My Irina Ch. 01

"Okay then." We sat some more, and thought. I kept hearing my father's voice in my head. He'd been dead for nearly three years, and I missed him every day. "The way you can tell a real man is the way he acts when the going gets tough."

"Irina," I said, "we need to get married."

"What?" she replied, shocked. "I could never do that to you, Tom. Saddle you with ... well, with me. And a baby. You're just starting your life."

"You are too, Irina. And raising a baby alone isn't anything you should be doing right now--you're only halfway through school, with not much money."

We talked--argued, sometimes--for hours. By midnight we were both exhausted, and I said I'd come back the next day for lunch and we'd talk some more.

Irina couldn't believe I was serious, couldn't believe I'd do something so hopelessly old-fashioned as marry her just because I'd gotten her pregnant. But I thought about my dad and the values I was raised with, and I knew it was right.

It took three days, but I talked her into it. We set a date for a quickie wedding the day after graduation, so my mother would still be in town and could attend. I called her and explained the whole story.

She was horrified, of course, worrying about my future and the financial burden. But she remembered Irina, what a nice person she was, and what a solid family she'd come from. She was very moved to hear about their terrible tragedy.

Thank God I had a good job lined up--I'd be able to support my sudden new family. Irina and I had agreed she'd transfer to the University of Wisconsin; she'd move with me at the beginning of June to the apartment I'd rented up in Madison.

I spoke quietly to my mom--and to my friend Adam, who would stand up for me as my best man in front of the Justice of the Peace--about Irina's face. Nothing could fully prepare them, but at least they were able to conceal their reaction somewhat. My mother, bless her heart, still managed to kiss and hug Irina, and tell her how happy she was that we would be together. I was really proud of her.

Irina's aunt and uncle couldn't afford to fly in for the wedding, but they wrote us a beautiful note and sent a check that would really help us with our moving costs.

We decided not to have a honeymoon, choosing instead to save every penny for our future life in Wisconsin, so we celebrated our marriage with a quiet restaurant dinner with Adam and my mom. Then Irina and I headed back to the apartment, shared some champagne--just half a glass for the expectant mom--and went to bed.

Not to sleep, though. Even a wedding as shotgun as this one deserved a sexy first night. Irina insisted again on complete darkness; and even though I'd grown pretty accustomed to looking at her face, I realized she felt more comfortable that way.

It was awkward at first, a lot more so than our first time. Of course, then we'd both been really drunk, while now we were no more than tipsy. And back in February it had just been a fuck--a first fuck, for her--while now it was the beginning of our marriage. Despite my conviction I had done the right thing--the only fair and decent thing for our child--I certainly had doubts about what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

But it quickly became evident that night that Irina really liked sex--liked it every bit as much as I did. She had this incredible body, and there wasn't a part of it that she didn't like having touched. Knowing that I would have years and years to play with those breasts, to stroke and lick her thighs and her pussy, to caress her beautiful tight ass, was a huge turn-on.

And when, after some increasingly exciting foreplay, she sat up, bent over and took my cock in her mouth for the first time, I nearly cried out with pleasure and excitement. She sucked me eagerly, and it was marvelous. When I could stand it no longer I pulled away from her mouth, kissed her, and maneuvered her so I could ride her from behind.

That first fuck of our married life was hot! It didn't last very long, because I was just too aroused, but it was intense and physical and very very satisfying. Knowing that Irina liked it too made it even better; she groaned and wiggled beneath me, and I could feel her pussy clutch around my cock as she orgasmed.

We lay together, breathing hard, and I said, "thanks, Mrs. Lawrence--that was fantastic."

She giggled. "You're welcome, Mr. Lawrence." And then after a minute she started to weep, and I held her gently against me.

"What is it, Irina?"

She looked up at me, barely visible in the darkness, tears on the cheeks of that dreadful, hellish face. "This isn't what you wanted, Tom--a life with me. With this ... this fright-mask of a face.

