New Beginnings

I wondered then what Daryl had been thinking all those times he had shared Kyle's room. His comment about wanking to the image of me nursing Ellie was fresh in my mind. I tried to remember if I had always managed to keep a mummy voice as I called it when James made love to me on those nights.

When he appeared in the door way of the kitchen he seemed the perfectly respectable young neighbour that he had always been. His grey track suit and white t-shirt though did little to hide the god-like body beneath and more to accentuate it. "Smells good," he proclaimed. "But then again you always were the best cook." As if considering it all he inquired, "So if I follow the rules, do I get cookies?"

I could not help laughing, "Yes...on Sundays as always." Thinking that I had not made home-made cookies since James' died, but perhaps it was time to change that as well.

His smile was huge as it broke across his dark face, "Then even more reason. I'll finish up here. You go wake Ellie." Why did he keep asserting his control even in little things I wondered?

The rest of the morning went smoothly. Ellie and Daryl chatted over breakfast as I straightened the kitchen. I had forgotten in my pain and self-inflicted isolation that before James' death Ellie had been such an outgoing little girl. Had I perhaps harmed her emotionally by holding so tightly these last few months?

We did argue once again in the hall as Ellie ran upstairs to get her book bag. Daryl insisted that I add him to the list of people approved to pick her up from school. I felt cornered as if by doing so I crossed some line and in some way recognised our newly changed relationship. But in the end his practicality won out, recognising that if I or her uncle were not available Daryl was one more resource available to help out.

But his smile was cool and controlled as he shooed Ellie out the door and patted my arse this time instead of slapping it. "I owe you one...when we get back from school," he promised. I laughed realising that it probably would not end with one.

***

The pain receding slowly I decided to try a different tactic: tears. Although the tears were real enough considering the ripping pain shooting through my grotesquely swollen belly. "Please...Daryl...I can't take anymore. I want to go to the hospital." I pleaded.

Logically as a midwife I knew of course that I was deep in transition; that our son would be born soon. But let me tell you, it is very fucking different when it is your body that is being torn apart in pain. All the knowledge in the world does not make a hill of beans, no matter how many hundreds and thousands of births you had attended. It fucking HURTS.

Making it even worse our son seemed as stubborn as his father with his head turned so that the hard back of his skull faced my own back bone. They called it posterior or sunny-side up, but it almost always resulted in this slow and excruciatingly painful labour.

Pressing the heels of his palms deep into my back as he tried in vain to relieve a bit of the pain with counter-pressure, "I know, but you said that you wanted a natural birth. Remember the Odent series?"

I pushed vainly away then trying to get out of the birth pool; to make my own way to the hospital if I had to. "I don't fucking care about that god damned book. I want this baby out now."

Marge, who was both the head midwife at the hospital where I had worked for five years and a close friend, intervened then; much as I would have in the same situation...if I actually had a brain instead of just a throbbing uterus, raging hormones and a smug arse of a husband. But I forget: we haven't gotten that far have we?

Perhaps trying to defuse the tension, Marge bent her greying head forward and suggested, "Let's stand up for a minute, Elizabeth. I want to check his heart rate."

I hated, absolutely positively deplored, the fact that there was no way in hell I could manage to stand on my own then. I turned back towards Daryl stubbornly refusing to look in his dark eyes as I felt his huge arms easily lift my not inconsequential weight from the warm water.

"Alright I don't need to tell you this is going to be cold," Marge said as she applied the jelly to my belly.

He brushed a kiss across my closed lids, his voice heart-breakingly soft, "OK, Lizzie, if that's what you want, we'll go to the hospital. I have never wanted to hurt you."

Dammit, dam him all to hell. Why did he always do that? Change the rules on me without warning? Gritting my teeth as I almost fell back if not for Daryl slowly lowering me back into the warmth of the pool as another fucking contraction hit and I slipped into my safe reserve of memory.

Chapter Three

After that morning things had gone swimmingly well: in that my cunt seemed to always be swimming in my own juices that is. For over two months, I had quite simply managed to have it all. The normal routine of my little world safe and uninterrupted: work, Ellie and extended family. And no one was any the wiser to the young African god that crept into my bed, often.

