The Past in Colorado

Now what?

Stephen wasn't my biological father and we were free to be in love, but I was at a loss for what to do.

One of my favorite movies is The Graduate. I felt like Benjamin and Elaine, sitting at the back of the bus at the end of the movie, happy that they had overcome their fears, the hardships, what they thought was expected of them; elated they had finally found what they were looking for, but at what cost? So they sat in the back of the bus staring into an abyss, not knowing what would happen next. And like them, I had acted on instinct without much forethought into the aftermath, and now wondered what lay ahead with Stephen and I.

***

That evening I met him at the door and gave him a hug - just a warm, friendly greeting. A short time later, we went to the dining room for dinner. Our talk was small, but friendly and cordial. As we washed dishes, standing side by side, he said very softly that he was sorry. I took a plate from him, drying it with a towel, and smiled, saying it was ok, that I wasn't mad. I told him I was sorry, too, and he welcomed my apology with a grin. And when I crawled into bed with him that night, he gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

Day after day, I waited for the gray clouds hovering over us to disperse. I was ready to move forward with him, to continue our life together, but I could only wait until he was sure this was what he wanted. I told myself I'd wait an eternity for him, if that were what it would take.

We still held hands, when we went to lunch. I leaned against his shoulder, as we sat next to each other on the couch and watched television. And though our kisses were brief, we reminded each other of the love we still felt. He expressed his love for me every day, and I'd smile and say I loved him, too. All I could do was wait for him to come to me, but only if he wanted to do so.

Days and weeks passed. There were times when I wanted to throttle him, to grab him by the collar and beg him to take me back to Colorado so we could find what we had created there. More than ever, I wanted what we had there to reinvent itself in the here. I wanted to throw my arms around him and kiss him and hold him and tell him how wonderful he made me feel, how glad I was that he was a part of my life and how complete he made me feel. I didn't care that Stephen wasn't my biological father. He fulfilled his duties there, and was now free to be my lover, my best friend, my soul mate, even my husband.

***

Shortly before the start of the fall semester, Stephen was working late in his office at home one evening, putting the finishing touches on his class syllabus. I walked in to see him, stepping up from behind and placing my hand on his back, giving him a gentle rub. He turned and smiled at me, his reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose.

"Goin' to bed?" he asked.

I nodded and leaned down to kiss his cheek. And as I started to pull away, I hesitated. With my face still hovering next to his, he turned to me and smiled. Our faces were mere inches apart.

"I'm still in love with you," I whispered. "With all my heart, I am, and nothing's ever gonna change that."

Then I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, very cautiously opening my mouth and sliding my tongue between his soft lips. And for the first time, I didn't feel a guilty sting on my conscience.

When I felt my fingers and toes tingle, I knew it was time to stop. I slowly broke our kiss and stepped away, not wanting to make him feel as though I expected him to react in a certain manner. It was only a kiss and nothing more.

"Don't stay up too late," I said, patting his back.

Stephen smiled. "I won't," he replied.

Not long after I had crawled into bed, when I felt myself on the verge of drowsiness, I heard him come into the bedroom. Lifting my eyelids, I saw him standing by his dresser getting ready for bed. Then I closed my eyes and resumed my journey into soft slumber.

The bed gently rocked, as he eased himself onto it. I don't know how much time had passed, but the next thing I felt was my body being rolled onto my back. My eyes opened, and Stephen's face was hovering close to mine. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. I gave him a sleepy smile, and then he leaned down and kissed me. His tongue pierced my lips, and I sighed, my hands slowly reaching up to wrap around his body, pulling him closer. His warm hand slid under my t-shirt until it lay flat against my breast. And when he gave it a gentle squeeze, I moaned into his mouth and our kiss erupted into one of deep passion.

Our tongues danced and lips smacked, as I held my hands to either side of his head, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose the feelings he was rekindling in my heart. I hadn't felt like this since Colorado and didn't want it to end. Not now. Not ever.

Stephen pushed himself up and helped me remove the shirt I wore, and then I helped remove his. We paused for a moment, kneeling and holding hands, staring at each other in the dark and silently communicating. This would be the turning point in our relationship. If we continued, we'd no longer be father and daughter. That part of our life would end.

