Chapter 2: The Next Morning

When I woke up in the morning I could only lay there for a few moments enjoying the relaxing presence of this soft and warm sleeping girl in my bed ... although she was resting on one of my arms which was beginning to develop pins and needles. I had clearly very happily spooned with Kay-Lynn during what was left of the night, so rather than being the next morning it was just later that same morning. It must’ve been getting on for half past four by the time we eventually showered separately and retired to bed together, both of us exhausted by the events of the evening.

Now the time was ... and I had to swivel my head around to see the time. It was only twenty to nine, that’s just over four hours’ sleep. Definitely not enough for me, I normally had at least six hours’ beauty sleep most of the time. There was nothing normal for last night and this morning.

Through habit over many years I had always regarded sexual activity as something that was most comfortable indoors and under the covers of a bed if it was chilly, or on top of a bed if it was warm; always from start to finish as a fully awake exercise to be ended at the satisfactory conclusion for both participants with a hug and kiss goodbye before the sexual partners parted to go back to their own beds in their own abodes to sleep alone and therefore in the comfort I was accustomed to.

That dating process has always left me looking towards to the joyful comfort of sleeping alone, an indulgence that I had always enjoyed, forever. As I was an only child I never even shared a room with siblings and even during my time spent in private schools I was always a day boarder, going home to sleep in my own bed at night. Even during my most promiscuous late teen years I never ever stayed overnight with a sexual partner.

So the thought of sleeping in with someone had seemed to me to be uncomfortable at best and rather gross at worst and was therefore never to be experienced by choice. Therefore my bed activities were strictly segregated, sex in the bed together, great; sleep together afterwards or even instead of sex, no, not so great. In my case, it was usually ‘wham-bam, thank-you man, now find your own bed to lie in’.

Maybe this sleeping alone preference stemmed from my bed activity partners being, over most of my adult life, rather hard-bodied angular types of men and not at all the kind of bedfellows I would feel comfortable enough with to actually cuddle up to and sleep close to. Now I suddenly discovered someone soft like Kay-Lynn offered a different perspective that appealed more to me now, particularly this morning, than I ever thought possible. And we hadn’t even had sex, we had merely cuddled as if we were young children.

However much I would’ve loved to leave her to sleep on undisturbed, I had an increasing compulsion to throw up and knew that I’d have to move quickly to avoid an embarrassing mess that would not be at all nice to wake up to.

Kay-Lynn was lying firmly on my arm and I was soon trying to move my arm to drag clear of her sleeping form with minimal disturbance. My movements immediately upon waking were already making me gag on rising bile so I had to pull the rest of my arm out quickly and run hot foot to the en-suite loo, clutching a hand clamped to my mouth to prevent premature leakage. I only made it with barely a second to spare. In my haste I had left the en-suite toilet door wide open so my violent vomiting inevitably disturbed the sleep of my beautiful bed partner.

Soon, I sensed that she was standing in the doorway while my throat was still trying to bring up burning acid bile, all my stomach had had in it since I hadn’t consumed anything other than Harrogate Spa water since late the previous afternoon when I had attempted to satisfy my hunger with some scrambled egg on toast.

“Are you alright, Drew?” she asked gently from the doorway of the en-suite.

“I’m really not as sick as I probably sound, Kay-Lynn,” I replied between retches, “I’ve been feeling a little bit queasy and even physically unwell in the mornings shortly after waking for a little while now. It is almost becoming a normal thing for me lately.”

“Drew, it shouldn’t be a normal thing for anyone, especially a man, to be so sick in the morning,” she said in what I imagined was her trainee nurse voice reserved for particularly troublesome patients like me, “and I know for a fact that you didn’t touch any of the delicious snacks last night either, so there should be nothing at all in your stomach but the water you were drinking. I think maybe you need to check with your doctor and ensure that whatever the underlying cause of these bouts of sickness is treated before it becomes more serious.”

“I hate to worry my doctor over such a trivial little thing like this.”

“But big problems usually start with little ones that refuse to go away. Unless they are treated properly or at least diagnosed to find out what causes it so you can avoid whatever those causes are. Now you need to be a big grown-up boy and see your doctor and tell him that this is not a one-time thing but persisting over ... how many days, Drew?”

“Ah, a few weeks I think.” I admitted. I was in an embarrassing and situation leaning over a toilet on my knees and felt vulnerable enough to tell her at least some of the truth.

“Drew, you really do need to see your doctor, and you have to do that today otherwise another weekend will be wasted and your symptoms could get so bad that you will inconvenience your doctor even more if he has to attend to you as an emergency at home. Now, please do as you’re told. It’s already almost 9am, so the surgery will be open shortly. Get yourself showered and dressed, clean your teeth and use mouthwash so your mouth is minty fresh when we kiss ‘good morning’ and we’ll get you all appointmented up with your GP. I guess that we’ll probably even have time to see the girls for a late breakfast, if you feel up to it at all.”

“Ok, Mum, you win,” I managed to say sarcastically as I got up from kneeling on the bathroom floor, the fruitless retching having mercifully come to an end.

“Look, I’m not on my next 12-hour shift at the hospital until tomorrow night,” she reminded me, “so, if you want me to hold your hand I will happily go with you to ensure you see your doctor this side of the weekend. You really do need to take care of yourself, Drew.’

“Because I’m not getting any younger, my dear?”

“None of us are getting any younger, honey, no matter how you try to turn the clock back, and even fit, rather attractive-looking men sometimes get sick and just need to take care of themselves and pay heed to a little bit of good intentioned advice. I know I’m right and you know I’m right too. Right?”

“Right, honey.” I agreed, “now beat it while I shower and get changed.”

“Okay. Let me kiss you on the cheek ... ow! you’re so prickly!’

“Sorry, I have to groom my beard every day or my face ends up like sandpaper.”

I have a sort-of goatee and moustache with cheeks and throat shaved and the beard mostly covering my chin and a narrow band along my jawline. I may sound rather boastful, narcissist even, but I am proud of my looks, and I put in a lot of effort to maintain the impression of being fit and healthy. I am tall, 6ft 3 as I’ve said before; I have dark hair and need to shave daily (twice daily if I am going out in the evening) as my beard is so dark that I can look quite menacing if I allow a two- or three-day weekend growth around my well-shaped partial beard. So I maintain a smart appearance and dress well, always ensuring that I am well groomed with a short cropped beard which I shape regularly and also try and keep my body hair to a minimum.

“Your cheeks are prickly yet the rest of your beard is soft,” she observed as she stroked my chin hairs and compared it to my cheeks.

“When it’s a centimetre long or so my beard is quite soft but new growth coming through around my cheek, jawline and throat tends to be scratchy, not only for you but I can feel it being uncomfortable too.”

I have always been conscious of my body, I have been increasingly concerned that even though I can’t seem to keep food down lately, I have appeared to be putting on weight. I even feel heavier than my actual weight. I had to admit to myself that I had felt under the weather for a few weeks, judging it to be a symptom of the approaching winter months. But being forced to reconsider how long I had felt like this I could maybe extend ‘a few weeks’ to a couple of months. In addition I had been obsessed with doing more work in my home gym to counter a feeling that my body was getting soft and displaying the beginnings of a beer belly. And I don’t even drink beer!

Kay-Lynn had remarked on my “beer belly” even though the rest of my body is fit due to three tough sessions a week in my home gym, and the fact that I was sick this morning and have admitted to her that I was being sick most mornings for more than a month or so and that was why I was only drinking water at the club and had cut out alcohol and fatty processed foods completely for a couple of weeks and had intensified my gym work on my abs.