Message-ID: <23474asstr$954817802@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Richard Bissell X-Original-Message-ID: <8cb2pf$uqg$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Mon Apr 03 21:34:40 2000 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Full Custody {RBissell}(Mf, teen)(1/2) Date: Mon, 3 Apr 2000 23:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: IceAltar, Lambchop Adults only, no prudes. If you don't like sex stories containing people engaging in weird perversions, or you can't separate truth from fiction, get lost. The author does not advocate or condone anything that goes on in this story. This story is mine. You can repost it or archive it only if 1) you don't change it, 2) my name and this disclaimer remain attached, and 3) you aren't making money off it. That includes posting it on some slimeball banner farm web site. Yes, folks, I'm back! This isn't a cheerleader story, but I think you'll enjoy it anyway. Although there is currently no CGC "sequel" in the works, I *am* working on a CGC-related story with Katie McN. It should be out soon--watch for it! I am posting this alongside a similarly themed MichaelD story entitled "The Teaser." Though the plots of these two pieces have little if anything in common, they nevertheless seem, to me at least, to address the same issue, albeit from two very different directions. You can find my other stories in the following archives: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/ www.storiesonline.net (under authors, MichaelD38) Codes: M/f, teen, first, preg, rom FULL CUSTODY (C)opyright 2000 by Richard Bissell "I, um, I need you to knock me up." When I heard those words, I had my back turned to her, and my shock was so intense that I dropped my beer, which promptly shattered all over the kitchen floor. "Oh, fuck." I wasn't even clear myself on what I was reacting to, her or the beer. Rather than turn to face her, I grabbed a towel to clean up the mess I had just made, and to give myself a moment to absorb the mess I had gotten myself into. Meanwhile, I'll back up a bit so you can understand it too. * * * I had been living in my apartment for about a year when the girl first showed up. My place faced the pool at the center of the complex, so I often found myself looking out there as I worked at my desk. More than once (all right, let's be honest--a lot), I was distracted from the task at hand by some young lovely stretching out on a sunbed. I was plunking away at an excuse for a story when I saw a girl come through the wrought iron gate and sit down by the pool. She was a teenager, but more than that, I couldn't really tell from that distance. She could have been anywhere from thirteen to seventeen. She had long blonde hair and a fairly slim body, one that was not flattered by the generic blue bikini she wore. I watched her rubbing the suntan oil over her legs and torso and fought the urge to get my binoculars for a closer look. (Yes, when my horniess got the better of me, I sometimes spied upon the girls in that fashion--but not often enough to really put myself at risk of being seen.) Then she lay down in the sun and was still. After she had been there twenty minutes, I finally realized that I would get no further work done with her distracting me. I shut off my computer and found my swim trunks. The girl was still there when I emerged from my apartment and walked out to the pool. She looked up briefly when I came in, then lay back down. I walked past her on the pretense of going around to the other side of the pool, daring a glance down at the sunbed. She was pale, with long hair like corn silk. Slim, but maybe beginning to fill out a little. Fifteen or sixteen, probably. No more than that. I kept going around the pool and set my stuff down on a table about twenty feet away from her. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and dove in. When I glanced over at her again, I could see immediately that she had been watching me. Her head had been up just a few inches from the sunbed, and it dropped down immediately. She self-consciously rearranged herself as if she had just been stretching. I climbed out after about five minutes of swimming and toweled myself dry. Again, I saw her stealing a glance in my direction. I wrapped my towel around my neck and walked toward the exit, stopping by her sunbed. "Hi." She sat up a little, shading her eyes from the sun. The action made her breasts more prominent, creating a hint of cleavage between the triangles of her bikini top. "Hi." "You just move in here? I haven't seen you before." "Um, yeah. My mom and me moved in last weekend." "Where's your apartment?" She sat up further and pointed behind me. "Around the corner." "Cool. I'm right over there." She turned around and glanced at my place, but didn't say anything. "I'll see you later," I said. "Have fun." "Bye." * * * I saw her again the next