She opened the apartment door for me and took off her leather jacket inside. I unzipped and peeled off my hoodie.
"I'll get the alcohol," she said.
I kicked off my shoes and then joined her in the bathroom. I sat on the toilet seat and let her position my head for the best light to inspect my bloodied lip. I noticed a very slight cut on her own lower lip.
"It's not too bad," she said, delicately pressing around it. She dabbed it with a cotton ball wet with alcohol. I flinched at the initial sting. After a few dabs, she set it aside and began lifting my t-shirt. "Let's check you out."
I lifted my arms as best I could, at the moment, and let her pull the shirt over my head. She ran her fingers over my back, as she looked for any wounds, and then inspected my front.
"You know, it's been a long-time fantasy of mine to have a beautiful woman treat my battle wounds."
She smiled. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't imagined it, myself." She paused. "But it was a guy treating MY battle wounds."
"Oooh. Interesting. You do have a little cut on your lip, you know."
"It's nothing. Didn't even bleed," she said, almost disappointed. "I don't see anything. Any place sore?"
"Something jabbed me here," I said, lightly rubbing the front of my shoulder. "Not sure if it will bruise, though."
"Nothing there now," she affirmed. "Let's see those ribs." I moved my arms out of her way. "Does this hurt," she asked, lightly moving her fingers over my ribcage.
"No. Feels good."
She smiled a little. "How 'bout this?" She pressed just a little harder.
"Still mostly nice," I said.
"Probably just bruised, then, " she assured. "There's blood on your pants," she said in a more concerned tone. "And a hole."
"I think something sharp in the trash stabbed me a little."
"Stabbed you 'a little'? Stand up." I stood and she began unbuckling my belt. I began to feel a little aroused, but I kept my mind on other things.
Unbuttoned. Unzipped. She lowered them, and herself with them. I lifted my feet one at a time so she could set my pants aside, out of the way.
She lifted her eyes to where the wound was located, and I could see the realization in her eyes that it was behind my boxer briefs, very near my crotch, and that there was only one way that she could properly inspect it.
She looked me in the eyes and stood up. Stared a moment, then took my hand and led me into the bedroom.
She turned on the light and positioned me at the foot of the bed, facing away from it.
Her hands on my shoulders, she kissed my lips, then my shoulder. My chest. My stomach. Her hands traveling with her, and she lowered herself into a kneeling position.
She slid her hands down my thighs and back up to my hips. She kissed just above the waistband. Just below the waistband. A bit lower. As if to meet her half way, my arousal surged.
She set a prolonged kiss on my bulge, and another slightly shorter one further down.
She looked me in the eyes, briefly, then focused on her task of slowly peeling down my underwear.
When my trimmed hair was uncovered, she paused and ran her fingers through it a moment. She pulled the band down far enough further to expose my first couple of inches from my base and kissed it.