Oliva and I Collapsing Ttogether
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Why Me? - MChapter 5: Together free porn video
“Should we stay here?” Eric asked Candy. “Or should we go into the bedroom?” She had taken several steps. She had several more to take, but they all really should be in bed. The last one she had taken, really should have been, as his legs --nearly going to sleep from her weight -- told him. In bed, they could kiss. He could caress her whole body. He could even kiss much of it. They could both be comfortable.
They would go further another day, but they would go further while lying down.
She was thinking again, not rejecting what he’d said but not accepting it, either. Well, it was her decision. He kissed her shoulder, where the kiss wouldn’t distract her from her thoughts, and went back to watching her thoughts reflected on her face. As the calculation went on, a thought occurred to him. What he had proposed didn’t really deserve this much consideration. Had she misunderstood him? Did she think he had proposed sex? That was more than one stage beyond where they had gone, and he thought that one stage at a time was best for her -- least likely to panic her. He kissed her shoulder again, trying for reassuring but conscious that she was unlikely to be reassured. On the other hand, if she were taking this much time to consider it, that would mean that she thought sex with him was a possibility; sex with him this afternoon was a possibility. And her reason for refusing marriage was that she would never be able to have sex. If she was considering sex, even if she turned it down for this afternoon, then that reason no longer applied. He went back to kissing her shoulder. His legs were getting a little tired, but let her think as long as she wanted.
When she decided, she got up from his lap. When that intention was clear, he hurried to move his arms so she wouldn’t feel like he was confining her. She didn’t reach for her clothes. Instead she headed for the bedroom. He watched her sexy seat swing her panties for a moment. Then he followed her. She lay down in the middle of the bed.
“Candy, darling.” She might have decided to have sex -- he might also have misinterpreted the reason for her long period of deciding and her present posture. But, if she had decided, his promise was that she could change her mind at any point. And watching from the bed as he made his preparations, stripping and putting on the condom, could change her mind. It might make a woman more confident about sex than Candy was change her mind. He knelt on the bed to kiss her. During the kiss, he used each foot to push his shoe off the other foot. He kissed her breasts, tasting each loveliness equally. He ended on her nipples before raising up on his knees. He brought his hands to her panties.
“Let me” She let him remove her panties, raising her hips as he pulled them down to her thighs. Then, when he shifted in the bed, she brought her legs close together and raised them. He took the panties all the way over her feet, and she lay flat with her legs slightly spread.
She was as lovely, maybe more lovely, between her legs as anywhere else. The last cover of her secrets was a patch of curly brown hair. It was starting to puff out a bit with the constriction of the panties removed. Her thighs and her belly above the hair were creamy white. He stroked her thighs, and then the mound. He kissed her breasts, licking her nipples before venturing his hand towards her last secrets. He was supporting himself on his left hand.
He appreciated her smooth thighs as his hand stroked upwards. He wasn’t grabbing; he was, as always, giving her time to stop him. He wasn’t dawdling, either. When his fingers touched her hair again, he stroked along the outer lips once before parting them. She was still juicy, still responding to him. He held the inner lips between thumb and forefinger. As gently as he could, he rubbed them against one another.
When he parted them, his middle finger found the source of her juice. He stroked that up between those lips towards her clit. He sucked hard on the nipple of her far breast just before his finger reached her clit. Her sudden intake a of breath was his reward. He sucked more gently as he stroked slowly down to her center and up over her clit. He kept his touch as soft as possible.
Her body gradually stiffened and tensed. This tension, he knew, wasn’t fear. He kept stroking gently but moved his head to her near breast. He sucked that nipple, tonguing it when the suction was strongest.
She bucked into his hand and gasped. Her orgasm! He let go to shove his trousers down and off. He opened the drawer of his nightstand and scrabbled in it to find the condom he’d taken out of the box. He opened the packet and rolled it down his cock. He moved until he was between her legs and then leaned over to kiss her forehead.