We smiled at the same time, and slowly closed the gap between us until our lips met.

Our hands roamed each other's body, becoming reacquainted with them after a long sabbatical. Stephen's came up and cupped my breasts, and I moaned into his mouth. His lips slid away from mine, and he kissed down my chin, across my neck, until finally finding a soft pink nipple. And when he sealed his mouth to it and sucked, I closed my eyes and dropped my head back.

My hands were rubbing up and down his chest and I smiled. It'd been far too long since we'd been this intimate. Weeks? Maybe two months? It was far too long. I missed sharing myself with him, being intimate with the man I loved so much, someone whom I was so desperately in love with. To me, it wasn't about the sex; but the closeness we shared.

Stephen's hand came between my legs, sending a warm wave of pleasure cascading over me. And when I brought my hand between his, he groaned, as I gently tugged on his length.

After a short time of mutually caressing one another, I pushed him away. He looked confused at first, but when he saw me sit back and roll my panties down, he removed his shorts. And when we were both nude, we came together, reaching out a hand to softly stimulate the other.

It was like touching him for the first time all over again. I wrapped my fingers around his hard shaft and closed my eyes, while his gentle fingers tenderly probed the mouth of my vagina.

I don't know how long we made love, but it seemed like all night. We'd stop to catch our breath, laying on the bed and turning to face each other and kiss. Then one of us would smile and the other would move closer, stoking the flames of passion once again.

When Stephen was inside me, the cacophony of emotions I felt was indescribable. This was the way it was supposed to be. My instinct about him had been correct all along.

***

The next morning, as we stood under the shower kissing, he told me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Wiping the water from my face, my heart pulsed and stomach contracted. I asked what he meant, and he smiled, running a hand along my arm.

"What do you think I mean?" he replied.

My teeth began chattering, as I shrugged. "I dunno," I mumbled, though I understood all too well what he was saying.

Stephen looked down and smiled. He stepped closer and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"I mean marriage," he replied softly.

My hands were clasped together, held high against my chest, and my lips tightened and chin quivered, when he uttered those words. My face jittered up and down, as I quietly muttered, "Ok."

The side of his mouth drew into a half smile. "Just 'ok'?" he replied.

I gave him another fitful nod. "Yeah," I muttered, beginning to feel light-headed. But then I blinked a few times, trying to regain control of the sudden surge of emotions welling up inside. I looked into his eyes and nodded with deliberation. "Yes," I said.

Stephen smiled at me. "Good," he replied.

With no more tears left give, not even of joy, I threw my arms around him and told him incessantly how much I loved him.

It didn't matter who he was to me in the past. What mattered now was who he was in the present: my future husband.

He stayed home from school that day, and we consummated our new relationship, cementing forever the bond between us. I was no longer his daughter nor was he my father. We were free at last.

***

The following December, just days before Christmas, we were in Mexico standing outside a courthouse in Ciudad Jaurez, not far across the border from El Paso, Texas.

Stephen stopped on the steps and held my hand, smiling at me.

"Sure you still wanna do this?" he asked nervously.

I grinned and nodded. "Yeah," I said happily. Then I patted my swollen belly, saying, "Besides, you don't have much of a choice - Daddy." I was six months pregnant.

A short time later, we emerged newly married.

***

On Christmas Eve, we were in bed. I was sitting atop him, gently rocking up and down, while he reached up to caress my swollen breasts. My hair was a little longer now, more closely matching what I saw in my mom's pictures. I looked down and smiled, as his fingers gently massaged my breasts.

"I think they're getting bigger," I said softly.

Stephen grinned, replying, "I think you're right."

Then I leaned forward, placing my hands astride his shoulders, and ground my hips against him. A spark of stimulation surged through my body, and I sighed, asking if he was happy. He closed his eyes with a soft moan, arching his back and pushing deeper into me. "Yes," he whispered. My mouth opened and I whimpered, as I felt him ejaculate. Then he opened his eyes and smiled.

