Chapter 1

January 10, 1976 – Wooded lane outside Morgantown, PA

“You have the rubber ready?” I gasped as my boyfriend bent over and licked my pussy. I was going to need his dick and soon! Steven looked up from between my legs and grinned. My pussy juices coated his face.

“I got it covered,” Steven replied. He patted his pants on the backseat floor.

“My period was two weeks ago,” I stated. “Tonight, would be a bad time to forget the rubber.”

“Don’t worry,” Steven answered. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He went back to licking.

The back seat of a 1971 puke green Ford Pinto was a hell of a place to have sex. Steven was almost nineteen. I was seventeen at the time and a senior at Twin Valley High School. Steven had graduated a year ahead of me. The two of us had dated for a year and a half. We were considered a very serious couple by our friends. Would we marry? Maybe? Probably? We had talked about it but hadn’t made any definite plans yet.

Officially Ford called the color of Steven’s car pea green. The car’s color reminded me of puke. A Pinto is a tiny car, with a way too small of a backseat. The car was available for $350 and was all Steven could afford. It was the one place where we could find privacy for our favorite pastime, screwing like a pair of rabbits.

My blouse and bra were off and I was pushed up against the backseat passenger’s side window. One leg was draped over the front seat, the other over the backseat. Steven was contorted into a ball to fit between me and the other backseat window. His head was between my thighs, licking away at my juicy slot and clitoris.

“Oooohhhh ... yeah ... yeah...” I chanted. “oooOOOhhhh ... ssssSShiiIIITTT!” A fantastic orgasm flooded my body. I shook and shivered as I rode the wave of ecstasy. Steven wisely pulled his head from between my twitching legs, avoiding the likely concussion I would have given him otherwise.

I scooted down the seat until my back was on the seat. Steven climbed over top of me and began rubbing his erection up and down my sloppy slot. God, it felt good when he did that. Steven continued rubbing for a couple minutes. He was sliding over and stimulating my clitoris. I could feel another orgasm building.

Steven got overenthusiastic on one rub and his dick caught on my hole. He skewered a few inches of dick into my hungry hole.

“Um ... uh ... Jules?” Steven gasped.

“Put it in,” I demanded. “Put it in now!” I reached around and grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled. My boyfriend responded and plunged his six incher into my needy pussy. We went at it frantically, bumping our heads against the side of the car as we screwed. Steven was sprawled on top of me, unable to support his weight due to the awkward position necessary to fuck in a Pinto. His groin was rubbing directly on my clitoris as we fucked.

My feelings built higher and higher. Finally, euphoria overwhelmed me as I came. I screeched and thrashed. Steven had fingered and licked me to many orgasms, but this was the first time in my life I came while I had a boy impaling me with his dick as I came. Steven continued thrusting, which just intensified the good feelings.

Steven might have lasted half a dozen more strokes after my climax subsided. I felt his dick swell in me. He groaned and pounded his dick into me one last time. His face was frozen in a grimace as I suddenly felt a flood inside my vagina. Hot, slick wetness. Dick swelling; that was normal when we screw. Hot flood of wetness, not normal, not normal at all.

“Did the rubber break?” I gasped. Steven pulled up a little to look me in the eye.

“Rubber?” he asked uncomprehendingly. His eyes opened in fright. “Ooohhh ... SHIT! The rubber!”

“Did it break?” I demanded.

“Did we remember to stop so I could put it on?” Steven asked.

“You are blaming me for this?” I asked.

“I am blaming both of us,” Steven replied. “You forgot. I forgot. We screwed up big time.”

“This is the most likely time for you to get me pregnant,” I remarked as Steven climbed off me. I felt a glob of his sperm roll out of my well fucked hole. “Do you know the chances of me getting knocked up from this?”

“Not exactly,” Steven answered. “I know the chances are much higher than we want.”

“Damn right they are,” I huffed. “What happens if I end up pregnant?”

“I will stand by you, Jules,” Steven promised. My birth certificate said Julianne. Everyone called me Julie, except for Steven. His pet name for me was Jules. “We talked about getting married someday. Maybe the day will be a little sooner than we expected, that’s all.”

“What about Goldey Beacom?” I asked. I had been accepted to attend the business school to study accounting in the fall.

