Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me

by Maxwell, Megan

  “No, no, don’t let me go. Keep enjoying yourself and then give me to her.”

  My breathing changes. What my guy says excites me as much as what he does. He gives me another slap on the butt, and I arch my back.

  “This is how you like me to show it off.”

  “Arch a little more, sweetheart . . .”

  My body shudders at our seductive game. Placing the anal ring in my mouth, Eric whispers, “Suck it, yes, let’s go . . . suck it.”

  I do what he says, while my mind imagines two people watching us and enjoying our intimate moment. Eric sucks my hard and swollen nipples while I suck the anal ring. I lick it the way Eric licks me.

  “Now I’m going to give you what you and they both want,” he says.

  Excited and maddened by our verbal play, I bend my body while Eric takes the ring out of my mouth and walks it slowly down my spine. He applies a handful of lube to my asshole.

  “So, sweetheart, like this . . .”

  I gasp as I feel the pressure, but my willing body accepts it. Once the ring’s inside me, Eric moves it, and I moan while my hard nipples hit his chest.

  “I’m going to fuck you, and then, after I’m satisfied, I’m going to give you to them. First to the woman and then to the man. I’ll open your legs so they have access, and you’ll give me your moans, OK?”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . ,” I say as he squeezes me against him, and I feel like he’s going to split me in two.

  “You won’t close your legs at any time. You’ll let her take from you what she wants, OK?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  The tone of my voice, our fantasies and desire, create the ambience we both seek. I put my hands on his hard chest and fuck him again and again while Eric holds me by the waist and squeezes me hard to get more depth.

  Our wild side surfaces again and again. We can’t stop, we’re possessed, and we give ourselves over and over until we reach our climax.

  We’re insatiable tonight, and, after one last time, we decide to rest and I drop in his arms.

  “I want you to fulfill your punishment every night,” I tell him.

  Eric kisses me and touches my hair.

  “Sleep, you sex goddess,” he whispers.

  25

  When I wake up the next morning, my stomach contracts, and I have to run to the bathroom.

  Eric, who’s in bed with me, rushes behind me as fast as he can, dragging his cast. When he sees I’m vomiting, he holds my hair back.

  The nausea passes, and I just sit in the bathroom.

  “This is horrible . . . Medusa’s killing me.”

  He has taken a towel and wet it, bringing it to my face with all the tenderness in the world.

  “Easy, sweetheart. She’ll be here soon enough.”

  “I . . . I’m not going to be able to do this . . . I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can, honey. You’ll have our precious baby and all this will be forgotten.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely sure. She’s going to be a little brunette, like you. You’ll see!”

  “And she’s going to give you a lot of trouble, like me.”

  He smiles and gives me a kiss on the tip of my nose.

  “I’m sure I’ll love every minute of it.”

  I nod and finally smile back. My husband is wonderful, and even at moments like this, he makes me forget how bad I feel.

  I’ve read that vomiting usually lasts only the first three months, and that is my hope—let it end soon!

  Once color returns to my face, Eric leaves me in the bathroom, and I decide to take a shower. I get naked, and, when I take off my thong, I blink. Blood!

  Oh my God!

  Nervous, I quickly call Eric.

  In spite of his handicap, Eric’s in the bathroom in zero seconds.

  “There’s blood.”

  “Get dressed, sweetheart. We’ll go to the hospital.”

  Like an automaton, I leave the bathroom and quickly dress. Eric is ready before me, and he and Norbert wait for me downstairs.

  “Don’t worry,” says Simona as she gives me a kiss. “Everything will be fine.”

  In the car, Eric takes my hands. They’re cold. I’m scared. Blood isn’t a good sign during a pregnancy.

  What if I’ve lost Medusa?

  When we arrive at the hospital, Marta’s at the door with a wheelchair. They roll me to the emergency room at full speed. They don’t let Eric in though. Marta stays with him while I go with the doctors.

  I’m terrified.