***

By the following summer, we were living in our new home in Colorado. For various and sundry reasons, we had to leave our past behind and start anew. Stephen had to take a lesser paying teaching position, but it was still at the university level, though given his resume, it wouldn't take long for him to regain his prior status and eventually be granted tenure.

***

It was mid-July, and we were taking a walk with our four-month-old son. As I pushed the stroller, Stephen had his arm around me. Our son was a beautiful, healthy little boy. And, much to my joy, he had a fuzzy little head of red hair like me.

"Were you thinking of taking classes this fall?" asked Stephen.

I shrugged. "Maybe one or two," I replied.

As much as I wanted to finish my degree, I was enjoying my life as a wife and mother. So, as time permitted, I took classes - between raising our children. We had four, all them happy and healthy and full of energy. Two boys and two girls: Michael, Stephen jr., Samantha, and the youngest being Sandy, born a month before I finally graduated from college at the age of twenty-six.

***

Stephen and I managed to keep our secret from the kids, though there were a few close calls. When our oldest boy, Michael, entered high school, he was working on a genealogy project for a history class and questioned Stephen and I extensively about our parents. The story we had always told them was that my mother was very young when I was born and placed me in foster care where I was raised in one family after the next. As far as the kids were aware, I didn't know who my parents were. We also made sure to keep all of my pictures safely hidden from them, stored away in a small safe in the attic. We kept a few out, but only those that showed me alone.

We didn't see the point in telling them about our past. To be blunt, it was nobody's business, but our own. And although neither Stephen nor I ever said so, it was also embarrassing. He might not be my biological father, but at the time, when I was in love with him and when we had sex, I had no idea. I simply assumed he was, but after some time, gave up caring. That would be difficult to explain to anyone, let alone my own children. And, for his part, I think Stephen also felt the pangs of guilt for not telling me sooner, for letting me believe I was having sex with my natural father. It was something we both wanted to bury and forget forever. That was in the past, and that's where we wanted it to remain. We weren't those same people any longer.

***

A couple years later, when our daughter, Samantha, entered high school, she was going through her dad's library looking for a book on which to write a report. I was in the kitchen at the time, when she came up to me, holding a book in one hand and a photograph in the other.

"Hey, look at this," she said.

Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I turned to her.

"Whatcha got there?" I chirped, as she approached.

She held out the picture and my heart nearly stopped, when I saw it. It was of Stephen and I - the photograph taken of us together at a football game when I was a cheerleader in high school. We had our arms around each other and were smiling. I flexed my fingers nervously, trying to keep her from seeing them tremble, and carefully took it from her. I gave her a tense smile, as I stared at it, and asked where she found it, trying to hide the anxiety in my voice. Sammy held up the book, replying, "In here. I was flipping through it and it fell out." I was still looking down at the picture, when she asked if that was her dad. I took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yep," I replied. "That's your dad... and me."

Sammy leaned down slightly and pointed to my image, saying, "That's you?"

I nodded again.

"Thought so," she mumbled. Then she looked at me, asking if I was still in high school in the picture. I cleared my throat and nodded. She glanced at the picture, and then to me. "Did you know Dad in high school?" she asked.

Now my hands were visibly trembling, as I held the picture. I leaned against the counter and sighed softly.

We had told the kids I met their dad in college. Supposedly, I was a freshman in one of his classes, which is where we first met. They knew I had become pregnant by him before we were married, and there was a bit of teasing from them about it, but otherwise, that was the story we had told them and they believed it.

Sammy looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought you didn't meet Dad till you were in college?" she said.

I wiped my nose, bobbing my chin quickly. "Well... sweetie. Yeah, he knew me when I was in high school, too."

I didn't know how to begin explaining this to her so I just winged it.

"I, uh... I was in high school at the time and your dad, he, uh... well, he came to my school on career day, see? And that's when I first met him. He was talking about jobs in writing and publishing and... well, I went to listen to him speak. We talked a little afterwards and... so.. that's how we first met."

I gave Sammy a nervous smile, hoping she'd buy my concoction. She looked at the picture once more and seemed to be mulling it over.

"So you met Dad before you started college? How old were you?"

Holding a hand to my mouth, I coughed, replying, "Well, now... I think... I think I was seventeen at the time."