“I love you, Candy. May I? Candy, dearest, please say yes.” He had been patient, but seeing her orgasms and touching her sexiness had wound him tight. He needed this. He brought her hand to the base of his cock to show her that he was wearing a condom. She didn’t say anything. “Please say yes.” He was sounding desperate. Well, he was desperate.
“Let me see.” She wanted to be certain? She was merely curious? Well, she had asked, and if he didn’t want to be her second rapist, he’d better get further from her center. His cock was attracted to it like they were magnetized. He reared up straight on his knees.
“Please say yes.” He was begging her. So much for this being about her.
“Yes.” Loveliest word in the language.
“Darling!” He dropped down and caught himself by his hands on the mattress. Then he reached between her outer lips again. He parted her inner ones and moved so his cock was between his fingers. Looking her in the face, he pressed slowly into her. First, her warmth was over his tip. Then he felt her smoothness slide all around his head. She was clasping him, but it wasn’t constrictive. Then a looser clasp was sliding over his head while his shaft was hugged. Finally, she was holding all of him.
His eyes had been on her face all that time, but only then could he spare any attention to what he was seeing. She, too, seemed to have her attention inward, but she didn’t seem to be in any discomfort. Nor did she look like she had changed her mind. He kissed her lightly, not opening his lips.
“I love you. May I move?”
“Sure.” She seemed to have forgotten that this act would be impossible for her to bear, that she couldn’t marry him because this was impossible.
He withdrew slowly, savoring the sensations along his shaft and his head. When his head first felt the extra tightness, he moved into her again. He checked her face again. Finding no resistance, he moved out again. Being in her was heaven, and moving in her was even better. He tried to move slowly to savor all the sensations, but he was driven to move faster. Then faster yet. His desire was boiling up inside him.
“Darling!” He thrust, trying to bury himself in her warmth. Then he pumped his love into her. He lay on her softness, and she embraced him. As he recovered, he realized that he must be crushing her even so.
“Sorry,” he said. He moved to the side, but there wasn’t much room. She moved away from him but reached back to him. He took her hand and moved closer. Their clasped hands lay between them. “Was that okay? Were you frightened?”
“I wasn’t frightened at all. You were very gentle. It was fine.” That was good to hear. She was lying on her back, and he dropped her hand on her leg. He moved to lie against her side and hug her lightly. He kissed what he could reach without effort. Physical effort was beyond him just then. That had been the best sex of his life, as far beyond his experience with other women as that experience had been beyond masturbation. It had drained him utterly.
Well, her reason for not marrying him was now moot. They should settle some things. The first, of course, was her pregnancy. He was quite willing to go back to a long courtship or, at least, a long engagement if her fears were baseless. He would be the guy, after all, who had been willing to marry her to save her reputation. That should trump anything a rival could offer.
“Look, can we talk? You’ve said that you think you’re pregnant. Have you been to a doctor?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“You don’t look pregnant. Well, even if you are certain, you should go to a doctor. I don’t know all that much about pregnancy, but I’ve been in the choir when pregnant women have talked. They all visit the doctor.” Even if she were, and she probably was, their plans would be much better grounded when they knew.
“I’ve told Mom. Maybe I’ll ask her about doctors. I don’t like talking to her about it, though. She doesn’t believe I was raped. She thinks I wanted to have sex with him.”
“Well, when we’re married, I’ll be paying your doctor bills, or -- at least -- my insurance will. I don’t see anything wrong with starting early. Really, it’s just investment in having a safe pregnancy, and most of the pregnancy will be during the marriage.”
She didn’t say anything to that. She was thinking again, but what was there about his statement to think about? She was a middle-class woman in Evanston, not a hillbilly. Middle class urban women went to doctors when they were pregnant.
