The Making of a Gigolo (5) - Jill Trimble

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Foreword

This is the fifth in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton was transformed, from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many women. His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and there is much information in that first story that will be useful to you in understanding what happens in this story.

For your fullest enjoyment, and because parts of each story are continued in succeeding ones, please read the stories in order.

Bob

Chapter One

1971, February

Life was interesting in the Dalton house, mostly because the first of Bobby Dalton's seven sisters was getting married. Since it was the first wedding in the family, the uproar was four or five times as ridiculous as it might be when, say Susie, who was his fourteen-year-old sister, got to that point. By then, there would likely have been three or four weddings in the family, which was comprised of seven girls, Bobby, and their mother.

Bobby wasn't involved in the wedding plans, except that he'd be walking Mary down the aisle, since she had no father to do that. She insisted on that. He was much more involved with what would take place after the ceremony ... on the honeymoon. Mary was using her brother to practice on, so that her wedding night would be glorious, instead of frightening, or uncomfortable.

Mary was still a virgin, technically. She'd practiced everything else with Bobby, but actual intercourse, she had not done. She'd gotten rid of her troublesome hymen, by use of Bobby's thick finger, but that was all.

With all the uproar, while all the women in the family were fully occupied with wedding plans, Bobby made sure he spent as much time away from the farm as he could, while still getting his chores done. Mamma had finally decided, a few months past, that she could make as much money renting the tillable land, as they could if they farmed it themselves, if she took a part time job in town. Glen Beesum, at the feed mill, had been looking for a bookkeeper, but couldn't find one, because it was a part time job. She had taken that job. It suited everybody, because now she had time to plan the wedding and Bobby was free to expand his handyman business ... and the perks that went with it.

Bobby had, to this point in time, done work for a dozen people in town, among them four particular women. That work, odd as it may be, turned out to include making all four of them pregnant.

The first, Tilly Johnson, was raising his three year old son, David. Bobby was a frequent visitor to the Johnson house, where he interacted with David, while Tilly and Jake spent time alone in the bedroom. It was babysitting, of a sort, but it was intended for him to be able to bond with his son. Jake would always play the role of David’s father, but they still wanted the man who had improved their lives to be able to spend time with the baby he gave them.

Such was the case on June the ninth, which was David’s birthday. He was only three, so the celebration had been simple. Tilly and Jake left David with Bobby, so he could spend some one on one time with him, while they went and spent some one on one time with each other.

Eventually, Tilly padded out of the bedroom, dressed only in a loosely tied and thin robe, and took her son from Bobby's lap, where they had been playing patty-cake. The little boy's hand grabbed at her breast.

"No you don't, buster," she laughed. "I weaned you ages ago. You men are all alike!"

"We can't help it, when a beautiful woman is around," said Bobby, feeling his penis react to the fact that he could see one nipple through the gap in her robe. He hadn't had sex with Tilly in two years. Her rule had always been that Bobby could only provide for her what Jake could not. Since they had found out that Jake could maintain an erection, her legs had been closed to Bobby. That didn’t mean she was modest around him. He had spent literally hours with her in bed, and that kind of closeness doesn’t lend itself to false modesty, even if they were no longer lovers.

Jake could not, however, get her pregnant.

"Bobby?" said Tilly, looking down at him.

"Yes?" he responded.

"Jake and I want another baby."

"Is that so?" asked Bobby, his prick stiffening even more.

"You want to help us again?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said.

"I'm not going to act like a harlot, like last time," she said. Bobby noticed that her exposed nipple had erected. "I'm only going to let you make love to me when I'm fertile."

"I can live with that," he said.

"Be right back," she said. "I need to go give David to Jake."

When she came back, she stood in front of Bobby again. "I'm fertile right now, Bobby."

He took her right there on the couch.

She got up, holding his sperm in her with her fingers clamping her pussy lips closed.

