"Foretold" {Pendragon} (MF rom preg wl)
FORETOLD
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do
something else.
This material is Copyright, 1999, Uther Pendragon. All
rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long
as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous
permission.
All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly
coincidental.
# # # #
FORETOLD
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
"I feel guilty," I told Jeanette, "about treating your family as
an ordeal and mine as a refuge." It was Christmas, and the two
of us were driving from our annual dinner with my in-laws back to
my parents' place.
"Bob, you think of my mother as a self-centered, nasty
woman. Don't you?" Well, yes.
"And you don't?" I asked.
"Heavens no! That's much too mild a description. You
can't -- no one raised in the Brennan family could -- imagine how
evil she is." Well, she is evil enough that merely phoning her
gives my brave wife the willies.
"Anyway," she continued, "I treated your family as a refuge
even before we were married."
Jeanette's mother insists on having us to a Christmas dinner
with what friends she can gather. Most people prefer to eat with
their own families that day, but she wouldn't count that as a
party. This year her sons couldn't (or wouldn't) attend. I'm
never sure about these dinners; should I protect Jeanette from
the pain by demanding that she not go? It would be a favor in
some ways. On the other hand, this is all the family -- aside
from one of her brothers -- that she has left.
My family has moved the Christmas feast to the 26th to
accommodate them, but we still had our ceremonies. We had shared
the tree and read "King John's Christmas" that morning with my
parents and my sister Kathleen, who was home from Johns Hopkins
med school. They waited supper until we got back.
We joined them. Jeanette had a glass of milk; I had some
Christmas cookies. After the grace and the first talk about the
food, I cleared my throat. "Jeanette and I have an announcement
to make."
"That's nice," my mother said. "And, dear, I'm glad that
you told your mother first." That comment was directed to
Jeanette; and no, we hadn't.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Kathleen said. So much for our
great surprise.
"You knew?" Jeanette asked.
"The first morning I was home, I was about to try for the
bathroom when you rushed in first. From the hall, I could hear
your vomiting. Then Bob came out from your room and walked
downstairs slowly." I hadn't seen her at all. "Now I might not
have graduated, but I do know something about medicine. Bob
should have been pounding my door for help for his sick wife; so
that nausea wasn't due to illness. Getting nauseated by Bob is
perfectly natural, but it would be rather late for you."
Before I could respond to the last, Dad popped out:
"Jeanette was sick, and you weren't even concerned?" Leave it to
him to put the worst construction on the data.
"Russ, let him make his announcement, dear."
So I did. "Jeanette is pregnant. We expect a child in
June." At least Dad looked surprised; they all looked pleased.
"I still don't understand how Katherine knew," said
Jeanette.
"It's the initials," said my father. Mom is Katherine Grant
Brennan.
"Dear, the two of you have been looking smug this entire
visit, insufferably smug."
"Dad," Kathleen put in, "I knew that Bob would over-react if
Jeanette were sick. He wasn't blase' because he was indifferent.
He was concerned, but he said nothing because he knew the cause.
And was trying to conceal it."
"Oh."
"And," I said, "Jeanette has consulted doctors. But this is
our absolutely first announcement to family and friends." Mother
raised her eyebrows, but kept her mouth closed.
"Well," said my father, "we are honored. As well as
overjoyed."
Kathleen got up, rounded the table, and hugged Jeanette's
shoulders. Jeanette and Mom got up, and the women did a lot of
hugging.
"Well, Vi," said Dad, "you'll have to graduate on time, now.
There is another Brennan in the queue." Kathleen Violet had used
her middle name for more than a decade at home, and then changed
back early in med school. Who could keep track? There had never
been any question about her graduating on time.
"Actually, Dad," I answered, "although anything can happen,
I think that we have the immediate financial problems covered."
We'd been trying for a baby for some time, and we had started
trying when we could just about cover the expenses. We had more
in savings by the time of that conversation than I ever expect to
have again until long after all the children are in school. And
we both have medical insurance.
"I've brought our tentative budget with me," Jeanette said.
"I'd appreciate it if you would look it over for me, sir. I keep
being afraid that I've left a glaring hole."
"But," said Mom, "have you counted the costs of spoiling
one's first grandchild?"
"With one room for Legos and another for teddy bears,"
Kathleen chimed in, "your rent bill is going to go through the
roof."
