Getting Impregnated Pt. 02

I remembered when Rayya introduced Sarah to the family.

Dad told Rayya that if she wanted to continue living with us, then she and Sarah would need to break up.

Rayya never came back home after that. Mom tried to persuade her husband to change his mind, but he was adamant. She left when it became clear that her husband would be unmoving on this topic. While they never officially divorced, she said that she could not live in a house where her daughter was unwelcome. I was the only one who stayed with dad. I suppose my loyalty to him stemmed from the bond he and I had strengthened during my childhood. He was proud of me when I told him I wanted to become a writer. He had been a writer, also, and while journalism had not brought him riches, he insisted that it had brought him contentment.

If Rayya had not called me that night, then I likely would have stayed with dad, either until he accepted Rayya's sexuality, or until he choked.

"George," that phone call began. I could tell that she was crying, or had been crying. "Did I wake you up?"

She had.

"No," I said, "What's up?"

"Sarah and I had a fight. I love her, but I need my own space. Do you understand?"

I did. The next day, I told my dad that Rayya and I would be getting an apartment together, and that if he wanted to restore his relationship with his daughter, then now would be the perfect time.

"Not you too, my son," he had replied.

I didn't need to ask Rayya what she and Sarah had fought about. Rayya told me the gist of it one night when she was drunk. This was only a few days after we had moved into our apartment.

"I saw Sarah kissing a guy," Rayya had said, "It was at a party for one of our mutual friends. I stepped out for a smoke break. When I came back inside, Sarah was sucking this Chinese guy's tongue while our friends cheered them on. I thought, 'She never kisses me like that.'"

"What did you do?" I guided Rayya to her bed. She had an arm around my shoulder to balance herself.

"I yelled at her. She looked shocked. She clearly hadn't meant for me to see it. The guy tried to explain himself, but that just pissed me off even more. So, I punched his jaw." She laughed at the memory. "He was out cold."

"I imagine that put an end to the party," I said.

"You'd think that. Actually, I grabbed Sarah's face and started making out with her. I said to her, 'If you want me to treat you like a slut, then that's what I'll do'. Our friends barely remembered the guy I knocked out after that. When we got home, I put on the biggest strap-on I had and fucked her ass until she cried. Then, I told her that I was moving out. But, do you know what I wish I had said?"

"What?"

"I wish I had told her that I wanted to cut my wrists when I saw her kissing someone else."

I lay Rayya on the bed and covered her in a blanket. I stood up to leave but she grabbed my pinkie finger.

"Can you stay?" She asked me.

That night, I slept with my sister for the first time since we were kids.

Rayya called me a few weeks after that day with Sarah to let me know that Sarah had not gotten pregnant. While the results of the test were disappointing, it was also to be expected.

"Most couples don't get pregnant on the first try," she told me, "Can we try again next Saturday?"

"Is Sarah okay with that?"

"She was the one who suggested it."

I said that I was okay with it. It seemed like Rayya had something else to say, but I told her I needed to go.

"Oh," she said, disappointed, "Okay. No problem. Can we see each other tomorrow, though? I wanted to celebrate the success of that article you published in the Star."

A few days ago, I had written an Opinion piece for the Toronto Star that had been shared hundreds of thousands of times on Twitter. In an age when the value of news was being questioned, my piece was a gentle reminder that good writing was still profitable. A few of my colleagues had sent emails to congratulate me. My mom had also called to send her congratulations. The only person who hadn't congratulated me was my dad. However, his praise was the one I craved for most.

"Thank you. Come over at around ten and we can go for breakfast," I said, "Honestly, I was surprised that that article became so popular. I've written better ones."

"Not many people have the guts to openly write about defunding the Toronto police. That took balls."

We said goodbye with the promise of meeting up tomorrow afternoon to talk more.

I cancelled the call, closed my apartment door behind me, and found my car in the outside parking lot. I turned my Bluetooth on and selected the Spotify playlist Rayya and I had made several months ago. Soon, Drake's "God's Plan" slipped through the car's speakers.

I backed out the parking lot. By the time I exited my neighborhood, "God's Plan" had switched to Cardi B's "Bodak Yellow".

