Facets of Love Ch. 02

"And, if I don't agree with your grandiose plan?" he asked.

"Then we're back to square one. I find an abortion doctor and you find a new girlfriend."

Mom would have been proud of me. Not proud of me getting pregnant at eighteen, obviously, but she would have applauded the way I handled the conversation.

I don't know why Robert was being such an ass but, in a way, it helped clarify my thoughts. The future I described wasn't over the top. I didn't expect to live in a mansion with servants doing the housework and a nanny raising my kid. My vision of an ideal life was probably the same as lots of other people's and, if Robert didn't share my admittedly old fashion desires, there were bound to be other men who would jump at the chance. And even though I didn't feel especially pretty at the moment, eighteen years of being told how smart and beautiful I was, left an underlying feeling of self-worth.

If Robert didn't want to marry me, I was convinced I would find somebody else. My eventual husband may not have been the handsome, manly, complete package that Robert was, but if my first choice refused to marry me, then I'd have to settle for someone that would.

Right after I brought up the possibility of us breaking up, Robert got off the couch and retrieved the envelope. The damn envelope which held the letter that supposedly said what he wanted in life. He'd put it on top of the kitchen counter, well out of my reach, because he didn't trust me not to peek. Afraid I'd read it and then parrot back to him what he considered the perfect wife, just so he'd agree to marry me.

"I think it's time you read this," he said, handing me the envelope.

My fingers trembled as I ripped it open to reveal the single page of paper inside. I was already dreading the phone call to my parents... the call telling them I was pregnant and needed money for an abortion.

-

Mary,

I want to marry you. I've known this from the day we first met. Every minute we spend together, I want it even more. I would like to get married this June, right after I graduate. If that doesn't work for you, I'll wait... for as long as I have to.

I want us to have children. More than one, less than ten. Whether or not you keep the child you are carrying now is your choice. My preference is to keep it but, if you don't, I still want to marry you.

That is all I need. Your love will make my life complete. Our children will make that love grow.

Robert

-

I literally jumped his bones that night. He certainly didn't deserve it. After making me think he was breaking up with me and then proposing - in a letter no less - I shouldn't have screamed in delight, pushed him onto the couch, pulled off his pants and impaled my pussy on his throbbing cock. I should have chastised him for nearly breaking my heart and sent him to bed without release. But all my addled brain could think about were the words in his proposal letter.

"Your love will make my life complete."

So, I rode him hard, coming twice before his silly grin turned into a confident look of conquest as a million disappointed sperm invaded my already pregnant womb.

After we were done. As my sated body soaked up his warmth, I let his slowly deflating penis slip out of my still slippery slit and kissed him on his chest.

"You okay?" he asked. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"If you're asking if I'm feeling sick, the answer is no. I'm either getting used to being pregnant or getting engaged made me so happy I forgot to puke."

"Actually, we're not officially engaged yet."

"Bullshit. I've got it in writing. 'I want to marry you.' Signed by Robert Ryan Jones." I slid further up his body and kissed his lips. "The answer is yes, in case you were wondering."

"I'm glad to hear it, but writing down 'I want to marry you' isn't the same as getting down on a bended knee and saying the words, 'will you marry me'."

"Well, you better get on it. I want a ring on my finger before there's a discernable bump in my belly. And certainly, before I tell Mom and Dad that they're going to be grandparents."

-

Despite what I told Mom in Florida, I fully expected to live with Robert during the spring semester. His trailer was five miles from the main part of campus, which meant he'd have to drive me to my classes and doctor appointments and the grocery store.

I wish I'd taken Mom up on that new car.

Looking at our class schedules and Robert's work schedule, we initially thought we could make it work... and would have, if my morning statistics class on Tuesday and Thursday didn't conflict with one of Robert's many part time jobs which required him to be on the opposite side of town an hour before my class started.

We tried several creative ways to work around the problem but, save him getting me to class an hour and a half early, while I was still suffering from morning sickness, we decided the best plan was for me to spend Monday and Wednesday nights in my dorm room. The room Mom demanded I keep so I'd have a place to live when I eventually dumped Robert.