"And then we'd probably have to pay for the roof repair as
well," Jeanette said. "So keep the spoiling to a minimum.
Okay?"
"The best present," said my father, "never made it under the
tree." There were various murmurs of assent.
"Besides, Jeanette never even drank milk in her coffee,"
said Vi.
"That's true. Do you want to be excused from the feast
preparation, dear?"
"Now, Katherine, you don't have to pamper me. I've gone
through that with your son already. I'd like to keep away from
the turkey itself if possible."
"Take it from a woman who bore two, dear. The pampering is
only your due. Take as much as is offered."
"Anyway," Jeanette said, "I like the conversations in the
kitchen." These are monologues, but Mom keeps them entertaining.
"A man," Dad said, "died and was taken to a luxurious room.
The bed made itself and gourmet meals shimmered into being on the
table whenever he got hungry. After a week, he started to go
stir crazy. 'What is there for me to do?' he asked.
"Voice came from the wall: 'There is nothing for you to do.
Everything will be done for you, forever.'
"'That's crazy. I might as well be in hell.'
"There was a long pause. 'Where did you think you were?'"
"Exactly!" said Jeanette.
Jeanette was employed full-time, caring for a house,
preparing for a baby, and translating bureaucratic French. (She
had decided that she would not take another night class until
sometime after the baby came.) *I* didn't think that she was in
imminent danger of having too little to do.
"Well," I said when we were alone in our room after the
Dylan Thomas record, "Dad was surprised."
"Yes. I don't mind your mother and sister knowing. Am I
really smug?"
"You have a right to be." Mom had said it about both of us.
"And that's over for a year." She wouldn't have to talk to
her mother until Mother's Day, and only by phone then.
Even so, she was tense when she came to bed. I had to pet
her and talk to her until the last worries flowed away.
By then, she was purring and arching into my strokes. I
shut up and put my mouth to better use. Her breasts were rather
sensitive, so I didn't suck hard there. But I licked them and
nipped very gently with my lips. She writhed when I blew across
the nipples. On the way, I stopped to kiss her belly where our
little atom was growing.
When I arrived, she was awash in her acceptance of our love.
I swear that she tasted different during her pregnancy, sweeter
somehow. I licked that sweetness off her lips until she grabbed
my hair. Then I concentrated on her bud while she stiffened and
shook. Her climax is the most erotic sight possible. And I had
led her there! I reveled in it until her hands pushed my head
back.
Then I climbed up over her and into her. I could still feel
the aftershocks. But I kept my weight off her while she caught
her breath. When her legs wrapped around me, I let myself move.
I shifted so that my hands could reach her breasts. With
half my weight still on my elbows I stroked in and out. She
began to respond again, moving against me as I advanced into her,
falling back as I withdrew. I pressed into her all the way and
moved my hips to rub against all her sensitive places. Her belly
was definitely hardening by the time I resumed my strokes.
I tried that three times more, feeling her torso firm under
me and her legs tighten around me. The breath was hissing
through her lips even on the inhales. She managed to gasp, "Bob.
Now!" I sped my strokes, driving harder. Her nails dug into my
shoulders. I felt her rise into a firm arch under me. Then her
warm tunnel clutched around me. It gripped me again and again.
I erupted.
The two of us shook there in silent delirium. I managed to
fall sidewise when I collapsed.
Later, I cleaned up and straightened out the sheets. We
hugged. "I love you," I whispered. "Oh Jeanette!" We kissed
good night in preparation for the spoon position.
"Let me hold you," she said. Usually it is the other way
around. I turned my back to her, and one hand snaked around my
waist. I held it in both of mine, brought it to my mouth, and
kissed each finger before we fell asleep.
- = -
Jeanette had figured out that working, being pregnant, and giving
up coffee was going to be too big a load. So she had given up
the coffee as soon as we got back from France. It was an ordeal
for her (and somewhat of one for me). There was probably some
superstition involved: "We have to act as if a baby is certain,
and then it will be." If so, the superstition worked.
But that had really changed our mornings. I showered
quickly and went downstairs to breakfast alone. Mom was fixing
bacon and eggs. "Aren't you getting a plate for Jeanette?" she
asked.
"She isn't up yet. And breakfast won't be the first thing
on her mind. I'll get her cereal if that is what she prefers."
"Oh yes!" She smiled. "I suppose that saying how happy I
am is inappropriate when the subject is morning sickness."
