Facets of Love Ch. 02

"And if the spark between you two extinguishes?"

"If I fall out of love with Robert, you'll be the second person I tell. But if we're still going strong in June -"

"I doubt that will be the case, but if so, promise me you won't make any decisions without talking to me first."

"I will, if you start treating Robert like a human being instead of a rabid skunk."

"Not once have I suggested taking your boyfriend out back and putting a bullet through his head."

"No, but you did send him shooting with Dad and Uncle James."

It was a good mother-daughter talk. I'm not sure we settled anything but at least we weren't glaring at each other for the rest of the day. And after spending the next couple of hours putting ornaments on the tree, I gathered up sufficient courage to ask one final question.

"When you gave me permission to sow a few wild oats, does that mean we can change the sleeping arrangements for the rest of our stay?"

"Your father is in charge of bedroom assignments," Mom said. "In his mind, you'll be sleeping alone until your honeymoon."

-

Robert Ryan Jones

I sensed a slight thaw in Dr. Martha Spencer's icy exterior when Frank and I returned from the factory. She didn't welcome me home with a hug and kiss like she did her husband and brother-in-law, but she did ask me if I enjoyed myself, which was the first time she acknowledged my presence since I initially stepped into her house. More importantly, she and Mary seemed to be on better terms, interacting like the caring mother and loving daughter I met at Auburn several months earlier.

We made it through the Christmas week without additional drama. I still went for my daily early morning run but, to avoid a repeat of that first morning's fiasco, made my presence known when Martha came into the kitchen to start breakfast. She also traded her braless, diaphanous nightgown look for less bounce and more fabric. Still in her nighty, but without the free boob show.

During the day, when Mary wasn't showing me the sights of her hometown, I made a concerted effort to impress her parents by making myself as useful as possible around the house; volunteering to wash dishes, replace hard to reach lightbulbs, and oil squeaky door hinges.

Frank and I spent one entire afternoon at a machine shop making the replacement part needed for his worn-out conveyer.

"How much do I owe you," he asked when the job was done.

"Nothing."

"I'm serious. You just saved me a boatload of money. What's your price?"

"How about permission to marry your daughter."

Crap. Did I say that out loud?

From the startled look on Frank's face, the words indeed escaped my mouth.

"I'm sorry sir. That didn't come out right."

"You don't want to marry my daughter?"

"Well... actually, I do. I just wanted to ask at a more opportune time."

"When would that be?"

"Uh, after we've been dating a little longer."

"How much longer?"

"Maybe this coming spring?"

"Okay... and if you were to ask for my daughter's hand three months from now, when do you propose to get married?"

"I uh, I graduate in June, but Mary will have another three years of college after that so, maybe after she finishes college?"

"What will you do while Mary finishes up her bachelor's degree? Live in sin or marry her this June and try to support her with your current job. And suppose she decides to follow in her mother's footsteps and go for her doctorate? How would that figure into your life's equation?"

"Those... are all good questions sir. Things I should consider and discuss with Mary before I ask you for her hand... which is why I shouldn't have opened my fat trap and blurted out what I said. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I appreciate the honesty, even if it was unintentional. And while you're thinking about your future, James and I have a counter proposal for you. We've been talking about hiring a full-time engineer. We need somebody to maintain our current machines and also design the technology we'll need to keep up with the competition. The job will be based in Tampa, but whoever we hire will also spend a good amount of time working in our new plant in Texas.

"You've impressed us this last week. You know your way around basic machinery and have a willingness to get your hands dirty. If you want the job, it's yours. And you don't have to marry my daughter to get it. Truth be told, it would work out better if you and Mary didn't get married. That way I won't feel guilty about firing your ass if you don't work out. Either way, with or without Mary, you can start right after you get your degree."

-

Our classes didn't start until the second week of January, but I only had a week off from my current job and had to get back to Auburn by December 29^th. Which brought up the dilemma of where Mary would spend the rest of her winter break. Would she stay with her parents in Florida or go back to Auburn early with me.

"Of course you'll stay with us," Martha insisted. "I'll be glad to take you back when the time comes."

