by Lexie Ray
“Shonda? What are you doing in there?”
Gran was the only person who didn’t call me Shimmy, and it always made me feel funny, like I was a different person at home. Cringing, I opened the door, sure that she was going to fuss at me for cutting up perfectly good clothes and for mauling my hair.
Instead of berating me, she gasped rapturously.
“Look at my baby girl,” she cooed, pinching my reddened cheeks, “all grown up. How’d you do this, Shonda?”
Guiltily, I held our Gran’s scissors.
“You’re not mad, Gran?” I asked, hardly able to believe it.
“If it makes you happy, it makes me happy,” she said. I hoped I wouldn’t have to soon add senility to the list of Gran’s health problems. A few short years earlier, she’d tan my hide for cutting up clothes or cutting on my own hair.
“It looks good, doesn’t it?” I asked excitedly, turning back to the mirror. The fringes swung merrily, adding a high-fashion texture and dimension to my outfit. I’d wear my sneakers instead of my dress shoes, which would be both comfortable and unexpected. That’s what fashion was all about: doing something unexpected and succeeding at it.
“You’re becoming a beautiful young woman right before my eyes,” Gran said. “I can hardly believe it. Honey, we need to have the talk.”
My insides crawled. Talk? What talk? What knowledge could Gran possibly impart that I didn’t already know thanks to the thin walls of the apartment, the terrible neighborhood, or my classmates at school?
“Don’t give me that look,” Gran said, dragging me from the bathroom and into the tiny living room that also doubled as a kitchen. There was a pot of pasta boiling on the hot plate for dinner.
“Gran, I already know everything about everything,” I said, trying to head her off before things got awkward.
“Uh-huh,” she said, her voice telling me she didn’t believe it for a second. “And do you know how to keep boys from breaking your heart?”
Taken aback, I shook my head.
“Don’t give it to them until you’re certain they won’t,” Gran said. “Don’t let boys tell you you’re pretty or ugly or fat or thin. You decide for yourself, and you stick to it. Put yourself first, Shonda, and remember that no one can bring you down but yourself.”
Gran was a no-nonsense, few-frills woman, and this kind of advice floored me. I’d always felt like she was old-fashioned, but this was hardcore feminist shit.
“And don’t just give it up for any boy you cross paths with,” Gran added, making me groan and cover my face.
“Gran,” I groused. “Please. I’m eighteen years old.”
“And you are ripe for the plucking,” she insisted.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d been plucked by several different guys before this particular chat. There was one, though, who I had my eye on, the reason for my little makeover. I was falling head over heels for Ben, and I hoped that my transformation would show him I took him seriously.
The next day at school, I got all kinds of attention. I didn’t even make it to the school building with no less than five passers-by making appraising remarks about my appearance. Once inside, I made a beeline to Ben’s locker, sneaking up and leaning against the cold metal so I’d surprise him once he slammed the door shut.
He jumped when he did, staring at me before breaking into a grin.
“Holy shit, Shimmy,” he said. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look great!”
I beamed and shook my hips a little, making the fringe on my shirt swing and dance.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m trying to be more fashionable. Someone told me I should. Have you told anyone your plans to play basketball after you graduate?”
Ben laughed and shook his head. “I’m going to have to now, aren’t I?” he said.
There wasn’t a thing I could do to hide my happy grin as we walked together to class, jealous classmates—male and female—eyeing us with jealousy. Girls were jealous of me being with Ben, and boys were jealous of Ben being with this latest incarnation of myself.
I counted it as a victory when Ben started spending more time with me in and out of class, always walking with me to my locker and his, and spending afternoons at his home whether we were working on projects or not. It was not, more often than anything.
He took me to the movie I’d bugged him about, and slipped his arm around my shoulder in the darkened theater. If it was possible to be happier than the wild, wild high I was feeling, my heart floating somewhere above my body, I wouldn’t believe it.
Gran took note of the changes in me and simply shook her head.
“You remember what I told you, Shonda,” she’d say, shaking her finger and making me cringe.
But all rules were out the window with Ben. Gran even gave me some of her old clothes that she didn’t wear anymore so I could cut them up and otherwise alter them to suit my new persona as a fashionista.
I loved planning my outfits for the next day almost as much as I loved going over to Ben’s house after school was finished. I started pretending that I was his wife, and that we were going home to our married lives. Those rich golden couches? Mine. The butler who opened the door if Ben fumbled with the key for even five seconds? Mine. The state-of-the-art kitchen chock full of delicious junk food and name brand snacks? Also mine.
More and more, I was even considering Ben as mine. We didn’t really talk about what we were to each other, but I liked to think he felt the same way about me. Of course, I never took him home to Gran’s apartment. I didn’t want him to see that. I only wanted him to see how glamorous I looked with my makeup and hair and ever-changing outfits.
The first day we kissed, in one of the hallways at school, I walked on air for a solid week. The second time we kissed, I wanted more, the more I already knew was possible, the more that men could give to women.