"Well, she's happy about the baby most of the day. But
these days I don't bring her coffee in the morning. Look, I know
you are mostly on her side; but keep this secret, will you."
"What dear?"
"Well," I explained "since she quit coffee, she doesn't
really need a husband. I used to make her coffee every morning.
She really wasn't in shape to make it before she had a couple of
cups. Now, I'm completely superfluous."
"I doubt that she thinks so dear."
"Thinks what?" My sister had come down late but fully
dressed.
"Bob is afraid that Jeanette thinks that he is superfluous.
Or so he says, dear."
"Nonsense." I waited for the rest of it. "Jeanette almost
always thinks in French these days. She must think of him as de
trop."
"Really, Vi," I said, "you must have been breathing too much
ether at Johnny Hop. That's the weakest barb from you in years."
We were well into it when Jeanette came downstairs. One
look at her face killed any idea of offering breakfast. "Can you
two stop fighting for a bit?" she asked.
"Truce?" I said to Kathleen. If she wouldn't, I'd simply
not respond.
"Truce," she agreed.
The women were soon hard at work preparing the feast. My
mother would have felt that she had betrayed me, much less my
future wife, if she had sent me off into the world unable to cook
_some_ meals. On the other hand, the women of her family
gathered in the kitchen on feast-preparation days; men weren't,
and aren't, invited.
I told Dad that this was one custom which was not being
passed on to the next generation.
"Well, I'm not feeling guilty," he said. "I'm her audience
when you kids are gone, but it's clearly not the same. Your
mother is such a modern woman, and then she is more like her
grandmother than like her mother, sometimes. But holidays and
feasts do that; we like to go back."
That struck a chord. "You know how Victorian women covered
their entire bodies? They were tainted if a man should see their
ankle, let alone their collarbone?"
"Yes?"
"Except at a fancy ball. There they wore the styles of
their grandmothers, which showed decolletage which some women
today wouldn't wear. Our wives, for example." Jeanette owns
maybe one bra which doesn't cover more than the dresses from that
day would.
"Well, Jeanette doesn't really have to cook here, you know.
Especially now."
"Sir, Jeanette enjoys these sessions. I *know* what she
likes and dislikes. These sessions, she actually likes. Mom
apparently imparts the wisdom of the ages to the kitchen crew. I
can't imagine that she really likes other household chores, but
she loves being part of the family. She hates morning sickness,
after all, but it's a price she's happy to pay."
We got on the subject of the stock bubble. "What drives me
mad," Dad said, "is that otherwise-intelligent men talk about
'the immense amount of wealth creation' that has come out of the
market.
"The industrial base of this country is a form of wealth,
and it has grown somewhat. But the wealth of nations, to coin a
phrase, is not twice as great because the market will value some
claim on it at twice the price."
At that point, Jeanette came in. "You're wearing shoes,"
Dad said.
"Your son got there first... and second, and third," she
replied. I doubt if there is one variation of the "barefoot,
pregnant, and in the kitchen" joke that Jeanette hasn't heard
since I ambushed her in our kitchen a few hours after her home-
test turned blue.
"Have I mentioned how happy you have made us?"
"And your wife said that I should be pampered," Jeanette
said. She plopped face-down onto the sofa. I walked over and
started to massage her shoulders. This ritual actually predates
her pregnancy; Jeanette works far too many hours sitting in a
chair. On the other hand, she had never before asked for a
backrub in public.
Dad picked up a magazine and wandered off quite soon. I
kissed Jeanette's ear before letting her up. "Bob!" she said in
that pleased/embarrassed way that is such fun to invoke. She
went back to the kitchen while I went upstairs to do a little
work.
We were translating (Jeanette) and editing (me) century-old
documents from the French Foreign and Colonial Offices into a
couple of books. We'd brought some rough translations with us,
and I lost myself in those.
On the days of our family feasts, the women change their
clothes in relays. Mom released Jeanette first, and she and I
had a little snuggle while she was upstairs. She couldn't see
the necessity of changing her bra, so I kissed her belly instead.
When she was fully dressed, she forbade a rumpling hug; but she
did allow a long kiss of tongues playing with tongues. By the
time that I had donned dress shirt, tie, and sports coat, I was
perfectly presentable.
Dad mentioned "Jeanette's happy news" as the last point of
the grace. Then we passed food and commented on its looks and
smell. When everything had been complimented, Dad asked me if I
wanted some sweet potatoes. He knew the answer.