“You have to talk to somebody.” It seems he’d been telling her that all the time. “Do you know your gynecologist? Doctors have ethical rules, just like lawyers do.” Which didn’t seem so convincing now he’d said it. “Not a great recommendation, I know. but we mostly obey legal ethics. Honestly, we do. Anyway, go to your doctor. I’ll pay, and he’ll keep silent.” He was going to be her husband, and the sooner they were certain, the sooner he’d be her husband. If she didn’t want to talk to her mother, then he could start paying the bills a little early.
“I don’t know.” That didn’t seem encouraging. When they were married, she’d follow Carolyn’s advice or some more recent mother. All the women in church did. On the other hand, this was a catch 22. She needed the certainty of the pregnancy to get her to decide for the wedding. And, here, he wasn’t simply being selfish. The sooner the wedding, the less the gossip.
“If you don’t want to ask your mother for a name, do you want to ask Prof. Pierce?”
“Huh!”
“As I said, the women in the choir gossip with each other. They don’t talk to me about such things, but I hear. I’ve heard her say nice things about her gynecologist.” Damn it! He’d heard them say nice things about Priscilla Circle, too. Candy was probably eligible, he’d never heard of UMW being stuffy about church membership, and the new circles were notoriously independent of the chapter. She, however, wouldn’t want to mention the pregnancy before the marriage, and a pregnancy, or a young kid, was one of the unofficial requirements for Priscilla Circle.
“I won’t talk to Prof. Pierce until school starts again.” Was that ‘won’t’ as a refusal or ‘won’t’ as a prediction? Well, although she had been in her house once, she probably expected to deal with Carolyn at school. He could try.
“You could call her on the phone. I have her number. She is almost certainly at home now.” They, after all, had gone out to eat after church, and they had got home long ago. If the Pierce family had gone out to eat after church, despite any delays caused by the boys, they would be home by now.
Candy got up and started to pull on her panties. She hadn’t said that she would call or that she wouldn’t. Well, back then, she hadn’t said that she would go into the bedroom, either. He got the church directory for her. When she was fully dressed including pantyhose and shoes, she went to the phone. He went into the bedroom to get dressed himself. He could hear her side of the conversation.
“May I talk to Prof. Pierce, please.” A long silence.
“Prof. Pierce, this is Candy -- Candy Wharton. I hate to bother you again.”
“Eric gave it to me. I hate to bother you at home, but I have a question and you’ve helped me before.” That’s right. He could call Carolyn when he wanted to -- and she could tell him the time was inconvenient when it was -- but Candy was a student. On the other hand, Candy could ask this question, and he could not. Damn!
“I want to talk to a gynecologist. I need to talk to one. And I don’t want to ask my mom. Do you have the name of one?”
“I can get there.” Another long pause.
“Thank you very much ... Goodbye.” He went out in his stockings.
“I’ll call him Monday,” she said when she saw him.
“Good. What’s his name?”
“Gable.” That could have several spellings, though fewer than Hawthorne’s seven. This one, he found in the book, was spelled ‘Gabel.’ He made out a blank check to that name and gave it to Candy. Another worry had occurred to him, though.
“Look,” he told her, “maybe you should be checked for venereal diseases as well as pregnancy.” She looked aghast. “I trust you, but I don’t trust the MF. Miss Murphy thought he might make a habit of something like what he did to you. Don’t, for God’s sake, have nightmares about that. Just check it out.” For that matter, they would have to be checked for syphilis, at least, before they got married.
“Okay, I will.” Great. One problem settled. Now, however, they were both dressed. The afternoon had ended, but he didn’t want it to end. Well, the choice was hers; the choice was always hers.
“I don’t know what to do next,” he told her. “We could stay here. I have eggs and I could fix you an omelet for dinner. We could go to a movie and eat out. We could even go to a movie and come back here, for that matter, but I wouldn’t take you to a place where the food is cooked as badly as I cook.”
“Why don’t you take me home?” Well the choice was always hers, and that choice was always the girl’s. Trying to lock her in was false arrest if not kidnaping.
