Chapter 10: Lingering Effects

It was messed up. Even after 5 days on the open road, with nothing to do but burn through his CD collection and think, Paul was still at war with himself. When he started out, he just assumed that one way or another he would have settled on a course of action by now. But reality wasn't that simple. He'd passed countless intersections since he started out and he continued to barrel onwards without deviating. But his straight course belied the anxious knot in his stomach.

Ostensibly, Paul was driving cross-country to spend a few weeks crashing in San Francisco at his old friend Ricky's place. But what nobody knew about was the major detour he planned to take along the way; the major detour that was his real motivation for making this trip.

The past few months had been difficult and strange for Paul. Settling back into the college routine for his final semester came surprisingly natural to him. But it couldn't lessen the pain of losing his beloved Karen and Paul became withdrawn, spending a lot of time lost in his own head. All too often, this would happen during lectures and study sessions and Paul's grades suffered because of it. He had still graduated comfortably, though.

One thing that had surprised Paul during his first days back at college was that Marcy hadn't returned. At first he was relieved as he had no idea how he was supposed to face her after that wild night of no-strings sex they'd had the night after Karen's funeral. How on Earth were they supposed to act casual around one another with a history like that?

But Paul's sense of relief quickly dissipated, and was replaced by feelings that were far stronger and extremely frustrating.

He began to think about her; in intermittent flashes at first, but then constantly. In every thought he had about her, Marcy was nude, or close to it. One of his favorite staples was the image of her large tits swinging like fleshy pendulums right in front of him, as Marcy pinned him down and bucked upon him wildly, milking his erogenous shaft with her tight, slick snatch. Another was the hypnotic memory of the taste of one of her nipples in his mouth, while the left side of his face sank into the warm, yielding splendor of her other breast.

Though some memories were a lot stronger than others, there was scarcely a snippet of their brief erotic history that Paul hadn't reflected upon in detail during his final semester. Virtually every night ended with Paul jerking off to the memory of oggling Marcy's naked body, if not the memory of fucking her. And on nights when he was too damn tense to get to sleep that easily, he would jerk off over her again, and then again, if necessary.

Campus was filled with a ton of cute and hot girls, many of whom were notoriously easy. But Paul felt little impetus to chase after any of them. Marcy had gotten stuck in his head like an earwig.

At times when he lamented his sordid little affair with her, he began to understand why the church associated casual sex with the devil, hellfire and the like. Sometimes it felt like he was actually being possessed by a demon. Ever since Marcy had taken his virginity it seemed as if she had also taken over his entire life. He felt like a prisoner. He felt like her prisoner. His fixation annoyed and often upset him, yet he could not escape his persistent sensual thoughts about her. Nor could he resist indulging those thoughts to the point of climax, when they occurred.

Eventually, and against all logic, that maddening obsession drove Paul to seek Marcy out. Her dropping out of college should have been a fortuitous blessing. It was best that they never see one another again and that the shameful affair they began while Karen layed dying become nothing more than ancient history. But Paul simply couldn't help himself; he needed to find her.

Rumors of Marcy's whereabouts abounded between the vacuous "friends" she had left behind on campus. Some seemed to believe that she was touring Europe, trying to clear her head after her traumatic brush with death and break-up with Jeff. Others believed that she was living back close to her family in Arizona.

But a few days before graduation Paul got the first lead that he actually considered somewhat reliable. With a little financial incentive, Paul was able to convince a guy in the college's admin office to give him the new mailing address the college had on record for Marcy. It was a P.O. box in a town called Calloway in Oregon.

Even as he was handing over good money for the information, Paul had no idea what he was going to do with it. For some reason, he believed that simply knowing where she was could give him some measure of satisfaction; that the knowledge would somehow loosen Marcy's hold over him. But having a place to focus his fixation upon only made it stronger. All too soon he found himself having absurd ideas that both frightened and excited him. Calloway was calling to him. By the time he had graduated he had invented an excuse to travel across the country so that this new desire could be satiated.

And now he was here.