"At least there's one thing on this table which isn't what
Bob wants," Vi said. She ignored the fact that everyone but she
was eating the stuffing. That and mince pie were my favorites.
"You lose, Kathleen." Technically, that name meant that I
was keeping the truce. "Jeanette loves sweet potatoes. I'd have
asked for them if there were any question. Happy Jeanette, happy
Bob."
"And are you happy?" Dad asked. That was directed to our
side of the table; since Dad would never ask that question of me,
Jeanette answered.
"I think that is a much better word, Sir."
Mom laughed. "You two didn't invent parenthood, you know."
"We invented *this* parenthood," I pointed out.
"I'm serious," Dad said.
"The short answer is yes," Jeanette said. "If you want a
longer answer, may I wait until after dinner?" He nodded, and we
got into a little bit of my sister's experience over the last
quarter and into every last thing that Jeanette's obstetrician
had ever told her.
"Just prepare to be surprised dear. Kathleen behaved much
differently than Bob did, much less matching some mythical
standard baby."
"That's because I was human." I ignored her.
"I thought you had promised a truce," Jeanette said. If I
hadn't known that she blushes at nothing, I would have thought
that my sister blushed at that. I snuck my left hand under the
table to my sweet wife's thigh. She had to put down her glass
before she could push my hand away. Her color *did* heighten. I
gave her hand a squeeze, and then I let her get back to eating.
Jeanette, Kathleen, and I cleared the table; then Jeanette
went back to join my parents. When the dishwasher was full and
running, I left Kathleen in the kitchen and found everyone else
admiring the tree. Jeanette gestured me to the end of the couch
and then lay down with her head in my lap. In minutes, I was
hardening. Luckily, Jeanette completely shielded Mom, at least,
from the sight.
"Happy," Jeanette said out of the blue. "Sometimes I stop
what I'm doing, hug myself, and say, 'I'm going to have a baby!'
I'm that happy. In our first years of marriage, I used to be
like that. I'd look over at Bob studying or something and say
'I'm married to Bob.' It was a joy every time, and yet I was so
scared then."
"Bob." Dad had formerly used that tone of voice before a
spanking. Leave it to him to conclude that Jeanette had been
afraid of *me*.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jeanette said. "I'm hogging the
conversation. I thought you wanted to hear." It was her
lightest and sweetest tone. Dad didn't know that this tone was a
danger sign, but he shut up anyhow.
"The thing is, that there wasn't much Bob could do about it.
If Mommy had done something overt, Bob would have tried to
protect me. But my fear was that she would do *something*,
something unspecific. And all he could do about that was to hug
me." I gave her shoulder a light squeeze to demonstrate.
"I didn't know that you were in so much fear," I said.
"How could you? Neither did I. I'd lived with that dread
so long. Anyway, you did hug me, lots."
"Poor thing," Vi said, having just entered the room. "How
could you stand it?"
"I think Jeanette has the floor, dear."
"No, I do," Kathleen said. She turned 180 degrees without
shifting her feet, ending up sitting on the floor with her back
against the sofa. She has a nasty mouth, but even I'll admit
that the girl is graceful. "Continuez, ma soeur."
"So formal! You're hardly in a position to evaluate Bob as
a husband, are you? I don't make any claim for his virtues as a
brother.
"Anyway, your father asked me if I were happy. I have much
higher standards than I used to have for happiness. Bob has to
*do* something these days before I remember that I'm happy that I
married him. Anyway, the answer is still yes. I get sick, and I
get angry, and I get tired. But more often than not, I'm happy.
And, sir, Bob is a lot like you; but his job isn't at all like
yours."
Mom, eager to give Jeanette the floor a minute ago, changed
the subject. "I just have to know, dear, have the two of you
been thinking about names." I laughed.
"It's been more of a game than anything else," Jeanette
said.
"Don't name it after either of you," Kathleen put in. "Give
him or her a name all their own."
"Was it so horrible, dear?"
"Not at all, mother. Jeanette, I'll tell you the truth when
you next call."
"Would it be worse than naming a girl after the founder of
the inquisition?" Jeanette was stretching it.
"Bishop Ximenes did *not* found the inquisition," I said.
"Are you sure of your baby's sex so soon, dear?"
