Page 26 of The Girl He Loves
We’d watch reruns of stupid sitcoms and reality TV. We spent a lot of time in bed, making love, save for those few dangerous days. On those days, we’d often just fool around, and he loved to give me oral. I’d reciprocate of course. And occasionally he’d convince me to have sex, with a condom on. I loved the feel of him inside me — it was the closest we could be, and I often longed for that, especially during those dangerous days. I read somewhere that women are horniest on those ovulating days. Makes complete sense — God’s a clever fellow.
I still remember the afternoon Trevor was conceived. Like it was yesterday. It was a Wednesday and I had a new summer dress on; white with black polkadots. I’d worn it at work and I was eager to show it to Brian.
It didn’t stay on long once Brian saw it. “I love that dress,” he said. “You look adorable.” He pulled me to him and wasted no time in kissing me. He was wearing wrinkled shorts and a worn Nirvana t-shirt. His hair was a mess, and he had a few days worth of facial hair. He’d never looked sexier. We hadn’t had sex for a while because I had spent the week before at my aunt’s summer cottage — an annual tradition.
He pulled his mouth from mine, a hand already under the skirt of my dress, between my thighs. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed as he dragged his mouth down my neck. I loved the feel of his thin beard on my skin. I wanted him, and badly.
I buried my hands in his hair and when he pressed me against the wall, I wrapped a leg around his hips. We kissed again, and he tore himself away to look at me. His green eyes fixed mine and I would have done anything for him in that moment. An impish smile traced his lips as he trailed a finger along the frilly scoop of my neckline, teasing me. He finally bent his head and dropped butterfly kisses on my collarbone, slow and soft. He slipped a finger in and freed my breast. I threw my head back. I was free, exposed, and aching to be kissed everywhere. He swirled his tongue around my erect nipple, teasing again.
I pulled at his shirt, and peeled it over his head. My tongue slithered down his torso, until it reached the band of his shorts. I could tease too.
By the time we reached the bed, my dress was off, and so were his shorts. I’d worn pretty pink underwear for the occasion, and he had blue boxer briefs on. I straddled him on the bed, and we dry humped and got lost in kisses. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him inside me.
But I knew the risks — I’d be keeping my panties on. Our tongues were tangled in each other’s when he unclasped my bra and took my breast in his mouth. I reached inside his boxers and reveled at his hardness in my hand. He moaned at my touch, and reached for my ass. He grabbed it hard, and dug his hands into my panties. He tried to pry them off. I tried to stop him, but he was so lost in the moment, and so was I. “C’mon, baby. You’re so wet. I want to touch your sweet pussy.” At the sound of those words, I lost all resolve, and I let him peel off my panties. As promised, he slid a finger along my sex, pleasuring me.
But I wanted more.
And so did he.
I had freed his erection, and I glided my sex against it. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of him. He moaned, loving every second of it. We were playing with fire, and we both knew it. I slid back and forth against him, our gazes lost in each other’s. And when he sank inside me, I didn’t pull back. I just wanted to enjoy him, even for just a second or two.
His face was pained when he paused. “Baby, we need to stop.”
I knew exactly what he meant. I pulled away reluctantly, and reached for the small box of condoms on the bed stand.
We made love, and little did we know, we also made a life.
About two weeks later, my period was late. I was a basket case when I realized it. I hurried to the pharmacy close to the library, and bought a home pregnancy test. I’ll never forget peeing on a stick while staring at the painting of a frog reading a book under a tree, in the small washroom in the children’s department. I leaned against the wall for a few minutes, awaiting the results, my legs shaking. My heart sank when I saw the second line slowly appearing right before my eyes. I was devastated, but there was a small part of me that was happy. I had a part of Brian inside me, and something told me it was meant to be.
I was keeping the baby, no matter what. There was no doubt in my mind. I was meant to have this baby — it was God’s plan. I’ve never been very religious, but I’ve always believed that there’s a higher power. And I’ve always believed in destiny.
It was a Friday when I found out, and Brian had a gig at a local bar — his band performed there every Friday night. I kissed him good luck before the show, and cheered him on as always, swaying and dancing in the crowd. I chatted with the regulars. I drank my usual cranberry and soda. I wasn’t of age to drink yet.
We hung out at his place with bandmates and their girlfriends after the gig. I told Brian I wasn’t feeling that well, and was going to pass on my usual two Long Island Iced teas. Instead, I gorged myself with nachos and passed out on the arm chair in the corner, which I had a tendency to do. No one suspected a thing, least of all, Brian.
I told him the next morning. I made him a strawberry smoothie, and stroked his hair as he tossed and turned in bed, reluctantly waking up. I wasn’t due at the library until ten, and it was early for Brian. “Hey, sweetie. I made you a smoothie.”
He turned from me. “It’s too early.”
It was nine-thirty, and I was fully dressed for work. “We need to talk.”
At those words, he propped himself up on the bed and took the smoothie. “What’s going on?” He studied me carefully, concern tracing his features. He didn’t touch his smoothie.
I was so scared of his reaction, I was shaking and breathless. I wasn’t sure how he’d react. We were both still in school. He had his band. We still lived at our parents. We couldn’t have a child. We were too young. Would he ask me to have an abortion? I would not. Would this break us?
“I’m pregnant,” I said, not wasting another second. I’ve never been the ‘beat around the bush’ type.
He was speechless for the longest time, digesting my words. He was in shock. When he finally spoke, it was a single word, whispered. “Shit.”
“Shit is right,” I said.
He was still without words, and I took the opportunity to tell him how it was going to be. It was my body and I was in charge. “I’m keeping it,” I told him. “I’m not sure if you want to keep it too, but if you don’t, I can handle the baby on my own. I won’t ask anything of you.”
He reached for my hand, and although he was smiling, his eyes were brimming. “I would never ask you to do that. I’m not going to ask you to get rid of it… it’s part of us.”
Emotion swelled over me. The lump in my throat kept me from speaking.
“And I would never ask you to raise the baby by yourself,” he went on. “I was there too. I made this mistake as much as you did.”
