The First Ninety DaysPart 6 free porn video

Day 15: Christmas Eve

Jon thought Monday night was an awful time for a Christmas Eve, but at least he had the day off. Actually, he had the entire week off; Polkiss-Leyton Dentistry was closed from the Monday the 24th to Tuesday, January 1st. At the very least, he would be a relaxed and well-rested secretary next Wednesday.

Caitlyn had made it through her finals without too much trouble, in her estimation at least, and the grades posted online last Thursday had confirmed that hunch. Her GPA had dropped a little bit—understandably, considering the circumstances of the last two weeks—but Jon had been a little confused when she wailed over the results. "Why, what's wrong with a 3.67?" Caitlyn had just shaken her head and walked away.

Once she was out of her last final, though, things had turned peaceful, almost idyllic. They had spent a day at the mall, scrounging up Christmas presents and making alarming but (they agreed) necessary gouges in their bank account. There were too many people who had been kind to them of late: Dr. Polkiss and Dr. Leyton, Jon's parents, Larry Pendleton, Dacey Klein and Gerald Mormont, Uncle Max Cassidy, his parents Blanche and Gordon Cassidy. Jon bought small gifts for the members of Octapella, and they collaborated on things for the Chamberses and the Cranes, who (of all things) had offered to come up on the 26th and help them move. It wouldn't be polite to ignore their friends—but even more than that, they wanted to thank them. In two weeks and a day they had received more support than they had ever imagined.

Caitlyn had immediately began planning for their formal wedding reception, which they had decided to hold on Saturday March 8th, which was the soonest they felt they could get their ducks in order, and had the secondary virtue of being exactly 90 days after their wedding. It was in the middle of March, yes, but most everyone they were inviting lived locally anyway, and they hadn't planned on anything more than a get-together with a big white cake involved. She had also begun to draft advertisements to post around town, marketing herself as a harpist hirable for special occasions.

Their sex life continued unabated; there were times when they didn't want to crawl out of bed, and times when they didn't have the strength; only propriety, and the fact that they were still in Jon's parents' house, kept them from dropping where they lay. They hadn't gone doggie-style since that initial encounter, not out of distaste for it (Jon had loved it for the raw energy and the depth of penetration, and clearly Caitlyn had enjoyed it as well) but rather because most of their sex just wasn't like that; a drowsy, languid morning session was far more their style, or a sensuous midnight run beneath the blankets. Jon's favorite was the same as his favorite sleeping position: to spoon up behind her, snuggling against her while he took her from behind; she preferred plain missionary, so she could wrap her arms and legs around him, which in truth he liked too. When he realized that they both loved being able to hold each other during their lovemaking, he started them in woman-on-top and then rolled them both to their sides, freeing their arms up entirely. Ultimately, this was not very comfortable—their legs kept getting tangled up, and one of them had to stay on an elbow at all times—and the angle of penetration was not the greatest, a big problem for a couple who loved the feeling of him burying his member to the root deep inside her. But still, if they could make it work, it would solve all their problems.

And when they weren't in bed or squinting over harp music or job offers, they were packing. Jon had a great deal more things than he'd realized; aside from four years in the dorms at college, he hadn't ever lived away from his parents. Much of Caitlyn's stuff, on the other hand, was still at her parents' house, and would likewise need to be packed and sorted. Some of it would undoubtedly be left with their parents, and Jon was already anticipating some sort of major yard sale, with anything unsold being donated to charity, probably. The hardest part was not deciding what to throw away, but deciding what to take. They wouldn't have much room in their apartment, and they had already decided to pack at a minimum. Unfortunately, that was far easier said than done, and Jon found Caitlyn calling his decisions time and again: "You don't really need this. You don't really need that." Most of the time, she was right.

And there was the giddy happiness of just being able to be in each other's company for hours and days at a time. Jon, going to work, knew that he was performing a needed service, that every hour he spent and dollar he earned would make Caitlyn's life better. But, at times, that was the only reason he was able to bear it. With Octapella on Christmas hiatus and most of his friends from outside that group just as busy with their own jobs and their own lives, Caitlyn was the sole momentum of his life, and it was hard to sit at a desk smiling at people with bad teeth when all he wanted was to be at her side. But after he'd left on Friday, he'd been left with the glorious prospect of eleven whole days without anywhere to be, except with his wife, and he intended to enjoy it as best he could.