"Quite sure," I said, while simultaneously Jeanette said:
"We're both sure." I let her continue.
"Bob's sure that it will be a boy, and I'm sure that it will
be a girl."
"And I'm sure that one of you is right," said Dad. "Does
anybody mind if I put on the news?"
Jeanette excused herself, and me along with her. Kathleen
didn't even get off the floor.
"Were you really that scared then?" I asked when our
bedroom door was locked. She'd seemed happy.
"Low levels of anxiety with gusts of panic. But, Bob, I
literally had no memory of living without anxiety. I may have
been one of those happy, gurgling babies; but I can't remember
that. I can distinctly remember the relief that came with going
back to school for second grade. I'd figured out by then that
Mommy didn't come to school. Oh, Bob! Hold me."
I did and petted her back. It didn't seem the moment for
clutching her butt, however attractive that prospect. "See?" she
said into my shoulder. "You always did; you always do."
"It seems an inadequate response to constant anxiety."
"Actually," she straightened within my hug, "it was more a
prescription for my gusts of panic. And it works."
We stood like that for a while. I ventured down to her butt
and pulled her against my hardness. Suddenly, she pushed me
away. Before I could apologize, she went to work on the rest of
her clothes. When I saw where this was heading, I started to
strip as well; but I was wearing more than she, including laced
shoes. She found her nightie and robe while I was still wearing
my pants. She hung them on the headboard on her side and climbed
into bed absolutely naked.
When I followed her, there wasn't much side on my side of
the twin bed. I lay on the edge and kissed her sweet mouth.
"Oh Bob," she said, "shield me from the world." I climbed
on top, arms (and even legs) outside hers. We kissed again.
I pulled the bedclothes roughly over my shoulders, and she
straightened them.
I scattered little kisses over her face, talking all the
while. "You're absolutely safe," kiss forehead; "The atom is
safe," kiss nose; "Nobody in this house wishes you the slightest
harm," kiss eyebrows; "They'd fight to protect you," kiss temple.
Like that.
After a while, I switched to telling her of my love. "I
love you," kiss eyebrow; "Since the first day," kiss temple; "I
have always loved you and always shall," kiss other temple; "You
are half my life and hold the other half." She moved her legs,
jostling mine. "Want your legs outside?" She nodded. I
straightened my left, so only the toes were resting on the bed;
"Shift your right." Then we adjusted the other side.
I was kneeling between her legs in almost the standard
position, wondering if this was too early. Did she want
comforting, or comforting sex, or -- having had some comfort
against a fright which was really a memory -- did she want
straight sex? Jeanette, bless her, rolled her pelvis forward and
reached for me with her hands. But when I was encased in her
entry, I felt less wetness than usually welcomed me. After all,
we hadn't had much foreplay.
I avoided her guidance to run the head of my phallus down
her groove once, and then up again. She clasped me tighter,
however, and placed me. "Let me go slow, love," I whispered.
She removed her hands, although she wiggled to help my progress.
Slowly, I worked inward, finding more moisture as I did. "I love
you," I whispered. I moved out a centimeter and found the way
slicker as I eased in two. Normally, I would have shifted to
something else and tried again later. But Jeanette clearly
wanted this entry now, and she would get it unless it started to
hurt her.
"I do love you, you know." I moved almost out and then in a
little further. The moisture was inside, needing only a few more
strokes like that. "Since those first awful dances when I burned
from wanting you, and I didn't dare hold you close." As she
giggled, she relaxed the least little bit; I eased in a little.
"And then watching you run, run like the wind."
"Oh Bob," she said. She hugged me with legs as well as
arms. "You don't know. I wanted to run, to have something I
accomplished. I was so scared of rejection. But I said, 'If I
don't make the team, Bob will still love me; he'll hug me and
make it all right.' So I went out for track. I wouldn't have
done it without you."
"I didn't even consider the possibility that you wouldn't
make the cut. And I would have hugged you for any excuse, even
back then. I love you."
Jeanette can love me, and hug me, and even pounce on me once
in a while; but she can also be enticingly passive -- an
acceptance, a welcome, an openness. She did that now, relaxing
back on the bed, hooking her ankles in the backs of my knees, and
letting her legs fall open until the sides of her knees almost
touched the bed.
"Oh, I love you," I said. I don't care what Roxane would
have thought of that; Jeanette likes to hear it. Besides it's
true. I moved out and in, out again and in a little farther.