"I said I wasn’t going to act like a harlot," she said, standing in front of him, naked. "That doesn’t mean I want to be treated like some High School girl, sneaking sex on her parents’ couch."

She took him to the spare bedroom, where they had conceived David, and had him make love to her in what she called "a more appropriate fashion."

She had him visit every day, the rest of the week. Lying there, full of his sperm, she stroked his face one last time.

"If it didn't work this month, I'll call you next month," she said.

"OK," he smiled.

Two days later, Bobby's prick was sliding in and out of a different woman, whose belly was already swollen with his baby, making it a little difficult to treat her as she had become accustomed to being treated by him.

"I'm getting fat!" moaned Prudence.

"You're supposed to," he said, tugging at her swollen nipples.

"If I get any fatter, we won't be able to do this," she moaned.

"Want to learn a new way?" he asked.

"What new way?" she asked.

"You get on top," he said.

"Women don't get on top!" she snorted.

"Yes ... they do," said Bobby, who knew very well that women got on top.

Prudence found that she loved being on top, once she got over the feeling of embarrassment of sitting up naked. Her breasts had filled out already, and were embarrassingly big, to her mind.

"The 4th of July dance is coming up," she said, riding him hard.

"I know," he said, watching her breasts jiggle and wobble.

"I've never gone to any of the dances, since Harry died," she said. "I want to go to this one. Will you dance with me, if I do?"

"Yes, I will," he said.

"Everybody in town is gossiping about my belly," she moaned. "If you dance with me, they'll gossip about you too."

"I don't care," he said. "I don't mind if you tell them I did it."

"You're joking!" she gasped, grinding her clit on his pubic bone.

He stroked her belly, now five months along.

"I'm proud of my baby," he said.

"We'll see," she said. "I don't want to go, if nobody dances with me, though."

"I'll make it look like a charity dance," he said. "Will that do?"

She laughed out loud. "Yes, that will do nicely."

The 4th of July picnic and dance was, as usual, a raucous affair. The kids all brought firecrackers, and other fireworks, but were restricted to setting them off only in one corner of the town square. The picnic tables were set up at the other end of the square, and the bandstand, a huge gazebo, was in the middle. Park benches, and tables with folding chairs, scattered all around the square, gave people places to sit and talk.

As usual, the picnic area evolved into two basic groups. Mirriam Dalton, and the dozen or so other women who had ended up in the arms of Joe, a Hobo kind of man who hung around town during the Korean War, formed one. They had been traditionally ostracized by the more virtuous women in town, who loved to gossip about them. All the children played together, but the womenfolk stayed apart.

That tradition, however, was being stretched a little. Fred Brogan was engaged to be married to one of the "war babies" as Joe's progeny were called, in satirical whispers. Jenny Brogan, his mother, had fought the idea, until she actually met, and got to know Mary Dalton who she found, to her surprise, was a delightful girl. In the process of wedding planning, she had gotten to know Mirriam Dalton too, and had been even more pleasantly surprised to find she liked the woman she had gossiped about so often, with her friends.

Others gravitated toward the table that the Dalton's inhabited that night, too. Tilly Johnson, pushing Jake in his wheel chair, their son on his lap, joined them for a while, and stayed there, with Fred, Mary and Mirriam. Three year old David toddled around, making friends, among them Mirriam's other daughters, who also scampered around shooting off firecrackers, or gathered in groups of their friends. Some of those groups - the older ones - included boys.

Martha and Arthur Thompson wandered by and stopped. They had been making the rounds, so that didn't seem odd, other than the fact that they hadn't done that in years past. Martha's one year old, Andrew, was in her arms.

Sherry and Sam Winston also stopped by, with their one year old daughter, Jessica, but stayed only long enough to be sociable.

Tongues wagged, when Prudence Harris got there. She was visibly pregnant, and had been a widow for as long as most people could remember. The employees at the bank had gossiped about her pregnant state, unable to hazard a guess as to who the father was. Most of them joked that it had to be an immaculate conception, since she was never known to have socialized. She never came to the town gatherings either, which was one reason so many people noticed her.

