me mad at the best of times (TV that is) but all the fake bonhomie and insincerity of this night of fun, charitable giving is hideous.

When we retired for the night, we spent some time amusing ourselves with a feather I have in my wardrobe. The erotic potential for such an item is immense and I was able to make Laura have three orgasms in a row by its skilful use, coupled with dextrous fingers and tongue. She gave me reciprocated pleasure too.

Because we had become a little sweaty with our exertions we gave each a flannel wash as we lay on top of the bedclothes. Laura did it to me first and we ended up writhing about once more when her tongue joined in with the flannel in a rather interesting spot. When it was my turn to wield the cloth I was gently getting all her nooks and crannies cleaned when she suddenly went, “OMG!” She sat upright, clutched her stomach and dashed to the en-suite.

From the bedroom I could hear the sounds of someone talking to the big white telephone. I padded in to find my lovely with her arms wrapped about the rim of the toilet chundering for England. She had turned a very pale colour and her face had gone quite greasy and clammy looking. I pulled out some wet wipes from the packet on the shelf by the cistern, and carefully wiped her mouth. She took the wipe from me and finished off what I had started. I was going to kiss her but she said, “Don’t, I will taste foul after all that..”

I asked her if she was OK and what did she think had brought it on? She told me it was my earlier efforts with the feather (etc) which had so jumbled round her insides it wasn’t surprising her tum was in turmoil. She cleaned her teeth, assured me she was alright now, and we climbed into bed. I spent a long time hugging her, with her head against my bosom, stroking her hair between my fingers. We must have gone to sleep like this because a few hours later (1.45 am according to the digital clock’s blue glow) she carefully extracted herself from my arms, slipped form the bed and rushed to the en-suite for a repeat performance.

I got up, took her dressing gown into the en-suite and made her put it on. I then perched on the edge of the bidet and tried to comfort her. She asked for a drink of water, so I toddled off into the kitchen and brought back a tumbler of water. She finished the lot in one swallow and then squatted back hugging the toilet. She ordered me to get back in to bed at once; there was nothing I could actually do and it was stupid both of us getting cold and tired. Before I clambered back under the duvet I sped off down to the utility room and brought up a bucket which I placed on her side of the bed.

I couldn’t sleep. After about half an hour I tiptoed into the bathroom and found the little creature fast asleep across the toilet bowl, I prised her hands from the rim and guided her back to bed, pointing out the bucket by her bedside. I took off her dressing gown she clambered in bed alongside me and snuggled next to me for warmth and comfort. Or I assume that’s why she did it.

Three more times in the night she went for the short walk across my bedroom floor, despite the bucket being by her bedside. At 6am she wasn’t next to me again so I went to the bathroom again to find the door locked. She called through the door, “Don’t come in. I’m poohing. It smells horrible!” When she finally surfaced she was right the odour from inside was dreadful. She did open the little window and left the light on, so the extractor fan was going like billy-o too.

I got up and took the pack up Tallentire Hill. When the pups had been thoroughly dried off and given their brekkers I went to see how my Loll was doing. Just the same. No vomit any more, just Liquid Pickfords from the Pine End. This continued well into mid-morning and then past lunchtime. I had forced a new packet of oral rehydrate down her neck after every visit to the toilet, to try and stem the tide. Laura’s Mum came round to carry out a third degree on why her baby was unwell after I called her to explain why she had not put in an appearance at their place.

The gathered heads all decided (and we were unanimous on this) that she must have picked something up from the bacon buttie at Sedbury Layby. Apart from that we had all eaten and drunk the exact same things all evening, even down to a shared box of cherry liqueur chocolates from Marks & Spencers!

The victim of all this just sat in one of Dad’s reclining chairs, hugging her tummy and wishing out loud, that it would all go away. Molly tried to persuade her to go back home with her but Laura baulked at the idea saying that all her stuff was here at Dad’s and anyway I was looking after her; plus, if she was infectious or anything, going to another house could be simply spreading the infection further still. Molly was forced to see the sense in that, so we all persuaded Laura that going back to bed and having a sleep might be the best solution. I took her upstairs and made her climb into bed again. (She’d put on a pair of my Paddington Bear Pjs by now and looked unbelievably cute.)

I sprawled out on the sofa bed and read some more of my book whilst Laura snored gently.

She refused any food at tea time but said she was feeling a little better although her tummy was really sore. She said she wanted a shower but felt a bit too weak to go and have one, so I suggested a bath instead. She agreed and I went and ran one for her in the family bathroom. (It’s the only bath in the house, TBH. Dad & Louisa’s room has an en-suite, I have an en-suite and there is a family shower room downstairs, next to the utility room. Three showers and only one bath.)