About forty minutes passed when I pulled up to a single, detached home in Mississauga, a city right next to Toronto. I parked the car in the driveway, walked up to the front door, and knocked.

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tall, black woman on the other side. She had brown skin, full lips, and hair cut close to her skull. When she smiled, I was immediately reminded of my sister.

"Come in, come in," she said.

The inside of her home was large and gave the incorrect impression that the woman lived with a partner.

"Are you hungry?" She asked.

"I can eat."

We entered the kitchen, where she took out leftovers from the fridge: rice and peas, and oxtail. I almost licked my lips.

"How is Rayya?" She asked after she had served a plate for the both of us. "Is she and Sarah doing well?"

"They're fine, I guess. I'm going to see Rayya tomorrow," I said, "She told me that Sarah didn't get pregnant."

"Most couples don't get pregnant on the first try. It took Michelle's brother about seven attempts before he finally knocked me up."

While I had heard the story before, I was still surprised whenever Aunt Karen mentioned her time with Michelle's younger brother. It seemed unreal.

I took another bite of the oxtail and rice.

"I was surprised when you texted me weeks ago," Aunt Karen said, "We hadn't spoken in years. How did you even get my number?"

"You had given it to me before you and my dad stopped talking to each other. I never got rid of it."

"Imagine my shock when you came over and told me everything that was going on between you and your sister."

I remembered that day. After leaving the coffee shop, I had driven to Aunt Karen's house and told her everything. About my having sex with Sarah. About Rayya flirting with me and me flirting back. I even told her that I hated Sarah because she had hurt Rayya. Aunt Karen had listened without interrupting. She never told me what to do, which was fine. I just needed someone I could talk to.

Since then, I've visited Aunt Karen whenever I got the chance. The days we spent together reminded me why she had been my favorite aunt growing up. She was mature, respectful, but also knew how to have fun. Because she was a Toronto police officer, I expected her to be upset when my article got published. However, she had congratulated me on the well-written article even before it had become successful. When the article had been shared over a hundred thousand times, she had messaged me a picture of her brassier along with the caption:

So, I guess I can't afford this anymore! :(

You look better without it lol, I had texted back.

Sometimes, we talked about my dad during our meetings. She was particularly curious about his unofficial separation from his wife.

"I never liked Kristen," Aunt Karen said, "No offence, George."

"None taken," I said, but perhaps she could see that she had offended me because we never discussed my mom again after that.

We finished our food without much conversation. Aunt Karen then brewed some tea for us to drink.

"Are you going to try to get Sarah pregnant again?" She asked after she had poured us our tea.

"I told Rayya I would."

"That wasn't my question."

I blew on the surface of the tea. Steam billowed like a cape. "I don't know if I want to. I'm just so mad at Sarah."

"You don't have to like her to fuck her," Aunt Karen said, as if reminding me of an oft-forgotten fact, "You just have to get your dick hard."

"That's what I thought at first. Now, I'm not too sure."

Aunt Karen smiled. "You're so much like your father. You look like him, too, when he was your age. He was such a handsome man."

I raised a brow. "I thought you hated my dad?"

"I've never hated your father, George. I don't think I'm capable of that."

I waited for Aunt Karen to say more.

"You can ask. I won't be upset," she said.

"Why did you and dad stop talking to each other? Was it because he didn't approve of you and Michelle?"

"Not at all. In fact, he supported our relationship." When Aunt Karen saw my shocked expression, she laughed so hard that she had to stop drinking her tea or else she would have spit it out. "You'll be surprised to know that your father wasn't always the homophobic, sexist man you currently know him to be."

"What happened?"

It was a long time before Aunt Karen spoke again. She looked at her tea, barely touched, the surface of her drink made of the same stuff of a scrying glass.

"I told him that I loved him," she said, finally.

I held my breath. "As a brother?" I asked. Aunt Karen looked at me for a moment, as if I was one of the dumb drunkards she routinely handcuffed. "But, how is that even possible?"

"Do you think we choose who we love?" She asked.

I thought about that for a moment. I answered in the negative.

"I knew I was growing feelings for your father because I would think of him every time Michelle's brother put his dick in me. I wondered how it would feel to fuck him. I tried to ignore those thoughts, but they were there all the same."

"That's why you and Michelle broke up," I said.

