Chapter 25

“To efficiently create chaos requires some order.”
—Dan Brown, Origin

“HOW IS IT humping around my belly?” Francie panted. I wasn’t really humping around it. I was sitting back on my knees and humping toward it. If she was this big at six months, what was she going to be like later?

“Fine. I can still get my cock in your sweet tight pussy,” I panted.

“Let me turn over.” I backed out of her and she rolled to her side, reaching in my bedside table. “Here,” she said, handing me the bottle of lube. We hadn’t really used it since she switched from hand jobs to blowjobs.

“You’re soaking wet. I don’t think we need lube.”

“We do for my asshole.”

“What?”

“I told you I had another idea.”

“Is this from the Kama Sutra?”

“No. It’s from a porn video I watched. Squirt some in my hole and then rub some all around your dick.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No. But we won’t know if I don’t try.”

I squirted a little lube in her asshole and on my fingers before starting to work them into her.

V1 wasn’t a novice at this. Actually, Renie had suggested it when her vagina started getting dry after menopause. We’d had some pretty good times of it and I discovered that all I really needed was to feel that tight ring clasping around the head of my cock to set me off. I didn’t need to be pushing my full length into her bowels. She got turned on by the act but never got off during it. Eventually, I’d quit doing it because it was obvious she was just doing it for me and wasn’t enjoying it like I did.

Francie was moaning as I popped one finger and then two into her butt.

“Oh, God! Can you reach my clit with your other hand? Jacob, please?”

To get my left hand around her hip to diddle her meant I was going to get a lot closer. I pulled my fingers out and made a fist to be sure my cock was fully lubed. At first, I just slid in and out of my fist until I bumped her little hole. I knew both Francie and Em liked having their buttholes played with during sex but I’d never tried to put more than the tip of my finger inside.

I just kept sliding through my greasy hand and bumping into her star. Francie started pulsing, her hole opening a little each time I touched it. I just kept punching at it as it opened farther and farther. Then the head popped through the wrinkled gateway and I froze.

“Ohhh...” I moaned.

“Yeah. Yeah. Do it again.”

It was all I could do to keep from moving my hand and just driving into her but I kept my fist tight against her butt and resumed the rhythm of backing off and bumping in only now I was actually popping through her sphincter with every stroke.

“More! Faster! Gimme!” she panted.

I wasn’t completely sure if she meant my hand on her clit or my cock in her ass, so I stepped up both. I sped up my fingers on her clit and began to relax my fist so I’d slide in deeper. Before long, the head wasn’t popping out of her chute on the back stroke and I was going in deeper.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! I’m ready to come!” I knew that meant to pinch her clit a little to push her over. I was prepared to get clamped down on when she hit her climax. “Ahh!” She hit, loud and clear. But her ass also opened up instead of clamping down and I slid all the way into her bowels. She went batshit crazy, bumping back against me and I picked up the speed of both my pumping into her and vibrating against her clit. She hadn’t come down yet when I unleashed a torrent into her rectum.

Instead of collapsing on top of her, I pulled her with me to roll to our sides with me still pulsing in her butt.

“Was it too difficult for you to reach my clitty?” she gasped.

“No. Once I was in you it was fine.”

“It’s getting harder for me to reach it by myself. If you can keep reaching it, we can do it this way right up until birth.”

“I’m sure the doctor is going to want to catch the baby with your ass leaking my come.”

“Give me a break, Jacob. I’m going to shit the bed when labor starts and anything you leave up there will be long gone.”

“What?”

“Sorry. You’re only fifteen and haven’t been taking the prep classes I’ve had to.”

“They require you to take a prep class for having a baby?” I said. This was really new to me. Rebecca and I had our children back in the early sixties; I was in the maternity waiting room until I was invited in to meet my kids. I was always a little envious of my son-in-law who was with my daughter during the birth of my first grandchild. I still got to wait outside.

“It’s not a requirement,” she said. “But it’s good preparation. It used to be a six-week class, but now it’s twelve. I had my first one last week. One of my classmates told me about doing anal and I looked it up online. Anyway. The first class was all about what to expect in the delivery room. The first thing they showed us was called a dry-down. They put one under you in the delivery room to catch anything you expel during labor. And change it frequently. When most women push the first time, they poop.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you enjoy this?” I asked. I was still concerned that she was just doing something to please me and wasn’t getting pleasure from it. After all, our relationship started with her coming in to give me a hand job when I couldn’t reach my dick.

“Yeah. I did. Jacob, look at me.” She pulled my head to her and I popped out of her pooper as she rolled toward me. “Oh, God! Maybe I should get some dry-downs for when we do this!” she laughed. “Anyway. Jacob. You’re giving me something I wish I’d had a year of before I got pregnant. I know I came here just to help you out but that’s never been what I wanted. You’ve helped me, baby. You’ve given me all the stuff I should have had during courtship. It’s not your fault I was already knocked up when we met. You’ve still been...” She couldn’t go on through her sobs as she clutched me to her.