  They ask me hundreds of questions, and I answer, even though I don’t understand what I’m saying half the time. I’ve never wanted to be pregnant, but Medusa suddenly means a lot to me. To Eric. To both of us.

  They ask me if I’ve been nervous about something lately. I nod. I don’t tell them about my life, but I know the stress I’ve been under may have caused this. They have me lie down, and they do an ultrasound. Silently and breathing heavily, I watch the two doctors’ faces.

  They stare at the monitor. I want everything to be OK. In the end, after assessing what they think is relevant, they turn back to me.

  “Everything’s fine. Your baby’s fine.”

  I burst into tears.

  Five minutes later, they let Eric in. He looks worried and very tense. When he sees me, he hugs me. I’m so excited I can’t say anything, I just keep crying, and the doctors have to explain that everything’s fine. Kissing me on the head, Eric cradles me.

  “Quiet, champ. Our baby’s fine.”

  I nod and reassure myself.

  Before sending us home, one of the doctors gives us a report and tells us that, if I don’t bleed anymore, I should just go to my regular gynecologist’s appointment. He adds that, at the moment, I have to rest. Eric nods and I sigh. I don’t even want to think how horrible it’s about to get for me now that I’m under doctor’s orders to rest.

  As I imagined, as soon as I get home, Eric sends me to bed. I have no issue with that at the moment. After the fright we just had, I’m exhausted, and, when I put head to pillow, I go to sleep immediately.

  When I wake up, Eric’s by my side. He’s working on his laptop. When he sees I’m awake, he quickly sets the computer aside.

  “Are you OK, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, perfectly.”

  “Frida and Andrés called. They send you kisses and rejoice that everything’s well.”

  “How did they find out?”

  “Björn,” he says.

  I go to the bathroom. Eric accompanies me, and, when I see I’m not bleeding anymore, I relax. When I go back to bed, he lies down beside me.

  “I feel guilty about what happened,” he says.

  “Why?”

  Eric shakes his head.

  “I’m the culprit who caused the tension you suffered. Because of me, we almost lost our baby. Also, last night, I asked too much of you and—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous; cut it out,” I respond. “The doctors said sometimes this happens. And, as for last night, don’t martyr yourself please with something you don’t know.”

  My Iceman nods, although I know him and know he’ll always blame himself. I decide not to broach the subject.

  I sleep for what feels like days, but when I try to get up, Eric insists I stay in bed. In the morning, I entertain myself as best as I can. I watch Emerald Madness with Simona, and I talk on Facebook with my friends, the Warriors, but I’m bored to death by the afternoon. When Flyn comes home from school, I get up. When Eric sees me in the kitchen, he’s none too happy, but, before he can say anything, I declare my position.

  “Rest is taking it easy, not being in bed for twenty-four hours. So, don’t stress me out or make me nervous, understood?”

  He doesn’t say anything. He stays contained, and, an hour later, when he sees me running toward the bathroom, he comes over and takes me in his arms.

  “To bed, sweetheart.”

  I protest and complain, but it doesn’t matter. He t
akes me to bed.

  The following days are more of the same. Rest, rest, and rest.

  A week later, I’m drowning in rest.

  Eric lets my family know what happened. Papá insists on coming to Germany to take care of me. As best I can, I try to convince him it’s not necessary. I’m dying to see him and hug him, but I know he, Raquel, and Eric, the three of them together, can drive me crazy, and I don’t want that.

  In the end, Papá and Raquel call every day, and I know from their voices that it calms them down when they hear me laugh.

  Dexter and Graciela call from Mexico, and I’m glad to hear their relationship is going well. According to Graciela, Dexter sleeps with her every night and has told everyone she’s his fiancée. I can’t even imagine the joy Dexter’s mother must be feeling.

  As the days go by, Eric seems to understand I’m bored out of my mind in bed, and he lets me spend time on the sofa in the living room. Big step!

  According to him, until the gynecologist sees me again, he’s not accepting any other change in my care. He even refuses to touch me beyond anything that’s not a sweet caress or a kiss. At first, that made me laugh, but not anymore. I feel like I’m going to scream.

