Susan: A Story

There were tears streaming down her face now, small rivers of them and that's when it all came together for me: her words, my churning of their meaning, her reaction, the emerging realization and finally, recognition: "You're pregnant ... with my child?"

She sat back almost triumphantly — I had finally figured it out — her cheeks glistening with tears, her eyes now glowing with joy, but I was looking at the food stuck to her left nipple when I said, finally with full understanding, "You're going to have MY baby?"

But she didn't answer me. Instead, she shot forward again, this time when she planted her elbows beside her plate her breasts banged into the side of the table, "But you don't deserve it. You come into my life, make me love you, kick me in the teeth, fuck off and never call me."

"But when you found out why didn't you call me?"

"Oh, no you don't, you're not going to start pinning the blame on me: you walk in here, impregnate me, then fucked off and you expect ME to track YOU down, not bloody likely. I don't need you to have this baby. You've done your part, thank you very much. I'm not asking you for anything. I can afford it, I want it and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it."

Oh, no you don't. "What do you mean there's nothing I can do about it. That fucking kid's half mine."

Defiance flashed again into her eyes, "You don't deserve it."

"And you do?"

"Your damn right I do and I'm going to be the best goddam mother in the history of this fucking planet. So you can just catch a flight back to your precious Calgary and blow us off again, like you've blown us off for the past three months."

This was hurting. "I didn't know you were pregnant, for God's sake!"

"How could you know, you were too busy ignoring us."

I noticed it was now 'us,' not me. "Ya, maybe I was," I admited, because I had to, "but I'm here now, aren't I. And I told you why I'm here, I told you that I want YOU even more than I want kids ...," then I felt a kind of hopelessness and I slumped back in the chair defeated.

"Do you?"

I looked up at her, "Do I what?"

"What do you mean, 'do I what?'" she barked at me, "Do you want me?"

"Of course I want you. I've told you that. That's why I'm here." I felt a tinge of hope.

When she hesitated I could feel my hope was growing, "Well, then say it."

"Say what?"

Now she slumped back in her chair, "Oh, for God's sake."

I couldn't figure out what she wanted, so I took a flyer. I leaned forward and said as sincerely as I knew how, "I'm sorry, believe me, I'm really, really sorry."

"Ya, sure, OK, what else?"

"I won't do it again."

"You can bet you ass on that. What else?"

"I'll do everything I can to make things right. Everything ...whatever you want."

"That's true, what else?"

I thought for a moment but I couldn't squeeze anything more out, I didn't know what she wanted to hear, "Jeez, what's left. I've already committed to be your indentured fucking servant."

I guess she could see how riled up I was because she tried a more calming tactic, a more reasonable and rational approach. She now used her soothing voice, "Do you have any idea what I've been through since you walked out of here?" She answered the question before I could. "No, you don't have a clue." Her voice was becoming angrier now. "Do you have any idea what it's like to find out that you're pregnant and the father of the baby isn't speaking to you? No, you don't, you don't have a clue. Do you know what it's like to have that father phone you and try to inch his way back into your life, just to see if he still might like you a little, maybe more then the dozens of women he's been trying on since last you saw him? No, you don't. You don't have a clue. And when he finally arrives back into your heart, what's the one thing you want to hear from him?" She sat back again, scrutinizing me, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying. "What do you think that'd be, Sam, that one thing?" Once again, she answered her own question before I could, but this time at the top of her lungs, "THAT HE LOVES YOU, FUCK'S SAKE." She had thrown herself forward with the force of her scream. Now she threw herself back in her chair with such force that I actually think she slapped herself in the face with her own breast. She was mad and defiant and still nearly screaming. "You aren't going to take a further step in this place until you tell me you love me and convince me beyond any doubt, any shadow of fucking doubt, that you mean it." She was looking at me with white with rage.

But I was unmoved. "Is that what this is about? A few words. I've spent the last umpteen hours being humiliated by you — but, I stuck it out. So no, I'm not going to tell you I love you until you can prove to me that you love me." I felt good about that, particularly because it wiped the defiance right off her face.

"Fine." She said, smugly, "I'll give you some irrefutable proof."