This, however, was a different Prudence Harris than most people in the town square had ever seen. Her maternity dress was a riot of colors, with a rainbow spread over that swollen abdomen, and clouds where her breasts were. Her legs had trees, and grass with babies playing on it. It was obvious she felt no shame, and tongues wagged excitedly.

They wagged even more excitedly as she was welcomed by the women who had born "war babies". Why anyone was surprised that she’d gravitate to that group was strange. If anyone would have thought about it, they’d have realized that those women probably knew how Prudence felt, and that they probably didn't care who had put that baby inside her.

Mirriam, knowing that Bobby had worked for all of these women, and suspecting he was involved in the parentage of all those babies, bit her lip and made sure she was polite to everyone. When Prudence Harris asked if she could join her, she patted the bench beside her.

"I have no idea when all the girls will show up to eat," she said. "But you're welcome to sit here. They can fend for themselves."

"You're very kind," said Prudence. "I wanted to apologize for snubbing you all these years."

"Nonsense," snorted Mirriam. "We weren't the best of friends in school."

"I know, but I thought badly of you. It was wrong. It only took twenty years for me to grow up. I just wanted to say I don't think badly of you now, and I'm sorry that I ever did."

"Thank you," said Mirriam, with dignity. She couldn't help glancing at Prudence's pregnant belly.

"Are you doing all right?" she asked.

"Am I happy that this happened?" said Prudence, cutting through the polite chatter. "Actually, I'm very happy."

"Really!" said Mirriam, entranced.

"The father of this little thing inside me is a wonderful man," Prudence said.

"Are you going to marry him?" asked Mirriam, holding her breath.

"No," said Prudence. "If I were ten years younger, I might think about it, but it wouldn't work out. I had trouble enough with one husband. I don't think I want another."

"That's a very enlightened way of looking at it," said Mirriam. "This man ... the father ... he must be very special indeed ... unless, of course ..." She didn't finish.

"Unless it was an accident?" Prudence smiled. "Some accidents turn out to be the best thing that could happen to you, don't you think?"

"I'm very relieved that you feel that way," admitted Mirriam, now sure that Bobby was the father of the baby in Prudence's womb.

"I'd like to be friends," said Prudence. "Do you think we could do that?"

"I'd love nothing more," said Mirriam, smiling.

The girls came, played with David, stared at Prudence, ate, and then went off to be with their friends, as Mirriam and Prudence got reacquainted. It got dark, and the end of the square was lit up with night time fireworks. The town show wasn't due to start for another two hours. Experience had shown that people liked to dance first, and then sit back and be awed by the big boomers, up in the sky. There were four bands, each scheduled to play for half an hour. The first was a country band, by tradition.

Mirriam and Prudence were still talking, when a shadow fell over them. They looked up to see a man, standing between them and the bandstand. He was looking at Mirriam.

"Care to dance, Ma'am?" he asked.

Mirriam stared up at him, surprised beyond measure. No man had ever asked her to dance at a town get-together since she'd had her third daughter. That was in 1953, over fifteen years ago.

"I've plum forgotten how to dance," she blurted.

"I'm no Fred Astaire, either," said the man, smiling.

Mirriam looked at Prudence, who was grinning.

"Go on!" encouraged her new friend.

She got up, and, rather than trying to remember, just started swaying with the music. He did basically the same thing, holding her hand and swinging back from her, in an arc, and then coming forward. He twirled her a little awkwardly. The music had been going on when he invited her, and by the time they got on the dance area, only half the song was left. He walked her back to her seat, as another song started.

"How about you?" he asked, looking at Prudence. "If your husband won't mind," he said, looking at her left hand, where she still wore her wedding rings. Her pregnancy was hidden by the table.

"I'm not married," said Prudence, her voice level. My husband died a while back.