We were in his room, reading some assignment for our English class on his bed, when the possibility became a reality.
His fingers traced the shape of my hip beneath my skirt, slipped onto my bare thigh, and tickled the sensitive skin behind my knee. I clapped my textbook shut and rolled over to face him, plastering what I hoped was a seductive look on my face.
“Shimmy, have you ever been with someone before?” he asked, the look on his face showing me how much it pained him to ask.
I wondered briefly what the right answer was. Would he shun me if I said no, laughing me out of his house for my lack of experience? Or would he throw me out of the house for being a slut if I said yes, not daring to dip his rich golden cock in a place that had known other boys before him.
I bit my lip before nodding. I wanted Ben, and wanted him to like and accept me, but I also truly cared for him. I didn’t want to lie to him.
He stared at the swell of my breasts beneath my shirt before cupping one of them in my hand. The simple touch was electric, and I arched my back, wanting more of him.
“You?” I asked.
His too-quick nod told me that he was a virgin. Even with his popularity at school, I could understand why he hadn’t hooked up with anyone before this point. The majority of our classmates were low-income, like me. Girls might try to use him if they knew how rich his family was, or they might not understand him.
Even more interesting was the thought of his parents. I still hadn’t had a chance to meet them, but they sounded overbearing. If they wouldn’t let their own son pursue his dream of playing basketball, I could only assume that they’d forbid him from having sex with someone who was beneath his social status.
And I was definitely beneath his social status.
“I want to be with you,” I said, my voice thick with desire. I liked sex with the guys I’d picked as partners before, but I’d never experienced anything remotely close to what I was feeling for Ben right now. I had spent so much time pursuing him, thengetting to know him, then changing things about myself for him that the culmination of all that—this moment in bed, his finger
s seeking out my nipple, his eyes hungry—was more sexual than any of my other experiences.
Without saying a word, Ben undressed me, slipping my shirt up over my curls, fumbling at my bra for so long that I took pity on him and released the clasp myself. He managed to unfasten the zipper on my skirt, and I kicked it down to my ankles. My panties were all that remained, and Ben worked them down my body slowly and with obvious relish.
When he worked his finger between my two soft lips, the ones that were usually concealed between my legs, it came away wet.
“I’m wet for you,” I murmured as he examined his finger with unabashed wonder. “I want your cock inside me.”
He kissed me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth with an aggression that I hadn’t seen with him before. It was a complete turn-on.
Soon, I tore off his clothes, Ben only halting his kisses to help me with the stubborn buttons on his shirt, or the vexing belt keeping me from his cock.
His cock was perfect, hard and strong, a width I knew I could handle and then some. He rolled a condom onto it after pulling the foil package from his bedside drawer, and I smiled. Maybe he had just been waiting for the right girl to come around before having sex. I drew his latex-encased cock to my body, positioning it between my legs as we kissed, not caring if we had to slow it down because of his inexperience.
Ben had no such plans, plunging into my body, finding his way home at first thrust. I gave a long, low moan, encouraging him, wrapping my legs around his muscular waist. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to grab on to—my hair, shoulders, neck, jaw, tit, nipple, waist—so he kept his hands on rotation, slipping through my curls, caressing my shoulders, drawing lines down my neck, grasping my waist, hefting my tits one at a time, tweaking my hard nipples until they stood out, stiff and straight, squeezing my waist until I cried out from all of the constant stimulation.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, breathless from thrusting.
“No,” I said, shaking my head quickly. “It feels so good. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t, driving into me again and again. I put his hand between my legs, helping him find my clitoris and showing him just how I liked him to rub it. Once he found it, he didn’t forget it, rubbing and rubbing until I had no choice but to tumble into orgasm.
Once he realized what he’d done, Ben threw his head back, all of his muscles clenching as he came with me. He thrust so hard and so deep that it almost hurt, but I wasn’t about to complain, using my legs to draw him closer, encourage him to squeeze out every last drop of pleasure that he could.
When he pulled out and looked down, his eyes widened.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t started my period. I did feel awfully wet.
“The condom,” he said, pulling a shredded latex circle off his shaft and holding it up for me to see. “It broke.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting up. “Here. I’ll go to the bathroom and shower. It can’t have gotten far.”
Ben cracked open his door and, once determining that the coast was clear, ushered me to the bathroom down the hall. We hopped in the shower together and Ben turned the water on to practically scalding. I scooped the water from the faucet with one hand and dashed it against my pussy, feeling the water slide down my legs along with something thicker and stickier.
“Is it coming out?” Ben asked worriedly, trying to look around me.
“Yes, it’s fine,” I assured him. “Your cum wasn’t in me for more than a minute, you know? We’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, staring at me like I was dangerous. “Maybe we should go to a doctor or something.
I laughed him off. “Really, it’s fine,” I said. “You’ll see. I heard that it was actually really hard to get pregnant. Some girls have to keep the cum in them for a long time to even have a chance at it. I’m definitely not going to get knocked up, Ben.”