“Hey, hey,” I said, trying to be comforting. All of a sudden, Francie had changed from a teenage lust object to a precious girl I needed to comfort and protect. “You’re okay. You’ll get through this and you’ll love your baby. Anything I can do to help, I will. Even if you just need to come and hold my hand, that’s okay, too. All I want is the best for you.”

“That’s just it, Jacob. Even when I was coming to give you some relief, you wanted it to be good for me. I wish we were both older so we could have a future together, but there’s no certainty when we enter the service. I hear they try to keep you near your child if that’s what you want, but there’s no guarantees. Staying next to the boy I love who is three years younger than me wouldn’t even be considered. Thank you. Thank you so much for being the kind caring lover you are.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated, needlessly. “I love you, too, Francie.”

“It’s the hormones. One minute I’m decorating little peapod’s nursery and the next I’m sobbing about what a terrible mother I’ll be. I run to the bathroom and puke my guts out then want to go out for Chinese food. I’ve just had a spectacular orgasm with a boy I love and now I want to cry about my future. I’ll make it. We’ll make it. I know it affects you, too. I feel it when we’re together. I hope you’ll always think fondly of me, and maybe even my little one.”

What could I say? In every way but sexually we were worlds apart. No matter how much V1 wanted to take over and ‘do the right thing’, V3 was a teenager and happily ever after wasn’t meant to start yet. I just held Francie in my arms and cradled her, assuring her that she would be a great mother and that I’d always be available to help when she needed it.

I guess I was still thinking about all this stuff on the treadmill the next morning when Jock walked up and stopped it.

“What’s up, Jock?” I asked.

“It’s time for you to feel the beat,” he said. “Laps. Actually, walking is still different than the treadmill. I want you to take a lap around the gym.”

“I’ll get my cane.”

“No. You don’t need the cane. Adjust your speed and position so you don’t depend on having it. By the end of this week, I don’t even want to see you carrying it.”

“Really?”

“Here’s what I want you to do. Focus on walking. Let your arms swing and balance you. I don’t want casual strolling. I want you concentrating on the process of walking. Head up. Eyes forward. Walk!” He shoved a football helmet on my head and fastened the chinstrap.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t want to get sued because you have brain damage from a head injury while walking in the gym. You break an arm I’ll deal with it. You can get out of the helmet when you show me you are stable enough to walk on your own at a twenty-minute mile pace for an hour.”

And just like that, I was off the treadmill and walking around the gym.

“What’s this?” I asked at lunch. I’d spent study hall helping Rachel with Geometry. That was our excuse and I was sticking with it. She did have a pencil out and was working the problems as I explained them to her. Under the tables our hands were tangled together or stroking each other’s legs. She had the damn nicest silkiest legs in the whole damn world! And they were right there sticking out of her miniskirt and all bare and everything. I damn near came in my pants!

Oh. Beca had her computer out and was playing a movie, but it didn’t look like one of our security videos. Exactly. Maybe sort of, but there was no picture.

“It’s an animation based on the traffic patterns in last week’s DVD,” Beca said. She hit play and colored dots flowed into the field like water into a sink. But they all organized themselves and paused at a point where each color had gelled in a group. Then the animation began again and there was a flow outward while a different group flowed in. There were subtle shifts in the final positions and then they moved again. This repeated two more times, ending with the flow out of the tank leaving it empty.

“That’s amazing,” I said. I glanced around the room and could pretty much see what color each group was.

“Isn’t our girl brilliant?” Beca said as she took Joan’s hand. Joan blushed from her hair roots to her low-cut tank top.

“Joan? You did this?”

“Yeah. I’m not just tits and ass.”

“The tits and ass are pretty spectacular,” Beca said, “but this head of yours is incredible. I can hardly believe you put this together.”

“It took all weekend and then half the night last night fine-tuning it.”

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“I used an animation program and assigned a dot to each head coming through the door from one camera angle. After I had patterns, I dumped the video and then shifted the perspective of the animation so it looks like we’re looking straight down on the cafeteria instead of from one of the corners.”

“Christ, if we handed in nothing but this with an analysis, we’d ace the project,” I said.

“We can’t do that,” Beca said. “This part is Joan’s. She’s retaking Human Geography as a senior AP class next year. She’ll be able to use the project then. This is her work. We can use it to illustrate our findings, but we can’t claim credit for her work.”

“Of course not,” I affirmed. “Joan you are a creative genius. I think we should split the data, too. There’s far more than we can include in our project. Joan should have full access to all the material we have.” She looked at me and smiled, the blush deepening.