  We talk a lot about Medusa. Will she be a brunette? Will she be blonde? It horrifies him that I call the baby Medusa, but in the end, he gives in, understanding that I do it with affection and that I can’t call it anything else now.

  Every night, in the privacy of our room, Eric kisses me and the baby, and that makes me feel a little silly. It’s so nice though. Love just oozes through his pores, and I can only smile.

  One night when we’re both in bed, I hug him and murmur, “I want you.”

  Eric smiles and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips.

  “And I love you, honey, but we can’t.”

  I’m too turned on.

  “You don’t have to penetrate me . . .”

  Getting up from the bed, he moves away from me.

  “No, sweetie. We’d better not try our luck.” But he can read my face. “When your doctor gives us the OK, everything will return to normal.”

  “But, Eric . . . there are still two weeks until I go to the gynecologist.”

  Amused by my insistence, he opens the bedroom door. “Less than that with every second. We just have to wait.”

  When I’m alone, I’m frustrated. My hormones are all stirred up and I want sex, but it’s clear I’m not getting it tonight.

  The days pass, and Eric’s cast is removed. That makes me happy and him even more so. Being able to recover his mobility and independence is huge.

  One afternoon after a three-hour nap, Eric wakes me with lots of kisses. I love that. I squeeze up against him and, when I go in for more, he stops me.

  “No, sweetheart . . . We shouldn’t.”

  That completely wakes me up; I growl.

  Eric smiles. “C’mon,” he says. “Flyn and I want to show you something.”

  He guides me down the stairs, but I’m in a bad mood. Not having sex is killing me. But when he opens the living room doors and I see what the two of them have done for me, I’m so incredibly moved.

  “Surprise! It’s Christmas, and my uncle and I have put up the wish tree,” Flyn exclaims.

  I drop to the floor and cover my mouth with my hands, and, unable to stop myself, I cry like a fool. Flyn’s surprised by my response; he doesn’t understand. Eric quickly helps me up to a chair.

  Before me is the red Christmas tree that caused us so much angst last year. I want to say thank you and tell them it’s beautiful, but my tears won’t let me. “If you don’t like it, we can buy another one,” Flyn says.

  That makes me cry even more. I cry, cry, and cry.

  After kissing me on the head, Eric explains, “Jude doesn’t want another one. She loves this one.”

  “Then why is she crying?”

  “Because pregnancy makes her very sensitive.”

  The kid looks at me.

  “Oh man . . .”

  What they’ve done is so beautiful, so precious, so loving that I can’t repress my tears. All I can do is picture my two boys, alone, decorating the tree for me.

  Eric bends down and dries my tears with his hands.

  “Flyn and I know it’s your favorite time of year, and we wanted to give you this surprise. We know you prefer this tree to a fir, which takes a long time to grow.” He points at a small sheet of paper on the table. “Now you have to write down your wishes so we can hang them up.”

  “And these other sheets,” Flyn continues, “are so that when the family comes over, they can write down their wishes, and we can hang them on the tree too. Good idea, right?”

  “It’s a great idea, honey,” I say, swallowing my tears.

  The boy gives me a hug. Seeing us so close, Eric nods and mouths, “I love you.”

  The next day, we go to Marta’s office at the hospital to review Eric’s case. At first, he refuses to let me go, insisting I stay home and rest. But he gives in when I throw a shoe at his head and shout that either I’m going with him or alone in a taxi behind him.

  His eyes are still bloody. They don’t seem to improve with medication or with time. After assessing the situation with other colleagues, Marta decides to schedule surgery to drain the blood for December 16.

  I’m scared, and I know Eric’s scared. But neither of us says anything. I stay quiet so as not to worry him, and he does it so as not to worry me.

  The day of the operation, I’m trembling. I insist on accompanying him, and he doesn’t put up a fight. He needs me. Sonia comes with us too. When it’s time to split up, Eric gives me a kiss.