"And you don't love me. You deserve to be with a woman you love, a woman you've chosen to spend your life with. I'm just--"

I stopped her, and said, "sometimes life just surprises you, that's all. You and I grew up together. You were my best friend, Irina--do you know I've never had another friend as close as you were?

"This was meant to be, us getting back together again. Maybe it's not quite the typical romantic storybook version, but here we are. You are a lovely, terrific, very courageous lady. And I'm going to try to be the kind of husband you deserve."

I bent down to kiss her, smiling as she cried even harder for a few more minutes. And after that, we made love again--God it was sweet, making love with her! And then we slept.

****************

Irina was right, of course--at least at first. We didn't marry because she was the girl of my dreams, because I adored her and couldn't be without her. We married because she was pregnant with my child. And then--well, let's be honest--there was the matter of her horrendous appearance.

But a couple of interesting things happened, not quite at the same rate. First, you'd be surprised how quickly I got used to how Irina looked. This wasn't through any special effort on my part--I just got accustomed to it, and her poor scarred face with one weird eye and only part of a nose ceased to repulse me.

I'd had a high-school friend who had lost his voice-box after some kind of surgery for throat cancer, and the same thing had happened then: at first the whispery way he spoke was really creepy; then it was unusual but not so bad; and finally people stopped noticing it at all, it was just the way Julian spoke, and no one even thought twice about it.

So while I knew that Irina's face frightened other people, it became a non-issue for me. I could look at her while we talked, even gaze at her, without being bothered.

The other thing that happened, a bit more slowly, is that I fell in love with her. Irina had been a central part of my childhood--my best friend, the person I did everything with and told every secret to. We had built up a lot of trust over those years, even if it had come to a sudden end when she moved away at age 14.

Now, watching her make her way through a world that feared and shunned her, seeing her courage and determination on a daily basis, living with her constant kindness and generosity to me, her sweetness and optimistic nature--I really did begin to love her. I began to know that she was the woman for me and I wanted to spend my life with her.

I was not aware of these feelings, naturally, because I assumed that's what I'd be doing anyway. We were having a baby and we'd stay together to raise it; maybe have more, I guess, though we never talked about it.

So all through that summer--packing up and moving to Madison, setting up our new household, me starting my job, Irina beginning classes at Wisconsin--we lived as man and wife, and imperceptibly grew closer, our relationship and our trust in one another deepening.

Our sex life changed too, though not at a steady rate. Irina was always willing to accommodate me when I wanted her--which was pretty much every night at first. But it sometimes seemed as though she was doing it because she owed me, or just because that's what a good wife did for her husband.

I don't mean she was a boring lay--not at all. She always seemed to enjoy it, and some of the time she got energetic and eager, breathing hard, moaning, pulling at me as she approached orgasm. Naturally those times were the most fun.

But after about a month or two, Irina began to take the lead in bed some of the time. She'd come home with a Cosmo and ask me, giggling, whether we could try some of the crazy stuff she read about: a new position guaranteed to produce cosmic orgasms, or taking turns with lengthy massages.

I loved this, most of all because having a partner who desires you is the greatest turn-on there is. And I'm sure a part of our happy sex life was the trust we had--perhaps even greater than that of most newlywed couples--the trust that came from having spent years together as best friends.

One Saturday morning I brought two cups of coffee back to bed and we played for a while, kissing and stroking each other, getting ourselves worked-up. Then I rolled her up on her hands and knees, stood behind her at the edge of the bed, and entered her doggy-style.

We both liked this; actually I think one reason Irina liked it is that she was still self-conscious about her face, even though it didn't bother me any longer, and felt more relaxed when I couldn't see her. Also, of course, by August she was six months pregnant, and this was a comfortable position for her, with her swelling belly resting on a pillow or two.

Usually when we fucked doggy-style she would hold pretty still, letting me thrust into her, holding her by the hips. This time, though, I went slowly and I kept stopping, making her do more of the work by sliding herself backwards onto my cock. I started to tease her, backing away from the bed a little at a time so she needed to reach her ass back for me. It turned her on a lot, I could tell, so I kept doing it.

