Life calmed down for us. She posed on Friday nights and we did have hot, torrid sex after that. But still, during the week, we restricted ourselves to mutual masturbation, or cunnilingus or fellatio.
We were only two weeks shy of graduation when all of California seemed to catch fire. Even though we weren't certified, yet, the whole class got sent to Modesto, which was a staging area for the wildland fire service. Because we weren't certified, they didn't send us into the active areas. Instead we got shuttled around to make sure areas that had already burned were fully out. We found hot spots and extinguished them, raked through smoldering piles of this or that, stuff like that. It was dirty, smoky, smelly work, and our living quarters was an Army tent, with no shower facilities. There were port-a-potties around, but that was it. I learned how to take a whore's bath and wash clothes by hand in a plastic tote. It was baptism by fire, almost literally. The niceties of men and women being crammed together were handled with a sheet, hung up between the guys' cots and the women's area, where there were four of them. Somebody had run an extension cord for lights, but there was no entertainment. It was difficult for that many people to keep their phones charged, too. Usually that didn't matter. None of us stayed up late. We were all dog-tired when we finally got back to the tent, and usually fell onto our cots fully dressed.
We stayed a month. It convinced most of us that wildland fire fighting wasn't our cup of tea. I have a lot of respect for the folks who do that. It was heart-breaking to see where structures had been reduced to ashes and lumps of metal. It was all that was left of people's lives, and it made us all think of home and appreciate what we had.
When we got back, the college had decided that it didn't make a lot of sense to re-convene our course of instruction for two weeks. We had to take all the tests, but that wasn't really a huge difficulty. They gave us time to rest and study, and then gave us a late graduation ceremony after we passed the tests.
My mother didn't give me any rest at all. She'd worried a lot about me and after I got back, she wanted to spend as much time with me as possible. The night I got back was a Wednesday, and our only-on-Friday-night rule went straight out the wide-open window. We spent most of the night making love. Or would have, if I hadn't fallen asleep. We slept together Thursday night as well. And Friday night.
While we'd been gone the regular semester had ended, which meant that art lab had also ended for the semester. So Mom wasn't posing any longer. I got to see a few of the portraits people had done. Some of them were pretty good. Maureen said that five got submitted to the contest, but none of them won a prize. She did get a call from some guy who wanted to know who the model was, because he might have work for her. Maureen said her internal alarms went off and she told the guy she'd find out and call him back. She didn't intend to actually call him back, and never did.
Mom wasn't sure about posing again. The next art lab wasn't going to be a figure study, so she wouldn't have to make up her mind for quite a while, but Maureen said she'd get hired any time she wanted to.
Mom cried at graduation. I asked her why, but she just pushed me away and told me to go say goodbye to my friends. We were scattering like fall leaves on a windy day. The placement office had worked out for three-quarters of the class and all those guys were off to start a new career. I know of two who, after California, had re-thought the whole firefighter thing and were looking at other options. A fire science degree can be a stepping stone to specialization, such as inspection programs, safety officers, hazardous materials response and all sorts of things. One girl who California had disappointed said she was looking at expanding on our medical training and becoming an EMT.
The placement office hadn't worked out for me. There had been some starting positions in really small towns available, but not only was the pay low, it was unlikely there was the potential for promotion. I didn't know what I was going to do. I was thinking about going on to get a bachelors in engineering when my mother sold a house to a retired master sergeant in the Army. In the process she mentioned my situation, and he suggested I keep an eye on the Civilian Personnel Office website. He said the fire fighters on military bases were all civilians, and that it looked like a pretty good job.
So I did. I filled out applications. There were a ton of bases on the west coast, but we had worked alongside soldiers who were drafted, like us, to do support work, so I passed those up. I had to take a bunch of tests that had nothing whatsoever to do with fighting fires. I'm told I got lucky, because I got called in for an interview at Fort Leavenworth, in Kansas. I was competing with two other candidates. I don't know about any luck, but the month I'd spent in California (and the instructor evaluation of my work, that I hadn't even known was in my school records) spoke volumes, and I'm pretty sure that's what got me the job.
I had to have a full background check to confirm eligibility to have a security clearance. The clearance for the position was only Secret, which is pretty low, but since I might go into classified areas and see classified stuff, I had to have the clearance. They interviewed my mom and I found out later that two DOD investigators showed up at the law firm and interrogated my biological father. He tried to deny paternity and kick them out of his office, but was warned that if a DNA match proved he was my father, that he could be prosecuted for making false official statements. He was fully aware of this on a professional level, and finally caved and admitted, officially, that he knew he could be my father. Somebody told me years later that the only reason DOD even cared about this was because they didn't want any dirty little secrets out there, which might be used to bribe or blackmail me.
So I got the job and moved to Leavenworth, which is basically a big suburb of Kansas City, Kansas. It's an interesting place. The US Army disciplinary barracks (translation: prison) is there, as well as the Army Command and General Staff College. The Foreign Military Studies Office is there, too, which means there are hundreds of foreign nationals from other countries' armed forces running around.
