That Old Adage...bySweetPregnantTits©
You know the saying—and I'm sure I date myself by saying this—"I want to marry a girl like the one that married Dad?" Well, that holds true for me. I come from a big, traditional Italian family—Dad worked and was head of the house, Mom was at home in the kitchen (and pregnant for the most part). We didn't have much money, but we were never hungry, and because there were seven kids, we had a lot of fun. I always assumed that when I got married, I would have the same kind of family. I loved kids, and secretly, I looked forward to having an ever pregnant wife. My siblings and I got sent to the movies a lot whenever Mom was pregnant, and I now know it's because my father was satisfying my incredibly horny pregnant mother. As my older brothers got married and had children, they regaled me with tales of suckling their wives' breastmilk, and how wonderful it was knowing they had put a baby in their bellies, and I eagerly awaited the day when I would get to tell stories of my own.
Unfortunately for me, I came of age in the 70s, a time when the ERA and feminism were at the forefront of the political stage and social conscious, and with more and more girls choosing career over family, I was hard pressed to find one willing to even get married, let alone one who was willing to settle down and have children.
Nevertheless, I did manage to get married to a girl named Helen who worked as a secretary in the building next to mine. We went to the deli at the same time every day for lunch, and one day we struck up a conversation, and from that we began dating at night, in addition to our daily lunch dates. Helen was a lot of fun to be around, and we shared a lot of common interests, and I was genuinely in love with her when I popped the question.
Like most couples, our first year of marriage wasn't easy. I guess I assumed that Helen would quit her job and run the house once we got married. Not only did she keep it, but a few months after our honeymoon she got a promotion, which required longer hours, and often she wouldn't make it home for dinner. I wasn't happy about it, but I did want her to be happy, so I didn't push the matter. Besides, I reasoned, we would need the money when it was time to start our family. I wanted to do it soon, but Helen said she was on her way to becoming one of the first female managers at her company, and she didn't want to jeopardize it by becoming pregnant.
Much as it disappointed me, I was in no position to argue. Because of Helen's added income, we were better off financially than most people back then, and were able to purchase a sizable home in the suburbs, in a nice neighborhood full of families. Other than a couple who was in their 70s, we were the only house on the block that didn't have children in it, and it seemed as if at least one of our neighbors was always pregnant. I couldn't help but stare at them when they were—breasts full of milk and rounded bellies, barely contained by their maternity dresses. I thought they were absolutely beautiful, and I reveled in the stories their husbands would tell at poker games—how they felt so manly knocking up their wives multiple times, how feminine their wives seemed when they were pregnant, and how they could hardly satisfy their pregnant wives' sexual appetite. Whenever I saw one of my friends' wives breastfeeding, I secretly longed to be the baby at her breast, suckling that sweet mother's milk. The wives always commented to me how great I was with their kids, and they told me how I would make a great father someday. I agreed, and I hoped it would be soon.
But Helen was utterly consumed with her job, and it got so that we were only sleeping together once a week, if that. Not to mention she was still on the pill, and she wasn't getting any younger. Though I was only 25, Helen was already 30, and I knew that if we waited much longer, it could be harder for her to have children.
Finally, after three and a half years of marriage, she agreed to become pregnant, but it was far from the wonderfully erotic states that my neighbors spoke of . Helen had a difficult pregnancy. She was sick almost the whole nine months, and she had gestational diabetes. Combine that with all the other pregnancy symptoms, and my wife was perfectly miserable. I was miserable as well, but only because I couldn't touch the goddess that my wife had become. Her breasts swelled to a 38DD, and her belly got that sexy pregnant curve. I longed to suckle the milk from her pendulous tits and fuck her silly, but Helen didn't want me to touch her. Needless to say that after our son was born, Helen didn't breastfeed any longer than her maternity leave, which, in my opinion was too short. Rather than take a step back in her career, Helen hired a nanny to help out with James, which was another sore spot for me. Much as I liked Grace, I really felt that our son should be raised by his parents and not a stranger.
I was a devoted father, spending as much time with James as I could. Working at the insurance company, I had a 9 to 5 job, which gave me plenty opportunity to be with my son. I coached little league, did cub scouts, the whole nine yards. As much as I loved James, I always thought he could use a little brother, but whenever I mentioned this to Helen, she would fly off the handle, talking about how she would have to do all the work carrying the baby and taking time off of work, and she simply couldn't do it.