"Oh Mom, that's silly," Mary said. "It's a seven-hour drive up there and another seven hours back. You've got better things to do than waste two days chauffeuring me around, especially when Robert's going there tomorrow."

"I don't mind," Martha countered. "But, if you don't want me to drive you, maybe it's time we bought you your own car. It can be a late Christmas present. We'll pick it up next week and you can drive it back."

"Mom, I hate to admit it, but you were right. I really don't need a car at Auburn. You saw yourself how little parking there is and, now that I'm dating Robert, he doesn't mind taking me places, do you honey?"

"I thought we already went over this," Martha said. "You two have not been dating long enough for that kind of commitment. Besides, what will you do for the next two weeks in Auburn when Robert is away all day working?"

Mary was about to rebut her mother when Frank entered the fray.

"Come on Martha, you know damn well what those two are going to do when they get back to Auburn. The same things we did when we were young. Except you never turned down a new car to spend two weeks alone with me. Let them go. Give them time to figure out their own lives and, God willing, they'll want to come back here in the spring."

Mary and I loaded up my truck that evening and pulled away from her parents' house the following morning.

Not five minutes into the trip - we had just left her neighborhood - Mary told me to "pull over".

"What's the matter?" I asked as I drove onto the shoulder and stopped. "Did you forget something? Are you having second thoughts about going back early?"

"No. Everything I will ever need is right here in this truck." She scooted over and kissed me. "I just thought you needed to know how much I love you before we get on the interstate. Consider that kiss a preview of coming attractions."

-

Mary Spencer

My plan was to spend the next two weeks making love to Robert. I knew we couldn't have sex twenty-four-seven. Robert had to work, and we both had to eat and sleep. But, when not wasting our time with those mundane tasks, I planned to make up for my fall semester of misguided virginity before we started our spring classes.

The drive from Tampa to Auburn was seven hours of protracted foreplay. His right hand spent half the trip up my skirt and the other half down my blouse. When we stopped for lunch and gas in Tifton, Georgia, my nipples were trying to bore a hole through the fabric of my bra and my panties looked like I was having bladder control issues. While in the restaurant restroom, I transferred both the bra and panties to my purse, resulting in excellent service from our waiter and a near head on collision two miles down the road when Robert's right middle finger discovered I was going commando.

Two minutes after pulling up to Robert's trailer, we were buck ass naked on his bed, his hands on my tits, my hands on his ass, and his cock balls deep in my sopping pussy. Exactly like I planned.

I woke the next morning with my back spooned up against Robert's belly, his arms around my middle, a breast cupped in one of his hands and his erection lodged between my thighs. From his breathing, I could tell that he too was just stirring awake.

Despite being raised by a marriage counselor, I never knew men often woke up with an erection.

"It's called morning wood," Robert told me.

"Does this happen all the time or can I take credit?"

"I'd like to say it only happens when you're around, but too be perfectly honest, I've woken up with a chubby ever since I turned eighteen."

"How long does it last?"

"Not long. It normally goes down a few minutes after I get out of bed."

"Suppose you don't get up? What if you stay in bed? What happens when you wake up with a woody and there is already a girl in your arms?"

"I don't know. You're the first girl I've ever slept with."

"Impossible," I said. "You're a twenty-four-year-old hunk. There is no way you're a virgin."

"I didn't mean that I've never had sex before. It's just that, none of the girls who came before you spent the night."

"Really? How many girls would that be?"

He laughed and gave my boob a gentle squeeze. "Would you believe three?"

"You only had sex three times before me?"

"No. I've only been with three other girls. But, counting last night, I've had sex with you more times than the other three combined."

That surprised me.

Robert is the man of my dreams. Yes, I have only really known him for less than a month, but during that time, I have found absolutely no faults. He is intelligent, kind, and respectful. Not to mention handsome, funny, and sexy. Let's face it. He's an Eagle scout with a big dick. So why is his sexual experience so limited? He's only been with three other girls and, apparently, they didn't stick around very long.