"Love you desperately." This time I came almost all the way out
and slipped back a little further than before without my shaft
encountering any dryness. That felt so good that I did it again.
"And that time in Dad's car, when you first said that you might
consider marrying me. I loved you so desperately then, that I
was again afraid to touch you. Afraid that I wouldn't be able to
stop." I moved all the way out and then all the way in. I was
completely contained; our groins met. "Completely," I said.
"Completely," she agreed. "Oh, this feels so good." I had
much of my weight off her, with my elbows still outside her arms.
Touching her breasts from this position would be almost
impossible. So I toyed with her ears, and ran my fingers through
her hair. Jeanette has pretty ears, and she is rather responsive
to my strokes on them.
I moved half-way out and in again, just to see if I could.
Well, okay, it felt delightful too. Touching our mouths when
we're like this is a trick for a contortionist, so I contented
myself with kissing her forehead and eyebrows.
"And," I said, "there in the hotel room, you were so
beautiful, and so enticing, and so nervous, and so brave." We
haven't stayed in many hotel rooms; but if there had been a
million, she would have known that I meant our wedding night. I
moved a little bit out, and then pressed inward as far as
possible. I rolled us from side to side so that we rubbed
against each other down there.
"So brave, so very brave, when you said 'Yes.' And then on
the trail...." I pressed again, and rubbed her again, and kissed
each of her eyes. "And then, on the trail, you put the condom on
my side of the sleeping bag. You accepted me." I was past the
stage of waiting between strokes.
I moved in and out slowly but steadily. Jeanette adjusted
her legs to pull against me. The bed started squeaking in time
to our motions.
"Oh, love," I said.
"Oh Bob!" she said.
"Don't forget the tree," my father said.
We both froze; I was at the top of my stroke, arched above
her with just the tip of my phallus inside. While this is a
lovely position to visit, I didn't enjoy living there. Letting a
flushing toilet cover the noise, I sank into her again and
relaxed my arms as much as I could without crushing my wife and
baby.
There was talk, mostly in murmurs. The floor squeaked,
doors opened and closed, water ran, the toilet flushed again.
Finally, the bustle seemed over. The two of us relaxed, and I
kissed Jeanette's forehead again. Dad called out, "Bathroom's
free!" My sister must have been downstairs still.
At that point, Jeanette got a bad case of giggles. She
tried to muffle them by burying her mouth in the corner of my
neck. That is a somewhat-sensitive erogenous zone for me, and
the combination of that and the motion that the giggles set off
around my phallus was more arousing than humorous. And there was
nothing at all I could do.
Whether Johns Hopkins has actually taught my sister any
medical knowledge, I couldn't say; but I'm grateful for what she
has learned about preparing for bed quickly. We heard the tell-
tale thump of her dropping into bed before Jeanette had conquered
her giggles. I moved back and then inward right after that
sound.
"Bob!" At least Jeanette had been shocked out of her
silliness. But she was right; we had no reason to expect
Kathleen to be asleep yet. I ground my pelvis against hers
slowly enough that the bed didn't respond.
"And all those nights in the tent," I continued in a faint
whisper, "and all those days on the trail. You were so sweet,
and so loving, and so accepting, and so absolutely sexy." I
hadn't withdrawn, but I pushed forward anyway. There wasn't much
motion, but lots of pressure. I kissed her ear; that's a
contortion, but she has sexy ears.
"Bob!" Her whisper was urgent and louder than she had
probably intended.
"Shhh," I whispered at the lowest volume she could hear.
"Vi will hear you. Keep still and I'll make sure to keep it
low." Well, one can't keep one's voice low while being
interrupted. So she suppressed her words. I knew that they were
boiling within her, though. A captive audience, just what I
always wanted.
"And the night in the forest," I continued. You were so
sexy walking in front of me with your butt twitching back and
forth. And you were so warm lying beside me. And then, finally,
you responded to me when I was inside you. It was so lovely, the
ultimate hug." I moved back too slowly for the springs to
notice. Then I kissed her nose before returning inside even more
slowly.
I had so many more times to mention, times that were special
to us. And the special ways she was sexy. But I had crossed
some line. "I love you," I whispered as I ground against her
again. "I love you," as I eased out once more. "I love you," as
I slipped in a little faster.
