Jonas

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A young couple handles intimacy while pregnant.
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On a cul-de-sac, toward the base of Squaw Peak along the Wasatch front, there's a hatchback pulling out from a drive-way. There were dozens in the Orem-Provo area: with technology firms, university professors, and financial businessmen that claimed these development communities. They were young models of American families: two small kids, a dog, a Roth IRA, and active in their communities.

Many were Mormon and took great pains to attend all their meetings. Their habits detailed in closely kept planners. You could see their lives mapped one hour at a time over day, over week, over month. These were journals of events, not the thoughts and minds that accompanied. From it -and their checkbooks- you could see a great deal.

See what people never planned on others seeing.

Jack Downey. Thirtieth birthday: the sixteenth of the month. Spent $200 on a hotel: Thursday. Wife's ultrasound results: fifteenth. Another $200 on personal services: same night. Wife, very pregnant in one photo; petite and athletic in an older one. Thirty dollars on "food" at the State Liquor store. Wife at Relief Society meeting: Thursday night. A receipt for condoms at Albertson's on University Parkway, same night.

Reading it, anyone would worry. They would see things, read things.

It wasn't what it seemed. The condoms were for a gift basket for newlywed friends in the congregation. Someone had to be realistic about their newfound habits.

The alcohol? It was for him. The bottle of Dom Perignon spilled during an attempt to loosen the cork, emptying all over the floor. The 200 dollars room service was a bargain bottle of Champagne. He noted that the cheaper bottle tasted better anyways, even if he would be drinking alone tonight.

He picked his wife up after the meeting. Julia'd slept most of the day and was surprisingly energetic. All the planning for the church's teenage girls. He wouldn't blame her if she fell asleep right now. With surprises, he usually caved and told her. He took too much joy in letting people know of his plans, as if everyone deserved to be in on them.

Tonight would be different, he promised. She'd had a rough month, the morning sickness lasting two weeks longer than expected. She felt bloated and fat. The gymnast's body she'd developed and competed with grew from 130 to 150 already. Her waist went from thirty to thirty five, which you couldn't see beneath the venous bulge. Maternity clothes didn't flatter. Elastic waistlines were something that reminded her of yoga, not a necessity in jeans. She felt worried too. Her plans of going back to work at the firm seemed hopeless. The recession had developed into depression for many banks. The investment firm didn't even have the same ownership after the banking shake-ups of 2008 and 2009.

She felt worried still after doing laundry earlier that day. She'd found some receipts in his jeans, which he normally emptied: condoms, alcohol, and a hotel. These made little sense and she hoped they were someone else's. She felt naïve for making such an excuse. Of course they weren't.

They were his. He'd signed for them no doubt, using his debit card.

Still, she smiled when she got in the car. This gave him hope.

The rain started up again and he turned the wipers on. The consistency of their rhythm made him blush a little at his plans. He was embarrassed. They were no longer kids, or awkward college students. He knew how to unbutton her brassiere, something that took less effort for him than his peers had suggested. They were no longer afraid to touch each other. They no longer feared that they'd be sent to hell. They were married and it was perfectly acceptable; no need to worry that their clergy and family would be ashamed of them.

She turned to him asking when they missed the exit. He smiled at her and told her not to worry.

The look she gave was the same as when he'd first asked her out to the Theatre. A playful, puzzled look when he asked her. They saw Gone with the Wind. He enjoyed it but protested at the audience's laughter after Rhett Butler forced her into bed. Scarlett O'Hara sat in bed, eerily composed. The scene made him feel uneasy.

The face she made now was not the one she made after that scene. Thank god.

They pulled into the concierge pick-up. They'd never had something as grand as college students on honeymoon. The best he'd done for their nuptials was a Motel 8 as they both lived in the dormitories at the time, with a strict "No Boys in Girl's Rooms" policy. It was an odd rule for a university, especially considering they paid for the rooms, tuition - even the utilities.

He took her by the hand and gave the keys to the bell-hop, surprised by how smoothly things went. He'd never been smooth or graceful.

She turned her face to him, her dark brown hair falling over her eye.

"Wait, since when can we afford this?"

A question he hadn't planned on. He'd been carefully overwriting the cost of groceries and gas each week, hiding the money in the lines. He didn't want her to find out. Gas prices rose didn't they?

"Don't worry."

He grinned. It was that stupid grin of his that she admired. He looked so self-assured when he did but it always shone during uncertain times.

She knew pulling up that he'd rented a room but why? Why impress her now? She'd done nothing special for him as of late and this was a bit much for one of his surprises.

She didn't want to think it. She did anyways. What if this is an apology? Is this some way of him making up?

If so, for what?

Those were the type of thoughts she didn't want to have -- but did.

They got into the brass elevator. The weight limit stated 600 kilograms and now she felt conscious of her own body again. Why must everything be measured?

He put his arms around her, hands clasped just beneath the bulge. Her friends hadn't put on as much weight so soon. She felt awkward, her balance displaced. She felt worse than the depictions in cartoons, as if she herself were a caricature, proportions stretched and warped and sagging.

She sighed and felt his warm breath on her neck as he whispered in her ear.

"You remember when we went to the movies on our second date?"

The image of him barefoot, walking the empty streets from the International Film screening on campus came. He'd been such an odd-ball, a goof and yet he could remain endearing without appearing to try so hard.

She whispered back in affirmation. Her cheeks started warming, though she was unsure if it were memories of him and her back now pressed against his body as they leant against the elevator wall or if it were the flashes in temperature she'd had this past month. She wished to get off her ankles.