But today they had better things to do than languish in bed. Christmas was Jon's favorite holiday, because of the big shindig that took place on the eve, and because so many people would be there. Jon, like many children of the Baby Boomers, had more aunts and uncles than he could count on two hands, and though a few had succumbed to disease, cancer or old age, many of them were still alive, and all lived in the nearby area (except for one maverick uncle who preferred Los Angeles). Under his parents' leadership, both sides of the family had united, and Christmas Eve was the day that everyone he was related to by blood gathered under one roof: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmothers (both grandfathers having passed away before he was ten), and even Maren, daughter of his cousin Janice. Jon wasn't sure if this made him an uncle or just a very fancy cousin.

And, of course, there was the newest member of the family.

"Are you sure I look okay," Caitlyn asked him for about the fifth time that day.

"Yes, baby, you do," he said.

"I just want to make a good impression on your folks," she said.

"I know, and you will," he said. She looked beautiful, in his opinion—black slacks, a cotton hooded coat that hung to her knees and flowed when she moved, and a form-fitting V-necked sweater with red striping across the breasts and just enough neckline to show a bit of cleavage. He had always loved that ensemble. She had the bearing and dignity of a 40-year-old, and with her hair in a bun she made the staid, respectable look good; but these clothes made her look young. And sexy.

Her face was far from relaxed, though. "Just think: I haven't even met most of these people, but now I'm family. I'm a, a niece-in-law, or something."

"And if you relax a little bit," said Jon, feeling a bit exasperated, "I'm sure they'll learn to love you for who you are. I mean," he said, turning to her, "I did. So you can't be all that bad."

She gave a timid smile. "Yeah, but, you... Jon, you have so much patience. You put up with... All my fears about hugging you, and, and my crazy parents, and—"

"Because you're worth it," Jon said. He took her by the shoulders. This train of thought must not be allowed to conclude. "Because I love you, and because you're worth it, and because look how little it took to make you blossom. I was just the one lucky enough to see it. Now everyone will see it."

"Because of you," she said, stepping into his arms. "Because of you."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I was only the messenger. Baby, I couldn't've turned you into something you're not. I'm not a fairy godmother, with a magic wand to wave. All I did was give you permission to be what you were already."

She clutched at him, her head against his shoulder. "And I don't owe you anything for that?"

He kissed her forehead. "Nothing at all. Because, baby, it's not a one-way street. You did the same for me. You... You brought out all the... All the good things in me. You're my other half. You're my better half."

She gave a happy sniffle. "How can that be, when you're my better half?"

"Good," he said, with a smile, "I'm glad we got that settled."

I never get tired of this, he thought. I never get tired of just being here, of just holding her, of just... Being near her. You'd never would have thought, especially after all we do now... But...

When she finally loosened her hold, she glanced at herself in the mirror and gave a sniffly laugh. "Oh great, now I have to redo all my makeup. And your shirt got wet."

He dabbed at his sweater—yep, damp. Instead, he kissed her. "I will wear it as a badge of love over my heart."

She rolled her eyes theatrically and slipped back into the bathroom.

Downstairs, preparations were in full swing. Jon had already spent the morning helping put things in order and set the large dining table up with plates, utensils, chairs and so on, whereas Caitlyn had offered to help with the cooking and promptly whipped together a chocolate cake so rich that even the smell made him feel sated. Other family members, his father's unmarried aunts mostly, were already in the kitchen helping Jon's mother with her cooking or fixing their own dishes. The newlyweds had only just now, at half past four, managed to retire upstairs to change into something more suitable to the occasion. Part of Caitlyn's concern was the sheer informality of her wear; even Jon, in khaki slacks, pale blue collared shirt and sweater of green wool, looked more dressy than she. But once they got downstairs and saw that most of Jon's family, like Jon himself, dressed with more of a mind for comfort than appearance, she seemed to calm down a little.

