“I’ll undress you; I’ll fuck you; I’ll offer you; I’ll look at you, and you’ll accept, right?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
Carefully, Eric penetrates me again and again. His attacks increase in rhythm, and I join him in search of more. The sound of our bodies coming together is electrifying. Again and again, he pierces me with care until he can’t take it anymore and lets himself go.
When it’s over, he kisses my neck.
“I miss you, sweetheart.”
“And I miss you,” I reply.
For a few minutes, we don’t move, until Eric pulls himself from inside me, and I turn toward him.
“I’m sorry, my love.”
“For what?”
“For the other day, in the car.”
The darkness doesn’t let me see his eyes, but after kissing me on the lips, he hugs me tight.
“Don’t worry about it. It was nothing; just don’t do it again.”
“I promise I won’t.”
I notice how his body moves when he smiles, and I look for his mouth and kiss him. I do what he does to me that I like so much. I suck his upper lip, then the lower one, and after giving him a little nibble, I kiss him passionately.
Eric accepts my kiss willingly. He devours it, and, moments later, he leaves me breathless, but it doesn’t matter. I need that passion. I crave that. Kiss after kiss, our bodies are warm, and, when I feel his cock erect and playful again, I take it in my hands.
“Shall we do it again?”
Eric kisses me.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s late, and I think we’ve had enough.”
That’s a blow to me. It’s not enough, and I insist.
“Eric . . .”
He moves away from me, gets up, and turns on the light in the room. We look each other in the eye.
“Jude, please don’t start.”
He disappears into the bathroom and closes the door. I get up and head to the bathroom, but when I put my hand on the knob, I stop and go back to bed.
I’m angry and excited. How can he leave me like this?
I need sex. I open the drawer. I do like my sister in her time of drought and snag my own Superman. The lipstick Eric gave me months ago. I immediately bring it to my swollen, wet clit and masturbate.
Oh yeah!
This is what I need.
This gives me what I’m looking for. Love my toy!
I close my eyes and press it to me. I find my pleasure and let myself go while I gasp and vibrate in bed.
When I open my eyes, Eric’s beside me, and he doesn’t look happy. He’s caught me!
We face each other like rivals. I gaze down his body and see his steely and erect cock. He knows my game and is even more excited. His look is wild and drives me crazy. I know what he wants to do with me this instant, and I want it too. I want it with all my soul.
My breathing is still ragged from my climax, but I open my legs for him. I show myself; I extend an invitation to keep playing. I tempt him to take me however he wants. But he isn’t into it and turns around and goes back to the bathroom again, slamming the door.
I’m pissed now and curse. I squirm in bed, feeling rejected. I’m getting angrier and angrier by the moment. When he comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later, he’s drenched. He took a shower. He’s wearing boxers, and I notice his erection’s gone. I imagine what happened in the bathroom, and, without speaking, I take my turn, lipstick vibrator in hand.
I slam the door, of course. How could it be otherwise?
I look in the mirror and see my crazy hair.
“Fuck you, Eric Zimmerman.”
I wash. I wash the lipstick. I get back in bed, and under his watchful eye, I put on a pair of panties. I put the toy away in the drawer. I don’t kiss him.
“Good night,” I say.
He doesn’t answer. I wrap myself in the blankets.
But my body is so hot that I take off the covers and sit up.
“I hate what you just did.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” he answers. His voice is hard.
“You jerked off.”
“Didn’t you do the same?”
I want to smash the lamp on his head.
“The difference is that I did it because you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
I turn around and cover myself. I don’t want to talk to him anymore.
29
When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone in bed like always. Eric’s already at work. Down in the kitchen, Simona’s preparing me breakfast.
“We have two episodes of Emerald Madness saved. Do you want to watch them?” she asks.
I nod and, once I’ve finished eating, we both head to the living room.
That day, we watch hopefully as Luis Alfredo Quiñones opens a small box and sees a pendant Esmeralda Mendoza gave him, then experiences a flashback and begins to remember things. Simona and I hold hands. This looks good. That morning, Esmeralda rides out with her son, and Luis Alfredo watches them from afar and has another flashback. His mind floods with memories, and Simona and I applaud when he’s suddenly aware the woman in his life is Esmeralda and not Lupita Santúñez, the nurse.
When the two episodes finish, we’re both worked up.
I propose we go for a walk. She refuses. It’s snowing, and it’s not a good time for a pregnant woman like me to go walking on those roads.
She’s right. I go to my little room, although I can’t sit on the soft carpet like I used to, or they’d have to use a crane to hoist me up. I sit on a chair, open my laptop, and connect to Facebook to chat with my friends, the Warriors. As always, talking to them lifts my spirits, and I end up grinning.
After a while, Simona brings me the phone. It’s Eric.
“What’s up?”
“Hi, dear. How are you today?”
“All right.”
“Are you still upset about last night?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, sweetheart, you have to—”
“No, you listen to me.” I cut him off. I’m very angry. “What you did last night hurt me. Why are you so hard? Didn’t you hear the doctor say we can have a full sex life?”
“Jude . . .”