We'd visited my room several times since we came back from Christmas in Florida. Mostly to pick up clothes, cosmetics, and school stuff. Casandra, my supposed roommate, wasn't there each time we stopped by, but I left her a note explaining I'd be spending most of my time at Robert's place, which obviously was okay with her. I knew this because, when Robert dropped me off on Monday afternoon with the intention of me spending the night and walking to class the following morning, I discovered that my bed was gone.

"You said you wouldn't need it, so I had them store it in the basement," Casandra told me when I asked what happened to my bed.

"I told you I'd be spending most of my time with Robert," I countered. "That doesn't give you permission to get rid of my bed."

"But look how much more room we have with it gone."

I had to admit that, without the second bed, our tiny dorm room felt a good bit more spacious, but...

"Where do you expect me to sleep?"

Casandra initially glanced at the couch, which I immediately vetoed with a shake of my head. Then she looked at her bed and said, "why don't you sleep with me tonight and, if it doesn't work out, I'll get somebody to bring your bed back tomorrow."

It was a tight fit, two girls sleeping in a single bed. Luckily, neither of us were very big. Casandra was definitely smaller than me. A couple of inches over five feet tall with thin legs, a cute little butt, flat tummy, and boobs barely big enough to fill a B cup bra. I was a few inches taller than her and, although I inherited Mom's flat tummy, I also got her larger than average butt and boobs.

Knowing she shouldn't have sent my bed to the basement, Casandra slept with her back against the wall, letting me have easier access to the center of the room and the bathroom, which in my condition was essential.

"Just so you know," I told her as we climbed into bed, "I'm pregnant. So don't be alarmed if you hear me throwing up tomorrow morning. It's kind of what I've been doing the last few weeks."

As expected, my announcement lit off a thirty-minute barrage of questions which I happily answered. What surprised me was that, when we finally settled in for the night, Casandra reached under my t-shirt, placed her hand on my bare belly and said, "I can't wait until I can feel it moving around in there." Not that I minded her sentiment, but I was a bit surprised when she left her hand there as we fell off to sleep, and wasn't really sure what to do when, waking sometime in the middle of the night, I found Casandra's hand had migrated from my belly to my boob.

"Eh-hm." Not knowing if she had purposely captured my nipple between her middle and ring finger, or if it was an unconscious thing she did in her sleep, I did one of those "throat clearing" things, giving Casandra a chance to feign innocence and withdraw the offending appendage.

Nothing. She didn't stir, her breathing didn't change, and her hand remained firmly attached to my boob.

I thought about using my hand to move hers to a more appropriate place. But where would that be? Back to my belly? Down to my ass? Between my legs? When I thought about it logically, despite the obvious societal taboos, all of those choices were nothing more than different parts of my body. And due to the close confines of our sleeping arrangement, her hand had to be somewhere on my body, so why not my boob?

It felt good there... her palm cupping my breast meat. Her fingers straddling my nipple. Her thumb corralling my side boob. Over the last several weeks, Robert's hands had spent hours caressing my breasts and I enjoyed every single minute of it. Yes, it was exciting at times, especially when he rubbed my nipples in a way that sent a "get ready" signal to my pussy. But just as often, his touch relaxed me. Taking my mind off the storm inside my belly.

So, rather than make a scene, I settled into Casandra's friendly embrace and drifted back to sleep.

-

"Shit!"

The sound of an alarm clock startled both of us awake. I opened my eyes to see a bit of sunlight drifting through the shades.

"I'm sorry," Casandra said. "I forgot to turn off my alarm."

"It's okay. I've got an early class this morning so mine's going to go off in a few minutes anyway."

I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom we shared with our suitemates, and puked, an activity which was, unfortunately, a part of my normal morning routine. All thoughts of the previous night's activities were temporarily forgotten as I got ready for class and continued my day.

Robert picked me up at the library a little after 4:00.

"I've got a quick job to do and then we can head home and get some dinner," he said.

"Aren't you a little overdressed for tractor maintenance?"

He was wearing his best blue jeans and the white shirt I bought him on our first date.