As he passed the "Welcome To Calloway" sign, his heart pounded so anxiously it felt like he was driving with a flat tyre. Paul had no plan for what he'd do when he finally found Marcy. He truly wondered if he'd be able to pluck up the courage to do anything more than simply watch her from a distance. But even if he could, what then? A polite greeting, inquiring about how she had been - those were a given. But Paul wasn't really concerned for Marcy's welfare, nor had he driven 2500 miles to catch up with an old acquaintance. The sleazy truth was that the only reason Paul was there was because he wanted to fuck her again.

It seemed like an impossible wish. He highly doubted that she'd be so delighted to see him again that she'd throw herself at him as she'd done before. Paul was well aware that Marcy had never felt especially attracted to him; she had only taken him as a lover previously because he was convenient.

He had an idea that he could talk her into catching up with him at a bar and that, with a few drinks under their belts, they might make a "drunken mistake." But Paul was under no delusions; he knew that even his best chance of sleeping with Marcy again was a long shot. He could only hope that simply seeing her in the flesh again, being able to admire her awesome body, even fully clothed, would grant him some measure of release.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He still didn't know precisely where in Calloway Marcy could be found. The college only had a P.O. box for her, not a residential address. Judging by the size of the dot that marked Calloway on the map, it looked to be a relatively small town, so Paul hoped that would make her easier to track down.

The main street was easy enough to find. Soon enough, Paul had discovered what appeared to be the town's main parking lot. It was only half-full, so he had no trouble finding a space for his second-hand Chevy.

The bright mid-afternoon sun shone down upon Paul as he got out of his car. He figured that seeing as how he knew she had a P.O. box, the logical place to start his search was the post office.

As he strolled down the street, meandering around the many other pedestrians on the sidewalk, Paul drank in the classic Americana atmosphere of the town and people. It actually began to strike him as suspicious. Paul's impression of Marcy was that she was a vivacious spirit, who relished excitement and glamor. This place was too quiet – too suburban. It didn't feel like the kind of place Marcy would live.

With some direction from a helpful local, Paul soon found the post office. There were only a couple of customers inside, neither of whom were at the counter. The employees, a balding, meek-looking man and a old lady with glasses who looked like she'd been sitting back there for her entire working life, were both free.

Paul walked up to the man.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hello," the man replied dryly.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine," Paul said as he reached into his pocket. He produced a photo of Marcy that he'd cut out of a yearbook, knowing he'd need one to help locate her. "She told me she lived somewhere around here but I lost her address..." he lied.

The man glared at the photo with a bemused look, as if he was examining some unpleasant medical sample. He didn't seem to know her, but his co-worker leaned over to take a look at the photo and her face lit up almost immediately.

"Oh! That's young ... oh, what's her name? Marcy!"

Paul's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. This was actual confirmation! Marcy really was here in Calloway! After all these months, she was only a stone's throw away.

"Very pretty girl. But a shy one; doesn't say much," the woman elaborated.

Paul was confused. Shy? Marcy? Were they talking about the same person? For a moment, he wondered if this was a case of mistaken identity. But what were the odds that this lady would guess Marcy's name correctly, purely by coincidence?

"Still, she'll always respond if you say 'hello' to her," the postal worker continued.

"Do you know where she lives?" Paul asked, eagerly.

"No, I'm sorry," the woman shook her head.

The balding man simply continued to glare at Paul with suspicious eyes. Paul felt that glare piercing him all the way to his bones because he knew he deserved it. He was no respectable gentleman visiting this wholesome town with pure intentions. He was a sex-obsessed pervert who had come here to coax a woman he didn't particularly care for into sleeping with him.

Still, Paul managed to conceal his shame completely as he offered the woman a polite, "Oh well, thanks anyway," and smile, before leaving the building.

Standing on the post office's threshold, Paul took a second to steady himself against the twinge of guilt he felt. He had come too far, quite literally, to bail out now. He knew for a fact that Marcy was around here somewhere and with a little persistence, he was sure to find her.