“Don’t ‘Jude’ me, please. Why are you such a . . . ?”
I stop myself. It’s not fair to insult him.
“Just say it, sweetheart; you know you want to say it!”
“I don’t. I refuse to give you the pleasure from saying it.”
He shuts up. I consider the advantage I have of being at home while he’s at the office.
“I have a basketball game this afternoon,” he finally says, “and I forgot my gym bag. Would you please bring it to me at the sports center at five?”
I want to say no.
“Fine. Norbert will take it to you.”
“I’d like you to bring it to me.”
How nice, but the viper in me can’t stop.
“I’d like other things, and, look, I’m dealing with it and putting up with it.”
I hear Eric snort.
“I look forward to seeing you, sweetheart.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll bring it to you.”
When I hang up, I realize I didn’t even say goodbye. My God, what an asshole I am!
The truth is my Iceman deserves express entry to heaven. To put up with me when I get unbearable is unbearable. And lately I’m the worst. I call his cell back.
“I love you, grumpy,” I say when he picks up.
I hear him laugh, a laugh I adore.
“And I love you more than my life, sweetheart.”
It’s snowing when we leave home in the afternoon, and it’s very cold. Norbert takes me to the sports center, and I’m happy again. I’m all over the place with my hormones. When we arrive, I see my guy leaning on our car, waiting for me.
God, he’s so handsome!
Once he spots us, Eric comes over to the car and kisses me on the li
ps.
“Hello, beautiful, how are you?”
“Happy, now that I’m with you.”
We walk to the sports center and go directly to the locker rooms.
“You know where you have to go, right?”
I nod, and, when I think he’s going to let go, he pulls me toward him again, sucks my upper lip, then the lower one, and kisses me after a little nibble.
Oh yeah, oh yeah . . .
I love that, and I don’t care who sees us.
“I don’t want to argue with you again, understood, sweetheart?”
I nod. It’s clear the Zimmerman Effect knocks me completely out of combat. I smile, and he gives me a sweet little slap on the ass.
“I’ll look for you in the bleachers. Wait for me,” he says.
With a silly little smile on my face, I climb the stands. I see none of our friends are here yet, and I miss Frida. I look around and notice people have started coming in. My spirits sink when I see Björn’s constipated poodle.
Fosqui comes up, wiggling her hips on her impressive heels. The TV diva is dressed in leopard pants and a semitransparent blouse of the most suggestive sort. I smile without realizing it. I’m wearing a down vest and snow boots. Glamorous to the nth degree.
“Hi, Judith,” she says.
Surprised she remembers my name, I try to remember hers. What was it? I rack my brain but all that comes to me is “Fosqui” or “constipated poodle.”
“Hello, how are you?” I say.
She looks at me curiously.
“Are you OK?”
Oh, what?
“I’m perfectly fine,” I respond.
She nods, sits down next to me, and doesn’t say a word to me again. Ten minutes later, when the boys come out on the court, I scream and wave at Eric and Björn. They wave back, and the game begins.
I’m committed to my team, so I shriek and groan when necessary, while the poodle sits quietly. She simply watches them play. In the end, Eric’s team loses.
“Today’s not been a good day,” I say.
The poodle looks at me and blinks.
“But from this moment on, it will be, at least for me. Björn and I are staying with friends.” She lowers her voice. “So we can play.”
Why is she telling me this?
She seems to be gloating, but I’m not willing to let her.
“You do that. Play as much as you can.”
Without looking at her, I walk to the locker room and feel one of my contractions. I touch my belly and calm down. Björn comes out of the locker room, kisses the poodle on the lips, and then greets me.
“Hi, chubs, how are you?”
“I roll more than I walk, but I’m good,” I answer.
He hugs me and smiles, and then Eric emerges from the locker room. Björn and I are still wrapped around each other.
“Should I be worried about anything?” Eric asks, teasing.
“Yes!” we answer in unison.
We all laugh. Björn lets go of me, and Eric hugs me.
“Lunch the other day was fantastic, wasn’t it?” asks the poodle.
Björn nods, and Eric does too. Lunch? What lunch?
“We have to do it again sometime. I’d be happy to go back to your house, Björn.”
My face freezes.
What is this about Eric having lunch with Fosqui and Björn at his house?
A girl approaches the poodle to ask for an autograph, and they step away from us. Björn and Eric look at me, understanding what I’ve picked up.
“Jude, it was a work lunch,” says Björn.
“At your house?”
Alarmed, Eric takes my wrist.
“Jude, don’t draw any conclusions.”
“Did you have lunch with Fosqui? With the constipated poodle?”
Björn lets out a laugh.
“Fosqui? You call her the constipated poodle?”
But Eric isn’t laughing, especially when I start to walk toward the sports center exit.
“We didn’t eat at his house,” he says. “We ate at a restaurant, Jude.”
“I know very well what you do at his house.” And then I turn to Björn. “And you, you bad friend, how could you allow it?”
Stunned, Björn is about to respond when Eric interrupts.
“Sweetheart, will you calm down? Nothing happened. We went to the restaurant next to Björn’s house. I wanted to ask Agneta for advertising contacts to put the company on TV.”
