It Happened on Maple Street

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  With my hands on his chest I could feel his heart pumping twice as fast as usual—and hard, too. His penis touched down on my soft area . . .

  He hadn’t plotted or rehearsed. He had no practice at going this far with a girl. Natural instincts took over, and Tim began to rub his penis back and forth on Tara’s crotch. The feeling was so intense and great, and suddenly he knew what Tara had been talking about that night on the country road when she’d stopped him so suddenly.

  He jumped off her, tightened up, holding back his emotions and fluids. And stepped out of his pants. He’d started to come.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice sounded from far off. Her need called out to him.

  “Nowhere, Babe. I heard the dog scratching. I need to get her away from the door before she ruins it.”

  It was a complete and total lie, but he couldn’t let her see him in this shape. He didn’t want to scare her. Or embarrass himself. He didn’t want things to end so quickly.

  He opened the door, stepped outside the bedroom, let the cold air hit him. He stood for a couple of minutes, leaning against the wall, and then turned back. . . .

  I was glad he’d stopped. Saved me from myself. I should get up. Pull up my pants. Go outside and pet Mitzy, Tim’s cocker spaniel. I’d met her several times before. I liked her.

  I was still lying nearly naked on the bed when Tim came back, and I almost cried with relief when he lay back down with me. I touched his chest, my palms flat against his skin and then my hands moved lower. He was my man, and I needed to know all of him. When my hand reached his underwear, I paused. I couldn’t take his underwear off. Couldn’t be that forward.

  But his hand was there, on top of mine, guiding mine. His underwear was wet. Together we got them down to his knees.

  My breath came in gasps. The tension inside of me was so strong, guilt and desire built to the exploding point, I could hardly comprehend what was happening. He was lying beside me, kissing me, his hand on my breast, and I could feel his hardness against my hip. He was really wet. My hip was wet where he was touching me.

  I moaned. Felt tears behind my closed eyelids. I was in the eye of the storm, helpless and frantic.

  Tim pulled my underwear down to my ankles with my jeans. In some strange way, it had not seemed so bad to me, what I was doing, as long as I kept my pants on.

  The cool sheet against my backside registered. I knew it was there. And that my bottom was naked.

  He spread my knees and climbed between my legs, and I burned for him. He positioned himself so that the tip of his penis was pressing up against my opening.

  “Let’s make love” he said, violating the promise he’d made weeks before.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say yes. And I couldn’t say no, either. Tim moved against me, and I could feel my body accepting just the tip of him.

  “Tara? Can I do it?”

  He was leaving it up to me.

  He pulled back and then put his tip in me again, still not pushing all the way inside me. I wished he’d just do it.

  “Can I?”

  If you let the cow out of the barn, there’s no reason for him to buy the barn.

  I knew where the words came from. I hated them.

  And believed them.

  I didn’t just want Tim then, for that night, or that year. I wanted him forever.

  “I can’t do that until I’m married.” The words hurt my throat. I started to cry, but held back the tears.

  “Please, babe.”

  “Not that, Tim, but please don’t stop touching me.”

  He pulled himself out of me and laid on top of me for a minute.

  “Are you mad?”

  “No.”

  He was disappointed, though. I could tell. And I didn’t blame him.

  A minute or two later he came back up to kiss me gently. To lay his chest against my breast. Eventually the passion started to burn again. He put his fingers inside of me that time.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  It wasn’t ever going to be enough.

  January brought near-record cold and snow, and Tara was different, too. He didn’t like to be paranoid, but it seemed like that night they’d spent naked in bed had changed her. He thought about asking her about it, but he didn’t want to hear any bad news. He just held on, hoping that whatever it was would blow by.

  One night in late January, a blizzard blew in while he was at Tara’s house. They were lying in front of the fireplace. He’d been kissing her, touching her, and she’d been touching him, too. With clothes on, but only because they were at her house. Out in the open.

  “You need to spend the night,” she said sometime in the wee hours of the morning. “I’m worried about you driving home in this stuff.”

  Not quite the invitation to sleep with her he’d been fantasizing about.

  “Don’t you think you should ask your mother about that?”

  “Mom already said it was okay before they went to bed. She told me if it didn’t get any better outside to make sure you stayed. You can have my grandfather’s room.” It was the only bedroom on the main floor, down the hall past the laundry room.

  Her grandfather had lived with them until his death less than a year before.

  “Okay.” He felt more than a bit uncomfortable but wasn’t going to turn down the chance to spend the night at Tara’s house.

  He got harder just thinking about it. Pulling her close again, he nuzzled her neck and said, “I don’t have anything to sleep in.” He wore pj’s at home.

  Tara giggled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  They lay there until the fire died and the room grew cold.

  “We better get to bed before my folks get up,” Tara said. She walked him down the hall to the room he’d be using. The place was fine. A queen-size bed, elegant cream décor. He didn’t want to be there without her.

  “Hey, babe, why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for bed and sneak back down.” Even if they didn’t make love, just lying naked under the covers together, sleeping with Tara in his arms, would be heaven.