That one was a little louder than I had intended. So I shut
up as I struggled to keep my pace slow. Jeanette tightened
around me once, though; and all my control slipped. My hips sped
up without consulting my head. Jeanette pushed back in perfect
time to my thrusts and the bedspring's accompaniment. Oh well,
Vi had always been a sound sleeper; and she'd complained about
needing to make up tons of sleep not two days before.
Now, Jeanette was wonderfully wet. I slipped in and out
effortlessly. The sensation of her tightening around me drove me
over the edge. I thrust in her and erupted just as I heard her
gasp out her own pleasure.
I was completely covering Jeanette -- held up only by my
elbows still dug into the bottom sheet. I started to move to my
own side. She tightened her legs around me. "Stay," she said,
"please stay."
- = -
We were still entangled when I woke that morning. Jeanette was
struggling out of bed. She grabbed her robe and nightie, but she
made no attempt to put them on.
I heard the bathroom door slam. Which reminded my bladder
that it had needs of its own. Luckily, the house has a powder
room downstairs. *I* wore pajamas, robe, and slippers. I went
searching for aspirin and a glass of water while downstairs; for
some reason I had the worst kink in my back that I had ever
experienced.
Mom came in while I was there. She washed her hands at the
kitchen sink. Getting to the kitchen before she did in the
morning was an event. Most of the times I'd done so were either
Mother's-day breakfast attempts or aftermaths of all-nighters.
"Do you think that Jeanette would like some ginger ale,
dear?" I hadn't known we had any; my family was never big on
soft drinks, even when we were kids. "Ice isn't necessary, dear,
contraindicated if she is like I was." I took a glass upstairs.
Dad was shaving in the powder room when I passed.
Jeanette finally came back to the room, dressed quite
modestly. She wanted the doors to both the bathroom and the
bedroom open while she tried the ginger ale, but it seemed to
agree with her. She took the rocking chair while I sprawled on
the bed. She had never been a morning person, even before her
pregnancy, and she didn't want hugs just then.
She came into the bathroom while I took my shower, but that
was just a precaution. She was looking chipper by the time I got
dressed. She clearly wasn't in the mood for breakfast, however;
I refilled her ginger ale before I sought my breakfast.
"Are pancakes an instigation, dear?" Mom asked.
"She'd rather not see us eat just yet. I don't think that
what we eat matters much." So I ate pancakes enough for two.
Since that was less than I had consumed in my youth, Mom was not
impressed.
The subject of conversation moved to the baby. Mom was as
fascinated with the newest Brennan as we were. "By the way," I
asked, "do you think that I could borrow the Milne poetry books.
I've been reading to him from library books, but that's not the
same."
"They might even be in your room, dear. You're not going to
be terribly disappointed if this is a girl, are you?"
"Heavens no! It's a running joke. I'd actually rather have
a little Jeanette than a little Bob." We weren't going to have a
little Jeanette though; much as I loved the result, we were never
going to put our child through the constant negatives her parents
had put Jeanette through.
When Jeanette did come down, we went out for an hour. We
each went out (in Michigan weather) six or seven days of the
week, normally; we had time to ourselves every night. After a
while, however much you love the family, they and the walls
become stifling.
The sky was gray, but it was dry. We walked in silence for
a while, talked of inconsequentials, walked in silence again.
"Do you think that she heard?" Jeanette asked.
"I think that the med-school course that mentions that
married people actually engage in sexual intercourse comes before
the final semester."
"She's on the quarter system, Bob. Somehow it's different
if she heard."
"I tried to keep silent," I said. "Your giggles didn't
help."
"I was so worried that someone would hear them, and you know
what?"
"They've heard you giggle before, right out in the open,
fully dressed. Nobody would have thought, 'Jeanette's giggling;
Bob must be doing something lewd.' Would they?"
"I think that they might just take for granted that you are
doing something lewd."
"That's projection! I only do lewd things around you."
"Au contraire!" she said.
"Contradiction isn't argument."
"Most of the time, you do lewd things when I'm around you.
So there!"
She stuck out her tongue at me. There wasn't anyone on the
sidewalk, but some passing car honked at us while I was kissing
it. Probably the driver was a cheeky teenager, but the car was
out of sight before I bothered to look.