"Fine," I said, "Go ahead."

And she did. She parted her breasts and pointed to her belly, "The proof is in here, it's called YOUR BABY ... FUCK HEAD!"

Sometimes logic can be so unassailably convincing it's unimpeachable. This was one of the moment. Grandly, I thought, I opened my arms, like Christ did when he blessed the multitude, but I did it just for her and I nodded in deference, "I love you, Susan, honestly, I love you and I will always love you." And I meant it.

"What else?"

"What do you mean, 'what else,' what else is there? My love for you is total, absolute. You have it, everything I have to give, you and the kid will have it."

"Thank you for that, Sam but the question still stands," Then she said the two words with increased force, "What else?" But she didn't wait for me to speculate. "I'll give you a hint. OK? What else should be said when a woman gives a man the loving act of an embryo and the man tells the woman, however ineptly, that he loves her? What's left to be said?" Even though I wasn't going to say anything she held up her hand to stop me, "No, no, don't strain yourself, I can give you a few hints. Does the word 'commitment' mean anything to you? How about 'contract?'" I was about to speak but she held up her hand again, "and another hint comes to mind ... the word bastard, and I'm not referring to you, although you are one."

I had known I loved this woman, known with absolute certainty, when she walk up to me on the pathway yesterday. Now, as she sat in the chair in front of me bludgeoning me with her cold logic, with her tits hanging out like a bib, I felt absolutely giddy. She had my baby in her belly and she, in her own way, had told me she loved me. This is all I have ever wanted ... although I had never expected to get it quite this way. "Susan, will you ..."

Suddenly, her arm shot across her body so fast that I swear to God her tits cris-crossed. But her message was clear. I got out of my chair and knelt on the exact spot she pointed to. When I took her pointing hand she turned on the chair to face me and leaned forward slightly so her breasts, grown larger with my child's milk, swayed slightly before my eyes. "I want to cover this off, Susan, so I'll ask you to please be silent until I'm finished." When she nodded, so did her breasts. "I knew I loved you soon after I met you. It just took me a little while to realize how much I love you — I think you know how slow I can be." I expected another nod but I didn't get one. "But I knew for sure yesterday. I knew then that I want you and only you. Now, to use your tact, how do you think I felt when I learn that the woman I love, even though she told me she was barren, was going to have my baby? I haven't the words. But I do have these. You will make me the happiest man alive if you and the kid agree to marry me."

When she leaned down and put her head on mine her breasts swung slowly in front of me before becoming perfectly still. That's when I heard her sniffle; then she began to cry. I did, too.

This blame I accepted. When we stopped crying and stopped hugging she was clearly a complete wreck. It was me who suggested she have a nap for an hour or so — she looked exhausted. "You don't mind?" she said. How could I? She hadn't slept in two full nights thanks to ... well, neither of us went there.

So after she handed me the remote and a beer she headed to her bedroom while I flicked on the TV, searching for a game. And I found one but had no interest in it. I was just a little tipsy; I had just learned I was going to be a father; I had just learned that I was going to marry the most fabulous woman in the world. I reached for the phone.

An hour later, having spread my good news far and wide, I jerry-rigged the door (couldn't find her keys) and went out looking for some flowers. And I got them, an entire arm full of them which I put in the sink, all but a rose which I placed in a narrow vase I found in a cupboard and went to check on her.

Her room was dark and still. I leaned on the door jam and tried to make out the contour on the bed. She appeared to be sleeping on her side, facing the wall — I don't know why that mattered to me, but it did. I entered as quietly as I could and placed the vase on the night table but I guess she heard me because she turned under the covers, "Sam?"

"Good morning."

"What time is it?"

"You slept for about 2 hours, it's nine. Do you want some coffee or tea? Anything?"

"You." She pulled the covers away so I could join her.

I stripped as quickly as I could then eagerly jumped in with her, pulling the covers over me with a grand flourish, then I slowly settled on her fiery hot body, placing my knee between her leg, nestling my chest against hers before searching for her lips with mine. I hadn't found them when she said, "Can you turn a light on, I want to see you?"