Am I missing something? Is there something about him I don't know? Something that made his previous girlfriends dump him. Does he have commitment issues? Is he a secret member of the Ku Klux Klan? Does he get all hairy and grow fangs when the moon is full?

Or is he just extremely picky about the women he dates? Maybe his three previous girlfriends didn't give him what he wanted. Maybe they weren't sexy enough, or smart enough, or too forward, or too smart. For all I know, half the women in Alabama dream of sleeping in Robert's arms. When classes start in two weeks, entire sororities may curse my name because I landed the hottest man on campus.

On the other hand. What if Robert's lack of sexual experience has nothing to do with a hidden fault or his exceptionally high expectations. What if it's a practical matter. From my limited experience, wooing a woman takes time and money. Two things Robert doesn't have.

That's most likely it. Working two jobs and going to school doesn't leave him the time or resources to carry on a serious relationship. But if that's the case, why am I in his bed at seven in the morning?

"Does that bother you?" Robert asked. Confused by my extended period of contemplation, Robert had removed his hand from my breast. "Does my history with other women change things between us?"

"If you don't mind me being a virgin then I certainly can't complain about your limited sexual experience." Taking his hand in mine, I placed it back on my boob and gave it a gentle squeeze, which transferred to my soft flesh. Simultaneously, I pressed my thighs together, letting his dick know he was welcome to stay between my legs.

"That's not quite what I meant," he said with a chuckle. "With our joint lack of experience, it looks like we'll have to figure out this sex stuff all by ourselves."

Which is exactly what I had in mind when I pushed him over onto his back and rolled on top. I planned to kiss my way from his lips all the way down to his still stiff dick and then make my first ever attempt at fellatio. My mind and hormones said yes. My tummy said no.

I didn't puke on him or on the bed, but I barely made it to the bathroom where we spent the next ten minutes - me on my knees praying to the porcelain god while Robert held my hair out of the spray pattern. Even though I told him I'd clean up the little bit that hit the floor, it was already gone when I got out of the shower.

"You want me to call in sick?" Robert asked. "Maybe take you to the clinic?"

"No. I'm sure it's just something I ate yesterday, probably the coleslaw in Tifton. It smelled like it might not have been super fresh. You go on to work. I'll be fine."

And I was. Once I threw up the offending coleslaw and took a nap, I felt a lot better. Not one hundred percent, but good enough to convince myself I didn't have the flu or some other nasty virus.

Robert texted every hour to check on me. He offered to bring chicken soup for lunch but, after the morning's episode, all I really wanted was dry toast and marmalade... which he brought to me. After dinner - fresh fruit and raw veggies for me, a hamburger and a beer for Robert - we watched a mindless movie while cuddling on the couch. Still feeling a little off, I went to bed right after the movie was over and was fast asleep when Robert joined me.

I woke the next morning to the sounds of Robert rattling pots and pans in the kitchen. I was hungry, which I considered a good sign. I jumped out of bed and flung open the bedroom door with the intent to throw my barely covered body into Robert's arms. And then the smell of bacon grease permeated my nose, sending me directly to the bathroom where I repeated the events of the previous morning... as I did the next day and the day after, and every other day for a week, until we finally decided it was time for me to pee on a stick.

There are two items a woman should never ask her boyfriend to buy for her. One is tampons, the other is a pregnancy test. And when the first test comes out positive, you certainly shouldn't send him back to the store for another one, just to be sure. But I did. And it too was positive.

"What do we do now?" I was lying on the couch with my head resting on Robert's lap. The offending pregnancy test stared at me from the kitchen table.

"You have some decisions to make," he said as his fingers massaged my scalp.

"You mean 'we' have decisions to make. It's your baby too."

"That's your first decision. Do you want to keep it?"

"Do you?"

"I'm twenty-four, six months away from my degree, and working on a couple of good job offers. I'm ready for a kid. You're eighteen, with at least three and a half years of college ahead of you. A baby will affect your life a lot more than mine. Nobody else knows you're pregnant. Getting an abortion is the easiest way out but I'll support you either way."

"Really? You don't care?"

"That's not what I said. Of course I have an opinion. But yours' is much more important than mine."