The post was built in 1827, and is the oldest active Army post west of Washington DC. It's also the oldest permanent settlement in Kansas, so it's steeped in history. Like it's where, in 1866, the 10th Cavalry Regiment was formed, consisting of black soldiers led by white officers. You might have heard them called Buffalo Soldiers, which name was awarded by the native Americans they interacted with.
My normal tour of duty was 57 hours a week, on a rotating shift basis. If weekends or holidays fell during a shift, that was just tough cookies. Among my duties were: providing fire protection, rescue operations, hazardous material response, and confined space rescue. The facilities I might encounter had a variety of hazardous potentialities, such as fuel and ammo dumps, burning aircraft (helicopters), chemical storage and the like. I could end up going to a house, an industrial building, a motor pool, or a brush fire.
And for the privilege of doing all this, I got paid $12.57 per hour.
That sounds pretty dismal, but there were some perks. For one, during my fifty-seven hours, all meals were on the house. They gave me all my uniforms and the benefits package was to die for. If there weren't any emergencies, we could sleep when we needed to and get paid for it. Another plus was that anything over 40 hours was paid at time-and-a-half, unless it was a holiday, which was double-time. Not only that, there was a retirement plan. And I wouldn't be stuck at twelve-fifty forever. They gave raises every year and I could be promoted into a higher paying position, if an opening happened. It was true I had to maintain an apartment, off post, but that wasn't so bad. Leavenworth is far enough from Kansas City proper that the cost of living is quite a bit less, especially if your just looking for four walls and a roof, and don’t care if it's in a run-down neighborhood.
Besides, it gave Mom a place to stay when she came to visit.
When she did that we rarely went out for the first day or two, staying in bed most of the time. But Kansas City offered a lot of entertainment options, so we went places together. We got a few stares, as we walked
, hand in hand. But I had grown a beard, which made me look a little older, and she looked younger than she was, so most people took us at face value.
We were lying in bed one night, making out, after I had soaked her with my spend, when I thought of something.
"You can sell real estate anywhere, right?"
"If you're licensed," she said.
"You could sell real estate here … right?" I said.
She stared at me.
"Bobby, Honey. We've been lucky so far. I love what we have. I wouldn't change what happened for anything. But we can't make this last forever. And I want grandchildren."
"I can't help it," I said. "I love you."
"You can love another woman, too."
"I don't want to love another woman."
"You need to love another woman," she sighed.
"So you don't want to keep letting me love you," I said. I admit I was a little petulant about it.
"You know better," she said, poking me with a very sharp fingernail. "But we have to be realistic. We need to be practical."
I decided to kiss her some more, instead of continuing the 'conversation.'
Like a lot of people, I tried to ignore a problem and just hoped it would go away. She was just as addicted to me as I was to her, so she kept coming to visit.
Then one night, while I had her pinned to the bed, she gasped, "You need to pull out tonight. This would be a bad time to get sperm in me."
"You're fertile?" I panted.
"Very," she huffed.
I think it was then that I went a little crazy.
"Good," I said.
I kept going.
"Bobby!" she whined. She wasn't stupid.
"I love you," I grunted.
"Then don't get me pregnant," she groaned.
"But I want to get you pregnant," I growled.
"You can't," she moaned.
"I'm not sorry," I huffed, speeding up. I could feel it coming and I wanted to get there fast.
"It's not your body that will swell up and look like a beached whale," she barked.
A little sanity penetrated to my brain. I went in and stopped. The urge to cum slowly abated. I started rubbing. It's possible I was trying to give her an orgasm as a way of apologizing for what I'd almost done.
"Sorry," I said, leaning down to kiss her. "I got carried away."
"I'm sorry, too," she sighed.
"It's just that when I think about becoming a father, I can't imagine it being with anybody other than you," I said.
"That is so wrong," she moaned.
"So, sue me," I said, still rubbing.
We kissed for a while.
Then I felt her internal muscles working on my cock. I lifted my lips from hers and stared into her eyes.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Exercising my kegels," she whispered.
I started going in circles and she writhed under me. But her pussy kept milking me.
"You know what's going to happen if you keep doing that," I said.
"You talk a lot," she said. "You should kiss more and talk less."
So I kissed her, and she kept milking me, and I'm not stupid, either. I wasn't going to quiz her on why she changed her mind.
I just let her suck the jizz out of my balls, and into her very fertile pussy.
We never talked about it. Not then, anyway. Instead, we were like honeymooners. I had two days left before I had to go back to work and we spent almost all of it in bed. I came in her half a dozen times.
Then she went home to wait and see if we'd been stupid.
Turns out … we had.
******
If you're in a conventional marriage or relationship, and your significant other has announced she is pregnant, you probably had a conventional reaction. That usually goes one of two ways. You're either happy about it … or you're not.
