Rescued

And for that matter, just what is her age? She's been here, with me, since - well, the Doc and I agreed that she was probably five or six when she first came, and it's been thirteen years now, so she must be 18 or 19. And while the doctor says that she's quite healthy, hers is still the stature of a 14-year-old - and not a very robust 14-year-old at that.

So, no, it wasn't a matter of saintly restraint on my part. It's just that nothing ever lined up for me to experience any sexual thoughts or feelings toward Annie.

And now there's a naked 18- or 19-year-old girl in my bed, and she's doing a surprisingly capable job of making my tired body experience things it hasn't experienced in decades (and the thought intruded: did she learn how to do these things on the Internet?).

And I wondered - is this it? Has it finally happened - that Annie's body has matured to the point where she's experiencing sexual feelings, and that it's entirely natural for her to want to act on those feelings?

And if she is, what do I do about it? What is my role in all this?

I'm sure you can imagine my dilemma.

And I already know what you're thinking. "What dilemma?? There's no dilemma! It's just a lonely, degenerate man, exploiting his position of trust and responsibility in order to abuse an innocent child."

I can understand how you'd think that. But remember - it was Annie who came to me, into my bedroom, into my bed, touching me, her hands on me - "there." No, this is what Annie wanted. It's what she wanted - wants - to happen.

The inevitable occurred, and I got hard, and in the moonlight that was coming through the window I could see Annie smile, the sense of accomplishment visible on her face. Satisfied with her "work," she raised her leg and swung herself over me and positioned herself right against the tip of my cock, and I could feel something slick there, and I realized that Annie had already prepared herself with some kind of lubrication. She began lowering herself onto me, and I knew what was coming.

I tried to hold her slim hips, to stop her from ... But she seemed to know what was coming, too. In the light I could see her clench her teeth, then suddenly plunge herself onto me, and I heard her gasp, and the little cry. I wanted to die.

But Annie had been prepared - she'd been expecting this. She stopped moving, and she waited, and when I could see in her face that the initial shock and the pain had subsided, she started moving again. Her movements were kind of random, and certainly not those of a sexually experienced woman who knew how to please her lover - or herself. But to me, of course, it didn't matter. I hadn't experienced the feel of a woman in 25 years, and my body reacted.

And I could see Annie's startled expression as she felt my semen jet into her, shooting against her insides for the very first time ever. And she smiled, and there was that look of accomplishment again. She moved her pelvis, like she was trying to spread around whatever it was that was inside her .

I couldn't help myself. I took my hands from Annie's hips and wrapped them around her shoulders, and I pulled her down to me, and I kissed her head, and I cried into her hair - I don't know why.

But as soon as Annie caught her breath, she pushed herself up from me - and she smiled, and she rolled off and onto her back next to me and reached out and grabbed something. It turned out to be a towel - apparently Annie knew exactly what was going to happen, and she was going to be prepared! Using the towel, she wiped between her legs, then reached over and wiped my cock and groin, then looked between my legs at the bedsheet to see if there was anything there to be wiped up.

Apparently satisfied, she put the towel aside - and pulled me over on top of her. Annie spread her legs and looked directly into my eyes, and it was obvious what was expected of me. And amazingly - or perhaps not-so-amazingly - I was still hard. Again, it was Annie who took me in her hand, and I lowered myself and she placed my cock into position, and I leaned into her, gently at first, but then more insistently as Annie grabbed my buttocks and pulled me against her.

I won't go on describing what we did - I'm trying to be accurate, but not pornographic. And when I came into her, I could see Annie smile again, and she wrapped her thin legs around my hips, almost as if she was trying to keep me locked in place.

I finally withered, and Annie released her legs and her arms and gently guided-rolled me off her and onto the bed. Then she smiled at me - again, that little self-satisfied smile - grabbed the towel, and scampered - yes, scampered - back to her room.