Aunt Karen smiled. No one in the family, not even Rayya, I suspected, knew the real reason why Aunt Karen and Michelle had separated. Several months after Aunt Karen had had her kid, she announced that she and Michelle would raise the baby separately. We were all shocked, especially dad.

"I told Michelle about my feelings for your father about a week after I had given birth. She was desolate, but we agreed to live together until I was well enough to be on my own. After that, she would move out." Aunt Karen took a sip of her tea. It didn't seem like she tasted anything. "A week after Michelle left, I told your dad how I felt about him. And, well, you can imagine what happened next. When your dad and I stopped talking, he must have convinced himself that lesbianism had created these impure thoughts in my head. That was the only way he could understand my emotions."

"They're not impure," I said, taking Aunt Karen's hand, "Your emotions, I mean. I don't think they're impure."

She squeezed my hand but didn't reply.

I planned to head home after tea, but Aunt Karen said that she had a spare room, and that I could stay the night if I wanted. I accepted her invitation. We had more rice and peas and oxtail for dinner-Aunt Karen had always been a great cook, I remembered-and then I took a shower and changed into clothes Aunt Karen gave me.

When I re-entered the living room after changing, Aunt Karen looked at me with an impish grin.

"God, you are the spitting image of your father," she said.

"So you've said."

We put in a movie to pass the time. I wasn't very much into it, but Aunt Karen seemed to enjoy it. When it finished, I was ready for sleep.

"No you don't," Aunt Karen said when she saw me yawn, "You still have to tell me what is going on between you and your sister."

"What do you mean? Nothing is going on."

She scoffed. "You can't lie to me, George. I can see it in the way you talk about her. It is the same look I know I have when I talk about your father."

"True, we're close, but I don't know if I see her as anything more than a sister."

"Maybe I'm mistaken-I haven't talked to my brother in a long time, after all-but is it normal for siblings to flirt with each other?" Aunt Karen laughed when she saw me blush. "Don't be embarrassed. I have no right to judge."

"I don't know how I feel about Rayya. I know I love her as a brother. And I think she's hot. For sure. But, I don't know if I love her as man, or..."

"Or if you just want to fuck her?" Aunt Karen offered, finishing my sentence.

"Does that make me an asshole?"

"It makes you a man."

Aunt Karen and I returned to the kitchen, where she poured each of us a glass of wine.

"Your father and I had some close encounters," Aunt Karen said, "I doubt he remembers, though."

"I don't believe it. What happened?"

"I gave him a hand job once."

"No way," I said and threw my head back laughing, "How did that happen?"

"I swear," Aunt Karen said, "This was when I was eighteen and he had just turned nineteen. Your dad was not too attractive then. He really only became a lady-killer in his twenties. At nineteen, he hadn't spoken to a girl who wasn't his relative."

"He must have been desperate."

This time it was Aunt Karen's turn to laugh. "I guess he was! He asked me if I could do him a favor. I didn't love him as a woman then, but we were still close, so I agreed. Then, without any ceremony, he pulls down his pants, and asks if I could give him a hand job."

"What did you do?"

"I was stunned. It was the first time I had seen a penis, but your father had a big package, and I was scared of it. But, I didn't want him to know I was scared. I told him that I would give him a hand job if he gave me fifty dollars, which was a lot of money back then. I expected him to turn me down. Instead, he left my room and came back with five ten dollar bills. He had gotten the money from tutoring. Your dad was wicked smart."

"He told me he could have been a professor if he wanted," I said.

Aunt Karen considered that for a moment before saying that he probably could have been.

"Anyway, I felt I couldn't turn him down. I told him to lay on the bed and to look at the ceiling. He was hard before I even touched him. When I started jerking him off, he came in under two minutes."

"You must be very good at giving hand jobs."

Aunt Karen blushed fiercely but was grinning through her reddening cheeks. "I was alright, I guess. What about you and Rayya? Have you two done anything?"

I told her about the time when Rayya caught me masturbating and how she had intentionally left her bedroom door open the next day so I could see her masturbating. Aunt Karen sounded interested but also disappointed that we hadn't touched each other sexually.

"Do you want Rayya to give you a hand job?" Aunt Karen asked next.