After that Helen and I were pretty much married in name only. It wasn't long after James was born that she began to lose interest in sex, and after a few months, even I stopped trying. Between work and all of James' activities, there wasn't time for sex even if we'd wanted to. I could have cheated on her, I suppose, but deep down I was still a traditionalist, and I had meant it when I said "til death." I must admit, I spent a lot of time in adult movie theatres and arcades in the 80s, before the home movie craze, to get my sexual release. There were some good times here and there, mostly when Helen had vacation time and we would take James camping. When she wasn't working, she was more like the girl in the deli that I'd married, and I'd think that this was the time for us to start over. But as soon as she would get back to work, she'd become the same hardened career woman, and we'd just end up fighting. I tried to shield James from it, but he's a smart kid, and I think he knew something wasn't right. Things just weren't working out with Helen, much as I wanted them to. The bottom line is, we weren't happy, and I'm sure the reason we stayed together as long as we did was because of our son. We saw a counselor off and on, but Helen wasn't really comfortable talking about us, and so that fizzled, and in the end, after thirteen years of marriage, Helen left me.
I wasn't surprised when she did, but I was still deeply saddened, especially when she told me she was leaving Scarsdale and taking James. I fought hard for custody, but back then the courts felt a nine year old boy needed his mother more than his father, and in the end Helen won and she and James moved to Texas, and at 39, I was faced with the daunting task of starting my life over again.
I ended up getting the house in the divorce, but after a few months I decided I couldn't stay there. Maybe it was the way the neighbors talked, maybe it was being there without James, or the echoes of all the children I'd wanted to have, or maybe it was the beginning of a midlife crisis. Whatever it was, I ended up selling the house and moving three thousand miles to California.
My company had an office in Ventura, and thankfully, I was able to transfer, keeping both my seniority and my pension. I moved what little possessions I had into a small apartment. It wasn't on the beach, but the complex did have a pool, something I took advantage of regularly. After forty winters on the east coast, I had a lot of tanning to do to catch up with the rest of the state. It also seemed to have an unusually high ratio of young female tenants—many of whom I got to know while sitting around the pool, and who would call me to help fix things whenever the building manager could not be reached.
I suppose I should have been having the time of my life—I was single and living in California, just a stone's throw from beaches full of scantily clad women. But the fact of the matter is, I was a little gun shy about dating again. I guess Helen got my self confidence in the divorce as well. I was still in pretty good shape for 40—not great, but fairly decent, and my hair was still jet black with no signs of gray. I had a good job, and, even after paying alimony and child support, a decent amount of money. And yet, I couldn't think of a single thing I had to offer any woman.
After a few months of feeling sorry for myself, I got very fed up and started jogging. I got a gym membership and started working out regularly, and in almost no time at all, my slight beer belly had disappeared and my biceps were bulging. It was as if I had my 25 year old body back, not to mention my confidence. I even started dating again. I had seen one or two women from the office, but it hadn't turned into anything serious. That didn't matter, I still felt better than I had since before I'd married Helen.
One night I was going to get in a quick swim before bed, something I did fairly often. Normally I was alone in these night swims, but that night when I entered the pool gated I saw a girl lying on one of the folding chairs. It wasn't anyone I knew from the complex. She was young, probably about 20 I guessed, a typical California girl—long blond hair and tan, with long legs. She was also naked, her full, round breasts topped with cherry nipples sitting proudly atop her chest, the top of her pussy just barely visible between her crossed legs. Just the sight of her and I was pitching a tent in my swim trunks, and I quickly dove in the cool water to get rid of it. When I emerged, she was looking directly at me, and smiling.
"Awfully late to get a tan, isn't it?" I asked, sitting on the pool steps.
"Oh no," she said with a smile. "Haven't you ever heard of a moon tan?"
"Not really," I chuckled.
"Oh, yeah, it's much longer lasting than a suntan, not to mention there's no risk of skin cancer." She smiled that smile again, and I laughed. "Actually, I didn't think anyone was going to be out here this time of night." I noticed she hadn't made a move to cover herself, which both shocked and intrigued me, another reminder that I was in California.
"Personally I prefer to swim at night," I said.
"Oh, me too. Well, to be honest, I prefer to swim naked, and it's just easier if I do it at night. I don't want to get my friend kicked out of her place, you know?" She slipped off her chair and dove into the water. She came up and swam around, her breasts floating in the water, and I worried that the cold water wasn't going to be enough to get rid of my erection.