I had made it marginally too hot for her, but with a little addition of cold she climbed in and had a soak. I went and made a cuppa for both of us (she asked for another glass of water instead, when I got back) and then I proceeded to gently wash her. We have done this before and it has often turned into quite an erotic experience. On one occasion a full clothed Yours Truly, was pulled into the bath by a highly turned on Laura and we made love in the bath. Today was different. Yes, I could feel the frisson as I washed her carefully with the loofah mit and sponge; being careful not to hurt her delicate little places by over vigorous rubbing. Inappropriate or not, I could feel myself getting really wet as I washed her.

Drying was done initially in the bathroom and then we repaired to my room again, where she lay on the bed on a clean fluffy towel and I finished drying her off. She made me sit next to her when we’d finished and she slid her fingers under my skirt and into my panties. “I thought so…” she said. And despite the fact she must have been feeling extremely weak and tired she used her fingers and thumb to give me an orgasm. It was so lovely that she had sensed what I was feeling even though I was trying to be clinical and detached, like a dispassionate nurse doing her duty. I should have stopped her, but the feel of her hand on my knee and then my thigh made all sensible thoughts disappear.

I helped her into my Eeyore Pjs this time and within a few minutes she had dozed off again. Before she drifted off into the land of nod she put her fingers into her mouth and said, in a disappointed tone, “Mmm…. I can’t taste you on these at all. Pity that. I love the way you taste!”

I spent the rest of the evening doing a shuttle service up and down the stairs replenishing water and trying (unsuccessfully) to get her to eat a little something. I stayed on the sofa bed and Laura slept on and off. As though being endowed with sensitivity (for a change) Dad said he’d take Callie for her walk at the end of the day with his three. As Loll was away in a deep sleep at this time (10.45 pm), I said I would go with him. We went up to the bench on Tall Hill and sat down to look at the lights and the stars in the (surprisingly) clear sky. He came out with something along the lines of, you only know how much you love someone when they are ill and you have to look after them. I whacked him on the arm and asked him, “Who are you and what have you done with my Dad?”

We had a good giggle at that and he pretended to be insulted that I thought he wasn’t a caring, lovey dovey type of person. He told me that if I ever become a parent I will see that even more with my children. Although it is irrational, the thought you might lose the thing you care for most strengthens the bond between you.

Mmm…. Dad getting philosophical on me? That is a new one. This could be quite scary. I don’t want a new Dad, I want the old irreverent, devil may care, make a joke out of everything Dad. Perhaps it’s the thought that he’s about to become a father again 27 years since I came along that has made him think seriously again. I hope for the new baby’s sake she gets the same Dad that I had. A new philosophical, serious Dad would be no fun at all. Although, of course, the baby will know no difference. He will simply be her Dad and that’s that!

Sunday 16^th November

Laura managed a full night’s sleep, at least, if she woke up in the night she didn’t wake me in the process. She also said she felt quite a lot better. Her tummy still felt a little tender but, all in all, she thought the worst might be passed. Phew! She could even face a slice of plain, unbuttered toast this morning for breakfast and then we both strolled down to Molly and Eric’s so that Molly could see she was on the mend for herself. We stayed there for a good three hours gossiping and catching up on all our bits of news. Laura does Skype her Mum at least twice a week but there is always so much more you can think of to say face to face, isn’t there?

We hit Dad’s just in time for lunch, which Laura merely nibbled at, so we were given a red cross parcel of some of the breast meat and a leg (it was roast chicken) to take back home for our lunch tomorrow.

Dad and Louisa will be driving down from Lancaster tomorrow, they are planning on getting to ours in the late afternoon and then they will go for a take away from the local Chinese restaurant for our evening meal. Laura will be tutoring Trevor (as usual) and I have moved Olivia to Monday to free up our Bryan Adams night.

We drove back down at about 3.30 so it would just be going dark when we got home. When we pulled up Laura decided she was hungry after all and ate a huge chicken salad sandwich. I had a less enormous one and then we settled down for a cuddle on the sofa in front of our recorded Montalbano episode from Saturday night. Laura didn’t see the end as she fell asleep.

I decided an early night would be good, so after a swift walk with Callie we were in the charp by 10.15.

I did wake up with a terrible stomach ache in the night. I was seized with dread that I might have caught whatever Laura had had, however a glug of Gaviscon from the bottle seemed to settle things no end. I did wake up in the morning with dreadful wind though! Laura thought it was highly amusing.