No one ever guessed about the early morning fucks that keep me smiling. Esther and Mary both seemed perfectly content with Daryl's explanation that he owed it to me to help out when he could. Of course they had no idea exactly HOW he was helping out. He helped me out of my clothes...into the bed...and the couch...hell, even the kitchen counter top.

Of course, he was more than judicious in other practical help as well. He actually took over picking Ellie up from school on his way home from university. He insisted it was the least he could do, since he would keep me up late at least two sometimes three mornings each week...a quickie before class he would assert helped him to focus more...and me to sleep better. I could not deny that logic.

Hell, he even helped put on the Halloween party for the kids on the estate. A task James had repeatedly refused to budge upon. He had lugged stuff around, climbed on ladders to hang decorations and even managed to break up a fight between some of the older boys before things got out of control. It really was the best Halloween party ever.

Once or twice a week he would even manage to convince Mary that she needed a break and took over Ellie's care when I went to work. Those mornings when I came home were often the best. Until the Monday morning before my big American Thanksgiving that was.

My night had been shit. Too many women...too many babies...and way too many interventions and complications. As I opened the door to my flat I was wondering why I stayed with NHS. Why did I not just quit and begin an independent practice? More than one of my peers had successfully made that transition. But then again they were not single parents with a young child to raise alone.

Ever since I had read Michele Odent's book Birth and Breastfeeding I had increasingly questioned the advisability of many of the procedures we performed routinely. Why did something as natural as the act that began it need to be monitored and wired and timed? But I was way too tired to deal with great philosophical debates of my profession at the moment.

I climbed the stairs performing what had become my routine: checking on my little angel before dealing with a certain big devil. I had bought a new bed; despite everyone's protest that there was nothing wrong with the old one, not even five years old yet. But I was not about to explain my reason to anyone.

Lest of all the buff duvet hog that took up almost the whole damned thing. He had been the one with Kyle to lug the thing up the stairs. Of course once he had assembled the damned thing he had unceremoniously bounced upon it; grabbing me and demanding that it needed to be broken in. Of course, since it was Sunday dinner that had to wait, but it was well worth the wait.

This morning though I was in no mood and that was saying something I was always in the mood or could easily be gotten into it. I wanted to drop into bed: alone. And just sleep. Sleep until all the worries simply fell away: no caesareans, no ringing phones, no paperwork, no bills...nothing except sleep.

Slipping into my room, I divested myself of clothes. Trying very carefully not to awaken the sleeping bull, I sought the far corner of the bed. But it was not to be, Daryl rolled so that his arm was slung across my chest pinning me as his large dark hand moulded my breast. He scooted over invading my space to snug his rough face against my neck. "Good morning, my luv," he slurred still mostly asleep.

I was edging for a fight anyway as I shoved his arm off me. "Dammit Daryl, why do you have to take up the whole fucking bed?"

That woke him up, he shook his braids as he cleared his eyes and focused, "PMSing are we, Lizzie?" Of course he was right; my period was due the next day. But the very fact that he knew and actually was aware of such mundane facts of my life infuriatingly reminded me of how this young African god had insinuated himself into every area of my life.

"Why don't you go home and let me sleep in peace?" I spat with venom born only of hormones.

Instead he simply slid the arm that had been pinning me to the bed lower and lifted my thigh. This position left me open and vulnerable as he guided his cock into my cunt without warning. I changed my mind. I could be gotten into the mood even today I thought as a strong orgasm began at my toes and soon spread all over my body.

His hips surging and circling slowly, "How about I fuck you silly and leave you to sleep it off while I get Ellie ready and take her to school?" he offered as an alternative.

I arched my head back against his too broad chest as he surged forward into me even deeper. I closed my eyes and mind just feeling for once; refusing to analyse each move or motive. His hand came up to grasp and massage my tit as he shifted his weight just enough so that the angle of penetration allowed him to go even deeper. Mind you the spoons position we were in was supposed to be for more shallow penetration, but then again there was nothing shallow about Daryl.