Her breathing quickened, and she said, "Tommy! Stop teasing me!" But I kept at it, sliding into her but then retreating, so that she pushed her beautiful ass back at me, further and further. Her body started to quiver and she started moaning rhythmically, reaching back for me, and then I lost it and pushed forward into her hard, and she cried out as she came, and I thrust a dozen more times and came myself, jerking frantically, crying out as I did.

We lay side by side, breathing hard, smiling at one another. She kissed me, her expression soft and loving, and said, "you tease! What a bad boy you are!" And then she slid her tongue right down my chest, through my pubic hair and over my cock, and she began sucking and licking all of our juices off it, the first time she'd ever done that.

She kept after me while I lay back in utter bliss, sometimes groaning gently to encourage her. I assumed when she got me hard she'd want to fuck again, so I moved to withdraw from her mouth; but she smiled up at me and said, "no, baby, I want to do this," and she went back to her delicious blowjob.

After about fifteen utterly pleasurable minutes she brought me off in her mouth, swallowed my cum (another first), and then sighed happily and snuggled in by my side, as we both dozed off for a little while.

I felt completely relaxed and blissfully happy; and as I lay there I realized that part of my happiness, beyond the pleasure of our lovemaking, was that she'd called me "baby" for the first time. We were always kind to one another, but the intimacy of endearments and pet names hadn't started to occur yet, and it seemed like a kind of milestone. A nice one.

****************

My job in Madison started only two weeks after our move, so I was a lot busier that summer than Irina. Her main jobs at first were to take care of her health and set up our apartment. She was delighted to do the at-home parts of that, but the shopping--all the choosing of furniture and rugs and drapes, all the wandering in and out of stores--made her very uneasy.

And I understood why. The couple of times I'd gone into a store with her back at Denison, I'd seen the shocked stares and the sudden silences from the people around us, customers and salespeople alike. And my heart ached for Irina, who had to bear that kind of response every day of her life.

So I made it a point to accompany her as much as possible when we needed to shop in Madison. We always went together to the furniture stores, and the runs to the supermarket were done either by me or by the two of us together. It seemed to give her strength to push the cart down the aisles with me right next to her--it made it easier to bear the stares and the whispered comments.

I wondered if she was feeling, "so what if my face is a wreck? As you can see, I've got myself a man." And then, if she went on to remember that she had a man only because I had gotten her pregnant.

The other thing I tried to do was "run interference" for her, in a way, by preparing people before they met her. The day before Irina's appointment with her new OB-Gyn in Madison, for instance, I stopped by the office and talked briefly to the nurses. I had brought a picture of Irina, and I explained to them that my wife, their new patient, had been disfigured in an accident. Showing them the picture--which shocked and frightened them, as her face always did--I said I just wanted them to be prepared a little, so that they could receive her with kindness.

Nancy, the main nurse, understood exactly what I had in mind--she even borrowed the photo for a minute to take to it show the OB, so that he'd be ready for Irina the following day as well.

And when Irina and I arrived for her appointment, my visit had clearly made a difference; the staff was kind and cordial to her, and much better able to look at her without visible discomfort.

I had the same success in early July when I made a "pre-visit" to a telephone call center where Irina had applied for a job. We'd agreed that with the baby expected in October there was no point in her starting school that fall, so she'd look for a job to bring in some money until the baby was born. And a call center was perfect: she could do her job without ever being visible to customers.

I spoke to the supervisor who'd be interviewing Irina, showed her the photo and explained the situation; and the next evening Irina came back to the apartment happy and excited: she'd gotten the job!

Even better, her job wasn't much out of the way for me to take her each day on the way to my office, so we could manage with our single car, an aging Toyota, and she didn't have to face riding the public bus to work.

My own work was going well, and I had every reason to believe my supervisors liked me and thought highly of me. So like every other person who is about to encounter a sudden tragedy, I went through life happy and oblivious of what was to come.