“Well, there are a lot of reasons against it, but come here.” She did, and she cooperated with the kiss. Then he got his shoes and their outerwear. He took her home. Well, what was the next stage? Not the next stage of her sex life, since they’d reached the last stage, and she hadn’t been frightened. What was the next stage of their relationship? When, to be very short-sighted, was there their next date? Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. They had enjoyed a wonderful Christmas Eve, but he didn’t think he could provide anything like it for New Year’s Eve. He really wanted to stay inside and avoid the drunk drivers. He wanted to be their prosecutor, not their victim.
“When can we get together again? Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, but it doesn’t have to be tomorrow. Truth to tell, what I like about being with you, is you. I’m not all that enthused about taking you out drinking somewhere.”
“Well, I know I said that I would think things out last week, but I didn’t think things out enough. I really didn’t expect that.” Well, neither of them had expected to go that far. He hadn’t intended to push, had she felt pushed?
“Darling? Did I push you too far?”
“You didn’t push. The situation did.” That was good to hear. Right at the end, he had been pushing, or -- at least -- begging. “I was going to go along with you until the fright got too bad. The fright was going to get too bad long before we got to actual sex. I trusted you to stop when I said ‘no.’ Hell! You even asked me to say ‘yes.’” Which was a much more favorable way of putting it than ‘begging’ was.
“Well, yes. I said I’d go forward until you stopped me, but right then I thought that you should have more opportunity to stop.” And, which he didn’t want to say, asking for a yes was the opposite of rape. He wanted that contrast.
“Eric, you’re a wonderful guy.” Which was also great to hear. She wasn’t expressing love, but she was expressing that he was near the top of her preference list.
“I love you.” He did, more than before, and he hadn’t thought that possible. She didn’t love him, and she didn’t say she did.
“So, I really think we should wait ‘til next Sunday.”
“Your choice.” And, of course, that did mean that they would meet Sunday. It definitely didn’t sound like she was going out with another man, and -- of course -- the campus where she could meet other men was shut down.
He kissed her at her doorway again and went back to his car. He spent the ride back and much of the evening reliving his experience. She was wonderful. Sex with her was wonderful. Then he went out to a local hamburger joint for dinner, a place he’d never take Candy but cheap. He started thinking about the rest of the time with her.
He was a fucking idiot! He had taken her for granted. She had said ‘yes’ to him, the first man to whom she had said ‘yes.’ They had experienced the ultimate togetherness, an orgasm which had transcended any other he had ever experienced. And, then, he had taken her for granted. The last time he had proposed to her, she had turned him down. Certainly, they had -- she had, really -- overcome that objection. But his proper response to that should have been to propose again, preferably on bended knee. Instead, he had assumed that the problem was taken care of, and that her answer had changed. Anyone with the brains of the average cabbage would let the lady change her own mind. And taking her for granted was a horrible omen for the marriage.
Then, too, marriages meant weddings, and weddings meant engagements. Women cared about weddings and engagement rings. They cared about proposals, too. He had denied her the one and had silenced her about the other two. Well, they would eat after church. If she gave him time, and she was always so understanding, he would take the time to make it up to her. Probably, they should talk in his apartment. There might well be details she might not want to discuss in public. Besides which, the apartment would be their first home. If it was the scene of his blundering, it should be the scene of his making up for it.
The next day, which was New Year’s Eve and, thus, not a workday, he spent, planning out what he would do and the decisions that they would make. He usually ate only breakfasts and weekend lunches at home, but he ate in another diner that noon and cooked himself an omelet for dinner that night. He really disliked traffic on New Year’s Eve. He realized on the First that he had planned too much. Candy was not only a person who could have a voice in the decisions, she was a person who was entitled to a say in what decisions they made. He thought, for the first time, of her child not only as a problem in her life, but as a person in their future.