"That would be great. And I'd feel like I wasn't crossing a line."

We talked for a bit longer into the night after that. I was getting a pleasant buzz. I could tell that Aunt Karen was also getting a bit tipsy, but she tried to hide it. She had brought her chair close enough to me that I could smell the alcohol on her breath. She was close enough that I could see down her cleavage. I tried not to stare.

"I wish your father didn't hate me," she said after draining her glass again, "I wish we could go back to how things were."

"Maybe you can," but even I knew that was unlikely. My father was a stubborn ass.

Aunt Karen reached for the wine bottle again, but I put a hand on her shoulder. I intended to stop her from refilling her glass, but something crossed between us when our eyes met. It may have been the alcohol, but she looked more like Rayya than ever, and I wondered if she saw my father when she looked into my eyes.

I kissed her.

When she pulled away, she was laughing weakly, as if something funny had transpired. I leaned in to kiss her again, but she rested a hand on my chest.

"George, no," she said, shaking her head.

I apologized and blamed my behavior on the alcohol. We both laughed and agreed it was time for bed.

I wasn't surprised when Aunt Karen came into my bedroom that night. I hadn't fallen asleep and it seemed that she was having troubles sleeping, as well.

"Look up at the ceiling," she whispered as she came into my bed.

I did what she asked. I felt her hands pull my pants down and find my cock. She didn't have to stroke for too long before it became hard. I was leaking precum like a broken faucet. My back arched towards her.

"Think of Rayya," she said.

I closed my eyes and I pictured Rayya handling my member. I pictured her masturbating. I pictured her calling me 'daddy' and showing her tits to me.

When I came, it was Rayya's name I yelled. My seed exploded from my cock and flowed over Aunt Karen's fingers. She wrung my cock until she felt certain that my balls had emptied themselves. When I looked at her, she was staring at the palm of her hand. I suspected that she was holding some of my seed.

"You can lick it if you want," I said.

She hesitated, but then licked her palm clean. She closed her eyes then, as if savoring the taste, and left my room, leaving me to clean up my mess.

Morning came. It took me a minute to remember where I was, and, while I had drunk a lot last night, I still remembered the hand job Aunt Karen had given me.

If she had stayed longer, I would have returned the favor. A part of me thought of returning the favor now, but I wasn't sure if she would want that. She had likely sobered up by now, and besides, she may not have remembered last night.

I made the bed and put on the same clothes I had worn when I drove to Aunt Karen's house. When I left the room and headed to the kitchen, I was surprised to see Aunt Karen already awake, sitting at the table with a cup of tea. She wore a blue robe and it didn't seem like she was wearing anything underneath.

"Good morning, sweetie," she said.

"Hey, Aunt Karen," I said, lamely.

"If you're wondering if I remember what happened last night, I do. You don't have to be awkward. I'm sorry I did that."

"Don't be. In fact, I was wondering if I could return the favor."

Aunt Karen studied my face. Then, her features softened.

"I'd like that."

I got on my knees in front of Aunt Karen. She opened her legs just wide enough for my head to fit between them. As I suspected, she had no underwear on. She had a hairy pussy with a scent that got my cock hard.

"Sorry I'm not shaved," she said.

"I prefer this."

I started at her vaginal opening but quickly made my way to her clit. She pulled my head closer to her vulva, urging me to add more pressure. I obeyed and was greeted with fresh moans of ecstasy.

"Michael! Michael!" she moaned.

She screwed her fingers into my hair as she thought of my father. I continued eating her out for all I was worth. When she achieved her first orgasm, I drank deeply of her nectar. She stretched out her legs when she came and flung her head back.

"George, stop, I'm going to fall," she panted.

I ignored her and continued lapping at her pussy, but I could feel that she was losing her balance. Somewhat gracefully, she half-slipped, half-fell from her chair.

"Holy fuck, I needed that. Wait-George, what are you doooiiinnng?" She elongated the 'doing' when she felt my tongue lick her perineum and then insert itself into her asshole. Without invitation, I began fucking her ass with my tongue. She pushed her ass against my face, urging me to go deeper. I took my cock out and started beating my meat while I anal fucked her with my tongue.

She came harder than before. I returned my attention to her pussy so I could drink her orgasm.