day, and the next, but not wanting to feel like a lecher, I didn't try going out to talk to her again. Cute though she might be, I had more sense than to chase after girls half my age. She always wore the same bikini and did little but lie in the sun or read. It was the middle of July, so school was presumably out. But it also appeared that she had little else to do. I wondered if she and her mother had just moved into town, and she thus had no friends here and no other diversions. The complex I lived in was not overrun with kids, and those we did have were mostly grade-school age or younger. If she expected to meet people her age around the pool, she was going to be disappointed. About a week after I first saw her, I was again working at my desk, and she was again out by the pool. I watched her briefly, wondering what her situation might be. I had moved around a fair bit when I was her age, and I had a twinge of sympathy at her predicament, having been in it more than once myself. At that moment, she startled me out of my reverie by looking directly at my window, shading her eyes as she did it. I actually jumped in surprise, then realized that she could not possibly have seen me with the sun as bright as it was. She stared in my direction for about ten seconds before lying back down. A minute later, I found myself pulling on my swim trunks and descending to the pool. * * * She sat up as I came in, smiling a little. "Hey," she said. "Hi. How's the sun?" "Nice." I set my stuff down a few chairs away from her. "What's your name?" she asked me. "Ian." "I'm Christy." "Nice to meet you." I dove in the pool and swam around for a few minutes. Christy seemed to be watching me, though she was pretending not to. I finally stopped swimming and leaned against the pool wall, near the foot of her sunbed. "I see you out here a lot," I said. "There's not much to do around here." "Where did you live before?" "Texas. My folks got divorced about a year ago, and my mom moved because she got a new job." "I'm sorry." She shrugged. "It's no big." "Haven't met anyone around here yet?" She shook her head. "School doesn't start for like two months," she said. "High school?" Her face tightened slightly in embarrassment. "Yeah." I wanted to ask what grade, but that felt like an invasion of privacy at this point, so I changed the subject. "What's your mom do?" "She's in advertising. Her company does, like TV ads and stuff." "She like it?" Christy shrugged. "She's gone all the time, so I guess so." "Is your dad still in Texas?" She nodded, looking away from me. I sensed that I had hit another area she didn't want to discuss. "What about you?" she asked. "Are you in college or something?" I couldn't help grinning a little. "Not for a few years. I'm a free lance writer." I could see her digesting this for a moment or two. "How old are you?" "Thirty." She didn't try to hide her disappointment. "Oh. You look younger." "I guess so. Thanks." That revelation seemed to have poisoned the conversation, so I climbed out of the pool and dried myself off. I glanced once at Christy, seeing her battling a wave of nervousness and embarrassment. "Are you going inside?" she suddenly asked. "I don't know." She fidgeted on her sunbed for a moment as I toweled my hair dry. "What stuff do you write? For magazines?" "Mostly. Fiction when I can write something I can actually sell." "Which magazines?" "Last piece I sold was to `Men's Health.' I'm guessing you don't read that one, though." "Oh. No." She pulled her hair around her head self-consciously. "I like to write stuff. Not for school, but just for me. I've never shown it to anyone though." "I've been there. It was a while before I was brave enough to let anyone read my work." I pulled on my T-shirt and gathered up my stuff. However lonely she might be, I had work to do. "I got to go. I'll see you later." She managed a smile. "Okay. Bye." * * * Nothing much happened for a few days, during which I still saw Christy by the pool nearly every afternoon. And now and then, I would see her looking toward my apartment. Though I was flattered at the attention (only a bit, though; I knew it was loneliness more than real attraction), I didn't expect things to go any further. But they did. I was watching TV in my living room one night about three days after that encounter by the pool when I heard a knock on the door. Behind it, I found Christy, dressed in denim shorts and a pink spaghetti strap top. "Hi." "Hey. What's up?" "Not much. What are you doing?" "Just watching TV." I really knew better than to say what I was about to say, but seeing the needy look on her face, I couldn't stop myself. "Want to come in?" She shrugged. "Sure." She stepped into the living room, and I shut the door. She glanced nervously around a little. "Where's your mom?" I asked. "Still at work. I usually make myself dinner. She works a lot." "With a new job, I guess it's like