Knowing Annie, it did not surprise me that this scenario was repeated the next night, and for most nights after that, five, maybe six nights a week. And Annie basically directed the action, although I quickly showed her how and where to touch herself to experience pleasure while she was doing this.

But most of the time, Annie wanted me on top of her, her legs pulled back as if she was trying to keep every remnant of our sex inside her.

And of course I thought about pregnancy, and from the second time, and repeatedly after that, I tried to communicate this to Annie, but she adamantly refused to see the doctor, and the couple of times I tried to sneak on a condom (bless Mr. Cooper's discretion) she noticed immediately and stopped me, with a look that said, simply, "NO!"

And, yes, of course I thought of refusing her "advances," of trying to dissuade her from this? My concern was, did I dare do anything that might seem like I was rejecting her?

Well, on that I got my answer - and yours.

One night, maybe the second week that Annie had been coming to my bedroom and into my bed, I was, how can I put it, "unable to respond." This was a complete surprise to Annie, who apparently thought that it was "automatic" - a woman touched a man there and then he got hard so she could put him inside her. On this night, though, I might have been too tired, or perhaps coming down with something - or perhaps feeling guilt over my role in Annie's nighttime visits. In any case, I couldn't get hard for Annie, no matter how diligently she tried.

She raised her head from my mid-section and looked at me - and the look in her eyes was nothing less than pure accusation. I was failing her - denying her something that she was entitled to. She resumed her efforts on my failing cock, and seeing no response, she raised her head and looked at me again, and this time I saw anger.

She glared at me, and she straddled me and she began hammering on my chest with her fists clenched. She proceeded to pound on my chest, tossing her head back and forth, almost as in anguish, beating on my chest some more, then dashing out of bed and running, crying, into her room.

I could hear her crying. I gave her a minute or two, then got up and quietly went into her room. She was lying face down on the bed, sobbing. Literally. Her body rose and fell with each sob. I felt absolutely terrible. I had failed my precious Annie - failed her in some way, some way I didn't fully understand, but I knew that, yes, I had failed her.

I leaned over her and put my arms around her, and I tried to tell her that a man can't always do what she wanted me to do, and that it wasn't her fault, that maybe I was just too tired or maybe a little bit sick, and that, yes, I still love her and care for her, more than anything else in the world, and that sometimes things like this happen with a man, but it doesn't mean that I don't care any more, and I promised that I would do better the next time.

The sobbing eventually stopped, and she calmed down, and when I heard her familiar snore begin, I kissed the back of her head and went to my bedroom.

Annie continued to come to my bed - I never went to hers - for nearly a year.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And then one morning while I was sitting at the table finishing my Honey-Nut Cheerios, Annie came out of her room, still wearing her nightgown, and there was this strange smile on her face. She stopped, and she made sure that I was looking. Then she rubbed her tummy. It wasn't the circular rubbing that she's used since the very start to let me know that she's hungry. And she wasn't clenching her stomach with her hand, the way she does when she wants to tell me that her stomach hurts.

No, this time it was different. This time she was holding her hands together, fingers interlaced, down low on her abdomen. And she was making a rocking motion with her two hands.

She was going to have a baby.

I got up, almost spilling my cereal, and rushed over to her and threw my arms around her and hugged her and kissed her hair and rocked her back and forth in my arms, and in a greater display of physical affection than we'd ever done before, we laughed, and then we cried - and then I stepped back and held her at arms' length, then pulled her to me and we hugged again.

Annie was going to have a baby!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She never visited my bed again. I had performed my function, and, apparently, I had performed it well. And I was happy that I'd done so.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And once Annie began "showing," there was the issue of appearing in public.

I told you when Annie first came to live with me that people in this neck of the woods for the most part have a "live and let live" attitude and pretty much keep to themselves and expect others to do the same.

Still, there was this strange young girl, and she was obviously pregnant, and there was the fond, protective "uncle," and they lived by themselves, out in the country, with no one else around ... . I think that for many folks, they were simply pleased - well, pleased is probably too strong a word, but maybe appreciated the fact that Annie was at least as old as she was before becoming pregnant.