"I’m sorry to hear that," said the man. "Do you think he’d object to a dance?"

"He would object most strenuously," said Prudence, who now thought about her husband much differently than she would have a year ago. "But he’s not here." Her hands went to her bulging belly, almost subconsciously. "Still, I’d feel silly dancing."

"Oh please," begged the man. "Just one dance?"

It was a repeat of the earlier incident, except that this time it was Prudence who looked at Mirriam, and Mirriam who grinned and said, "Go on!"

"Oh, all right," said Prudence.

"Excellent!" said the man, smiling.

She stood, and revealed her pregnant status, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

"Most excellent, indeed," he said, his smile never wavering.

"This is embarrassing," admitted Prudence, as they started doing the same thing he had done with Mirriam.

"It's just for fun," he said, over the music. "Who cares what it looks like, as long as we have a little fun?"

"You're not from around here, are you?" asked Prudence.

"Just moved to town," he said. "Going to teach school next year."

"Well welcome, stranger!" said Prudence, understanding why he had mistakenly thought she and Mirriam were normal women. "I have to tell you, though, you've probably ruined your reputation already by dancing with me."

"I know," he called out, grinning.

The song ended before he could say more, and he walked back with her to Mirriam.

"How do you know?" she asked him, as she sat down.

"How do I know what?" asked Mirriam.

"Not you," said Prudence. "Him."

"How does he know what?" asked Mirriam, looking confused.

"This is ... "

"Ted," said the man, smiling. "Ted Brandywine, formerly of St. Louis, Missouri, and currently a new resident of Granger, where the air smells better, and the women are prettier."

"Don't you have a silver tongue," said Mirriam.

"I told him he'd probably already ruined his reputation by dancing with us," said Prudence.

"Both of you?" Ted's face showed much more shock than his eyes did.

"He said he knew that," said Prudence, ignoring him.

"How do you know?" asked Mirriam.

"That's what I was asking him," complained Prudence.

"It's a simple thing," said Ted. "I hung around and watched everybody. I'm from the big city, and a people watcher from way back, so I've learned a lot about how people act. I saw who was gossiping, and who they were staring daggers at while they were doing it. A number of you ladies over here seemed to be frowned at the most, so I decided to ask you all to dance."

"All of us?" asked Mirriam.

"Well, that was my original intent," said Ted. "However, after sampling two of you, I can already tell I have my hands full, so you two will do."

"You're quite bold!" said Mirriam, frowning.

"I'm just a fun-loving guy," said the man. "I was married to a woman who was more stiff and proper than Grandma McGillicuty at a nudist retreat. When she divorced me, I came west to start a new life. I decided that the interesting women were probably going to be the ones that all the stuffy, proper ones were talking about." He grinned. "I'm testing that theory right now."

"And why, exactly, did your wife divorce you?" asked Mirriam.

"Very direct," commented Ted. "I like that. I hate beating around the bush." He sat down. "I told her I wanted children, one too many times."

"How many times did you tell her that?" asked Prudence, intrigued despite herself.

"Oh, I guess three or four times a week," he said. "At least lately. It was probably more than that in years past." He smiled. "We'd been married ten years."

"You were married for ten years, and didn't have any children?!" Mirriam was clearly curious.

"She was of the opinion that babies are both loud, and messy, neither of which she tolerated in the house," he said. "I admit I badgered her a bit."

"Still, that's no grounds for divorce," said Prudence.

"Are you kidding?" he said. "When she said she wanted a divorce, I agreed so fast it made her head spin. Irreconcilable differences, is what they called it. I should have gotten out years ago. I'm thirty-two. The best years of my life are gone!"

"Nonsense!" said Mirriam. "But you're a little young for the likes of us." She jumped, as she realized what she'd said, and blushed. "Not that we're interested," she added. When she realized how that sounded, she put her elbow on the table, and dropped her head into her open hand.

"You have her all flustered," said Prudence, grinning.

The band changed, and a traditional rock and roll group started playing.

