Chapter 22

“The most important thing you can ever know, is that whatever your purpose is, that’s not your only choice.”
—Dan Wells, Partials

THE HOLIDAY was a welcome break. I really didn’t understand the dynamic of any of the girls who seemed to have attached themselves to me. Monday and Tuesday, the last two days before break, were stressful. Joan toned down the slut look a little from her normal Monday look but still drew a lot of attention. This time, though, when guys came by to hit on her, she just said, “It’s Christmas. I’m taking the week off.”

The surprise to me was even Rebeca was getting hit on. Apparently, guys had seen something at the dance that they liked. She wedged herself between Joan and me so she was protected from both sides as she exasperatedly told guys that she had a boyfriend and to leave her alone. There was a barely suppressed sneer when they looked at me. I was ready to give a couple of guys a real pounding. Of course, in my current state I would have been the poundee rather than the pounder. I needed to get fit faster.

I think Rachel was used to turning guys down. She’d just flick her fingers and say, “Sorry. I have to take care of the overflow for Beca. There’s too much man here for just one woman.” Well, flattery will get you everywhere. When it came down to it, I was all too happy to give Rachel my overflow.

I felt very protective toward Beca. I was frankly relieved that she was a lesbian and had no sexual interest in me. I just wanted to take care of her. I said something about her being like a little sister but it was really more like she was my daughter or granddaughter. She was too young to be making a play for even another girl and I was glad she was back to her comfortable flannel-clad self.

Joan was a slut. She disgusted me. V1 kept shouting in my head, Kids in America have no sense of morals. They have no discipline. Men don’t respect women because they act like sluts. V2 would have wanted in her panties if he’d been self-aware enough to notice her. V3 tried to shut up the memories of both my former selves. Joan wasn’t the only girl in school who dressed in sexy clothes. On a continuous basis, Rachel wore dresses or short skirts more often than she wore slacks or jeans. I couldn’t look at her without getting a hard-on. Joan just seemed lost—maybe rudderless would be a good way to describe her. And while she tried to be sexy and suggestive toward me, she snapped to attention whenever Beca spoke to her.

Then there was Rachel. She was the only girl I’d actually met who made me feel like a fifteen-year-old in utter lust with a girl for the first time. I had no thoughts of her as younger than me. And she fueled the fire. While Rebeca and Joan wedged in on my right, Rachel sat as close to me as humanly possible on my left. It seemed like she always had a hand on my leg and it was easy for me to slip my arm around her and touch her bare skin in the gap between her waistband and her shirt hem. I wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to make love to her.

But when we parted on Tuesday afternoon, I knew I wouldn’t see any of the girls for two weeks. We’d be back in school on Wednesday January second. I needed to get my head on straight by then.

In Francie’s opinion, the best way to get my head on straight was to get my cock straight in. But opportunities were few and far between. Em had her National Service Exam on Wednesday and I sat home with Pey and played games. She even helped me exercise some and we went outside for a somewhat treacherous walk. Saturday, Mom and Dad took Pey to see the Nutcracker ballet at the University. I wasn’t really interested in seeing it and Em said she had plans to see Tony and Bill. It didn’t surprise me that much when as soon as the door closed behind everyone, it opened to Francie.

We hadn’t had time together for almost two weeks and were both on edge. It was nice that we had about three hours, so even though we stripped and banged as quickly as we could, we then spent a couple of hours just lazily fucking with each other.

“I think I’ll name the little peapod Jacob,” she laughed as I rubbed some lotion into her tummy. At six months, there was a bit of stretching going on and she moaned as I caressed her stomach and breasts. The moans might have been because I was licking her at the same time. My head came up suddenly. “Don’t stop!”

“Why would you name your little girl Jacob?” I said. “That seems awfully cruel.”