"Not to worry. I've got a greasy pair of overalls in the back."

I was a bit surprised when we pulled up to the football stadium and even more so when a security guard let us drive through a ground level gate and through a tunnel which led directly onto the field. Robert parked just off the manicured grass, got out of the truck, and beckoned me to follow him.

"While we're here, I'd like to show you something."

I never was a huge football fan. But Dad was, and if I could tell him I had a chance to walk on the grass of Jordan-Hare stadium, I certainly wasn't going to pass up the chance to make him slightly jealous.

It was a relatively mild January day. Not cold, but certainly chilly enough to require a light coat. As I followed Robert towards the fifty-yard line, I looked up at the 87,000 empty seats and tried to imagine what it would be like to be down there when the place was full of screaming fans. The grass was not quite as green as it was during football season and the yard lines had all but faded away since the last game. Even so, I had the feeling we were standing on hallow ground when Robert stopped on the huge AU symbol located at the exact middle of the field, knelt down, and appeared to dig something out of the grass.

"Come here," he said. "I've got something you might want."

Like I said, I'm not a huge football fan. While most of the boys in the Auburn fraternities and even some of the sorority girls might think a broken sprinkler head from Jordon-Hare stadium was a keepsake, I wasn't that easily impressed.

Until I realized that the sprinkler head was actually a small, felt lined box. And when Robert opened it, the diamond inside sucked up the last bit of afternoon sun and reflected it directly back to my tear-filled eyes.

"It was my mom's," Robert said. "I know it's not very big or fancy. If you want, I'll get you a more expensive ring when we can afford it-"

"Robert," I interrupted. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I uh, I don't think so. Was I supposed to bring flowers or a box of candy?"

"Roses and chocolate would have been a nice touch, but, assuming this is an engagement ring, aren't you supposed to ask me a question?"

His momentary blank stare quickly changed to recognition and then embarrassment. For the first time since I met him, standing over the kneeling man as he stuttered through an obviously rehearsed proposal, I felt, maybe not superior, but equal to Robert. The man was not infallible. He wasn't completely in control of his emotions at all times. He had at least one vulnerability and his Achilles' heel appeared to be me. Which made me love him even more.

I said "yes" and was tempted to consummate the deal right there on the spot... strip naked on the fifty-yard-line, slip his mother's ring on my finger and her son's cock into my pussy. In retrospect, it's a good thing I didn't. The grass was wet, the temperature was in the low fifties and one of Robert's friends was hiding in the bushes with a telephoto lens, recording the event for posterity.

Instead, we went back to his trailer, ate dinner, and made the hardest phone call of my life.

"Do you want both of us to FaceTime them?" Robert asked, "or is this something you need to do by yourself?"

"It'll probably go better if it's just me and my parents," I said. "And I think I'll hold off on telling them we're engaged until they're comfortable with the idea of me being pregnant."

"If that time ever comes."

-

"Are you sure?" Mom asked after I gave them the news. "Did a doctor confirm it?"

"No, I haven't been to a doctor yet, but I took the home test three times and each one came out positive."

"I don't see how that's possible," she said. "I gave you a six-month supply of birth control pills last August. Please tell me you've been taking them."

"Every day," I said. "I took one the night before we first had sex and have been taking them ever since."

The phone went silent for a while as neither Mom nor Dad said anything.

"Mary," Mom finally said. "Tell me when you first started taking your pills."

"I already told you. Before Robert and I had sex."

"How many did you take before having sex the first time?"

"You're only supposed to take one a day."

"Are you saying you took your first pill the day before you had sex with Robert?"

"Actually, it was the same day, but I took it at least an hour before."

"Sweetheart, you have to be on the pill for a least two weeks before they'll prevent a pregnancy."

"I... I didn't know."

The difficult conversation continued. Mom went over the same options that Robert and I had already hashed out. Abortion, adoption, or keeping the baby. I told them we planned to keep the baby, emphasizing the "we" part, and they seemed to accept our decision. I'm sure we talked about other logistical stuff, but I was having trouble focusing on trivial matters like my future college career or how we would live if Robert couldn't find a job. My brain was too busy processing one cold hard fact.