"Now THAT kind of music I can dance to!" said Ted. "How about it?" he asked, his eyes going from Prudence, to Mirriam, who still had her head in her hand, and back again.

"I might go into labor, jiggling around like that," said Prudence, "but I'll dance with you."

Bobby was sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, just watching people. It was fairly dark where he was, and, while people walked by, they were usually couples, who paid him no attention.

He got up to go get a piece of watermelon, and got in line. He was almost up to where Horace Grimsly, the owner of the grocery store was, smiling and handing out thick red slices, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a woman he had seen around town, but didn't know much about. She was shorter than he was, and older too, though she still had the look of healthy youth about her. He controlled his eyes, and looked at her face.

"You're Bobby, right?" she said, her voice light and high pitched.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said.

"Oh please!" she groaned. "If another man calls me Ma'am I think I'll just curl up and die! It makes me feel old!"

"OK ... Miss," said Bobby, smiling.

"That's not much better," she said. "Never mind. You're the one that fixes things ... right?"

"Yes Ma...." Bobby stopped. "What should I call you?"

"Jill," she said instantly. "I'm sorry. I'm Jill Trimble."

That rang a bell in Bobby's head. He'd been in High School after her, but her picture, and that of the boy she married had still been on the wall. She was the homecoming queen from 1961. She was also the head cheerleader in that year, when the Granger Harvesters took State, to the unending surprise of just about everyone. They'd never done it again, since then, which was why all the pictures of kids from that year were still up on the walls to document the school’s fleeting, but proud accomplishment in history.

Bobby had stared at that picture, as a senior. Jill - her last name was different in the picture - was, at that time, his idea of the perfect girl. Of course she'd been gone for four years, by then. She'd married the homecoming king, who had tried to go on to a career in college football, but didn't do so well, and came back home to sell insurance.

That much Bobby knew, but he'd never actually met, or talked to the woman whose picture had fascinated him so.

"I saw your picture in the trophy case at school," said Bobby.

"THAT thing?" She laughed. "I wish they'd get rid of that. It's embarrassing."

"I liked it," said Bobby.

"Well, thank you," she said. They were holding up the line, and reached, at the same time, for plates that Horace was trying to give them. They walked away together.

"Anyway," she said. "I have a washing machine that's on the blink. Can you fix a washing machine?"

"Don't know," he said, honestly. "I never tried."

"Well one of my friends ... one of my EX friends ... told me you can fix anything."

"Your EX friend?" he asked.

"I got divorced, three months ago. None of my friends will speak to me anymore." She didn't look all that sad about it.

"That's too bad," he said. "But if they won’t speak to you, how did you have a conversation with one about me?"

"Oh, that," she said. "My washer’s been broken for two weeks. I was pulling my hair out, and called her to see if her husband might know how to fix it. She said he couldn’t fix anything, and that you’d done some work for them."

"Sounds like she was friendly enough," commented Bobby.

"Mark - he was my husband - told everybody that I was running around on him. It wasn't that way at all. HE'S the one I caught necking with Nancy Vickers in the alley behind our house. I went out to empty the garbage, and there they were, half naked!" She sighed. "Nobody believes a woman, though, and all my former friends think I’m after their husbands, including Linda. She asked me not to call again. Men get all the respect. I hate men!"

"I'm sorry," said Bobby. "I don't know any women who repair things."

She looked at him and frowned. "I didn't mean you. You're just a boy."

"I just turned twenty-three," he said.

"Really?" Her eyebrows rose. "I thought Linda said you were just out of High School."

"Linda Williams?" asked Bobby. He had done some work for her the same year Tilly Johnson was getting pregnant with his baby.

"Yes, that's her," said Jill.

"That's been, like, four years ago," he said.

"Oh," she looked startled. "Well, she certainly remembered you. She sang your praises … claimed you were a wizard with tools, so I thought I'd ask you. I called a real repairman, but they want something like thirty dollars just to come to the house!"