There was also the concern, on my part, at least, as to her health. As soon as I realized that Annie was pregnant, and that her pregnancy (and the subsequent delivery) mandated medical attention, I called Doc Marsh, who first congratulated me - and the young mother-to-be, of course - but also said that he was too old to give Annie the continuing attention she would need but said that "the young fella" - Jeremy Willens, the young doctor that he took in and who now runs the practice - would be happy to help Annie with her pregnancy and look after the baby after it's born.

"Also, he understands yours and Annie's 'unusual' situation, and that won't be any problem."

Doc Marsh called "the young fella" and made an appointment for us - for Annie, and he was able to see us the very next Thursday.

And we had the usual parents-to-be questions: How far along is she? When will she be due? And, of course, does everything look all right?

The doctor, wisely, insisted that he conduct a complete examination before starting to answer our questions. And that began, of course, with the mother's and father's family medical histories.

This was a problem with Annie, obviously. The only medical information I had about her "family" was that her mother was a drug addict. And I didn't want to say that because, first, I don't know that for a fact, and second, the knowledge that her mother died of a drug overdose might lead to further inquiries into things that we didn't want inquired into. Everything else that was known about "the mother" - Annie - was already contained in Doc Marsh's files.

As for the "father's" history - I certainly know that well enough. But answering those questions in the first person would be, well, awkward. Instead, Dr. Willens let me provide the information in the third person, like I was reporting about some other person that I just happened to know extremely well, and the doctor was gracious enough not to "break character" as I answered his questions like I was talking about someone else.

After giving her a thorough examination he told Annie, "It appears that you're in quite good health, young lady - it looks like you've been taken very good care of over the years." He said that all she would need would be a few vitamin supplements - "especially folic acid and calcium and vitamin D - but be sure to cut back on sources of vitamin A." (Note: We'll have to find out possible sources of vitamin A so that we can be sure to cut back on them.)

Also, given Annie's "slight stature," I was worried about whether she would be able to give birth ... how can I say this ... "without complications." Dr. Willens reassured us (mainly, me) that unless the baby was exceptionally big, "... our Annie should be able to manage the task just fine."

There was also the question of where Annie should deliver. The doctor's preference, of course, was the local community hospital in Pres-lee, but I was worried about what kinds of records and reports would be required. Doctor Willens reassured us (again, mainly me) that birth records had minimal details and that Annie could decide at the time, or even later, what to do about a father.

Several visits and seven months later, at the local hospital, Annie gave birth to a beautiful, chubby, blue-eyed baby boy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I will never forget the moment when she told me what she had decided to name her baby. And he was Annie's baby. Yes, I was the baby's biological father, and yes, she couldn't have done it without me. But he was Annie's ... Annie's enterprise, I guess you could say, from the very start.

Anyway, I remember it was a few days after Annie and the baby returned home and I was sitting at the table finishing my breakfast bowl of Honey-Nut Cheerios when Annie came out of the bedroom - now hers and the baby's bedroom. She looked tired, but she was also radiant, like she knew something special, something wonderful, that she was dying to share. She'd been holding something behind her back and now she held it out to me, confidently, proudly.

I could see. It was the old copy of Winnie-the-Pooh, the one my father read to me when I was young, the first thing I read with Annie when she came and I was trying to find good stories for us to read together and learn from.

And now Annie was proudly extending that old brown-covered volume, its jacket yellowed with age, to me, her slim fingers holding it open to a page very near the front. And with the other hand, she was pointing to a particular line - to a particular set of words:

Christopher Robin.

She looked at me, to make sure I'd seen what she was pointing at. Then she turned her head and looked toward the bedroom - the room where the baby was sleeping - and she smiled, an absolutely beatific smile.

The baby would be Christopher Robin.

I smiled with pleasure, an enormous smile.

And then I burst into tears. I just sat there at the table, sobbing. I couldn't move.

