A New Life
Chapter 10

Copyright© 2010 by Tedbiker

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Jenni is a runaway teenager who is rescued (and effectively adopted) by Dave. Both are healed of past hurts by their developing relationship, and both find love.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Petting  

"I've got some news," she said.

I just looked at her, trying to interpret her expression. There was happiness there, but also apprehension.

"How was the date?" she asked.

"It was good," I said, "less difficult than I expected, but bitter-sweet, as I'm sure you know. You are avoiding something here. News?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

Her statement brought me up short. Of all the possibilities I had considered, this one came no-where. Had I thought about it at all, I would have said it was very unlikely, closely followed by worries about the problems of pregnancy in older women. I placed my coffee mug carefully on a coaster on the table. I looked deeply into my heart, then reached over and took her in my arms.

"Sweetheart ... that's ... wonderful, incredible, terrifying. I ... how do you feel?"

"A bit frightened, I must admit. Do you mind, Dave?"

"How could I mind? It's just a bit ... well, actually an enormous, shock."

"Dave, I want this baby. I want your baby, but I want to be a mother, and I thought I never would be. I'm frightened of all the problems that can happen with first pregnancies in older women. But, I really want this baby. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Jessica, I want you to be happy. I would have gone along with whatever you wanted to do anyway, but how could I reject your child and mine?"

She clung to me and broke down and wept. I picked her up and sat her on my lap. "Beloved, we'll pray, and we'll do everything the doctor says, and we'll make sure you eat all the right things and you'll be very careful. If Abraham's wife Sarah could have a child in her old age, why wouldn't God give you the child you long for in your middle-age? I never thought I'd be a father again, but we'll manage somehow, ok?"

"Now, Dave, tell me about the date. I want gory details!"

"If you want gory details, ask Jenni. You know you two share more with each other than with me. You know the plans, because you made most of them. They worked perfectly, we had a great time, Jenni got what she wanted, I enjoyed it, and it was bitter-sweet because I know that Jenni's now going to be moving on. I gave her permission to take Marty back to Eirene after their next date, and to stay overnight if they both want, but not until she helps me move her back into the creek. I am not going to give you a blow-by-blow account, I'm afraid. But we ought to celebrate, don't you think? Giovanni's for lunch?"

Jenni joined us and brought Marty. When Jessica told her the news, you'd have thought she'd won the lottery ... but then, smiling broadly, she said,

"I've got news too. Phil called me this morning, and asked if I'd like to ship as Mate next time! And he said Marty could come along as Third Hand!"

I looked at Martin and raised an eyebrow. He smiled sheepishly. "I've done a bit of sailing, but I've been too deeply in the books to do much. It means more time with Jenni..."

"And that's a priority at the moment?" smiled Jessica.


I looked at Jenni, who smiled a little 'Mona Lisa' smile. "Love me, love my boat..." I'm fairly sure I detected just the suspicion of a wink as we all laughed.

Jenni didn't waste any time in making use of Eirene. I don't know at what point they consummated their relationship but Marty's confidence grew rapidly and Jenni wore a smug expression. The two of them were joined at the hip, so to speak. I worried a little about the Autumn. Marty would be going to University, but Jenni would be just starting "A" levels, with two years to go before she could read for a degree, even if that's what she wanted to do. But Marty's a bright and resourceful young man, and was in the first flush of first love. He discussed things with his parents, and in fact with Jessica and me. He found a job, labouring part time in one of the local boat-yards, and applied for a place with the Open University. Now the OU is in no way an easy option. You read for your degree largely on your own with occasional visits to a University campus and a tutor. The standard is recognised as being very high, an OU degree is acceptable anywhere; and the fact it is achieved largely through sheer grit and personal effort makes it especially impressive.

But for that summer, July and August, they could relax. Marty, the quiet, studious, bookish young man, acquired a tan ... and muscles ... and confidence. They proved to be a popular team in the small world of sailing barges. It's fortunate that the manager of the boatyard was understanding, because he was spending more and more time on the barges with Jenni.

Jessica was getting large. She'd not told me she was pregnant until she was over the first couple of months, knowing the likelihood of a miscarriage. With the baby due in October, I loved to lie in bed with my hand resting on her tummy, feeling the little one kick. Not so much fun for Jessica, of course, but she revelled in it. The wonder of it! Yet, under the joy, the fear of losing something precious. But we were together, and whatever happened, that was not going to change.

I'd forgotten what being married to a pregnant woman could mean. I'd forgotten the emotion swings (and not just from Jessica, either ... I was just as bad without the excuse of hormonal upheaval). I'd forgotten about being woken in the night when the baby was restless and Jessica couldn't sleep, and those trips to the toilet. And I'd forgotten the ante-natal classes.

I trained as a Registered Nurse, and held qualifications in both general and psychiatric nursing. As part of my general nursing training I spent ten weeks in 'mother and child care' — that is, obstetrics. I found the whole business of birth and post-natal care incredibly satisfying and would have loved to train as a midwife. Unfortunately, that was in the early days of the sexual equality movement, and only two hospitals, one in London and one in Edinburgh, would accept men (as a pilot project) for training in midwifery. It just was not practical for me to do that. I've never forgotten the emotions I experienced at observing, or assisting at a birth, though some of the power of those emotions had faded with time; but I could never watch a child being born, even on a film, without moist eyes. You'll probably have gathered from the rest of the account that I'm not really the traditional male, unable to show emotion? Some of it was due to the psychological battering I'd experienced towards the end of my nursing career, which undermined what emotional control I had had, but I found I didn't mind too much. The acceptance and love I experienced from Jenni and Jessica were important, of course, but once when the matter rose in conversation with Jessica; she laughed, not unkindly.

"Why do you think I fell in love with you so quickly? You so obviously wear your heart on your sleeve. I could sense your loving heart ... and I could tell you weren't soft, or weak, because your feelings made you more determined. You accepted, recognised, owned your emotions ... they didn't own or control you. Silly man! It's one of the reasons I love, we love you, and we've never doubted your love."

All of which has distracted me from what I was trying to say. I wasn't surprised that some of the would-be fathers left the room rather hastily as we watched the film about the birth process (though the squeamishness of some members of my gender is something I have never understood) but I just watched, moist eyed. Once I caught the eye of the midwife running the class as I surreptitiously mopped my eyes and blew my nose ... she smiled, and for a moment we shared a sort of intense communion. I found Jessica's hand, and squeezed it gently. She looked at me, puzzled for an instant; she saw in my expression something of what I was feeling and squeezed back.

We heard in July that Jenni's stepfather, Henry Turner, (I realised that up to that point I hadn't even known his name; Jenni had never used it) had been committed to a medium-secure psychiatric unit, under a Home Office order. I was out of date with the current incarnation of the Mental Health Act, but I knew that meant he wouldn't be released, or allowed out with an escort, even, without a Home Office licence. I can't say I was delighted, but I felt a little happier. (Though not as happy as I would have been had he been committed to Broadmoor or one of the other high-security institutions)

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