"I can take a look at it, if you want me to," said Bobby. "I don't charge anything unless I actually fix what's broken."

"Perfect!" chirped Jill.

She told him her address, and asked if he could come the next day.

"That's the 4th of July," he said.

"Oh! I guess it is!" she said. "I'm sorry. I just have piles of clothes everywhere. Pretty soon I'm going to run out of things to wear."

Bobby took the chance, while she was delicately putting a piece of watermelon in her mouth, to glance at her body. It was the same body he had pined over, in that picture. She had blond hair, up in a pony tail, just like in the picture. Jeans clung to her hips tightly, and the man's shirt she was wearing did nothing to camouflage generous breasts under it. The thought of her having to go naked was appealing. His eyes were back on her face, when she looked up from her fingers.

"I could come around in the morning," he said. "I'm not doing all that much anyway, until later. We're having a big family picnic in the afternoon."

"Oh THANK you!" she moaned. "You're so sweet to do this on a holiday."

"OK," he said. "I'll see you then."

She started away, and then stopped.

"Would you mind if I just stayed here, and talked to you?" she asked. "Nobody seems to want to have a divorced woman hanging around. It's nineteen seventy-one, for Pete's sake! You'd think people would get used to the idea that marriages don't always last."

"I don't mind," said Bobby. "Just so you know, though, that bunch of women over there," he pointed with his plastic fork. "See the woman in the blue dress, and the pregnant woman next to her with her hair in a bun?"

"Yes," said Jill, peering through the darkness.

"They won't care if you're divorced or not, nor the others sitting at the tables next to them."

"But they're the war baby mothers!" she chirped. "Everybody knows that."

"The one in the blue dress is MY mother," said Bobby.

Jill blanched, and then looked down.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't believe I just said that. I know how they feel, now. I guess old habits die hard."

"They're nice women," said Bobby.

"Yes ... of course they are," said Jill. "You must think I'm terrible."

"I don't care if you're divorced either," said Bobby.

Her eyes darted to his, and narrowed.

"Don't think that just because I'm divorced that ..." She bit her lip.

"That what?" asked Bobby.

"Men seem to think that all divorced women want to do is ... have sex," she said, her face darkening.

"Surely not all men," said Bobby.

"It's only been three months!" she said. "Men keep hitting on me all the time. A lot of them are MARRIED, for Pete's sake! Two of them are married to women who used to be my FRIENDS!"

"Well, as a man, I won't defend my brothers," said Bobby, grinning. "We men have a tendency to be pigs, which I freely admit. Some of us, though, are a little better mannered than others. I wouldn’t give up on all men just yet."

"I don’t' know," she said. "I think I've had enough of men for a while."

"Well, then, I promise to be on my best behavior, tomorrow."

"I hope so," she said, uncertain now. She was feeling a little silly for having gushed out her feelings, and insecurities to this boy ... man ... that she'd just met. "Maybe I'll go introduce myself to your mother. She'll know if you're a gentleman or not."

Bobby laughed, thinking about the last time he'd told his mother that he wanted to have sex with her. He had no idea how she'd react, if this good looking woman approached her and asked about him. He decided it didn't matter. If he could fix her washer, he would. Nothing else had to happen.

Mary writhed against Fred, between two farm trucks that gave them a little privacy from the crowd at the square. She couldn't wait to get married. Fred's hands were now familiar with most of her body, and the thought of lying naked with him, all night long, and doing whatever she wanted to was making her crazy.

"You want to go to my parent's house?" he panted.

"No," she moaned. "You know what almost happened the last time we were alone there."

"We're going to get married in a week, honey," he whined.

"And we're going to wait until the honeymoon!" she said, much more firmly than she felt. "It's going to be so special for us, Freddy."

"I know," he moaned. "But I'm in pain here."