“We will figure things out,” Steven promised. “Hopefully this is something we can look back on and laugh about, the time we were afraid you might get pregnant and didn’t. If not, we will do what kids have done for ages when they end up in our predicament. We will get married. We planned to do that anyway.”

“But not yet,” I replied. “What if they kick me out of school for being pregnant?”

“How would the school even know?” Steven replied. “You have less than five months to graduation. You probably won’t even show before graduation. Whatever happens, I will be there with you.”

Steven and I got dressed and he drove me home. I made it in twenty minutes before my curfew. Albeit, carrying a load of baby-making sperm in my womb.

Steven and I sweated out the next two weeks. My period, due January 24th, didn’t come. I made the excuse that my periods weren’t entirely regular. Maybe I skipped a month. I missed the next one February 21st. Steven and I knew our fates were sealed. I did not want to face my parents and give them this news. We waited and pretended nothing was wrong.

My boobs, already substantial for my age, swelled. With two missed periods too, I knew both were signs of pregnancy. Steven and I talked about it the first Saturday in March, when he took me bowling. I teased, maybe I was wrong. The biggest sign of pregnancy was morning sickness. I didn’t have it.

I spoke too soon. Two mornings later, in the middle of breakfast I dashed to the bathroom and puked. Mom was concerned. She allowed me to stay home from school. She chalked the nausea to the flu that was going around. I felt better during the day. The next morning, puke city before I even sat down for the eggs and bacon Mom made for me. I cleaned up and went back to the kitchen. Mom shooed my little brother Willy upstairs to get ready for middle school. Dad had left for work. It was just Mom and me.

I sat down. Mom sat down beside me, in Willy’s chair. “Julie, you and I need to have a frank talk. Are you and Steven intimate?”

“Mom, how could you ask such a thing?”

“Your breasts have swelled in the past couple months,” Mom said. “You are spilling out of your bra. You were sick two mornings in a row. No temperature and you feel fine the rest of the day. All this points to one thing. Be honest with me, are you and Steven intimate?”

“Mom, the pill has been around for a decade,” I replied.

“You aren’t on the pill,” Mom answered evenly.

“We are in the sexual revolution,” I said. “I am seventeen and have a serious boyfriend. Of course, Steven and I are having sex.”

“You make Steven use protection every time?” Mom asked.

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Almost every time.”

“Almost?” Mom asked.

“There was one time a couple months ago when we got carried away,” I explained.

“Have you had your monthlies since that oops moment?”

“Um ... no,” I replied. I expected to see a reaction in my Mom. She stared at me unblinking.

“I am calling the school and getting you excused today,” Mom said. “After Willy leaves for school, we are heading to Reading to the women’s clinic there.”

We received the news we expected but dreaded. I was indeed pregnant. The doctor said I was in my tenth week. My due date was October 2, 1976.

My family and the Smiths, Steven’s family, got together to decide what to do about my situation. Abortion was considered but rejected. In the end, the two families settled on the age-old way to deal with unplanned pregnancy. Steven and I would get married.

I passed my last month of school wearing loose fitting clothes, so no one could see my baby bump. The long, flowing graduation robes covered my bump when I received my high school diploma. I went from high school graduation June 5th to my wedding the following Saturday.

My family kept the wedding small, fitting for a pregnant bride. My wedding dress didn’t have a tight waist, so no one could see why we were hurrying to have the wedding. Steven and I had a quickie, three-day honeymoon in the Poconos.

Steven and I settled into a tiny apartment over the pizza place in the middle of Morgantown, PA, our hometown. Steven worked as a laborer for a construction company. We discussed me getting a summer job but decided against it. How many weeks could I work before my pregnancy became obvious?

We settled into a routine and learned about married life. We managed on a tight budget with a little help from our parents. My belly grew and grew. Late in the evening, just before midnight on October 2nd, I felt the contractions. Steven raced me to the Reading Hospital. Thank God they built Route 176, the new interstate between Morgantown and Reading. I can’t imagine crawling up winding, narrow Route 10 to get to the hospital. A little after one in the morning, I was wheeled into the delivery room and gave birth to a son. Steven and I named him Scott Thomas Smith.

Scott, Scottie as we liked to call him, was a wonderful as a baby. Within a week of coming home, he was sleeping through most of the night. He was well disposed. He was the delight of me and his father.