Janice and her husband Bill were already there, with little Maren toddling around happily scaring the cat. This was only her second Christmas, and a big deal it was for her indeed. It was the cat's third Christmas, but Whiskers seemed to have taken the concept of 'scaredy-cat' to heart; she was quite friendly, but even slightest unexpected motion or sound or thing could set her to flight, and with all the food and relatives and presents coming in, she was in a state of high tension. The only thing that kept her from darting behind the couch was the fact that a very large and spiny green thing with lights on it was in the way. Most of his father's side of the family was there too, even Auntie Eve, who had been in the hospital not three days ago. The wild thing was that Jon's father's mother, Grandma Lynn, was still going strong. She had seen a husband and her second-eldest daughter into the earth, and now her firstborn was weak on her feet, but she herself showed no sign of stopping.

For Jon, though, the real excitement was his mother's side of the family. Cousin Janice was nearly forty, her older sister more than that, and the only other cousins on his dad's side (the ones in LA) were not yet fifteen. On his mother's side, though, was cousin Mark, the oldest at three years senior to Jon, and cousin Maxwell, and then Alison and Andrea, the youngest and the only one not yet in college. He wasn't sure what had driven Uncle Jack and Aunt Ruby, or Uncle Kevin and Aunt Sally, to give their children such alliterated names, but Andrea was a head taller than Alison, and Max much quieter than his older brother, so Jon figured Caitlyn would be able to tell them all apart. Surely she wouldn't go confusing Mark and Alison, at least.

Everyone knew who Caitlyn was, of course—the news had gone out long ago, and a few had even managed to make it to the impromptu ceremony. And Jon could see them giving her all possible benefit of the doubt, a distinction he doubted she'd need for long. Nonetheless, he could tell she was a little unnerved by the intensity of attention being focused on her, and while they wandered for a while, meeting and greeting everyone there, he took them out of circulation as quickly as he thought it polite to do so. There'd be time. Caitlyn wasn't going anywhere.

Upstairs, the "kids" (such as it was, with only little Andrea not yet alcohol-legal) were indulging in their normal party-going activity: playing Smash Brothers. Jon felt a lot more comfortable up here, and he knew Caitlyn would feel better with something to hide behind. Plus, she was at least a little familiar with these people; she had joined them at family dinners several times over the course of their relationship. Jon, a psychology major, knew what comfort familiarity could engender.

The conversation was casual and unobtrusive, but with little actually said. It was such a difference from the wide-open conversations Jon and Caitlyn had shared with the Cranes and Chamberses, but a welcome one. All of the members of the Hastings clan, including Jon's mother, were fairly private people, and both Jon and Caitlyn fit that mold well. The next biggest news, next to the unexpected marriage, was that Mark had proposed to his girlfriend of three years, but she wasn't here and Jon had never even met her; that was simply not the sort of friendship he shared with his cousins. Of course, this being a family affair, with not even Mark's fiancée in attendance (what was her name, anyway?), Caitlyn was eventually asked as to why she was not with hers. These questions ended once the situation was related—without too many nasty details, as this was supposed to be a joyous occasion, but just enough to pass on an understanding of the less-than-nurturing lifestyle at the Delaney house. The real clincher was when she repeated her mother's directive on the matter: "If you walk out that door..." Jon's family was a good deal more sympathetic from that point on, and Jon could feel Caitlyn relaxing in their company.

The food was, as always, delicious; this was the major holiday of the Stanford/Hastings clan Jon's parents had welded together, and no expense was spared. The cat Whiskers was plied with liberal handouts, with Melinda laughing over how she preferred garlic bread to bits of roast beef. Jon's mother's mother had made her specialty, a huge glass tray of shepherd's pie. When Caitlyn's cake was trotted out there were murmurs of approval; she had frosted it to perfection, even inscribing a snowman on the top, and the first taste (awarded to Jon's chocoholic aunt Susan) was pronounced heavenly. Caitlyn turned pink at the praise, but Jon could see it was doing wonders for her.