Well, people didn’t have to know everything. The boy should be his son as far as anyone outside the family knew. Carolyn and Bill would know better, but Carolyn’s knowledge had come when Candy was her client -- well, student. He didn’t think that gossip fit in with what professors saw as professional ethics. Bill was easy. Holding his mouth would be the price of holding the baby. It might be harder inside the family, but Candy would need his help in childcare; she would accept his voice as equal to hers in the decisions over childcare. And, actually, he would be willing to give her a little precedence in child-care decisions. Like housework, that was traditionally the wife’s prerogative.
Traffic Court reopened on the third, and he went back to work. These ideas kept circling in his head at night, though. On Friday, his house was cleaned, and on Saturday he neatened everything except his bedroom. He neatened the bedroom Sunday morning before leaving to pick her up.
She came out the third time he circled the block. They spoke of inconsequentials on the way there. The day was cold but dry, and the wind was low. He didn’t ask her whether she wanted to be let off at church before he parked the car. They were a little early and sat about where they had sat before. When Claire came in, she joined them.
“Look, we have to talk,” he said when they were in the car after service. “Why don’t we get take-out and eat in my apartment?”
“Sure.”
“I was thinking Thai. Would you rather have pizza? Something else?”
“Thai would be fine.” She was always so agreeable to his suggestions. Well, sometimes she had thought long and hard about them, but those were serious decisions she had to make. They got three boxes of Thai food and headed back to his place. He got everything out and seated her. Now was the time.
“Look, I took you for granted last week. I’m sorry. I never want to take you for granted again. You never said you would marry me.” He knelt down to say, “Candy, darling Candace, will you marry me?”
“Get up and go sit down. This will be a long conversation.” That didn’t sound good. On the other hand, she could say ‘no’ as fast as ‘yes.’ “I’m carrying a child,” she continued. “How do you plan to treat that child?” That sounded almost as if she was taking the marriage as a given. Still, it was a question, and it deserved an answer.
“Well. I have thought about that. In the first place, it’s rather nasty to punish a kid for what his father has done. That becomes ridiculous when it is for what his father has done to his mother. This will be your baby, and you’ll love it. Well, I love you, and I will love him, too.” That was really the bottom line. He would love anything that was associated with her.
“You keep saying ‘him.’ I sometimes say ‘her.’” That wasn’t a serious matter. One of them would be wrong and change their expression. Saying ‘it’ sounded unloving.
“Well, I will love him or love her. Have you been to the doctor, then? Are you sure?”
“I’ve been to the doctor, but I only saw him on Friday. Doctors take New Year’s Day off. I don’t have the results yet. He’s not sure. I fairly well am.” Well, she might think she was sure, but she didn’t seem to be making decisions the way she would be when she was.
“Well, then the rest of what we say isn’t, ‘Candy’s pregnant; this is what we will do.’ It’s. ‘This is what we will do if Candy is pregnant.’ That doesn’t apply to the proposal, although it may well apply to your answer, and it’s almost certain to apply to our timeline.” It really applied to her answer. It even applied to his proposal, in some way. He wanted to marry her if she were pregnant, and he wanted to marry her if she were not. The marriages, though, would be different.
“Then, Eric, in answer to your question, and if I am pregnant, then I will marry you.”
“Darling!” He needed to kiss and hug her.
“Finish your dinner.” Her tone was forceful. The words were a little ironic coming from her. She so seldom finished hers. Even so, he went back to his Pad Thai.
“Well in line with the discussion of how we would raise the child, I propose that, in all but the biological sense, it will be my child. There are a few people who will know different, but really very few, and those are your friends. Claire and them are your support group; they aren’t going to gossip about you.” That was really what he’d thought about. He’d thought through this much more than mistreating her child.
“Well, when the baby is born, they’ll all know.” They won’t know much. Only a few would know much. Except, that, if she demanded child support from the douche-bag, he could claim some time with the kid, and that would have legal complications for what they needed to tell the school district. For that, matter, what were the obligations on birth certificates? That, however, was a bunch of bridges to cross when they came to them.
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