My Irina Ch. 01byohio©
[Author's Note: This is a story in 3 chapters; it unfolds at a rather leisurely pace, so if you get impatient with it please read something else. Several of the ideas here are adapted from Just Plain Bob's wonderful story "The Cruel Joke," though this story as a whole is quite different from JPB's.]
It was at a frat party that it all started; or, rather, that the second, longer chapter started.
It was February 2000, my senior year at Denison University, and I was hurt and angry. Sheila McGraw and I had been dating since sophomore year; we were in love, and the previous November I'd asked her to marry me. She'd squealed with joy and jumped into my arms, right there in the restaurant, as all the couples around us smiled and applauded.
Sounds great, right? She was the girl of my dreams and we'd be spending the rest of our lives together. Except that on the first Saturday in February, I'd borrowed her roommate's key to sneak into her dorm room and leave a present for her. It was a little box, marked "Do Not Open Until Valentine's Day." I wanted her to have the pleasure of anticipation, of having to wait a few days to see her surprise.
Great plan. But the surprise was on me. I opened the door to find Sheila being energetically fucked by Brian Haverson, her lab partner in her Chem class. She had told me she'd be off shopping somewhere, but I guess her plans had changed.
She looked at me, stunned and horrified, over Brian's shoulder as he continued to pump his pimply ass up and down on top of her. After a moment she shrieked and he rolled off her in shock, his hard cock bouncing in the air. Quite a lovely sight, I must say.
"Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to interrupt your shopping." I waved the little box at her. "This was an early Valentine's Day present for you, but I think I've changed my mind." I turned and left, ignoring Sheila calling after me.
That was about two weeks earlier. I'd been alternating between crying alone in my room and being so angry I could kill someone--with Sheila at the top of the list. She'd called me several dozen times and left tearful, apologetic messages, but I wasn't in the least interested.
There simply wasn't a thing in the world she could tell me that would make it all right. She wasn't being raped, that was clear when I walked in the room. And no matter what her reasons were, I had no interest in marrying a girl who could cheat on me two months into our engagement.
Now here I was, standing around at a frat party and wondering what the hell I was doing there. I wasn't much of a frat guy, and while I'd been to a few parties freshman year, hoping to pick up a girl who might want to go to bed with me, I hadn't been back since I first met Sheila. I guess I sort of had the same idea that night, without having much hope of success.
I stood around the keg talking idly to a couple of football players I knew--unlike some of their teammates, they were pretty good students and okay guys--and having a beer or three, or maybe four.
I was beginning to think about leaving, not seeing much chance of picking anyone up, when I heard a commotion in the next room. I looked in to see a group of frat guys standing around, laughing and pointing at a girl in a bright green dress. She was absolutely beautiful, at least from the back. The tight dress showed off her legs, her great ass and her curvy figure, and her straight brown hair gleamed as she shook her head. From this angle she was a knockout!
As I moved towards the room I heard one of the guys say, mockingly, "if she'd only put a paper bag over her head we could all do her!" The others laughed uproariously, while the girl turned away from them, putting her hands up to her face. She seemed to be crying.
I couldn't tell everything that was going on, but it was clear enough that these assholes were making fun of her--why, I had no idea. I moved forward to tell them to shut the hell up, being just drunk enough not to realize what a bad idea that might be (there were six of them and one of me).
"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" I shouted, and they looked over at me without interest. Turning, I reached over to gently take the girl's arm.
"Come with me," I said in a quiet voice. "We'll find a bathroom and you can wash your face." Then I got the biggest shock of my life.
She took her hands away from her face and I got my first look at her. She was frightening--monstrously frightening. Her face had jagged scars running across it, the worst of them going from her forehead diagonally down across her right eye and down her cheek. This made the eye look tilted, and smaller than the other. Worst of all, her nose was unusually short and twisted slightly at the bottom, her nostrils horribly visible.
It was obvious, after a moment's thought, that she must have been in a bad accident. But my reaction was instantaneous and unavoidable--I said, "oh my God!" and stepped back from her, shocked and horrified.