As always I turned my face into the pillow biting to muffle out my cries, lest we wake not only Ellie but our families. We had been doing so well about keeping my rules, especially number one. I was not about to spoil it now by screaming at the top of lungs as I came hard.

Rules? Fuck...rule two. Trying to focus, I realised of course that things happened way too fast this time for Daryl to be obeying that rule: condoms. "Daryl, please we have to stop for a minute," I plead.

Nuzzling my neck he whispered, "You know you don't want me to stop, luvy." His hips drove a tad deeper although I knew he was still playing around more than anything; less than half of his impressive cock was buried in my wet pulsating white cunt.

"Daryl, the condoms are next to the bed," I plead breathlessly. Knowing it was more about keeping the situation and Daryl under control than it was about contraception at this point.

"Why? I can't get you pregnant now." Since when did he become the fucking expert in conception and birth, I asked myself. But I was distracted very quickly by the steady and deep thrusting of his unbelievably hard black cock inside of me.

I almost whimpered; idiot that I am when he withdrew. But I was not disappointed for long as he flipped me onto my back and towered over me. His hard dark cock rubbing against the creamy pale skin of my soft stomach was almost a powerful enough image to make me cum again. He continued to rub it slowly back and forth as he bent forward to kiss my lips, even slower and deeper.

He drew back then, "Do you really want anything between us this morning?" Using the tip of his cock as if it were a pen he slowly wrote a massage down my stomach towards my dripping cunt. I knew that the wet trail he left contained my cunt juices as well as his thick creamy white pre-cum.

Holding the head of his weapon just at the opening of my too wet pussy, he waited until I could no longer resist the urge to look into his face. "Remember how good it felt that first time when I came inside you." Circling the head at the entrance slowly, "Over and over and over again," he teased.

Stopping and looking deep into my green eyes, he challenged, "Is that what you want, Lizzie?" His cock moved up until its unbelievably soft tip brushed back and forth across my throbbing clit, "Is this what you need?" he whispered roughly before surging forward to bury several inches in me once more. Growling, "Because I do!" as his hips took up some ancient pounding beat. The drums of my repeated orgasms pounded in my ears.

I whimpered and thrashed my head against the pillow as I fought for control and reason. I tried desperately not to give into his overpowering will and sexuality. But in the end I quickly lost our little battle of wills as he once more lifted my pale legs over his dark shoulders. Burying his cock deeply and using that tight arse of his to power small circle that soon had me clawing at the sheets and biting my lips as one orgasm rolled into the other.

I was honestly not sure how much more of the pleasure I could take. Although I had heard about women who fainted during sex, it was not on my do-list of sexual variety. And at that moment I was very afraid I might.

But Daryl was not about to let me escape that easily. Holding his whole body very still as he flexed his cock back and forth using only his arse muscles, he reached forward with his hands cupping my face gently and whispered, "Some rules are made to be broken every now and then," he pronounced as if that settled everything.

Using his considerable weight then to lean forward until my knees virtually touched my ears, a position I could never acquire in yoga, he pushed slowly and steadily into me. His dark black eyes never left my face. I had to close my eyes then; the vision of this young African god was too much as I came once more. But this time, my orgasm triggered his as I felt him tremble over me. His cock spurted hot cum out over and over again as he had taunted earlier that it would. It seemed like forever, but was probably only a couple of moments.

He easily rolled then so that I was splayed across his dark chest. Normally I would get hot all over again at the site of my blondish-brown hair spread out across his deep coffee skin and my straight hair entangling with the shorter much coarser hair on his chest, but the warm wet spreading between my thighs and dripping down my leg did anything but got me in the mood at that moment.

Daryl might think that rules were made to be broken but my whole carefully balanced universe depended on keeping those rules. As I struggled to bring my boiling temper under control, he flared it even more, "So I thought I could play co-host on Thursday and help out a bit."

Leaning up so that I met his dark stare squarely, "What makes you think that?"

Brushing my hair back from my face, "Lizzie, I just thought it was about time we started letting people know about us," he announced as if that made any sense.