Since my back was still bothering me a little, I stretched
out on the living-room floor after lunch. Mom and Kathleen
grilled Jeanette. I don't mean to suggest that Jeanette didn't
welcome their questions, but everything that Jeanette had learned
from her doctors and our reading was assessed in light of my
sister's study and Mom's experience. I'd heard reports of the
doctor's advice and read the same books, but my opinions were not
solicited. I didn't mind, really. Too often, Jeanette is the
enabler; it was nice to have her be the center of attention.
Kathleen pointed out that her own learning was horribly
skewed. "You want your doctor aware of every little thing which
can possibly go wrong, but that isn't to say that anything is
likely to go wrong in your pregnancy. From the cases that I've
seen of people who slip in bathtubs, you'd be afraid to take a
shower ever again."
"Sometime, dear, you'll find that baths are *much* more
comfortable for you than showers, but that'll be well after you
are showing. Sorry, dear."
"Anyway," Kathleen continued, "we see much more of the
normal birth process than of normal bathing process, but our
experience is still deeply skewed. Especially with the shorter
stay these days."
"I'm not sure I approve of drive-through deliveries." My
mother had no 'dear' for anybody on that subject.
"Oh, Mom. Dad ruined my experience of hospitals."
"Dear?"
"Not blaming him, really. But I know too much, and I can't
say anything about the business side. 'There, there, little
girl, I'm a great, big, important hospital administrator.' The
marginal cost of having a woman stay in the hospital for another
day isn't *that* great. But the hospitals charge the average
cost, and the insurance companies won't pay it. So the babies go
home earlier, and the mothers are only there when they need acute
care, and the average costs increase, and the charge-per-day
soars, and the insurance companies increase their pressure.
Don't get me started on insurance companies and HMOs."
Soon, the conversation drifted over to the subjective
benefits of breast feeding. Jeanette's bare breasts with a baby
(somehow a naked boy) sucking on one was a sexy image, but a
restful one. I fell asleep with it in my mind.
Jeanette was asleep on the couch when I awoke. I felt the
usual griminess from sleeping in my clothes and a few minor kinks
which disappeared soon, but the major problem with my back was
gone.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a library
book, when I went looking for a snack. "It's so nice having my
children home," she said. "I miss the company."
"Sorry. You were having plenty of company when I fell
asleep." I fixed a sandwich of turkey slices between two left-
over pancakes and sat down across from her.
She smiled. "Actually, dear, there is something comforting
about people napping in the house. I feel quite maternal. And
'One that *needs* company is mighty poor company,' Gramma Grant
used to say."
This was her Gramma Grant, my Gramma Grant's mother-in-law.
I can't remember her, although she saw me a few times. One of
Vi's treasures (although actually in Mom's possession, until
Kathleen is established someplace permanent) is the last letter
she ever wrote, welcoming Vi into the world.
"Tenuous connections."
"Yes, dear. And now you're establishing another."
"I feel honored as a mere sperm-donor to be admitted into
the lineage, if not into the gynarchy ."
"She was my father's mother, dear. And it is not merely
genetic; Jeanette is a daughter of my house."
"Not calling you 'mom' isn't a judgment on you. It is a
judgment on what she has experienced from her mother. Would you
rather be called 'Katherine' every third week, or 'Mom' twice a
year?"
"I know that dear. Took me a while, but I learned that.
And I love many children who call me 'Mrs. Brennan,' after all.
I took that job out of desperation, but I suspect that -- when I
look back over my life -- many of the warmest memories will be
from that classroom....
"You wish that your father had had a different job, don't
you?" Jeanette loves the conversations in my parents' house, but
she complains that the jumps sometimes lose her. That one lost
me.
"Yes," I said. Until his heart attack, Dad had been a
high-powered point man for Ward Tech acquisitions. He would be
home maybe one weekend in three and almost no week nights. She
had been a wonderful mother, but a boy needs a father in the
house as well.
"There wouldn't be this baby, dear. You would never have
moved here and met Jeanette."
We sat there. I kept thinking of what she had said. When I
didn't respond, she went back to her book.
The End
Foretold
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
1999/12/10
2000/05/28
2010/10/18
This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans.
The first story in the series is:
forever.txt
"Forever"
The next story in the series is:
bearing.txt
"For Bearing"
The directory to the entire series is:
brennan.txt
Brennan Stories Directory
For another story about another couple celebrating another
Christmas in another way, see:
wrapped.txt
"Wrapped Attention"
The directory to all my stories can be found at:
index.txt
Index to Uther Pendragon's Website