"All I want is to make you happy. If you don't tell me what you want, no matter what I decide, I'll always wonder if I destroyed your life."

"And if I tell you, I'll feel the same way. I'll wonder if I ruined your college years by suggesting we keep the baby or if the idea of stopping a life before it had a chance to flourish will haunt you for the rest of your days." He brushed the tears off my cheeks. "The last thing I want to do is pressure you into a bad decision."

"So, what do we do?" I asked.

"How about a compromise. I'll write down what I think is the best option and put it in an envelope. You take a few days to search your heart. Take all the time you need and, when you're ready, tell me what you want in life. When you're done, open the envelope to see if we're on the same page."

It didn't take Robert long to write down his thoughts, which meant he didn't have to think about it. He knew exactly what he wanted.

I, on the other hand, changed my mind two or three times a day. Surprisingly, in the mornings, when I was hugging the commode and puking my guts up, I wanted to keep it. It was like the baby was talking to me, begging me to let her live (yes, I was calling it her), and making me sick was the only way she had to communicate.

Later in the day, I dwelt on what I would be missing if I had a baby at eighteen. Most kids my age spent their college years going to parties, exploring different philosophies, trying to figure out who they were. In the afternoons, when I didn't feel sick, I had no tangible evidence that there actually was a baby in my tummy and mourned what I might lose.

I'm eighteen years old. I'm an adult. I'm in charge of my body and my future. What kind of fool lets a little pink line on a strip of litmus paper dictate her life choices?

And then Robert comes home. He kisses me at the door, prepares dinner, and does everything in his power to make me feel better. I'm still not ready for sex, at least not the wildly athletic sex I was hoping we'd explore during the two-week break. But lying on the couch, with my head on his lap, his right hand down my blouse, his fingers gently caressing my sensitive nipples. His other hand flat on my tummy, simultaneously stilling the storm and guarding what lay below. That made me happy. Feeling his erection press through his pants and against my cheek initially made me feel guilty, but Robert seemed perfectly content to give and not receive.

That's when I made my decision.

I agreed with both sides of my brain. I was still an eighteen-year-old kid, but I never was much of a partier. After my experience at the fraternity party on the lake, I could go the rest of my life without a repeat performance. I was also an adult, completely in charge of both my body and future. I wasn't going to let my parents, my peers, or anybody else dictate what I would do or who I would do it with.

"I'm ready," I said, taking Robert's hand off my tummy and kissing it.

"Ready for what? Bed? A chocolate milkshake? Doing me cowgirl?"

"All three actually. I'd love to do you cowgirl on the bed while drinking a chocolate shake, but I don't think it would end well. How about I give you a rain check on that and open up your envelope."

"Okay. I can live with a rain check, but you know the rules. You tell me what you've decided before I give you the envelope."

"I want to have the baby." There. I said it.

"Have it and give it up for adoption? Or keep it."

"Crap. I hadn't considered the adoption thing."

"You want more time?" he asked.

"No. When I was twelve, our Golden Retriever had puppies and I cried for a week after we gave them away. There's no way in hell I'm going to carry this child around for nine months and then give it to somebody else."

"So, you're going to birth the child and raise it. Final answer?"

"Yes. With one caveat. I want you to help me raise it."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Not necessarily. I just want you to be involved in our child's life. I don't mean financially. I'm sure my parents will help until I get a job, but I think a kid has a better chance with both a mother and a father."

"Which means I have to live in the same town as you."

"That's not a deal breaker, but it would make life easier."

"What I'm hearing," he said, "is that you want to keep the baby, but you don't want to marry me. You plan to live with your parents while my job is to babysit on alternate weekends and coach his little league team."

"I never said I didn't want to marry you."

"But you never said you did."

"Damn it, Robert. Why are you being such a dick about this? Of course I want to marry you."

"Then say it. Tell me what you want and, more importantly, what do you expect from me."

"Fine. I want you to marry me, get a good paying job, and buy us a three-bedroom house with a fenced in yard. I expect you to change half the baby's diapers, drive her to ballet practice, and make love to me at least three times a week."