that. Does that mean you've eaten yet or not?" She looked at the floor for a second, then shook her head. "No." "Me neither. I was about to make some box mac and cheese. Want some?" "Sure." She followed me into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as I put some water on to boil. "How are you guys settling in here?" I asked. She pushed her hair behind her left ear, fidgeting for a moment. "Okay, I guess." "Not exactly thrilled about this move, huh?" Another shrug. "I'm sorry. I know it must be tough not knowing anyone around here." All that earned in response was a brief nod. "You want something to drink? A soda?" She looked up now. "Sure." I found her a Diet Coke and opened it. She took a brief sip and then crossed her arms, watching me cook. She was clearly not in a talkative mood, so I didn't say anything else. When the mac and cheese was done, I served her a bowl of it and went back out to the TV. She followed and sat down at the far end of the couch to eat. We watched sitcom reruns for about an hour before she glanced at her watch and stood up. "I better go. My mom will be home soon. Thanks for dinner." "No problem." "Bye." She gave me a weak smile and left. * * * She was back the next night, and the next. I made her dinner, and we watched TV, but we usually said little if anything to each other-- certainly nothing of substance. If I got more out of her than a shrug or an "I don't know," I was doing well. I wasn't sure what she was getting out of these evenings together, but almost every night at six, there she was at my door. Now and then she would ask about my work, and only then might we have a real conversation. But asking anything about her made her clam up immediately, so I largely stopped doing it. * * * We were on the couch again, watching a "Friends" rerun. "Does your mom know you've been coming over here?" She looked at me, wary. "Why?" "Just curious." "I don't think so." She had that familiar look on her face that said, "Let it alone," so I did. Neither of us said anything for about a minute. "Is it a problem?" she asked. "Your coming over here?" "Yeah." "No. I don't mind." She stared at me now, searching my eyes for something. I had a sudden impulse to reach out and hug her, which I successfully restrained. She broke the stare after about ten second and looked down at the couch. "What's the matter?" I asked. "This place sucks. I _hate_ it here. I want to go _home_." "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do." "I wanted to stay with my Dad. But the judge wouldn't let me. He said I would be better off with Mom." She snorted in disgust. Her eyes closed, and her lips pursed tightly. I watched her, unsure what to do. The tears began leaking out from under her eyelids. The urge to comfort her finally won out, and I put my hand on her shoulder. She lay down flat on the couch with her head on my lap and took my hand between hers, hugging it to her chest. We stayed like that for nearly twenty minutes before she finally sat up. She glanced at me once, very quickly, before looking away. "Thanks." "No problem. I understand." "I should go." "Okay. I hope you feel better." She gave me a quick, tight hug, and then she was gone. * * * I didn't see Christy for a couple of days, even by the pool. I wondered if she had finally found some friends her own age, if her mother had finally decided to show an interest in her needs, or if she was just too embarrassed about what had happened that night. Then she returned a few nights later. "Hey," she said when I opened the door. "Hey. What's up?" She gave me a weak smile and came inside. I was in the midst of making dinner, and she followed me back into the kitchen, sitting on the barstool she usually occupied while I was cooking. I had just gotten myself a beer from the refrigerator when she finally spoke up. "Ian? Could I ask you a really big favor?" "Sure. What is it?" I opened the beer and prepared to take a swig as she answered me. "I, um, I need you to knock me up." My brain short-circuited for a second or two. I had heard her clearly, but I struggled for a moment to be certain that she had really said what I thought she had. I forgot the beer long enough to let it slip between my fingers, and it hit the floor in an explosion of foam and shattered glass. "Oh, fuck." I grabbed a towel and tried to clean up. I couldn't bring myself to look at her. "Ian?" she asked weakly. I stopped mopping up the beer and gathered myself together for a moment. Then I forced myself to look at her. Her face was even paler than usual. "Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?" A weak nod. "You want me to get you _pregnant_?" Another nod. I sat down heavily on the floor and exhaled. We just stared at each other for several seconds. "Can I ask why?" She broke the stare and took a deep breath. "My dad says that I can't come live with him unless the judge says my mom is