Mary had been rubbing her loins against his hard-on, and knew it was there. She had never touched it, other than to let her fingertips drift across it outside his clothes. She had to maintain a certain decorum. He, on the other hand, had given her several wonderful orgasms with his fingers.

"I can do something for you," she said. "I mean I'll do something for you ... to help."

"Would you, baby?" he groaned.

"I could ... touch it," she whispered.

"Oh, honey, that would be so good," he gasped.

He reached down and she heard his zipper race down. He bent over to haul his penis out, into the warm night air.

"You'll have to show me how," she whispered, not wanting him to know she was quite accomplished at getting Bobby's penis to spurt.

"OK, OK," he husked, excitedly. "Just put your hand on it here, and move it like this."

Less than forty seconds later, strips of white were added to the dust on the rear duals of old Mr. Wilson's wheat truck, and Fred Brogan was no longer in pain.

After Jill left, Bobby went and watched the kids, shooting off fire works, and then remembered his promise to dance with Prudence, and went looking for her. She was still where his mother had been, but his mother wasn't around. He walked up to Prudence.

"May I have a dance, pretty lady?"

She dimpled at him. By now, the band that was on the bandstand was playing the kinds of music that the older crowd liked, and which could be danced to slowly. He took her to the dance area, and pulled her to him, pressing the belly with his child in it to his own stomach.

"Someone else asked me to dance too," she said, obviously proud.

"Really?" Bobby responded, sliding his hand gently over her back.

"He's dancing with your mother right now," she said.

She took the lead and moved, until Bobby could see over her shoulder. His mother was, in fact, dancing with a man who looked about the same age as she did.

"He's a new teacher at the school," whispered Prudence in his ear.

"I'm glad you got to dance," he said.

"He's a nice man," said Prudence. "He asked Mirriam, and then he asked me. He danced with me even though he knows I’m not married, and pregnant! You wouldn't believe how much better I feel for it."

"How many times have I told you how beautiful you are," asked Bobby.

"I know," she moaned. "But you were usually making love to me when you said it, and some men say that just to make sure they GET to make love."

"Do you think I'm that way?" he asked.

"No," she said. "That's why I'm proud to be pregnant with your baby."

"Proud?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes damp.

"Yes!" she said firmly. "Constance is delighted. I feel better than I have in years. We've started a new life, unconventional though it may be, and I owe it all to you."

"That's silly," he said, swinging her around. "You're not supposed to be thankful to a man who wiggles his way into your bed and knocks you up."

"You didn't knock me up," she said. "You made me pregnant. I'm going to love this baby," she said, pressing against him. "I already love this baby."

The music ended, and he held her hand, as he led her back to the table. His mother was approaching from the other direction, her hand being held by the new teacher.

"Aha!" said the man. "Competition! Curses!" He hammed it up.

"Mamma," said Bobby, his face straight. "Can I have the next dance with you?"

"This is your son?" asked the man, his mouth dropped open.

"I suggested that we might be too old for you," said Mirriam, smiling.

"I don't know about that," said Ted. "If this fine specimen is the fruit of your loins, you are a catch indeed!"

"Why that's positively scandalous!" gasped Mirriam.

Ted turned to Prudence. "And you, besides being as lovely as Mirriam here, are obviously fecund. What is a man to do, when confronted with two such desirable women?"

"Isn't he just awful?" Prudence blushed and looked at Mirriam.

"Well, at least we know what he wants," said Mirriam, her eyes narrowing.

Ted held up his hands, palms out. "Now, now, don't jump to conclusions. All men wish to be with desirable women. It is in our makeup. I can, however, control my baser urges."

"That's good," said Mirriam. I have eight children."

"Eight?" he gasped. "And you’re not married? What in the world is WRONG with the men in this town?"

"Most of them don't wish to be seen with social outcasts," said Mirriam, not smiling.

"Well," said Ted, not batting an eye. "Their loss shall be my gain." He blinked. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Please forgive me. I'm just so excited to find interesting, available women in my new town that ..." He groaned and looked at Bobby. "That didn't come out very well either, did it?"