The most chaotic part, of course, was the gift exchange—and not a traditional one, but a white-elephant snatch-and-grab free-for-all. Each person contributed a small gift ($15 or $20) and was assigned a number; when that number was pulled out of a hat by the game's administrator (in this case Aunt Theresa), that person would get to select a gift from the pile and open it... Or, if they so chose, steal a gift someone else had already opened, at which point that person would select a new gift. Steal-backs were not allowed in the same round, and an object could only be stolen three times before being taken permanently out of circulation. Uncle Jack and Aunt Ruby, Mark and Max Hastings' parents, could always be counted on to provide cutting-edge DVDs, which were always in demand; but it was Jon's own mother, Martha Hastings Stanford, who was the queen of theft, often setting off huge chains of steals with her choices.

Jon's luck went utterly sour. His first choice was an oddly-shaped package: oval-shaped on the horizontal surfaces, and with a single long vertical side. This turned out to be two festive and New-Age boxes of Kleenex, which he revealed at large while Max roared with laughter. Fortunately, the perpetrator (probably Max) had kindly tucked $15 in small bills into the wrapping paper. Then Jon was stolen from by Alison and Andrea's mother Aunt Cindy (who had either taken pity on him or was short on Kleenex) and got to pick again. He chose this time a small globe, perhaps the size of a tennis ball, wrapped in bright red. This turned out to be nothing other than a set of orchid-colored Victoria's Secret panties. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get rid of those... Until Caitlyn took pity on him and stole them, earning them both red faces and all sorts of catcalls. Finally Jon gave up and picked the present he himself had contributed, a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble, which people seemed content to leave him alone with.

When the last gift had been stolen (a DVD of the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which Jon knew his dad was sad to lose) and the last consolation prize picked (a large box of chocolates, which Jon's father immediately swapped with Andrea for the Pirates DVD), the general present-opening began. Jon's family was also in the habit of slinging money around (or at least gift certificates), so there were very few boxes to pass out, and hadn't been for some years; Jon could have given Caitlyn her gift, but was saving it for Christmas Day. What did surprise him was how many envelopes were handed to him. His mother had passed out the declaration when he was eighteen that he was 'too old' for Christmas presents, and holiday-based income had been rather scarce since then. Evidently being a new-married man had changed some opinions (certainly most of the envelopes were addressed to 'Jon and Caitlyn Stanford' instead of just the usual 'Jon, ' or 'Slimeball' if it was from Melinda). And when the Stanfords had finished going through and tabulating what they'd been handed, they were almost $5,000 richer than they had been ten minutes ago.

Later, it seemed to Jon that he said "Thank you" that night more times than he had in the entire rest of his life. Of course, he also meant it more than he had for the entire rest of his life, too.

Then there were good-byes and farewells and merry-Christmases, and then a constant flurry as they shelved leftovers and started putting the house in enough semblance of order that it wouldn't fall apart overnight. Jon was in such a daze that he almost didn't notice his parents putting coats and shoes on.

"Where are they going," Caitlyn asked.

Jon snapped to. "What? Oh. Uh. Christmas vigil."

"At the Catholic church," said Mrs. Stanford.

Caitlyn looked at them for a moment. "Can we come with you?"

"We?" said Jon.

"Of course you can, if you like," said Mrs. Stanford.

"We??" said Jon again.

"Jon, I think this is important," said Caitlyn.

"Cait, the thing lasts until like one in the morning," Jon said.

"And that's late for you," said Melinda, who routinely went to bed after Jon left for work.

Caitlyn drew him aside. "Jon, it's faith. I've been meaning to talk to you about it ever since we went to see Larry Pendleton, but we've been so busy. But now's as good a time as any. I think we need to spend some time developing your faith life."

"At twelve midnight," Jon said.

"It's Christmas. Think about the meaning of that word. Christ's Mass. This is where our whole religion started, Jon. If you can't come to church on Christmas, what's the point?"

"It's not faith I have a problem with, it's religion," Jon said. "Churches have said some pretty stupid things over the years."

"It's hard to mess up Christmas," Caitlyn said. "Come on, Jon. I think it would be good for you."

What occurred to him, absurdly, was the blowjob.