Her expression was a mixture of sadness, hurt feelings, and resignation--I realized right away that she must be all-too-familiar with people's responses when they first saw her. But then she leaned forward, looking more closely at me, and I was stunned to hear her say, "Tommy? Tommy Lawrence?"
I gaped at her. Obviously she knew me, but I had no idea who she was--and I sure knew I had never seen THAT face before.
"It's Irina Adams, from Greenfield!" She was looking at me hopefully--and at the same time cringing a little, as though I would hit her, or run away screaming. She was obviously aware of the effect her face had on people.
"Irina?" I looked more closely, wondering if this could possibly true. I'd last seen Irina when we were both 14 years old, and it was virtually impossible to see my childhood friend behind that terrible, destroyed face.
Then she flung herself on me, hugging me tightly, crying, saying, "it IS you!" as she sobbed on my shoulder. I held her while she trembled and cried in my arms, and when she'd calmed down a little we went and found the kitchen, where I got her a couple of wet paper towels to wash off her face. Then I got us some beers and we headed outside and sat together on the porch of the frat house. I could see that she'd purposely led me to a dark corner, where I wouldn't be able to see her very well.
Irina and I had grown up together in Greenfield, Indiana, as neighbors and best friends. We did everything together: ride bikes, splash around in the stream behind her house, camp out in my back yard in the summer, argue about which TV shows were the best--everything.
As we grew older we did school projects together, gossiped about the kids in junior high, and talked about all the things we'd do when we grew up. We knew without even having to talk about it that we'd always be best friends. And then the summer after 8th grade it ended, suddenly, when her dad took a job in Arizona and her family moved away. We exchanged a couple of letters, and then, inevitably, lost track of one another. I occasionally asked my parents if they had heard from Mr. and Mrs. Adams, but they never had any news.
Now, sitting on a loveseat together on that dark porch, we talked and talked, catching one another up on the last eight years of our lives. Mine was a brief story: finished high school in Greenfield, had a girlfriend or two, came to Denison, majored in electrical engineering, fell in love with Sheila, caught her cheating on me. In four months I'd be graduating and moving to Madison, Wisconsin, where I'd landed a job in a software design company.
Irina's story was longer, and more tragic by far. She'd liked Tucson okay, though she had been lonely at first. Then when she was 15 she and her parents had been in a terrible wreck on the highway, heading for a brief visit to Las Vegas. Irina's kid brother Sam and both her parents had been killed; Irina had been badly injured.
She'd lain in a hospital for weeks while the doctors tried to put her back together. Finally, when she was healthy enough to be moved (except for her ruined face), she was taken in by her aunt and uncle near Sacramento. She did a lengthy rehab, in a hospital and then at their home, before she could go back to school.
"They were great, the doctors. Patient and kind with me. And they were able to fix everything except this--" she gestured to her face.
"Did they, uh, think about plastic surgery?" I felt awkward and embarrassed asking, but I couldn't help myself.
She laughed. "This is after plastic surgery, Tommy! This was the best they could do, if you can believe it. Irina the monster, Irina the girl who scares children and grown-ups alike!" She shook her head.
"But at least I'm alive. I have a life--well, some kind of life. I lost a couple of years of school, so I'm only a sophomore. I wanted to study nursing, but--" she laughed again, "let's just say they suggested that I do something else. Don't want to frighten the patients!"
I squeezed her hand and said nothing. I couldn't begin to imagine what Irina had been through, and what her life was like now. I went and got us two more beers, and we talked on into the night.
"What was going on back in there?" I asked, jerking my thumb in the direction of the frat party. "I came into the room because I heard some assholes making fun of a girl."
"Nothing I'm not used to," she said. "A guy in one of my classes asked me to come to the party with him. We've known each other for a couple of semesters, so he's gotten used to my face and doesn't cringe from it any more. I was stupid enough to think that he might actually like me!
"Anyway, when we got here it was clear he brought me along as the joke of the party--somebody to impress his friends with, you know, win the 'Ugly Girl' Competition or something. Maybe his plan was to get me really drunk and try to fuck me later--I don't have such a bad figure, you know, if you get past the face."
Poor Irina! "You do, actually--have a beautiful figure, Irina. And you look fantastic in that dress."