It doesn’t matter—he’s already put me in a horrible mood. I’m furious.
“Dickheads! You are two dickheads!”
They look at each other. Björn’s astonished.
“There goes our day,” Eric mutters.
His comment makes me even angrier, and I start walking away again.
“Listen, chubs,” says Björn, anticipating me. “Don’t do this. Eric came to pick me up. Then Agneta arrived, and five minutes later, we went out and grabbed a bite at a restaurant while we talked about Müller’s advertising. Why don’t you believe us?”
When he goes to hold me, I slap his hands away.
“First, I’m letting you call me chubs because I’m pregnant, but once I stop being pregnant, if you ever say it again, I’ll break your legs. Second, I don’t give three shits what you do with your poodle, and, believe it or not, I know Eric hasn’t done squat with that . . . that . . .” Then I turn to Eric. “Third, why didn’t you just tell me you’d had a meal with her?”
“Fuck, you really are in a state,” says Björn.
Eric exchanges glances with his friend.
“You were angry that day and didn’t want to talk. That’s why I didn’t tell you. But, please, don’t get it in your head that this woman, Björn, and I have anything going because it’s not true, all right?”
I close my eyes. I know he’s right, and, getting close to him, I put my head on his chest.
“Don’t ever let me get pregnant again. I’m going crazy.”
Eric smiles. He hugs me.
“I’m going home with Jude,” he tells Björn. “Good luck with the poodle!”
30
I’m getting so big!
I can’t see my feet anymore! Never mind all the other things that are lost from view.
I’m wearing panties that look like they’re from the Victorian era. According to the salesclerks, they’re panties for pregnant women, but, according to me, they’re like turtlenecks for my groin. Is it possible to be sexy while pregnant? With these panties that come all the way up to my tits, the answer is a definite no.
When Eric sees them, he can’t stop laughing until I throw a shoe at his head. Poor thing, I hit him smack on the noggin, and now he has a bump.
My contractions are more frequent and more intense. They don’t hurt, but I know they’re the prelude to the ordeal I’m going to have to go through. Mother of God, what intense pain. I don’t even want to think about it!
I don’t follow the doctor’s diet nor her other instructions, and, on my next visit, the gynecologist reads me the riot act.
Why am I trying to deny it? It all goes in one ear and out the other. I’ve only gained twenty-six pounds in eight and a half months. My sister gained fifty-five. What’s there to complain about?
Eric looks at me while the gynecologist scolds me. I tell him to please keep quiet, and he prudently does not open his mouth. I’m aware that in these last months, I’ve become a tyrant, and the poor guy just silently endures.
Once more, when they do the ultrasound, Medusa plays hide and seek. This baby’s shy. Once we’re finished, the doctor gives me an appointment for the following week. I have to come back in for monitoring.
When we leave the doctor’s office, I call the painter who’s going to do Medusa’s room and tell him to do it in yellow.
Two days later, when the painter comes over to do the work I requested, I change my mind. Now I want him to paint two of the four walls in yellow, one in red, and one in blue.
A week later, Eric
and I go to the hospital because I’m having contractions. He’s nervous and I’m hysterical. The nurse makes me lie down, places a wide belt over my belly, connects it to a monitor, and explains that they’re checking the parameters of the baby’s heart rate and contractions of the uterus, among other things.
I’m scared, but on hearing Medusa’s heart gallop, my fears evaporate. I’m awed! The nurse tells us everything is fine and that we should come back the following week.
When we leave the hospital, we’re both excited. Our relationship is a roller coaster these days. Couples are supposed to bond and love each other during pregnancy. In our case, we love each other, and Eric puts up with me. I’m aware I have become a fat viper and am weeping, bingeing, and short-tempered.
One night I can’t sleep. I look at the clock. It’s 3:28 in the morning, and I decide to get up. I’m tired of tossing and turning in bed, and the contractions make me uncomfortable, so it’s impossible to rest.
Quietly, I put on my robe, and, like a whale about to explode, tiptoe down the stairs. When Susto and Calamar see me, they come to greet me. Whatever, whenever, they’re always there to give you a little love. For several minutes, I dedicate myself to kissing them and paying attention to them, and when they’re exhausted, they go off to sleep, and I head to the kitchen.
I open the freezer. I stare at the ice cream, and, after deciding on the vanilla with macadamia nuts, I grab the pint and a spoon and sit down to savor it. I watch the darkness outside. I love ice cream. It’s great.
“What’s the matter, darling?”
The voice startles me, and, seeing it’s Eric, I put my hand over my pounding heart.
“Fuck, you scared me.”
“Are you OK, sweetheart?”
We look at each other, and I finally say, “The fucking contractions won’t let me sleep. But don’t worry. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
Eric nods and says nothing. He sits across from me at the table and tries to cheer me up.
“It’s almost over, beautiful. In about three weeks our baby will be here.”
I nod, but I’m scared. Labor is approaching and my anxiety is sky-high.
“I love you, darling,” he whispers.
I love him too, but instead of saying anything, I offer him a spoonful of ice cream.
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 29