"How old was Dad?" she asked.

"Oh, um... lemme think here... He must have been about forty, I think."

I smiled anxiously, quietly praying she'd accept the story and leave it at that.

Sammy was still peering at the picture, and then looked up and gave me a devious grin.

"Dad was robbin' the cradle," she giggled mischievously.

With a sigh of relief, I playfully tapped the picture against her forehead and chuckled.

"C'mon, be nice," I said. "We didn't do anything till I was eighteen."

"So is that why you didn't tell us the truth?" she asked.

I cringed, when she said that. I absolutely hated not being able to tell our kids the truth about their father and I, but there was no way we could ever do that. I pressed my lips together and forced myself to nod.

"Yep," I said. "We just... didn't want people to know is all." Then I shrugged and smiled.

Sammy slowly nodded in reply, as her eyes drifted down to the picture in my hand. Then she pointed to it and asked if she could keep it. I glanced down and mumbled, as she reached for it.

"Oh, uh... well... I... I guess. Sure."

Sammy seemed to sense my apprehension and pulled her hand back. "Maybe you oughta keep it," she said. I smiled, fighting back my tears, and thanked her, holding the picture to my chest. Then she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She grinned. "Thanks for telling me the truth," she said. "I won't say anything, either, ok?"

I was trying very hard not to cry. "Ok," I whispered. "Thank you, sweetie."

Then she smiled and walked away, holding the book open in her hands and thumbing through the pages.

Having once again lied to my children, I turned to the back door leading to the patio, hoping to be alone for a few minutes to get my tears out in relative privacy. But as soon as I stepped through the door, our two boys came walking out of the garage with a basketball. They were arguing over it, and I quickly wiped my eyes and called over to them.

"Hey, guys! C'mon now, be nice. Michael... be nice, ok? No fighting."

The youngest, Steve, looked over at me, as he tried to pry the ball away from his older brother.

"Mom!" he cried.

With a sigh, I pushed the picture into my back pocket and walked over to them.

"Ok," I said, taking the ball from Michael. "Do I have to take it away? Michael, you know better than to tease your bother. Steve, you need to share, ok? You're young men, not little boys." And with the ball in hand, I turned and walked back to the house.

Michael groaned. "Aw, mom... c'mon!"

I stopped and turned to them, saying, "Nope. It's mine now."

Michael glanced at his brother who grinned in reply. Then they made a quick dash to me and tried to wrestle the ball from my arms. I doubled over and squealed.

"No!" I cried. "It's mine! Leggo my new basketball!"

As we wrestled around on the ground, their dad's car pulled into the driveway.

"Oh, Dad's home!" I screeched. "You guys are in so much trouble!"

I was laughing, as they tickled me, trying to make me lose my grip.

Stephen stepped out of his car and casually walked past us to the back door. I screamed to him, giggling wildly as our boys tortured me, but he merely smiled down from the porch.

"Don't just stand there!" I laughed, twisting and jerking my body, as my two little devils continued their assault. "Help me!"

Stephen chuckled and waved, replying, "Hey there. Havin' fun?"

"No!" I cried. "Get down here and help me!"

He laughed and waved and stepped through the back door.

As Michael and Steve tormented me, I yelped, "Oh, man, you three are in so much trouble."

***

A short time later, I walked into the house with my hair in shambles and went to Stephen's study. He was sitting at his desk and smiled, when he saw me come into the room. I was pulling my hair back into a ponytail and glared.

"Thanks a lot, pal," I sneered.

He sat back in his chair and chuckled. I turned and shut the door, and then walked over to him. Stephen swung his seat around, and I dropped to his lap with a huff. He put his hands on my arms and began gently rubbing them.

"You're a bad boy," I said, poking a finger to his chest.

Stephen smirked and asked why. I held out a hand and ticked off the reasons on my fingers.

"First of all," I said. "You didn't help me back there."

He only shrugged. "Looked like you had the situation under control," he said with a laugh.

I jabbed him with my finger. "And secondly," I replied, "You left this in one of your books." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the photograph. He took it and sat back in his chair, sighing softly.