Chapter 2: Best Chance

The last week in August was a period of strange peace for Carolyn Pierce. She procrastinated shamefully on her dissertation research. There were things she could do at home on it, and she did. But the research involved visiting book stores, and she didn’t visit one. Bill brought home the Tribune every night with the sports section on the outside and turned off the TV before the news came on. She listened to the radio and read the previous day’s news in the daytime, but the rest of the news, let alone Watergate, was never mentioned between the two of them. She stocked up on staples when she shopped and got more left-over dinners into the freezer. Finally, on Friday the last day of the month, Bill took her out to dinner.

“Really, you know, we haven’t done this enough,” he said.

“I’ll probably be cooking less.” Cooking less later on when her pregnancy was something they didn’t need a lab test to see, she meant. He understood. If it was the other unmentioned aspect of their lives, they weren’t avoiding it. It was so much in the front of each of their minds, that they didn’t have to say it. “And, anyway, we’ll need any money we can save.”

“It’s not enough to make a difference, and we’ll need any Carolyn we can save more.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been indulging myself.” And she would have to get back to work. Women hoed corn until their waters broke and delivered healthy kids; she wasn’t going to lie in bed for nine months. For one thing, she needed to finish the dissertation this year.

“Both of us? ... You’ve been indulging both of us.” Well, it was sweet of him to say so, and it was true in one sense. Among the ways she’d indulged herself had been the sexual, and he got to enjoy that, too. Well, she had one more step on that path, and that was probably the first sexual activity that would start to feel uncomfortable -- which was the warning sign the doctor had told her.

Before going to bed that night, she set her alarm. As Bill never adjusted his, she’d wake before he did for once. Actually, by starting for bed before the news came on, she was getting more rest than she had for years -- Bill, too, probably. Waking up would be easy the next morning.

And it was. Bill stirred when her alarm went off but made no attempt to get up. She was out of the bathroom by the time his alarm rang.

“Don’t shower,” she told him. “I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Shave?”

“Definitely shave.”

He did, came out in his robe, and appreciated her cheese omelet. When he cleared the table, she had more directions.

“Just let those soak. I’m going back to bed.” When he followed her in, he found her lying face-down on her elbows on her side of the bed.

“What does this mean?” Well, she should tell him. He’d been awfully cooperative this far with only cryptic clues.

“Well, the doctor said that any sexual activity that felt comfortable to me would be perfectly safe for the baby. And I’ve been wondering what this would feel like when you’re not mad at me. Well, this is likely to get uncomfortable awfully early. It’s not really our last chance, but it might well be our best chance.”

“You’re sweet.” He got into bed and stroked down her back.

“You, too, and awfully cooperative.”

“After all, you have a program for our having fun together. It would be stupid of me to interfere.” He bent over to kiss her back. He turned his hand so that the backs of his nails were trailing over her ass.

He kissed her backbone while his hand went further. Now he was tickling the backs of her thighs and between them. She shivered. It seemed as if his mouth was kissing every inch of her backbone. When his hand finally reached her lower lips, she spread her legs a little more to give him room. His finger parted her lips and stroked her cleft. It felt grand, but she wished he would get to her clit. The position wasn’t the most comfortable one. Her back was strained, and her breasts were pressed into the sheet. She was certain that this wasn’t what Dr. Gable meant by physical discomfort, but she still wanted some more pleasant sensations to compensate for the strain.

“You know,” Bill said suddenly from somewhere far down her back, “you are full of beauty. I only mention some of your beauty, but I appreciate much more than I mention.” He kissed each ass cheek. “Your buns, for example. I certainly appreciate the view from in front, but you’re lovely from in back, too.” Actually, he almost never mentioned her breasts. He caressed them; he ogled them -- had ogled them since the day they met; he hardly ever mentioned them. He’d stilled his hand to make the comment. When he finally moved again, he reached her clit at last.