He repeated his inquiry at all the locales where Marcy would be likely to pass through: the pharmacy, the banks, the diners. Several people recognized Marcy, some of whom even knew her by name, but none of them could offer Paul any useful information.

But he hit paydirt at a supermarket. He was asking one of the cashiers if she recognized the girl in his photo when by fortuitous coincidence the woman whom the cashier was checking out took an interest in the photo.

"Oh, I know her!" the customer exclaimed. "Oh jeez, now let me think. Where did I see her?" the woman pondered aloud, closing her eyes tightly as she concentrated. "Ah! I remember!" she exclaimed with satisfaction, "She was in the realtor's office! We've been thinking about moving and that girl was working at the realtor we visited."

The woman was all too willing to provide Paul with clear directions on how to get to the realtor office in question. Paul was delighted. After thanking the woman very graciously, Paul made his way out of the supermarket at a brisk stride.

Judging by the lady's directions, the realtor's office was on the far side of town, but still within walking distance of his car, so he opted not to drive. Despite his misgivings over what was to come, Paul's enthusiasm could not be reigned in and his impatient pace didn't relent for one minute as he journeyed to his destination. Not until he found himself within clear view of the building in question, that is.

His momentum left him. His steady march ground to a sudden halt. This was it; the do-or-die moment. Up until now meeting up with Marcy had only been a theoretical prospect. Paul hadn't even realized until now how secure that state of mind had been. But if he continued now, there was no turning back. Whatever awkwardness or pain would come from trying to insert himself back into Marcy's life, he would simply have to endure it.

It was not an easy decision, and it took more than one deep breath to help Paul make it. But in the end, the powerful, desperate urges that had driven him to this point overcame his fear. He continued onward towards the object of his desire. His march was only half the speed it had been before, but its confidence had been redoubled.

As Paul reached for the handle of the glass-paned front door of the office he briefly peered inside. The dark brown ponytail and general youthful look of the receptionist behind the front desk gave him instant hope that his quest was at an end. But with the glare on the window, he couldn't be sure.

He opened the door and by the time he was a few steps into the reception area there was no further doubt. It was Marcy.

A huge beaming grin grew upon Paul's face. He thought it probably looked silly, but he couldn't help it. Suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he finally had a chance to re-experience all the carnal pleasures Marcy had given him before. The realistically slim chances of such a situation actually occurring didn't matter. His mind was utterly consumed by the 1 in 1000 vision of the future in which he would be grasping her pert little ass cheeks, suckling on her voluptuous boobs, and blowing a full, surging load into her luscious cunt. He was more excited than a kid waking up on Christmas morning.

Marcy was on the phone, her eyes fixed on a computer screen on her right-hand side. She may have been aware that someone had just come in, but she hadn't looked up to see who it was.

"Okay ... Okay ... Thank you ... Bye," she wound up her conversation in a cold, professional voice.

"Yes, how can I..." she greeted the visitor, stopping dead when she realized who he was.

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes stared at this blast from her past with a look of abject horror. Paul recognized her displeasure, but wasn't fazed. He'd anticipated a possible reaction like this from her. It didn't speak well for his prospects with her, but Paul was confident that through the obligatory veneer of polite conversation, he might be able to turn the tables and persuade her to spend a little time with him.

He continued to stroll confidently up to her desk, still sporting that unwaveringly cheery grin that flied in the face of her unwelcoming glare. The color began to drain from Marcy's face, as if she'd seen a ghost. Her boobs began to heave rapidly as her breathing quickened. Paul could've sworn they looked even bigger now than they had in all those tight sweaters she used to wear at college.

"Wow! Marcy!" Paul greeted her happily. "How are you..." he continued, stopping dead as soon as he had advanced far enough to get his first unobstructed view of her whole torso.

For an instant, he dismissed what he saw as her sweater simply contorting itself in an odd way, or some other odd optical illusion. But all too soon, he realized the undeniable truth of what he saw before him. Marcy's belly was huge. She hadn't simply put on weight, either. She was pregnant; VERY pregnant.