I specifically remember an evening when I smiled to myself, feeling as though everything was right in my world. It was the Thursday after Labor Day--I'd gone out after dinner to pick up a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream for Irina, who was having one of those cravings.

When I came back into the apartment, Irina was lying on the floor having some kind of seizure, twitching convulsively, her eyes rolled back in her head. I could see a puddle beneath her where she had urinated.

In a panic, I called 911 for an ambulance, then cradled her in my arms, trying to keep her head from banging on the floor as she writhed. In ten minutes we were in an ambulance on the way to the hospital; Irina was no longer convulsing, she was comatose; I was terrified.

There's no sense dragging out the story: we lost the baby, and I almost lost Irina. It was a particularly bad case of eclampsia, which has to do with high blood pressure in pregnancy. Usually there are warning signs, but this time there weren't any.

Irina's seizure was so severe they were afraid she'd die right in the emergency room. The usual procedure is to stabilize the mother, then deliver the baby right away by Caesarian; but in this case it took so long to stabilize Irina that the baby never had a chance. It was a little boy, dead by the time they got him out of her body.

****************

The doctors and nurses and the grief counselor at the hospital were wonderful. They encouraged us to name our poor little boy--we called him Walter Ivan Lawrence, after my father and her mother's father--and to have a funeral service for him. We were able to donate some of his organs to sick newborns who needed them, which was a tiny source of consolation. And the people at Irina's job and mine were supportive, gentle, and patient.

None of that prevented it from being horrible. I was stunned and depressed; Irina was far worse. Way back when she'd first told me about the pregnancy she said she knew this would be her only child. What she meant, then, is that no one would ever marry her or father another child with her.

But it turned out, tragically, that she was right for an entirely different reason. The desperate, rushed attempt to save our baby had left her unable to bear any more children.

For weeks the two of us staggered through life. Irina's aunt flew in and stayed in a local hotel for a couple of weeks to care for Irina, feeding her, giving her a shoulder to cry on. After ten days I went back to work but my heart wasn't in it--I felt like a zombie.

Everyone said that we needed time, that only time would allow us to recover, to begin to move past the grief. And of course, everyone was right--but it felt like it was taking forever. Irina needed about four weeks at home, after five days in the hospital, before she was strong enough to go back to work again. That was a kind of turning point; at least after that each of us had a routine, some path to trudge along each day that kept us from thinking too much.

Amazingly enough, we took care of each other. I was quietly warned by the grief counselor that this sort of loss sometimes drove a couple apart; she told me some of the warning signs, like if one of us got withdrawn and moody and didn't come out of it.

But Irina and I got through it. We kept communicating, and somehow we never let our own grief keep us from being sensitive to the other person's sadness. She was so generous to me, always looking out for my feelings, and I tried to do the same.

Everything made us cry, for a while. The first time we went to the movies after Walter's death, something in the plot of the movie got us both started, and we sobbed quietly together there in the theater, holding one another's hand. Getting a wedding announcement in the mail from a cousin brought us both to tears--probably because we each silently thought about his prospects for a house full of children.

The first time we made love again wasn't until nearly two months later--neither of us had had the slightest interest in sex for a while. And we didn't even finish! Part way through the foreplay, holding one another naked in bed, Irina just looked at me and started to sob, and before long I was crying right along with her, smiling and laughing together as we cried, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation was.

But two nights later we did better--we managed very routine but pleasurable sex--and after that things started to return to normal, inside and outside the bedroom.

In November Irina asked if we could plan a getaway for a few days, so we decided to spend Thanksgiving with my mother in Greenfield, then have a long weekend at a little (inexpensive!) resort on Lake Michigan before we headed back to work.

It was relaxing and romantic. We walked along the shore, letting the cold wind tear through us, then headed back inside to make love, which we must have done half a dozen times over the three days.

But I knew something was up--Irina was affectionate but distracted. There was something on her mind, and on the Sunday morning she finally got around to talking to me about it.