  “I can’t, Tim. Not in my parents’ house. My dad would kill us both if he caught me down here.”

  “You sure?” They were in the doorway, he inside the room, she outside. Surely she wouldn’t be able to resist. Not with him this close.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay then,” he kissed her and started to close the door, hoping she’d push it open and join him. “If you change your mind you know where to find me.”

  She nodded. He held onto the door.

  “Or if you need anything, you know what I mean . . .”

  “I do, and forget it,” she smiled, but her eyes weren’t sparkling.

  She was really going to leave him there alone. “Good night,” he said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Babe,” Tara smiled once more, and let the door close.

  He climbed between sheets that smelled as though they’d been hanging outside on the line, and wondered what had happened between the family room and the bedroom to cause such a change in Tara. Out in the hall, as she’d said good night, she’d been distant, hesitant. Not at all the sexual tiger that he’d been making out with all night.

  He went to sleep with a hard-on.

  I didn’t sleep that night. I tried, but the war inside of me was escalating to some kind of finale.

  I’d missed my period and was scared to death that I was pregnant. Only Tim’s tip had been inside of me, but he had released fluid. I’d asked some questions at school, done some reading. If I was at my fertile time of the month, what we’d done on New Year’s Eve in the bed on Maple Street had been enough to impregnate me.

  And the man I loved, the father of my possible child, was downstairs, sleeping in a bed that I belonged in, too. My father was next door, thinking I was a good girl.

  Tim was eighteen and didn’t have a lot of money. His mother wouldn’t be able to help him, either. There was no way he could supp
ort a baby without giving up his whole life.

  I wasn’t sure he loved me enough to do that. I wasn’t really sure he loved me at all.

  He wanted me. I knew that. But if I’d let him go all the way in, if I let him have all the sex he wanted, would he tire of me and move on? Was I just keeping his interest because I was saying no?

  He didn’t talk about his feelings. I’d told him I needed to be married to do what I was doing with him. I’d asked him to talk to me. I’d written him notes, telling him we needed to talk. Nothing was working.

  My stomach was a massive knot by the time I heard my folks getting up. Pulling on my yellow robe, I brushed my teeth and went downstairs, down the hall past the laundry room, the bathroom, and stood outside his room.

  Would he be awake? Naked?

  Was he a morning person? A grouch when he woke up?

  My parents were talking upstairs. They’d be descending soon. I knocked.

  “Who is it?” He didn’t sound grouchy. He was groggy though, and I loved the sound. It made me want to crawl under the covers with him, leave the world and worries behind, and find peace and rest in the security of his arms.

  “It’s me,” I said softly, debating whether or not to throw caution to the wind and follow my instincts. If I were pregnant, my parents were going to be disappointed in me soon enough anyway.

  “Me who?”

  “Tara,” I said, getting frustrated. Maybe I was the grouch in the morning. Or maybe I’d just had too many sleepless, fear-filled nights.

  How in the heck was I going to raise a child on my own? Or hold my head up at church? My parents would be so disappointed. Mortified. I’d be an embarrassment to them.

  Yet I couldn’t help but wonder what our would baby look like. Would it have Tim’s brown eyes? And my blonde hair? Would it be a girl or a boy?

  Would I ever have a husband and family? Or had I just ruined my whole life?

  Tim was still under the covers when I opened the door. “You knew who it was.”

  “I didn’t think my Tara would knock before coming in,” he said, smiling.

  I could melt in that smile. And lose myself in his dark gaze—no matter how bleak the future might be.

  “That would be inappropriate,” I said.

  “Maybe so, but it’s not like I’d complain. What time is it anyway?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  If I were pregnant, I could make love with him all I wanted. Until he was done with me.

  And if he did stand by me in the beginning, how long would it be before he resented me? Blamed me? Started to hate me?

  Left me at home with a child to raise while, driven by the need for freedom, he went out and found other things to do?

  “Why are you up so early on a Sunday morning?”

  “My parents are up, and I didn’t want you down here alone with them up and around.”

  I was in the room, beside the bed, but I was afraid to sit down next to him. I fought the urge to open my robe and take him inside.

  And I couldn’t quit picturing him under those covers. His jeans were hung over a chair with a sweater. I couldn’t see, without doing something obvious, like lifting the jeans, whether or not his underwear was with them or with him.

  “Why are you acting like such a stranger? After all the things we’ve done, all the places I’ve touched your body, it’s a little late for shyness, don’t you think?”

  I felt the heat rising up under my robe. And shrugged. If I told him I was afraid I was pregnant it would all be over.

  He’d be scared. And tense. And it could all be for nothing. I might start that day. Or the next. It hadn’t been a full month yet.

  “Sit on the bed with me.”

  “I can’t. You aren’t dressed and my parents just came downstairs.”

  “What’s that matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why don’t you want to be close to me?”

  “I do. It’s just . . . it would be too tempting.”