Bobby shook his head, but smiled.

"Have I done too much damage? Can I at least see you again ... to try to make up for my verbal confusion?" asked Ted.

"Which one of us?" asked Prudence.

Ted looked very uncomfortable. "I sort of like you both," he admitted. "Can't we just start out as friends?"

"Friends don't praise the fecundity of other friends," said Mirriam, darkly.

"I didn't mean it like that," Ted pleaded. "It's just that I think motherhood should be celebrated, and honored."

Mirriam looked at Prudence, who shrugged and said: "He seems pretty harmless."

Mirriam looked at Ted. "Are you harmless?"

Ted looked away, and then back. He wasn't smiling. "I'm not foolish enough to promise something like that," he said. "I may be screwing up any chance I have of getting to know you better, but I'm not going to lie to either of you. I find you both quite attractive." He glanced at Bobby again, to see what the man would do, when something like that had been said about his mother.

"Don't look at me," said Bobby. "She's all grown up. She has a mind of her own."

Mirriam snorted. "All right, Mister Ted Brandywine, with the silver tongue, who is remarkably truthful as to his intentions. How about you get to know us better ... together?"

"You mean ... go out on dates ... together? All three of us?" asked Ted, his eyes wide.

"Exactly," said Mirriam, looking at Prudence again. Again, Prudence shrugged.

Ted smiled and bowed. "You have made me a very happy man, Madam," he said. "I can think of few things more fun than being in the presence of two lovely lasses, and trying to show them a good time."

Prudence giggled. "He has a lot of self confidence, I'll say that for him."

They were interrupted as a group of girls approached. Bobby recognized three of his sisters, along with Constance Harris, and three other girls he'd seen, but whose names he didn't know. They were carrying slices of watermelon, and were engaged in an impromptu seed spitting contest.

"Girls!" barked Mirriam. "Behave yourselves!"

"Ohhh Mamma," groaned Suzie. "We're just having fun!"

"These," said Ted, somewhat weakly, "are your daughters?"

"Only that one, that one, and Beverly, in the back," said Mirriam, pointing. The other girls faded back, to avoid being mistaken for her daughters. "The one standing by Bev is Prudence's daughter."

Ted turned back, to stare at both women. "When, oh when, can we start getting to know each other better on these very strange, but very acceptable-to-me dates?"

Both women blushed.

Then the fireworks started, and everybody stopped, to look up as bursts of green, blue, red and white filled the sky, along with thundering reports. It didn't last long - fireworks like this were expensive - but while it lasted, there were oohs and ahhs and smiles on everyone's faces.

When it was over, Ted sighed.

"What a perfect welcome to my new home," he said. "I think I'm going to like it here a lot."

"A week from next Saturday," said Mirriam suddenly.

Everyone looked at her.

"A picnic, in two weeks, on Saturday," said Mirriam, staring at Ted. "It can't be next Saturday, because of the wedding. Prudence and I will cook for the picnic. You'll be responsible for finding an appropriate place to have it, in the middle of July, and for entertaining us."

Realization came into his eyes, and he grinned. "Get your swim suits ready, ladies. Two weeks from tomorrow it is!"

"Swimsuits?" gasped Prudence. "I can't find a swim suit that will fit this!" She cupped her bulging belly.

"Shorts and a shirt will be fine," said Ted. "Anything you like, to go in the water with. Just bring a change of clothes."

"Where will we change?" asked Mirriam, who looked doubtful.

"I'll pick someplace with a changing room, or bathroom," he said. "Leave all that to me."

Mirriam turned to Prudence, her right eyebrow raised. Prudence, now that real plans were being made, was less giddy about it all. "I guess so," she said, her voice soft.

"Two weeks from tomorrow!" said Mirriam, turning to Ted. Then she moved her eyes to Bobby. "Go round up your sisters," she said. "We need to be getting home."

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