Despite dating for two years, we found balancing work, a kid, a tiny apartment and adjusting to being married was challenging. Money was tight. We got by with a little help from the my and Steven’s parents. I got a job at the local Burger King. Grandma Helen (Smith) babysat little “Scott Thomas”. The Smiths always called the baby that. His middle name, Thomas, is to honor his Grandpa Tom Smith.

Impoverished, married life did not improve for us. With only one bedroom shared with our son, our previously active sex life tapered off. We hung together for a few years, bickering constantly about money. Makeup sex after we fought was the best part of our marriage. We had one saving grace - our passion for each other.

Steven was pissed at most of the world. He was still doing the same job after four years with the construction company. Inflation is surging. Steven and I fell further and further behind in our bills. Steven began stopping off at a local bar when his shift was finished. Steven was not a pleasant drunk. This led to more fights between Steven and me. Steven was not violent, just mean.

Soon after Scottie’s fourth birthday, I announced I wanted a divorce. Steven agreed that would be best. The only difficulty in arranging the break-up was custody and child support. Custody turned out not to be difficult. I got custody. Steven would get his son for one weekend a month. Steven’s parents would get their grandson one weekend a month too. After some dickering, we agreed on the amount of child support.

My dad helped me land a new job as a receptionist for a doctor in Honey Brook. Scottie and I moved to Honey Brook, the small town in northwestern Chester County. We had a third-floor apartment beside the bank in the center of town. The doctor’s office was across Main Street and a few doors to the west.

Scottie and I enjoyed a better life in the small town. The receptionist job paid much better than Burger King did. I worked full 40 hour weeks too, something I rarely did at the fast-food restaurant. Scottie went to a day care run at the Methodist Church down the street. He would be there full time for about five months, until school started and Scottie began Kindergarten.

Between my child support and my larger paycheck from my job, I finally made enough to get all the bills paid and spend a little for nicer clothes for Scottie and me. The divorce and move to Honey Brook worked for us.

Newly divorced and free for the first time since I was fifteen, I attracted the eye of quite a few eligible men in the small town. At 5’-7” and 125 pounds, with brown, shoulder-length hair, I drew mens’ attention. My 36Ds didn’t hurt either, when it came to men. Scottie’s two weekends a month with his father or grandparent provided the perfect time for me to date.

I was not a virgin when I started dating Steven in tenth grade. The honor of popping my cherry had been claimed by one of my ninth-grade boyfriends, Tony Rizzuto. It had been awkward and too quick, but the deed had been done. Tony and I hooked up one more time before he dumped me. Greg Lapp had scored three times with me while we dated. I enjoyed the sex with Greg. It was better than with Tony.

When Steven Smith, an eleventh-grader, asked me out at the start of tenth grade, I was ready and willing when Steven suggested sex during our third date. Steven revealed just how good sex could be to me. Sex rocked. We were a happy couple who screwed at every chance we got in high school. God, I loved being impaled on Steven’s big cock and getting reamed.

That wonderful feeling of getting screwed dwindled in the last year of our marriage. I was horny and ready when I started dating again. More likely than not my dates after the divorce ended up with me and the guy in bed rutting away passionately. That itch, that need was getting satisfied again.

Scottie started Kindergarten in the fall of 1981. He loved school. I liked my job, had enough money to pay the bills and then a little. I was getting laid once or twice a month. Life was so much better in Honey Brook.

Scottie did well in kindergarten. He moved on to first grade. Mrs. Webber, his teacher, was strict and demanding but also friendly and engaging. Scottie loved school. I enjoyed life.

There was one downside. Finding a husband and a full-time father figure for Scottie would be nice. Most of the men I dated were in their early twenties, like me. None were ready for dealing with a young kid. One man I met in church, Ronald Foard, was older and divorced with a seven-year-old daughter living with her mother, was a prospect, I hoped.

I flirted with Ron on our first date. I did not plan to take him to bed on the first date. That was too easy. I did flirt with him through the night, hoping to get him interested in bedroom fun after a second date. I received a very chaste kiss at the end of our first date. Ron asked me out again. I flirted pretty outrageously. All I got at the end of the second date was another kiss, lingering this time but without tongue. What did I need to do to get laid?