Still spooked, Ben steered clear of me for the next few weeks. It hurt my feelings, but I sort of understood. It had obviously been his first time at sex, and to have such a thing happen could shake a person up.
Then, I missed my period. I shook it off at first, since my period had always been notoriously capricious. But I couldn’t ignore the second time in a row that it happened with not so much as a red spot in between.
As much as I hated to do it, I cornered Ben at his locker.
“We need to talk,” I said, keeping my voice light so no one would think anything was wrong.
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Ben said, his eyes wary. “I’ve been really busy with family stuff.”
“Well, you might be about to get even busier with family stuff,” I said bluntly, more than a little irritated at him.
He paled and looked like he was going to drop to the floor, fainting dead away.
“You’re pregnant,” he whispered.
“It’s possible,” I said. “I missed two periods. That means it’s almost been two whole months since you’ve even said a word to me, Ben.”
“I told you,” he said, his grip on his locker looking like it was the only thing that was keeping him upright. “My family’s been keeping me really busy. I haven’t been able to see you.”
“You’re seeing me now,” I said sassily. “And I’m telling you that we need to start talking options. And get a pregnancy test.”
We skipped the rest of school, walking silently down to a convenience store near school. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to be pregnant, but I wanted for Ben to be supportive of me. The fact that he was so apparently horrified made me angry. It wasn’t his body that could be possibly growing a baby right now. It was mine.
We purchased a pregnancy test, the clerk looking at us back and forth, bemused.
“You know, there’s a restroom in the back,” he said, handing me a key on a long piece of wood.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it and the pregnancy test, not stopping to see if Ben was following me.
The directions were easy enough to follow, but the wait was a nightmare. I took as long as humanly possible to pull my jeans up, zip the zipper, fasten the button, and rearrange my shirt.
A knock came on the door.
“Occupied!” I hollered, looking at myself in the mirror. Was this the face of a mother? I looked like a little girl, terrified that she was about to get caught doing something bad.
“It’s me.” It was Ben standing on the other side of the door. It warmed my heart a little that he hadn’t fled, but I was still angry at him for ignoring me for so long.
“What do you want?”
“Well … how’s it going?”
“I pissed on a stick,” I said. “Now I’m waiting.”
“Oh.” Ben was silent for a little while before clearing his throat. “Want some company?”
I unlocked the door and let him sidle in, careful not to jostle the pregnancy test that was resting on the sink.
“How much longer until we know?” he asked, eyeing the plastic device that would foretell our future.
I shrugged. “It said two minutes. I’m just waiting for something to happen in that little window there. It’ll say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
“And we want it to say ‘no,’” Ben said confidently.
“That would probably be for the best,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. He was here now, and that was all that mattered. I couldn’t keep being mad at him for not being around. This was the father of the possible child in my belly. I had to be good.
The little window started to darken and we both gasped, putting our heads together to see what it’d say. Both of us sagged at the results.
Yes.
Yes, I was pregnant.
“What are we going to do?” Ben groaned, holding his head in his hands.
I blinked, then blinked again. Maybe if I blinked hard enough, I’d wake up.
“Shimmy?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I do
n’t know what we’re going to do.”
Ben put my hand in his and squeezed it. I was pretty sure I witnessed the second that he became a man, made the leap from boyhood helplessness to grown-up purpose.
“We’ll tell our parents together,” he said, his voice strong and sure. “Today. Right now. Bring your parents to my house. We’ll work through this.”
“All I have is my grandma,” I said, groaning inwardly at everything Ben didn’t know about me. My grandma had raised me, neither of my parents were good for anything, we were so poor that I sometimes went hungry at meals to make sure that Gran got enough and suspected she did the same thing for me.
“That’s okay,” Ben said, keeping his hand on mine. “We’re going to be okay, Shimmy. We’ll figure this out.”
A sudden heavy knocking on the door made us jump with fright.
“You kids better not be fucking in there,” the clerk warned on the other side of the door.
We parted ways outside the convenience store, school still in session.
“I’ll see you back at my house,” Ben said, kissing me firmly on my forehead.
I shook my head and watched him go. I was glad that he was so confident in his plan. Gran would probably strangle me to death once I told her what I’d done.
When I got back to the apartment, she was watching a talk show on the crappy, snow-speckled television.
“Shonda?” she said wonderingly, squinting at the clock. “My programs are still on. Did they let you out early today?”
“Not really, Gran,” I said, staring at the floor.
“Well, then? What are you doing out of school?”
I sighed heavily. This was much, much harder than I thought it would be.
“The thing is—I have to talk to you about something.”
“Well?” I could see that Gran was losing patience with me. “Out with it.”
I wanted to ask her to promise not to be mad at me, but I knew that would probably be impossible.
“I’m—I’m pregnant, Gran.”
I wish she would’ve hollered at me, maybe even smacked me around a little. But the way Gran’s face caved in so carefully, as if it were some kind of controlled explosion, hurt me more than anything. She was crushingly disappointed, making me feel like I was a terrible human being.