"Well I don't. You think because I let you bend Rule two, you can break the most important rule of all?" I was on a roll now. "Well get the fuck out. We had this conversation two months ago and nothing has changed. I am not losing my friends and family...over cock!" I refused in my angry to acknowledge what I saw then. "Cock? Is that all I am to you, Lizzie? Any cock will do. Good enough to fuck but not to care about," he accused.

Hearing the sting in those words as he spat them back at me, I felt as if my words needed just a bit of explanation, "I didn't say that Daryl. You know I care about you. I always have," I began.

"Save it, Lizzie. I don't need a mother. I have one of those. And just so you know I never saw you that way to begin with: well at least not as my mother," he explained somewhat dejectedly as he brushed my naked body aside and got up out of bed.

He grabbed his clothes from the foot of the bed, "You are probably right, Lizzie. I should get the fuck out."

Reaching for the duvet that he had carelessly tossed at the foot of the bed I clutched it about myself. Nodding as I fought back tears, my mind tossed between the need to call him back and the realisation that this was doomed to end this way from the beginning.

Somehow I got up that morning showered and dressed. I got Ellie ready for school, gave her breakfast and took the familiar walk. But it was a numbness that I was all too familiar with, an emptiness of loneliness, one day stretching out after the other...all the same. I went home then and crawled into sheets that still smelled too much of sex. I tossed and turned restlessly until I fell asleep at last.

***

I was crying again now as I slipped back into the ever-damming present. Marge held out a glass of apple juice to me. "Drink this," she commanded as firmly as I myself would have.

I sipped obediently as I leaned for all my strength against Daryl's strong shoulders. "Alright, we have some options to consider here." Her tone was a bit more reassuring as she began, "I have read your little white paper and heard all your arguments against them, Elizabeth. But I think if there was ever a time to check how far dilated you are, this is it. I think if you are as close, as we both know you are, you will find the strength to go on." Shaking her head then, "And if you have stalled, well we will talk about that too."

Leaning his head against my shoulder in the birthing pool, "Please Lizzie, listen to her."

I bit my lip, a nasty little habit of mine as I considered what Marge suggested. I admitted it; not the least of my objections was the fact that no matter how gently done: internal exams hurt like a son of a bitch. But in the end I agreed.

Grabbing onto Daryl's shoulder until my fingers left white impressions in his dark skin, "You ain't going anywhere, buddy."

"I wouldn't think of it, luvy," he replied tightening his hold beneath my arms as Marge gloved up.

Chapter Four

I bit my lip until blood appeared. "Good news...eight centimetres and negative one station," Marge pronounced.

I whimpered, "Ten and negative two would have been better." I hated that my voice sounded as whiny as Ellie's four year old one.

Marge realist that she was simply nodded, "I said good, not great." She looked at both me and Daryl, "So do you still want that hospital?" I choose the easy path then: closing my mind off once more as I rode the intense pain.

***

Thanksgiving sucked. I actually considered cancelling it. I am sure that I could have begged off what had become a neighbourhood tradition by making excuses about not this year. But it was also about keeping our American culture alive for my own children.

My oldest son David was in Scotland working on his PhD in history, but he had already purchased the train ticket. He said he was bringing someone home this year. He almost always did; several friends usually. But it was the way he said it this time that made me pause. I suppose I had to realise that at twenty-three, he was a man and not the tow-headed little boy I had raised.

Kyle was bringing several of his friends from university as well. I was sure there would be at least a couple of girls among the group; there always were with him. Even though he went to university just across the river in the south side of London, he had chosen to live on his own since his first year. Well not on his own, he shared the flat with two other students.

Of course, I suppose Ellie was the main reason I celebrated Thanksgiving. Although she had been born in the US, we had moved when she was just a small baby. She knew virtually nothing of this other side of her heritage, as was evident by her increasingly distinct British accent. So I made the effort to bring American holidays to her: a Fourth of July barbeque and the traditional Thanksgiving feast, replete with over 30 people stuffed into our tiny reception and kitchen.