It didn't have anything to do with Christmas, certainly; especially if you believed that Catholic dogma that the Virgin Mary never had sexual contact for her entire life (another thing Jon thought was stupid). What he remembered was the fear in Caitlyn's eyes, and the nervousness, and how she had gone on and done it anyway. What he remembered was how she had been willing to place his wants and needs above her own. What he remembered was how she had inconvenienced and maybe even endangered herself... Solely because she knew it would make him happy.

"Okay," said Jon. "Okay. But I warn you: it's late, and I'm tired. I'm not going to be able to engage as fully as I might have otherwise."

She kissed him on the cheek. "And I'm sure God will take that into account when He smiles down on you."

And that was how Jon found himself sitting in a hard wooden pew, crammed in (or so it felt) with about a thousand old ladies in winter wear that smelled alternately like mothballs or cat pee. He and Caitlyn seemed to be the only people there between the ages of 10 and 40, and the church was packed.

Still, it was a pretty scene: the dais done up in garlands of evergreen with red bows, a life-size Nativity set in one corner, a Christmas tree in the other that must be almost as tall as the ceiling. Jon thought it nice, but Caitlyn seemed less impressed. "It's so gaudy," she said. "Like, I dunno, 'Look at us, we're faithful' or something. Haven't they heard that deeds speak louder than decorations?"

"If you don't like it, we could go somewhere else," said Mrs. Stanton, clearly disconcerted but intent on being obliging.

"Oh!" said Caitlyn, "no, no, I wasn't... It was just... It's not what I'm used to."

It wasn't what Jon was used to either. He had spent eight or nine years of his life here at this church, before his Catholic high school ended any thoughts or pretensions of religion in his life, and the preacher he remembered was much more of the fire-and-brimstone variety, an act he had alternately snored and choked over. Fortunately, that pastor had gone on to greener pastures (ones less denuded by fire and brimstone, probably), and his replacement was a much quieter man. He was balding and bespectacled, but still spry, and there was an air of kindness and wisdom about him—of godliness. And his message was one Jon did not remember hearing ever before in his life.

"When the decorations you see were proposed to me," he said, "they seemed a bit excessive, though still undoubtedly lovely. Which is not to say that we should not be thankful for our lovely and well-maintained church, because we should be. But we should also remember what Christ would have us do. The faith he called us to is not one of sitting quietly in pews in warmth and comfort and splendor. Christ would have us go out into the snow and minister to all his children. Christ would urge us, Go, go out, forget the comfort, forget the warmth and splendor. Those don't matter. What matters are the people out there who need your help.

"Christians have a bad reputation out in the world sometimes, and I can't say we're faultless. Within our walls hide many who use their holiness as a shield on their sins—or, even worse, a weapon with which to hurt others. They hide their sin behind Christmas trees... And sometimes, only a tree as large as ours will hide them. Well, there is nothing we can do about them, and they shall receive their comeuppance in the end—and I certainly have nothing against Christmas trees. This one is lovely, isn't it? But let us think of it, not just as a decoration, but as a reminder. What is it we might hide, behind the shield of our faith? What sins might we indulge in? And what are we doing here, here in our comfort and warmth and splendor?

"The Christmas tree should stay; it is us that should leave. Let us go out, and minister to those in need, and be such a beacon of love and light and peace and joy that those Christmas-tree Christians who would use our faith to hurt others are simply drowned out. Let us be so loving that those false ones among us are rejected, not by ourselves, but by the others who come to see them for what they are.

"Christ taught us to love. To be kind, and patient, but above all to love. And I can think of no better birthday present to give him than to follow his example... From this world into the next."

Then he led the congregation in a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday.

As they got ready for bed that night, Caitlyn said, "I think that was for us."

"What was? The Happy Birthday?"

"No," she said. "The sermon."

Jon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I think God was trying to tell us something," Caitlyn said. "I mean, look at what he talked about. The tree hiding sinners... The ones who use their faith against other people... That's my mother. And what did the pastor tell us? To go out, and love, and ignore them, and let our deeds speak for themselves and let their deeds speak for themselves, and let people see. What he's saying is, If we love each other, and are good to each other as husband and wife, then... All this other stuff will work itself out. My mother will see. And... And she'll understand."