I fumbled with it, but couldn't find the switch so I lept out of bed, turned the main light on, causing her to shield her eyes, found the light switch on the lamp's cord of all places, turned it on, turned the main light off and was about to jump back into bed when she scooted over to its edge, stopping me.

"What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to look at it for a minute." And she did, then added, "God I love it that you're so excited." Then she reached out, put her hand on my ass and pulled me towards her and gently kissed my penis a few times before taking it in her mouth. That was it. I pulled the covers from her, pushed her into the middle of the bed, then dove in beside her, strategically placing my penis where she could easily get at it, then I lay with my face on her soft, hot panties and snuggled into her.

She kissed at me and sucked me, lightly, lovingly and I pushed my face into her, feeling the shape of her mound, the hair beneath her panties, feeling her heat. I was ready to explode.

"Why do you always leave my panties on?"

"I don't know," I said, reflexively, and I didn't. "I guess it's because I think you look so fucking great in them, particularly your ass. You're just so unbelievably sexy in panties — and when I finally take them off it's an enormous turn-on. Does it bother you?"

"God, no."

"Good, because I just love it when you wear nothing but your panties and a t-shirt around the house, especially those t-shirts that stop above your navel. If I thought you'd wear them, I'd buy you dozens of them."

"What? T-shirts or panties?" I knew she was teasing me.

"Both and anything else you want."

"I'd wear them, but I don't need them. I've got a whole stack of sexy lingerie that I haven't worn in years. They're in the bottom drawer. If you're into panties, go through them and trade the ones you like for the ones you don't in the top left drawer.

"I'm not IN to panties."

"You said you were."

"No I said I thought YOU looked fabulous in them ..."

"You said 'fucking great' to be precise."

"Well, you do; I'm not into panties; I'm into you ... and your panties."

"What other fetishes do you have, panties, anal, what else?" She punctuated all her questions by returning her lips to my pecker.

There was a noticeable sheen on her panties where I had been lightly caressing her and her slight fragrance was deepening. I was going to argue with her about the fetishes but it occurred to me that she wasn't arguing with me; she accepted my lust for her panties and ass as fetishes and maybe they were, so I said, "I don't know, but if those are fetishes I hope I have a few more." She didn't remove my penis to laugh. "You?" I said, licking at her juices, "What are yours?"

"You and this," she slurped the words.

"No, seriously."

She took me out. "I am serious. YOU have become my fetish and I'll tell you how I know. I really haven't masturbated since university but ever since you left me I've been masturbating, probably every night and I always think about you — even though you were such an absolute prick to me. That's got to be a fetish. And this? In my marriage, sex was always about penetration, frantic, athletic penetration, at least for the first three years when we had it. I hated it. But I love this, I absoluetly adore this. I love you licking me and I love licking and sucking you, I love it so much it could easily be a fetish."

"You stopped having sex four years before you split?"

"I stopped having sex with my husband the day I found out he was screwing around on me."

"Why didn't you leave him?"

"God, good question ... for which I have a simple answer: I, only me, I was the failure in our marriage; I was the reason he had to fuck around; I was the reason we were so unhappy together; I was the source of all our problems, or so I felt at the time. In the end, it was him who booted me out. I didn't have the self-esteem to leave him."

I could feel her begin to sink into remorse so I quickly changed the subject. I stripped off her panties and threw them on the floor, "Do you have any idea how hot it is to hear a woman say she masturbates thinking of you?" When I brushed my lips and tongue against her pussy she opened her legs a little.

She kissed my penis, "I did, I masturbated every day, sometimes twice a day since you left. I knew I loved you almost from the beginning." Then she laughed. "Do you want to hear something that's kind of funny, but kind of kinky, too?"

God, did she have to ask? I answered her by pushing my tongue deep into her.