"I haven't seen you around here before," I commented. "Do you live here?"
"Uh-huh, just moved in about two weeks ago," she answered.
"I didn't know there were any vacant apartments," I quipped. "And no one mentioned they were moving out."
"No, I live with Natalie, in 1D?"
I was thinking more like 38D as she swam up next to me.
"Oh, well, I'm right on top of you," I said, then cringed. "I mean—" The girl laughed at my awkwardness, and I was glad it was dark so she couldn't see me blush.
"I'm Kristy," she said, sticking out her hand. I shook it awkwardly, trying hard not to stare at those gorgeous tits.
"Joe," I said.
"Well, I'll be sure to see you around, neighbor," she said as she got out of the pool, and just like that she was gone, leaving me very confused and very aroused.
The next time I saw Kristy was two weeks later in the laundry room. I hadn't seen her since that night in the pool, and unfortunately apartment 1D hadn't needed any repairs. I had begun to wonder if it was even real, when all of a sudden, there she was, sitting on the dryer, reading a book. She was wearing cutoff shorts, but no top.
After greeting me, she explained that she had spilled spaghetti sauce on her last clean top, and she was waiting for it to dry.
"I haven't seen you around the pool," I said, teasingly.
"No, I've been studying," she said. "I've got mid-terms coming up."
"Oh, what college do you attend?"
I stared at her. I knew she was young, but I didn't know she was that young.
"How old are you, Kristy?" I asked.
"I just turned 18 two weeks ago," she said, shrugging.
"Oh!" She was barely 18? I couldn't believe it.
"You sound surprised."
"Well, it's just, uh...you look older," I finished lamely. What I didn't say was that most high school students lived with their parents, and it made me wonder why Kristy didn't.
"I get that a lot," Kristy admitted. After seeing her swim naked, and seeing her now topless, I could see why.
"So, um, how do you know Natalie?" I asked casually, trying to avoid staring at her perfect breasts. I stood up against the washing machine and added fabric softener.
"Oh, she went to high school with me, but she's three years older," Kristy explained. I nodded, as my eyes traveled down to the magnificent globes on her chest. When she caught me looking, I turned beet read and said, "So, you're reading Franny and Zooey? I read that. Is that a school assignment?"
"No, just for fun," Kristy answered. "I've read it twice before, but I really like the evolvement of the character Franny, you know, the whole praying without ceasing thing? I find Salinger's fascination with eastern religions and the influence on his writing very existential, don't you?"
Talk about being dumbfounded. I don't know what I had been expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn't something so enlightened. I guess because she was blond and, well, I had seen her naked, I was expecting her to be something of a bimbo, but I was glad to be wrong.
I smiled awkwardly. "Well you got me. I read that twenty years ago, and I have to admit I didn't really don't remember it."
"Yeah, when most people hear Salinger, they think Catcher in the Rye."
I laughed. I couldn't believe I was having a conversation like this with an18-year-old, much less a half naked one. All of a sudden, I felt a spark, and I think she felt it, too. Just then the dryer buzzed. Kristy jumped off, opened it, grabbed a T-shirt and put it on, then piled the rest of her clothes in her basket.
"Welp, see ya later," she said as she turned to go.
"Wait!" I said, grabbing her arm. She stopped and turned around. I sighed. It was now or never.
"Uh, you've lived in California a while, right?"
"All my life," Kristy nodded. "Why?"
"Well, it's just, I haven't and I really don't know my way around here, you know—I mean, I don't know where to get good Chinese food or a nice Italian restaurant so I was wondering if maybe you'd show me around town?"
Kristy stopped and looked at me skeptically for a second, then burst out laughing.
"Are you asking me out?" she asked. "Wow, I mean, that's what you were doing right? And that's the best you could come up with, 'I need someone to show me around town'?"
Instead of feeling embarrassed, I joined in the laughter.
"Okay, I guess it was pretty lame," I admitted.
"I'll say. Try again."
"Seriously?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes," Kristy nodded.
"Okay, Kristy, would you like to go out with me?"
"I would," she said. "How about dinner tonight? I do know a couple of places."
Later that evening I headed downstairs and knocked on 1D. Kristy answered, looking amazing. She wore a slinky silvery-blue dress that made her blue eyes pop. Her hair was up in an elegant twist with a few tendrils surrounding her face.