The elevator chimed and the polished doors opened, swirling marble leading to room 518. He'd requested the room closest to the elevator. A good idea, he thought. Less walking on her feet. She'd been sore as a gymnast and was use to walking around this way but not tonight.

He picked her up, less sturdy than he supposed and they moved forward a bit faster.

At the door: a problem.

How to get the key out without setting her down? Of all the concerns and labors for this night: a key in his breast pocket now seem to unravel the moment.

He whispered about the key to her and she reached into his pocket, pulling it out. She couldn't have been the first woman to help a forgetful husband into a hotel room, could she?

A green light flashed and they were in.

He took several steps, wanting to make her feel light as if he planned on carrying her the whole night. The few times he used his gym membership seemed to pay off. He remembered having trouble picking her up when they married, back when he himself was thinner.

Looking at the iced champagne, the baby's breath on the blankets, and the red card: it finally settled on her. It had been another year. Two years since they'd married, just weeks after her graduation.

He'd been sent home early from an evangelical mission and decided to resume studies. He didn't want to wait for medical doctors to determine his eligibility to serve. He wanted life to keep moving at that fast tempo he'd discovered.

He claimed to have been released early just to meet her.

She took it in, a little breathless and feeling out of place. She'd forgotten the anniversary again.

He took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed.

They spoke for some time, laughing like they were kids again. She hadn't expected something like this. She forgot her weight. Forgot the swollen calves and ankles. Forgot the time she'd spent over the toilet this morning. Forgot how her bladder had caused her to leave the lecture she'd attended.

Then he kissed her and-

-her mind slipped and unburdened itself.

They hadn't been intimate for months now, mostly her decision, afraid he'd find her unattractive with stretch marks formed at her waist. She thought it absurd now. It wasn't like he hadn't tried a few times before she brushed him aside and rolled over in bed.

They started to undress and he laughed when her shirt caught on her belly.

Her face turned ash. He apologized, realizing the error. He now thought he seemed hasty and inconsiderate. Laughing at my wife? Where have I come?

She rose and turned toward him. They were naked now. She covered up, despite knowing what they were about to do.

She'd always been conscious about her breasts. As a gymnast, she'd always been slender, build like a boy and rarely eating enough. Not that she had breasts, she felt awkward. They weren't small, soft little lumps. They sagged now, dropping oblong, not the pert circles seen in the grocery store. The ones you'd see before the black placard covered them up at the check-stand.

She held her belly too, feeling uneasy in front of him. How could he find her attractive right now? Of all the preferences she knew he had during sex, sagging breasts and stretch marks were not ones she was aware of. He preferred being on top too, which she now understood to be a technical impossibility, not without his weight acting as a vice on the child.

She laughed at the image of a baby with a cone shaped head, covering her mouth at her husband's bewildered expression.

He had never had performance issues. Now, he thought he might.

How often the both of them would laugh at their private thoughts, always wondering what went on in the other's mind?

"How are we going to do this?" he asked.

She smirked a little as they stacked and rolled, much like children's blocks. They finally agreed on the side. She wouldn't worry about him looking at her now misshapen chest or the stretch marks on her stomach. Her only concern was whether he could even reach at such an angle.

It went in and she felt a sigh of relief. For him, he barely felt it though it might prove to his advantage. He could focus without worrying about finishing too soon. He had tried not to masturbate since the pregnancy. She hated the idea but accepted it up till now. Better that he think of her than of the other women he knew.

The idea kind of revolted him though. A man so desperate, he couldn't wait nine months. He'd waited twenty-four years to lose his virginity.

Now less than 3/4 of a year was too much?

It was a strange position, working muscles he rarely used. The past year spent at a desk in a cubicle, reviewing schematics and drafts didn't help any. He found his wife more attractive pregnant than he did when they met. He didn't just think it: it was so counter-intuitive that he almost laughed.

He tried not to think of work but that's what he did every other time they were together. It helped last and he hoped she could enjoy moments like these. Enjoy it, in spite of moments like these, he thought.

Soon ten minutes became twenty. Her breathing, even for her current state was rapid. She hadn't felt like this since early in their marriage. It was tense but good, like muscles wound at the end of the day, just barely beginning to unsettle. He kept moving, abdomen burning tight.

Then something unexpected, that both reached that point, without expectation. She whimpered a bit and he stopped breathing. Things went a little dead in the room. Waiting a moment, she rolled over.

They were facing each other, noses inches away from touching. Both smiled.

Her mind raced up again, weaving in ways he tried to keep up with sometimes. Labyrinthine, he called it.

She mouthed the words thank you, to which he did the same. She looked away a second before turning back to him. This was a question people asked each other but made no sense:

"Do you still love me?" she asked.

The phrasing worried him.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Do you still find me attractive?"

His turn.

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Why? Why I find you attractive?"

She nodded. "Now, I mean. Why now?"

He looked confused. She made her questioning face.

"I understand the question."

"So why?"

"Routine, I suppose."

"What was routine about tonight? Do you normally sleep with whales?"

"Well, if they'd look have as good as you, I'd harpoon them."

She turn on her back, laughing.

"Yes, Julia, I love you."

  • COMMENTS
2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
Very challenging to read

I found the phrasing of this story very difficult to read, I had to go back and reread sentences throughout the article to understand what they meant, and the story never flowed. Even now I don't know what it was supposed to mean or do. I can't offer any suggestions, but perhaps an editor could give more specifi suggestions for any future stories.

AnonymousAnonymousover 14 years ago
Sweet and tender

Thanks for sharing.

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