His Control

Aisle Six

The following week had past with blissful ease. Work had been uneventful, I managed to complete my chores without any unforeseen occurrences. I was beginning to think that perhaps I had made the right decision.

Saturdays had become my favourite day to work. This Saturday was no exception. It was bright and sunny outside, the morning was fresh and the work though physical, bought a healthy sheen of sweat to my brow. There was an ache in my arms, it felt good, the ache you get after working solidly for a few hours.

The only problem I was having was the reaction I seemed to get on my forearms from working with the plants.

I was itching like crazy.

Apparently my skin didn't like the rough contact, nor the little spines from the leaves on the plants. My forearms had become red with welts, rising up from just below my elbow, down to my little finger . The itching was driving me mad. I had tried the barrier creams provided to see if perhaps that would be enough to ward off the effects, but it seemed now the plants were fully grown, the only answer was to wear long sleeves to prevent the contact on my skin.

It was a little frustrating. The glasshouses were hot. Any extra clothing was going to add to the discomfort. To make matters worse, my thighs were inevitably heading down the same road as my forearms. Although they received far less contact with the brushing of the leaves, from now on I would most likely need to working in long pants rather than shorts.

Hot sweaty and frustrated I sat back on my picking platform and began to rub my arms. The picking platforms were rather cumbersome pieces of essential equipment. Each consisted of three steps leading up on to the platform that stood about waist height. The platform itself was 1500mm long and about 700mm wide so room to safely stand and pick from. There was an under platform shelf to curry buckets and secateurs and the whole construction was mounted on wheels so that the platforms could be closely moved up and down the aisles as the picker progressed. We spent our days mounting the platform, picking and pruning, descending, moving the platform all the row, tending to the lower level of the plants and remounting the platform in its new placement.

I was halfway down the 6th row and it was coming up to morning tea time. I sat there, bottom on the platform and feet on the second step scratching my arms.

"I've been looking for you" I looked up to see Him striding down the aisle towards me.

Gosh I'm sorry I'm just so itchy today I had to stop and check my arms" I tried to explain as I blushed furiously at the thought of getting caught slacking off so early in the day.

He stood patiently at the bottom step staring at the obvious redness on my arms.

" let me see you arms" He ordered reaching for my left arm. He lifted my arm by the elbow bending my arm slowly so my forearm faced towards Him.

"How long has it been like this" He questioned.

"Well actually it's been a while" I confessed "though it is definitely the worst it's been in a long time" I added. " It's not so bad really, just very itchy"

"Perhaps you have an allergy?" He murmured. "I hate to see your beautiful young skin looking so tortured." Slowly He rubbed His hand gently over my forearm. "Perhaps some ice might help we can try at morning tea." He offered