All of a sudden, Paul's expression mirrored Marcy's. His thoughts of sexual conquest were all but forgotten. In fact, his mind went completely blank. He didn't know what to think. In no vision he had imagined of this trip had Marcy looked like that! This was a hundred times more awkward and disturbing than anything he had anticipated.

It felt like he'd been staring dumbstruck at that enormous belly for half an hour, but eventually Paul managed to lift his gaze to meet with hers. As he stared into Marcy's wide brown eyes, Paul finally appreciated the full scope of her distress. It was terrible, almost ridiculously so. The longer he looked at her, the more curious it seemed that she would be so horrified by his appearance here. It took a moment to twig, and then suddenly a thought occurred that made Paul sick to his stomach.

The look on her face wasn't that of a woman who had been surprised by an old acquaintance, or even an old shame. It was the look of a pregnant woman whose secret had been found out by the baby's father!

A large part of his brain tried to maintain an optimistic outlook. It tried to reassure him by yelling that he was being paranoid. But the look in Marcy's eyes assured him that all his worst fears were true. As Paul grappled with this idea, Marcy's expression shifted from one of sheer horror to sheer outrage.

Paul's jaw began to shudder as he tried to speak.

"Well..." he croaked, stumbling over a long awkward pause. "You're ... you're looking ... uh, healthy! It's good to see that you're ... doing so well. How long have you ... uh ... When ... when are ... um..." he began to babble nonsense sentence fragments. His hands began to tremble as they fidgeted uncontrollably: brushing back his hair repeatedly and feeling around his pockets for no real reason.

"Jesus Fucking Christ! What the fuck are you doing here?" Marcy snarled between clenched teeth, somehow managing to maintain a discrete volume. Amidst the fury burning in her eyes, Paul could see tears beginning to form.

"What am I ... That's a good question! What am I doing?" Paul repeated, anxiously. "Well, I'm ... I'm just passing through, on my way to California and ... I thought I'd just stop here to ... uh ... to say 'hi', you know? And, so, yeah..."

Marcy didn't say a word, but the seething anger in her eyes made Paul genuinely worried that she was about to physically attack him.

"But, yeah ... you're right, I should've called first," Paul continued to yammer mindlessly, his breathing out of step with his words. "I probably shouldn't have just turned up ... so ... I'm gonna go. I'll ... leave you to it." He began to step backwards, retreating towards the door. "Hope everything goes ... good for you! Maybe we can, uh ... yeah! See you around," he carelessly farewelled her as he finally reached the door and left.

Marcy watched through the glass in a state of shock as Paul staggered back to the sidewalk then out of sight.

"Shit!" Marcy cursed to herself when the realization of what had just happened finally sunk in. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" she repeated, pulling on her hair in distress.

Paul finding out about their baby was an utter nightmare in every possible sense. She'd gone to so much trouble to compartmentalize this pregnancy away from her old life. Suddenly all those plans laid in ruins.

So now Paul knew. What would he do with this information? There were more possible answers to that question than Marcy could fathom, and none of them were good. She realized that she had to get on top of this situation before it spiralled out of control.

"Shit!" she cursed once more at her atrociously bad luck. With no small exertion, she propped herself out of her chair and staggered over to the hallway that led into the depths of the building.

"Blake!" she called out anxiously to her boss. "Can I please leave early today? I've got a personal emergency that I really need to take care of!"

"Okay, Marcy!" a kindly voice replied from one of the office doorways stemming off the hall.

"Thanks!" she sighed, with too much stress to properly reflect her immense gratitude.

"We aren't having an early arrival, are we?" her boss inquired with concern.

"No!" Marcy shouted back at him as she made for the door in a top-heavy jog, supporting her heavy belly with her right hand.

"Jesus Christ, that's the last thing I'd need right now!" she muttered to herself.

She opened the door with a mighty heave and raced out to the sidewalk where she'd lost sight of Paul. She scanned the street on her right, then her left. As it happened, Paul was only about 50 feet down the road. He was bent over with his back to her, supporting his weight with his hands on his knees. Marcy noticed what appeared to be a small puddle of vomit in the gutter beside him.