unfit. And just working too much isn't enough. I could make some stuff up, but I think I would chicken out if the judge made me say it in court. But if I got pregnant, then that would mean Mom was unfit, right? That she wasn't taking care of me. And I wouldn't have to lie about anything. The doctor could just say I was pregnant." I fought a profound sensation of vertigo to answer her. "And then what?" "I would go live with my dad and get an abortion. And then I could go back to my old school and see all my friends again. Nobody would know, right? As long as I got an abortion right away." I didn't even know where to begin. This idea was so crazy that I couldn't even get a grip on it. It obviously existed within that world where teenagers think they know everything and their ideas are impervious to adult reasoning. And because of that, I knew she would probably interpret any attempt to convince her of the insanity of this idea as "not understanding" her predicament. "You're just going to use pregnancy as a ticket home?" "What else am I supposed to do? The judge wouldn't listen to me before. Why would he listen to me now?" I put my face in my hands. "I need to think about this." I heard her getting off the barstool, and a second later she was sitting next to me. "Are you mad at me?" she asked. "Um . . . surprised, mainly." "I'm sorry." She rubbed my arm. "You can't think about it too long, okay? Please. I'm going back to my dad's next month for a couple of weeks, and we have to do it before then. Otherwise I'll miss starting back at my old school. And I think now is when I would get pregnant. My period was over about a week ago." I tried to catch my breath. "You still have a few days then." She shook my arm, trying to get my attention. I looked up, seeing that she was starting to cry. "Ian, please. You're the only guy I know here. If you don't help me, what am I supposed to do?" All sorts of potential arguments kept suggesting themselves, but I knew that none of them would even get Christy's attention. Every one would splash off the armor of her teenage perspective, grounded as they were in maturity she did not yet possess and would not understand. "When did you come up with this idea? How long have you been working it out?" "The other night. After I left. I was in bed trying to think of what to do. It's not something I just came up with. I've been thinking about it really hard. It's the only way." "If I say no, are you going to find someone else to do this?" She stared at me, jaw vibrating, and said nothing. But I saw the answer in her eyes anyway. She was that desperate. I looked away from her again, rubbing my forehead. "Just give me some time to think about this." She stared at me, eyes damp. "Okay. Should I go?" "Maybe." She stood up slowly and wiped at the tears on her face. "I'll see you later." "Bye." * * * I don't know how long I sat there on the floor, bathed in the sour odor of spilt beer, trying to absorb Christy's proposal. I finally got up when I realized my dinner was burning on the stove. That distracted me long enough to regain some volition. I lay in bed that night wondering what in God's name I was supposed to do. It was very clear to me that I could not stop this idea of hers simply by turning her down. I could tell her mother, but that would be a betrayal of Christy's trust that I was not at all sure I could bring myself to undertake. And I knew nothing about Christy's mother--there was no telling how she would react to my showing up at her door with some story about how her daughter wanted me to impregnate her. Just thinking about that sent chills down my spine. It occurred to me that I still did not know how old Christy was. The age of consent in this state was sixteen, but I wasn't sure she was even that old. In any case, the legalities of her plan were far from the only--or even the biggest--problem with it. There was also the matter of her preplanned abortion. I had always been pro-choice, but the idea of using a pregnancy in such a fashion, only to throw it away once it was no longer needed, did not strike me as very defensible. I could try to duck my responsibility for it by saying it was her decision, except that I was setting the whole thing in motion by sleeping with her. I turned all of this over and over in my head, but I kept coming back to one problem: If I turned Christy down, I was fairly sure that she would just find someone else, which ought not to be too difficult. By turning her loose in that fashion, I earned a measure of responsibility for what might happen to her. And just about anything could--she could pick up an STD, get gang-raped, or suffer something even worse that I didn't even want to think about. I couldn't believe I was really considering this, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized I might have no choice. * * * -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+