She opened herself wide for me and nestled into the bed to get comfortable. A hand was massaging my scalp. "First, a little back ground. When you left me I spent the next two days crying, didn't even go to work, I just stayed home and cried." She shifted a bit, "God, Sam, I just love you doing this to me," and she pushed at my head with encouragement. "But then I got mad — I wasn't going to let myself become a victim again, so I picked up the phone — as you told me I should do — and I called a friend. That was the start of it. I phoned one old friend, then another and another and, while I didn't tell them what a wretched prick you had been, they knew I needed a little nurturing and they were all too happy to provide it. And then, later, when I told them I was pregnant, well, it was like joining a club, 'The Sisterhood Of The Royally Screwed' as one of them called it, and they've been with me every step of the way."

She paused to give me a few slurpy sucks. "Anyway, back to masturbation. One of the neat things about being with a bunch of women who are married and who have gone through child birth is they have a lot of experience and insight and they're trading ideas all the time. So get this. This is what one of them said, and she said it forgetting that the father of my child had fucked off, was long gone, had hit the road, had high-tailed it ..."

"OK, OK," I said, then bit her gently on the genitals, "we've moved on ..."

"You bit me," she said, as if in shock. "Is that another one of your kinky fetishes?"

"The masturbation."

"Masturbation, right? Anyway, she said that after her first child, she realized that her husband had been deprived throughout some of the process. He didn't complain but she knew he felt deprived so do you know what she did? She made a few videos of her masturbating for him. She said it blew him away. During her next pregnancy he used them all the time; they used them together. They had two more kids. I loved that story and I'm going to make you a few videos and soon, before your child begins to deform my body." She sucked a little; I remained speechless, then my penis popped from her mouth, as she asked, "Do you have a video camera?

"I will, five minutes after the stores open tomorrow."

She laughed, getting off the bed and heading to the full-length mirror, "And get a digital camera, too." She had her breasts in her hands and was closely inspecting them, "I want to remember how these things change over the next few months."

I had crawled onto my knees to watch her, fascinated, "And that too?" I said, pointing at her ass.

She laughed.

But there was one thing that was really surprising me about her and I had to ask, "Can you tell me something?"

When she turned to face me she dropped her breasts and they spilled down her stomach, pointing to her feet. She looked like a dream. All the facial features that had individually invaded my senses in the past few months were now perfectly assembled on her exquisite, stunningly intelligent, breathtakingly beautiful face. But it was her tits I wanted to talk about. "When I asked you, you know, when I first met you, what you least liked about yourself physically you didn't hesitate, you said your sagging breasts. Yet tonight those breasts have been pretty much on display almost the entire evening. What gives?"

"What do you mean, what gives?" I could see that I was influencing her, "You said you loved them. If you want the exact quote ..."

"I do love them, I just didn't think YOU loved them."

"I didn't, I hated them, but I love you and that's what matters. If YOU love them then fine, I'll learn to love them, too and by the way, they haven't grown, there isn't any milk in them, that comes later."

"You tricked me."

She shook her head and shrugged, "I was being dramatic. I didn't want to say what I was thinking — you'd be in Calgary now."

"You tricked me," I repeated, then I added, "... into marrying you." I felt a little giddy, she appeared to be getting just a little bit defensive.

"I did not."

But there appeared to be a tiny chink in her armour now, so I pressed, "God, you actually tricked me into marrying you, didn't you? I can't believe it. I can't believe you would do that." I could barely conceal my joy; I could use this, I could use this against her for the rest of our life together.

But she changed now, she became soft and compliant, and she took on that sucky voice she sometimes used, "That's right, Sam, I tricked you. You're right. I tricked you into actually becoming the father of your child. I hated to do it, but I had to, otherwise you would have fled again, as you did before and the poor thing would have grow up as a statistic." The chink in her armour was closing shut with a clang. "Do you know how many children in this country grow up in fatherless homes ... in poverty? Do you know how ..."

I jumped off the bed, ran to her and threw my arms around her, crushing her breasts to me and forcing her face into my neck to shut her up.

But that didn't last long, "I love you," she said, pushing me away, then she stepped back and smiled, mischievously, as she changed the subject, she could do this oh so easily, "I want you to name them, Sam. Not right now, but soon, OK?"

"Name what?"

She held her breasts in her hands and smiled.

I didn't hestitated, I might have lost one round, but I could still pull out a victory, "Oscar & Hammerstein."

It was great to see the stunned look on her face.