  “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be OK,” he says.

  I nod and smile. I want to look strong. But when he disappears from sight, Sonia hugs me, and I do what I do so well lately: I cry!

  The surgery is a success, like we all hoped and wanted, and Marta insists Eric spend the night at the hospital. He refuses, but when I scold him, he gives in and even accepts that I’ll stay and keep him company.

  “I hope our baby doesn’t inherit my eye problem,” he says that night in the dark.

  I’d never considered it, and it saddens me to know Eric’s already worrying about that. As always, he thinks of everything.

  “I’m sure not, honey. Don’t concern yourself with that now.”

  “Jude . . . my eyes are always going to be a problem.”

  “I’m also always going to be a problem. And I don’t need to tell you about Medusa. Wow, get ready, Zimmerman.”

  He laughs and that comforts me.

  Eager to embrace him, I get up from my bed and lie down in his.

  “You have a problem with your sight, honey, and we’ll live with it forever, but I love you, you love me, and we’re going to deal with that problem and every other problem that comes our way. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed by it now, OK?”

  “All right, sweetheart.”

  “And when Medusa’s here, don’t think you’re going to get out of taking care of her because of your damned eyes. Oh no, don’t even think about it! I plan on having you involved in every way from the day she’s born until she goes to college or becomes a hippy and wants to live in a commune. Understood, champ?”

  Eric smiles and kisses me on the head.

  “Understood, champ.”

  After two days, his eyes slowly return to what they once were, and I’m happy because of that and because my family’s coming to spend Christmas with us.

  But despite my happiness, I feel like shit. I can’t stop vomiting, I’m thinner than I’ve ever been in my whole life. My clothes are falling off me, I’m never hungry, and I know my mood just brings Eric down. I see it in his eyes. He suffers when he sees me run to the bathroom and even more when he holds my head.

  My hormones are out of control, and as soon as I laugh, I cry. I don’t recognize myself.

  On December 21, we go to the airport to pick up my family. That they’re here for
Christmas with us fills me with joy. But when my father and my sister see me, their faces tell me everything. They don’t say a word, but my niece goes right to the point.

  “Tita, are you not feeling well?”

  “No, honey, I’m not—why?”

  “Because you look horrible.”

  “She’s throwing up all the time,” Flyn says. “And that has us worried.”

  “Do you take good care of her?” Luz asks.

  “Yes, we all take good care of Mom.”

  My niece is surprised.

  “My tita is your mom?”

  He looks at me, and I wink at him.

  “Yes, Aunt Jude is my mom,” he replies.

  “How wild is that!” Luz exclaims.

  Children and their sincerity.

  On December 24, we celebrate Christmas Eve together. My family’s happy. They write their wishes and hang them on the tree. Eric smiles, and I love having them all here together.

  But this pregnancy is taking its toll on me.

  Because I can’t keep anything down, I can’t digest the rich ham my father brought. I eat it with delight, but it soon leaves me, like everything lately. Of course, when I recover, I shove more ham in my mouth.

  I’m stubborn that way!

  In her eagerness to reassure me, my sister confirms that the nausea will disappear after the first three months.

  “I hope so, because Medusa—”

  “Cuchufleta, don’t call it that! It’s a baby, and it’ll be offended if you call it by that name.”

  I just shut up. It’s for the best.

  Then I watch my father and Eric play Wii tennis with Flyn and Luz. What a good time they’re having!

  “Oh, Cuchu, I still can’t believe you’re going to be a mom.”

  “Me neither,” I reply.

  Raquel yaks on about pregnancies, stretch marks, swollen feet, and skin spots, and I’m dying. Is all this going to happen to me? I listen to her. I process the information, and, when I can’t do it anymore, I do what she does so well and change the subject.

  “Well, aren’t you going to tell me about your wild little fling?”

  Raquel grins.

  “When I got home the night I was with Juanín, the guy from the appliance store, Juan Alberto was waiting for me in the alley next to the house.”