  I was starting to feel sick to my stomach and prayed that it was just a sleepless night. Nerves. Or even an ulcer.

  I prayed I would start my period and that Tim would tell me that he couldn’t live without me and ask me to marry him.

  Ten

  TARA SEEMED TO BE UNHAPPY A LOT. ANYTIME HE ASKED her if something was wrong, she’d tell him no, and he tried to believe that everything was fine. If she was getting tired of him, he wished she’d just say so.

  Yet when she told him they had to talk, he clammed up, afraid she was going to break up with him.

  “What are you doing tonight?” he asked her one Tuesday in early February. They were in the student union, staying warm by the fire.

  “I’ve got the Vandalia city council meeting.”

  She went every month. He knew that. She covered the city’s business for the Dayton Daily News. And in all the months they’d been going steady, he’d never shown any interest in that part of her life at all.

  “Can I come with you? Drive you?”

  “Sure.”

  She sounded so happy with the idea, he was happy, too, though even the thought of sitting through a city business meeting bored him to tears. Probably wouldn’t be any windows there to escape through, either.

  Still, he’d be with Tara and that was enough for him. More than enough for him.

  I have to admit, I was proud as I walked into the Vandalia city building Tuesday night, knowing that I had the credentials to be there. I hoped Tim was impressed. I knew the room where the council met and headed toward it like I owned the place. Maybe he’d think I was important enough to marry.

  I had my own seat. It was in the front. Inside the courtroom-like area, I made a beeline for my place, indicating that Tim should sit down next to me on the wooden bench. He sat close. His hip touching mine.

  I wondered if the city manager would call the paper and complain. If someone would decide I was a kid who was inappropriate and not mature enough to handle the job of reporting city business to one of the state’s major newspapers.

  I didn’t ask Tim to move. I took out my paper and pen and prepared to do the job I’d been hired to do.

  “How long does this thing last?”

  “Depends on the agenda. Anywhere from half an hour to all night.”

  It was a Tuesday night. We had school the next day. Tim had a long drive back to Eaton tonight.

  “Let me have that.” He took my pen and paper. And started writing my name. I loved how it looked in his penmanship. He was much more artistic than I was. He wrote his name. And our names.

  I sat there and watched. Getting warm all over. And smiling.

  And then I thought about the baby and felt all weighted down with dread again. I still hadn’t started my period.

  The city council filed in. A couple of members glanced at me as they took their seats. They smiled.

  I hoped Tim had noticed. And that he’d see that I was good enough to marry.

  The meeting was called to order. I took back my pad but gave Tim some paper and my extra pen. Roll was called. Minutes were read. Tim doodled. And leaned over and half licked, half blew on my ear.

  I tried so hard not to notice. To pay attention to the business at hand. I jotted some notes.

  The Dayton Daily News paid me for my writing.

  Writing was going to be my career.

  Tim kept tempting me with his breath. And whispering nutty things to me.

  Eventually I ssshhh’d him. I’d done it in geology class all last semester, and every single time he’d just grinned and kept right on pestering me. That night he sat back, looking like I’d hurt his feelings.

  The next item on the agenda was called.

  And I wondered if they’d fire me from the paper if I turned up pregnant and unmarried at eighteen.

  On the second Friday in February, I started my period. I was so relieved I sat in the bathroom and cried. For a long time. I cried for so long that I finally had to admit that the emoti
on pouring out of me wasn’t relief. I was empty. Bereft.

  Because I wasn’t carrying Tim’s child.

  Which made no sense. I’d been physically sick worrying about a pregnancy. And when I found out there wasn’t one, I was devastated. The war inside of me was taking a huge toll. If something didn’t happen soon, I was going to lose my mind.

  Tim had to give me his emotions as well as his passion, or . . . I didn’t know what. I couldn’t even think about living without him. But my stomach was in knots all the time. I wasn’t sleeping.

  I wasn’t pregnant, but every single time I was alone with Tim that danger loomed. I loved him too much to resist him.

  Driving to his house one night at the end of February, knowing what we’d end up doing when we got there—and needing it as badly as he did—I tried one more time.

  “We need to talk.”

  I waited.

  He sat there, saying nothing. Didn’t he care about my feelings at all? How could he just ignore me?

  His heart was there. It had to be. I just had to find a way inside.

  “How old did you say you were when your dad died?”

  “Five.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. He died. I was just a kid.”

  “Were you there?”

  “No.”

  “Do you remember him?”

  “Not much.” He wasn’t happy with me. Because of my constant pushing for talk, for more? Because I was unhappy?

  Or because he was done with me?

  “My brother is coming home this weekend,” Tara announced early in March. Sitting at the little phone table in the dining room on Maple Street, Tim listened to her with a growing feeling of dread. “He’s coming home to see his girlfriend and his friend from college is coming home with him. Mom said he couldn’t come home unless he could find someone to share the driving. It’s twelve hours each way, and they’re doing it in a weekend.”

  “That’s cool.” She was talking faster than usual. And she was unusually chipper.