Annie reacted with horror. What could make me act in such an unexpected, extreme way? Was it her baby's name - was there something wrong with the name? Was it a terrible name? Why???

I saw what my reaction was doing to Annie, and I had to get control of myself.

And I had to explain to her.

So I managed to stop sobbing and pull myself together, then reached out and pulled Annie to me and held her like that, my head against her tummy, still soft but no longer bulging with baby, and I felt her hand stroking my hair. Still, I had to put her at ease and answer the questions she must certainly be having, and I had to do it quickly.

I let go of her, and she stepped back so we could see each other, see each other talk. She gestured, "What's wrong? Don't you like the name? What's wrong?"

My heart broke. I reached out and pulled her to me again, then let her step back.

"No, it's a wonderful name - it's the most perfect name in the world."

She was still puzzled. I had to tell her.

"Annie - Annie, my love - that's the name we - Cindy and I - had decided to call ... our baby ... before ..." I couldn't finish - I couldn't say anything more. But then Annie stepped to me and put her arms around my head and held me. Then she stepped back, and with her gestures she managed to tell me,

"Now you have your Christopher." She smiled, and she gestured, "I'm glad."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And as soon as he was able to go out into the world, Annie insisted on having Christopher Robin with us everywhere we went. And that included our trips to the store.

Annie, of course, was familiar to most of the folks in the area - she had been coming with me to Cooper's gas station and store on the highway from the very first week she was with me. (They also knew, of course, that she was pregnant, and "Shouldn't Lucas's girl - Annie - be about due by now?")

So when she first appeared at the store with Christopher Robin, people were expecting them and would come over and congratulate her (never me, of course!) and tell her what a beautiful little boy she had, and how healthy and happy he looked. Annie, of course, didn't say anything, but everyone could see how proud she was and how much she appreciated how everyone liked her baby.

Then one Monday Annie and I were in Cooper's with Christopher Robin when I noticed that Annie seemed to be looking across the store at something. Then I realized: she wasn't looking at some thing - she was looking at someone.

And what - who - she was looking at was the young man in the brown work uniform of the shipping service that delivers merchandise and people's packages to Cooper's store. He's pretty much a regular on Mondays, and people recognize him, and he usually has a friendly exchange with Mr. Cooper and a kind word or a cheerful greeting for whoever's in the store at the time.

This day, though, he seemed to catch Annie's eye. I thought, "That's unusual" - Annie pretty much tends to her own business, or to ours. But I didn't think anything more about it ...

Until the next time. We were at the store, and it was also a Monday, about our "usual" time, when the young delivery driver came in again. This time, Annie hung next to me, practically clinging to my arm ... and watched every move the young man made as he wheeled a hand truck full of merchandise plus a half-dozen smaller packages into the store. She watched as he joked with Mr. Cooper and exchanged greetings with the two other customers that were in the store before going back to the large brown van and driving off.

That Saturday Annie gave me a piece of paper. On it she had written, "Store. Monday."

I looked at it. "I was thinking you and I would wait 'til Tuesday - that's when they get all the fresh bread and milk and ..."

Annie shook her head and adamantly put her foot down. She didn't stomp, but she put her left foot down emphatically and pointed again at the words that were written on the paper. Alright, I guess we're going to the store on Monday.

And when I saw the brown delivery van pull into the parking lot I understood why.

The young driver came in. Like she had before, Annie watched his every move. One time he looked up from his clipboard and noticed Annie's attention. He smiled at her, then said goodbye to Mr. Cooper, looked over and gave us - Annie and me - another smile and went out to his van.

The week passed. Saturday I pointedly said to Annie, "How 'bout we plan on going to the store Monday?" and watched her light up at my suggestion.

This time the young delivery driver was looking around the store, like he was trying to see if someone was there. He saw Annie, and he gave her a big smile. I decided then that I might as well go ahead.

I thought that now was the time to introduce ourselves, or more precisely, to introduce Annie. I walked over to the young man, pretty sure that Annie would follow me.