“Don’t call him a little girl. I’ve seen the ultrasound. He either has a cock between his legs or the world’s biggest clit. Besides, a lot more of your sperm has been splashed up there with him than his bio-dad’s. It just seems appropriate,” she said. It started getting difficult for her to talk when I found just the right combination of tongue on her clit and fingers in her pussy and ass. When she’d had her climax, I crawled up beside her and kissed her.

“You’re not serious, are you?” I said.

“No. Of course not. I don’t want anybody to link us any more than they already have. I can’t believe Rachel put the make on you based on my smiles. We’re not even going to be able to keep doing this much longer. I just wanted you to know that I’m fond of you and in a different world, I would definitely want you to father my children.”

“I’m fond of you, too, Francie.”

That was another crazy thing about my relationships. I had no problem fucking Francie and even though she was only seventeen, I didn’t have the same guilty response from lusting after her that I did with most girls our age. I guess it was partly because she was pregnant and a pregnant woman is a woman, not a girl. Right? Besides, Francie had come to me when I was wrapped in plaster and I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried. Which I didn’t. But I was vulnerable and she answered a very pressing need. Sometimes my head ached from trying to figure out and justify my actions. I wondered if I would ever get used to being fifteen again.

“We need to try some new positions,” she said abruptly. “I’ll bring some things over if we can get time together next week.”

“Found something interesting in the Kama Sutra?”

“I’m only about halfway through. It’s a really big book and I don’t have time to practice everything in it. After I’m done with my service, I’ll try to find someone who can practice with me.”

“When do you plan your service?” It was still a strange concept to me.

“I don’t turn eighteen until the end of April, so I can spend most of the first year of the peapod’s life with him. I don’t have a concern about timing my service with college start dates or anything. Once I get out, all I want to do is find a nice guy and settle down. Maybe pop out a couple more kids.”

“So, about the time you are getting out of service, I’ll be going in. Man, life is strange.”

Christmas Eve, the family went to church. V1 always liked the Christmas Eve services. Later in my life I quit going to Christmas and Easter services because they made me cry and I didn’t need that kind of shit. But the music was good and there was always something about the ritual and production of it that attracted me.

I wasn’t disappointed. There was a cantata sung by the choir interspersed with readings from a newer translation of the Bible. The prophecies and then the birth. Most services I’d attended ended with the birth and angels singing ‘Glory to God in the Highest’ and all that. It looked the same for this service right up to the point where we lit candles and sang ‘Silent Night.’ Then there was one more reading. The minister chose to close the service as the lights in the sanctuary gradually came up.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were created through Him, and without Him nothing was created that was created. In Him was life, and the life was the light of mankind. The light shines in darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it.

With the sanctuary fully and brightly lit, the candles were extinguished and didn’t make a difference in the light. I was really moved and fished in my pocket for the five dollars I brought along. But that was the end of the service. There was no offering.

“Dad?” I whispered. “Where do we put our offerings?” I held up the bill. Dad pushed it down.

“Son, we’re members. We pay our dues.”

What? I’d honestly never heard of a church that didn’t ask for money in the service. I tried to think back on the Sunday worship services I’d been to since waking up and couldn’t remember an offering being taken. I kept my mouth shut and resolved to do some more research.

It’s very difficult to find something in a search engine when it doesn’t exist. ‘Offering’ was a term defined in an Old Testament sense. I had to go back in history to find out anything logical about it. The founding of America. In England, the nobility owned the land. All of it. All except the land owned by the church. Sure there were a number of freeholders in different regions, but for the most part the land, the money, and the power in the country were in the hands of the lords and the priests.

The great migration to America was to escape both. So when nobility attempted to establish itself in the colonies, it was firmly rejected except in the South where vast tracts of land were claimed and slaves were brought in to work it. The church as a special kind of nobility was flatly rejected. Nothing wrong with being a church, but by the time the Constitution was written, churches were classified the same as any other organization, corporation, or association. They had no tax exemptions. They were funded by investment and taxed the same as any other corporation.