"You look beautiful," I whispered, hoping I wasn't getting an erection.
"You're not so bad yourself," she said.
"Yeah, I hope I'm dressed okay," I said. I had put on a simple sport coat and khakis with no tie, not too casual, but certainly not as dressed up as Kristy.
"You'll be fine," she said. I offered her my arm and we headed out.
She directed me to this nice little Italian restaurant off of the boardwalk, and just as she promised, I was dressed appropriately. I ordered us a bottle of wine, forgetting that unlike New York, the drinking age in California was 21, but thanks to the way she was dressed, and the fact that she was with me, no one seemed to notice she was one 18. We ordered, and spent the evening laughing and talking. I told her about Helen and showed her pictures of James, who she declared a heartbreaker. She asked me my age, and when I told her, she admitted she thought I was a lot younger than 40. About halfway through the meal, I finally got up the courage to ask her something that had been bothering me.
"Kris, I gotta ask you, you're, uh, you're not a runaway, are you?"
Kristy put down her wine glass and looked at me.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"Well, it's just, you're in high school, and you don't live with your parents, and well, I just want to know. I mean, I'm a father, I know what it's like to not know where your child is sleeping at night."
For the first time since I'd met her, the smile disappeared from her face, and she crossed her arms over her chest, blocking my view of her tits. She took a sip of her wine.
"My, uh, my parents died when our house burned down when I was twelve. The only reason I escaped is because I was sleeping over at a friend's house. And I miss then everyday. I don't have any other family, so I got put in foster care but once you hit 18, they kick you out, so Natalie was nice enough to let me live with her so I can finish high school."
Kristy looked like she was about to cry, and I felt bad.
"Oh, god, Kris, I'm sorry," I said, taking her hand. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, really, I didn't."
"I know," Kristy nodded. She wiped away a tear, then excused herself to go to the restroom. I downed my glass of wine, thinking I had completely ruined this date with the only girl I had been interested in since my divorce. When she returned to the table, she was smiling again, and we continued the evening like nothing happened.
After dinner we took a walk along the boardwalk, and I remarked how I'd like to bring James here when he came to visit.
"You know, it's a shame you only have one kid, you're probably a really great father," Kristy said, as we walked along the curb, holding hands.
I shrugged. "I always wanted more kids," I said. "I come from a big family, and I really wanted to have one of my own, you know?"
"Me too," she said. "I mean, I can't wait until I get married and have babies. I want a big family."
"Really?" I asked. It was strange to hear that coming from someone so young, and someone I really wouldn't mind seeing pregnant.
"Yeah," Kristy nodded. "I mean, I guess, it's cause I didn't really have a family growing up, you know, so I want one of my own. I want to have a lot of kids."
"I did, too. It was Helen who didn't want them. I'm not even sure she really wanted James."
"Well, then that proves she's crazy. Any woman would be lucky to have kids with you." I turned to look at her, and before I knew it, I had my lips on hers, my arms round her, pulling her soft body up against mine.
"I'm sorry," I said when I pulled away. "I just had to do that."
"Don't be," she said, and kissed me, her tongue parting my lips and invading my mouth to stroke my tongue. We kissed like that for a while until some punk kids started laughing at us. By this point it was already midnight, and, even though it wasn't a school night, we decided to head home.
When we got to the apartment, Kristy discovered she'd forgotten her key and Natalie wasn't home from her date yet. I suggested she come up to my place to wait, and she agreed. We cracked open a couple of beer bottles, and put on Led Zepplin II, which Kristy picked out from my record collection. She said it was her favorite record, mostly because she said Jimmy Page looked like her dad. I was still a little tipsy from the wine at the restaurant, and with my second beer, I was on well on my way to being drunk, which is the only reason I agreed to dance with Kristy when The Lemon Song came on. I'm not sure if what we were doing qualified as dancing—it was mostly Kristy moving against me while I tried not to fall. In the midst of it all, her strap fell down, exposing her left breast. Instead of pulling it back up, she lowered the other strap and pulled the garment down around her waist. I reached out and touched those glowing orbs, cupping and lifting them, loving their heavy weight in my hands. At last I bent to suckle that ripe cherry nipple, swirling my tongue around the tip and the hardening bumps of the areola before taking it in my mouth. Kristy held onto me as I switched sides and pushed her dress down her hips. It pooled at her feel and I took a step back to admire her.