That night. The first time I had sex. Robert offered to put on a condom, and I said that I didn't need one.

"I'm on the pill," I told him.

He didn't ask again. And why would he? When lying in bed with a naked girl who is literally begging him to fuck her, as I was that night, no man in the world is going to quiz said girl on her knowledge of birth control.

Which means this is entirely my fault. If I live a miserable life, I have no one to blame but me.

But that's not going to happen. This baby is not going to ruin my life, just like I didn't ruin my mom's.

I know Robert overheard the "birth control pill" discussion but he never brought it up that night or any time after. We spent the rest of the evening making passionate love and unrealistic plans. The next morning, he dropped me at my dorm room on his way to work and from there, I walked to my first class.

Neither the morning dissertation on the symbolism behind Melville's Moby Dick nor the post lunch lecture detailing the European political situation prior to World War One were able to keep my mind off the train wreck known as my life. A ten-minute class on the fundamentals of birth control would be a hundred times more useful than a semester of American literature. And, as bad as WWI might have been, wouldn't my time be better spent learning how to keep my dad from killing my future husband?

With all that occupying my brain, it's no wonder that the events of Monday night, the small matter of my roommate's hand on my boob, didn't come to mind until I undressed for the night and realized I would again be sleeping in the same bed with Casandra.

"How about I sleep with my back to the wall tonight. I do better on the right side of the bed," I lied.

"Are you sure?" Casandra asked. "What if you have to rush to the bathroom?"

"Not to worry. I usually don't feel sick until I get out of bed."

"If that's what you want. But if you puke on me, you're cleaning up the bed and washing it out of my hair."

Casandra was not a feet pajama kind of girl. Her idea of sleeping attire was a pair of bikini panties that would have been too small for me in middle school and a cut off T that barely covered her nips. As soon as she slid into bed with me, I realized why, two nights previous, she initially put her hand on my belly. And, when I again woke up well before sunrise, this time with my hand on her half-covered boob, I figured what she had done to me was most likely an innocent mistake.

Not wanting to wake her, I ever so slowly moved my hand back towards where it was supposed to be. Moving at the speed of a lethargic sloth, my fingertips had just reached the bottom of her miniature tit when she shivered, as if chilled, and her hand grasped mine and placed it back where it previously had been. Casandra kept her hand on mine, so I left my hand on her boob. By the time I got back to sleep, her nipple had grown to twice its previous size but, thankfully, when the morning sun woke me at daybreak, my hand was no longer on her breast. It was between her legs. Lodged in that small space where I could simultaneously feel the bare skin of her upper thighs and also the small patch of damp fabric which almost covered her lower lips.

Apparently, Casandra had the female equivalent of a man's morning woody.

-

I spent the rest of the semester doing some of the things a normal college student would... like going to class and studying... but, unlike my peers, I didn't go to parties or bars. And while some students felt obligated to be politically active and demonstrate for the cause de jour, I spent a good bit of my spare time either at the obstetrician's office, monitoring the growth of my baby, or preparing healthy meals, which was much harder than walking to the dining hall and eating pizza six nights a week as I did my first semester.

One thing I did have in common with my classmates was an urge to explore my sexuality.

Robert and I made love to each other at least four times a week to begin with and more often when my morning sickness went away. My first day without puking was Valentines Day, which I thought an appropriate present from God, and by the first of March, my tummy returned to normal. Well not exactly. It was twice as big as before, but at least it quit rejecting everything I ate.

Since my first attempt at fellatio was rudely interrupted by my pregnancy, I thought it appropriate to try again once my physical condition improved.

-

March 3^rd, 2018

I have no idea why I remember the date of my first successful blow job, but I do. It was a Saturday, neither of us had anything to do before noon, and Robert's morning wood seemed more pronounced than usual. I figured he would wake up as soon as I pulled it through the slit in his boxer shorts, but when he didn't, I couldn't resist giving it a lick. And when that didn't wake him, I kissed the very tip, and might have added a little more tongue.