"Thank you, Tom." She stroked my cheek with one hand. "You were always a kind person, even when we were kids."
I got us some more beer. I couldn't understand why I hadn't run into Irina in the past two years on the Denison campus. But as we talked I realized how much she kept to herself and how little she went out in public--who could blame her, judging from my reaction? She told me about doing her grocery shopping late at night, about wearing a baseball cap low and pulling her hair around her face so her scars were less visible.
And I remembered that I'd vaguely heard some campus gossip about a frightfully ugly girl, though I'd never paid much attention to it. How could I have known it was Irina they were talking about?
Finally--it must have been nearly 3 am--Irina said she was tired, and I volunteered to walk her back to her apartment. "I don't live in the dorms--they couldn't find a roommate who'd live with me!" she said. I stood up, suddenly feeling the effects of the beer, and when I helped Irina stand she wobbled a bit as well. Holding on to one another for support, we stumbled down off the porch and walked away.
"Will you come in for a minute, Tom? Let me show you the place?" Irina asked me as we arrived at her apartment. I was tired and quite drunk but I agreed, and she showed me the tidy little place, with its eat-in kitchen, a little living room Irina had turned into a study, and a single bedroom in the back.
She went into the bedroom to change and in no time I fell fast asleep on her couch. I woke a few minutes later, disoriented, in total darkness. Irina was holding my hand and pulling me up, quietly saying, "Tom, come with me."
She led me by the hand and suddenly we were at her bed, where she gently pushed me down, settling me comfortably on my back, and took off my shoes.
"Irina, what--" I began, confused. She'd turned off every light in the apartment and I could barely see where she was.
"Shh," she said, and moved away from me. I could hear the swishing sound of her robe, and a moment later she was snuggling up against me; I realized she was naked.
She put her finger to my lips. "Please, Tom, make love to me. I've never--done it, and I know you'll be gentle."
"But Irina, I--are you sure this is what you want?"
She took my hand and led it to one of her breasts. I couldn't help clasping it, caressing it, feeling its delicious firmness.
"Tom, I don't exactly get a lot of offers! Please don't say no. I've turned off all the lights so you won't have to--you know, look at me. And you said yourself that my body's not too bad."
I was uneasy, and drunk, and a little confused; but I couldn't see a good reason to refuse her. Irina had been my best friend; and she was hurting; and she did indeed have a fabulous body, part of which was currently filling one of my hands.
I turned towards her and we began to caress one another, slowly and lovingly. The total blackness made it especially pleasurable somehow, as I could concentrate on the sensations of touch and smell and sound, the quiet purrs and moans she made.
We started to kiss--it was a little creepy at first, remembering that horrible face, but her lips felt great--and we really got into it, swapping tongues just the way I had with Sheila and my other previous girlfriends. Irina helped me off with the rest of my clothes.
Once we were naked we lay side by side, my hard cock pressed up against her, while we touched and stroked each other. She adored me licking and sucking her breasts, and she arched her back to get them deeper into my mouth. As I suckled on them I stroked her pussy lips, feeling her heat and wetness; then she suddenly rolled onto her back and said, "now, Tom--come inside me!"
I said, "condom?"
"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head and pulling me on top of her. Within a moment I'd aimed my cock into her and slid inside, encountering no resistance, only the delicious sensation of her tight pussy clasping around me.
"Ohhh," she sighed, sending shivers down my spine. When I was all the way inside her I waited, enjoying how it felt.
"Okay?" I asked, and she nodded against me shoulder, pulling on my hips to get me going.
Irina may have been inexperienced but I wasn't, and I took my time, really wanting to make it good for her. I gave her long, smooth, slow strokes for a while, enjoying the way she moved with me, her hips rising against me, her legs around my thighs, then coming up to circle my waist.
As her breathing quickened I got more excited; I sped up and fucked her harder, faster, and she started to groan rhythmically and then I lost it, and plunged into her at full speed, and she dug her nails into my back as I shot my cum up inside her, feeling her shuddering beneath me. A hot fuck, a great orgasm; and then I relaxed, exhausted, feeling her tired body beneath me.