"No, no, wait, wait, wait," said Jon. "God... Is speaking... To us."

"Yes," said Caitlyn, surprised. "Didn't you hear Him?"

"I heard a preacher, not God." He slid into bed next to her.

"I heard God speaking with a preacher's voice," said Caitlyn. "Didn't I tell you that God works through human hands?"

"Yes, but... God, speaking... To us?"

Caitlyn frowned at him. "I thought Pastor Pendleton and I made more headway than this."

"You could have," Jon agreed, "but then we got distracted. And," he added, bending to kiss her, "I'm kind of getting distracted with you right now..."

She pushed him away, laughing. "That's not how we got distracted in the pastor's office."

"No, we started talking about your parents."

"Yes, and see how God just picked up where we left off with Him?"

"You're determined to see God in this, aren't you."

"If you're determined, you can see God in just about anything. Which is kind of the problem. George Bush saw God in making war on Iraq, and look what a fiasco that's been."

"So what if it's just coincidence," he asked.

"Where you see coincidence, I see God," she said. "And Jon... Look, your pastor could have preached on anything tonight. He could've talked about any million of things. But he didn't. He talked about sin, and hypocrisy, and how to defeat it. He talked about things that were directly relevant to us. God meant for us to hear those words, and to take counsel from them."

"Yes, but what about all the 998 other people in that room," Jon said.

"I don't know, maybe God had messages for them too," said Caitlyn. "But what they heard from Him doesn't matter. What matters is what we heard from Him, and what we decide to do about it."

Jon stifled a jaw-cracking yawn. He was getting distracted—but not by Caitlyn's body, sweet though it was. "Let's... Let's pick this up in the morning."

"Okay," said Caitlyn. "G'night."

"I love you."

He was going to kiss her, but he fell asleep halfway through it.

Day 17: Moving Day

Jon was awakened by the blazing trumpet of his cellphone. It was a number he didn't recognize—but on the clock was a number he did recognize, all too well; 9 AM. Way too early for Boxing Day. "Yeah umh hngh hello?"

"Hello?" said a disgustingly bright and chipper voice. "Is this Jon Stanford?"

"Mmm speaking."

"Jon, it's me, Christa!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's Boxing Day!"

"Oh. Oh, right."

"So, you forgot to tell us where you live. We're about an hour out right now, and we didn't want to get too lost. And we figured we'd better get there as early as possible to help you guys move."

"Mmmm right," said Jon. This whole conversation was moving a little too fast for his brain. He gave his address mechanically, and the person on the other end agreed to be there in an hour or so.

"Donwannageddup," Caitlyn murmured.

"Yeah," Jon agreed, sitting down on the bed. Who was that? Who's Christa? What did she mean about... —Oh!!! "Caitlyn! Caitlyn! That was the Cranes! They're on their way here right now!"

"Whuh?"

"We're moving today!"

"Whuh?" said Caitlyn. And then: "—Oh!!!"

They showered quickly, and Jon felt his sluggish brain beginning to catch up to speed. It was very late in the day, for a man who was used to rising at 6 AM, but Jon and Caitlyn had been invited to the Cassidy family Christmas dinner; Uncle Max and Aunt Velma and Lawrence and Heath had all been there, and Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy had hosted. Nothing was said as to the Delaneys and their presence or absence. Both Caitlyn and Jon had drunk a little too much—partially out of sheer nervous dread, partially out of sheer relief at the good company—and when they got home, the bed play had lasted several hours, their longest session by far, but quite a bit of which Jon did not actually remember. He didn't feel any worse for wear because of the wine, but he certainly felt slow.

He stepped out of the bathroom and surveyed his room. The place was a wreckage—some boxes sealed, others opened and half-packed, and some things (like his computer) not even dismantled yet. Suppressing a sigh, Jon reached for the nearest unsorted object.

When Caitlyn came out, she immediately pitched in, but after a moment she wandered over to the nightstand, where last night's crop of used condoms was resting. "Boy," she said, "we sure had fun last night, didn't we. How many times did we do it, anyway?"