Now try to imagine if your mother comes to visit you, and says, "Well, I'm pregnant."
If you're in a conventional relationship, meaning you're not fucking your mother, and know you're not responsible for her being pregnant, then I guess your reaction could also go one of those two ways.
If you're me, though, you don't get to be unhappy about it.
It wouldn't have mattered. I'd lain awake long hours, wondering about it. We texted each other occasionally, but not on a regular basis. We saved it up for when she came to visit. So I didn't know whether letting our passions get the better of us had created … difficulties … or not. Eventually I decided "difficulties" wasn't the right word. And finally I decided that, if she wasn't pregnant, I was going to keep trying. I know that may sound strange to you, but then you're probably normal, and don't lust after your mother.
Then she was there one day when I got off shift, and she hugged me, and stepped back, and said, "I'm pregnant, Bobby."
I was effusive in my appreciation and joy.
I took a shower and found her in my bed, naked, when I got out.
"So what now?" I said, lying down beside her.
"I get fat and ugly and have your baby," she said.
"You could never be ugly," I said.
"You haven't seen me pregnant," she said.
"I saw you from the inside, and loved every second of it," I quipped.
"We need to keep a close eye on this," she said. "I think lots of ultra sounds will be needed."
"Why?"
"We're rather closely related," she said, her voice dry.
"Do you think there will be problems?"
"It's been known to happen in the past," she said.
"Are you worried?"
"Worrying won't help," she said.
"Are you sorry?" I asked.
"That's complicated," she said.
"So tell me."
"I've never been this happy," she said. "At the same time, I know this is foolish in the extreme. I flip-flop constantly, wanting to sing for joy, and kicking myself for being weak."
"Weak?"
"When I was here last time, the thought that you wanted to breed me just made me go crazy."
"Breed you? That's a little harsh, don't you think?"
"No, it's not. That's what you did, Bobby. You bred me. Like your father bred me. The only difference is that I didn't want him to … and I did want you to."
"So then you're okay?"
"Bobby, Baby, this could be the best thing that ever happened to me, or the worst mistake of my life. But it probably won't be that black and white. It will probably be shades of gray."
"We have to live together," I said. "You can't raise another child by yourself. I won't let you."
"That's one of those shades of gray," she sighed. "I'd love nothing more than to live with you, but just because you knocked me up doesn't mean we have a future together as a couple."
"I did not knock you up," I said. "I made a baby inside my lover."
"Potato, potah-to," she said.
"Are you happy right now?" I asked.
She stared at me for a long time. Finally, she nodded.
"Well, you're happy, and I'm happy. This seems like a situation where someone is looking for a solution to a problem that doesn't exist."
"We'll see," she said. "Now, come love me."
I was worried I needed to be careful, that she was delicate.
She climbed on me and rode me hard, making the bed jitter and bounce, showing me she wasn't delicate at all.
******
She told her doctor she knew there had been problems with birth defects in her family history, but not what kind. He scheduled extra sonograms and kept telling her he didn't see any cause for concern. She took an online course and got licensed in Kansas, and used her realtor's skills to find a real deal on a house big enough for three. It was a bank repo and the previous owner had taken it badly when they foreclosed. He'd broken all the windows and doors. He was currently doing eighteen months in jail. Insurance had replaced the openings. The interior needed some work, but Mom had time to paint and such.
By the time she moved in permanently, she was five months along, and had a sexy bulge. All I had to do was look at her distended belly and I wanted to re-enact the event that had caused it. She got big, but she was one of those women who carry a baby like a basketball, and didn't suffer any swelling or some of the other issues that make a woman look like the beached whale she was so concerned about.
She told me that this time was different for her, primarily because she wasn't depressed or in a constant rage that she was pregnant in the first place.
She did well in the real estate market in the Kansas City area. There were literally thousands of houses and apartments for sale, and thousands of people looking for someplace to live. What made her good at her job was a willingness to listen to what a client wanted, and then put in the work to find it. She made more in commissions in her first three months there than she had in a whole year back in Arizona. She made way more than I did.
We went out on a legal limb by living as husband and wife. I even bought rings for us to wear. I hadn't listed her on any of my employment forms, and she wasn't on my insurance, but she made enough that she could pay for her own health insurance plan. She told me she left marital status blank when she got that. I say it was a legal limb, because while Kansas recognized common law marriages, they only did that if the couple was legally eligible to get married in a conventional sense.
My mother was thirty-six when she had her second child. She delivered a girl we named Camilla Jeanette Jenkins, after nobody in particular. They were just names we both liked. Cammi was a hair over seven pounds and eighteen inches long, and perfect in every way.
Well, she cried a lot, but I'm told that's pretty normal.
It was odd seeing Jennifer breast feed. Those had been my nipples to lovingly suck, and now I came in a distant second place. We had taken to calling each other Bob and Jennifer, respectively, so that we wouldn't slip up in public. People at the hospital thought I was her husband and treated me that way.
A Model Mother Page 10