I gently rolled off her, holding her tight against me. She reached down to pull the covers up over us, and within minutes we were both asleep. I think I remember her quietly saying, "thank you, Tom," into my ear.
When I woke up the sun was streaming in through the window, lighting up part of the bed. The clock said 11:38 and I was alone.
I pulled on my pants and tottered into the kitchen, looking for Irina and thinking about aspirin. Lots of aspirin, and black coffee. There was a note.
I've gone out to the library. I didn't want us to have an embarrassing scene today--you apologizing for taking advantage of me, me trying to reassure you it was just what I wanted.
It was, you know. And it was lovely, and you were nice to me, and I appreciate it so much!
But I wanted to be sure you know that there are no strings, no expectations. Just a friend doing something nice for another friend.
If you feel like getting together let me know--but if not, that's really okay too. I'll understand.
I headed back to my dorm room for the aspirin, grabbing some coffee in the cafeteria on the way. It seemed too weird to stay by myself in Irina's place, and I frankly had no idea how I felt about what we'd done.
Mostly I felt sad--sad for Irina, locked in a world of people who were afraid of her and shunned her. A perfectly normal, bright and kind person, stuck with a face that guaranteed her a life of loneliness.
I called her a couple of days later and we talked, a little awkwardly, for about half an hour. I wanted to make sure she was okay about what we'd done, and she assured me she was. If she had made the slightest suggestion about having sex again I would have been glad to--I had really enjoyed our drunken romp--but she never mentioned it.
We promised one another we'd talk again, maybe go out for a movie or something, and then we got off the phone.
And the weeks passed and I never got around to calling her again. It wasn't guilt, exactly--maybe confusion.
Because she was someone I knew so well--and yet didn't know at all. And I wasn't sure I knew how to be her friend, or even if she wanted me to be her friend. And in the end, I guess I was a bit cowardly. I didn't want to think about how it would be, walking around with her in public, having to endure the stares and the comments right along with her.
Besides, it was my last semester and I had a million things to do before graduation, right? Or so I told myself.
On the 11th of May, about ten days before graduation, I got home to find a message from Irina, asking me to come over that evening if I could. I instantly felt guilty about not having ever taken her to the movies, so I headed over there right after dinner.
She greeted me seriously and I did everything I could not to flinch at her appearance. What must it be like to look at that face in the mirror every morning, I wondered? And know that it's you, and that you'll always look like that?
"Hi, Tom, thanks for coming. Would you like some peach pie? It just came out of the oven--baking is sort of a hobby of mine."
I was going to say no, but it actually smelled fantastic, so I said yes and she brought us two pieces, along with glasses of milk. The pie was incredible, and I told her so.
She thanked me, smiling a little; but then turned serious again and said, "Tom, I'm sorry but I've got to tell you something. I owe you a big apology, actually. I'm pregnant."
I looked at her, goggle-eyed, probably reacting the way untold millions of unlucky guys have reacted over the centuries. "You're--I mean, and--and it's mine?"
She nodded, looking apologetic. "You're the only one I've ever had sex with. The first and only. I'm so sorry."
"But--but we, I thought ... I asked you about a condom, and you said ..."
"I know. We were drunk, and I didn't have any--and to be honest, Tom, I didn't give a damn. I wanted to lose my virginity and I wasn't willing to wait. I was pretty sure it was a safe time of the month, but obviously I was wrong.
"It wasn't fair to you, I know that."
We sat for a few minutes. She looked a little fearful, but I wasn't angry with her. I don't know why not, but I felt--I don't know, quiet inside, and sympathetic. I reached out for her hand.
"What do you want to do? If you're thinking about an abortion, of course I will pay for it."
She shook her head. "I just can't. It's not--I'm not pro-life, Tom, or anything like that. I think women who need to should be able to end their pregnancies. I just know that I can't. I can feel this ... this life, growing inside me, and I just can't end it."
"What about adoption?"
She tried to smile, but I saw tears in her eyes. "Of course I've been thinking about that. But I just ... I can't give my baby away. It'll probably be the only one I ever have, and I--
"I just can't stand the thought of giving it up and then never having a child of my own." She cried a little, looking down at the table.