Bill Pierce thought that his life was a rare area of stability in the national craziness that were the last days of 1973. He and Carolyn had banned the word and concept of "Watergate" from all family discussions, which might be one reason. His region, the Central Region, was among the leaders in sales growth for his employer, Andalusia Pharmaceuticals. Carolyn's pregnancy, although it necessitated some adjustments, hadn't developed any of the medical problems that his covert reading had suggested were possible.

He'd been warned of mood swings, although in Carolyn's case that wouldn't have been all that different from her pre-pregnancy behavior. He'd negotiated them fairly easily with the hope that the mood might swing the other way soon. So far it had. He'd worried that she would develop an aversion to sex, but she hadn't so far. Indeed, since she'd stopped bleeding every month, he got more consistent sex than he'd ever had before. Which was quite fortunate, because Carolyn was looking even sexier than she had when he'd married her -- warm, sleek, full with his child. Even her melons, always her sexiest and most obvious feature, were fuller.

Altogether, Bill was tempted to nail the apartment door shut, stop time, and let the rest of the world go to hell -- which it was doing even with their participation. He knew it was impossible, though.

"Church meeting tonight," said Carolyn after dinner.

"What have they got you doing?" Carolyn was in the choir, but this was Saturday, not Thursday.

"Not doing, precisely. It's the UMW meeting, and I've paid my dues. This is election night, and they think that they can get Gladys on the executive committee. Well, I can drive."

"I'll drive you." Of all the things which could go wrong, car accidents topped the list. And, in the church surrounded by friends and acquaintances, any problem would not only lead to calls for medical attention, but calls to him. If she drove herself, he'd spend the evening worrying about what could have happened. If he drove her, he'd only worry about what might happen in the future, and he worried about that, anyway. He drove her and parked right in front of the walk leading to the meeting room. He walked her to the door.

"You worry too much," she said.

"Indulge me."

"You're cute." He could never figure out what she meant by that. She was cute, when her beauty didn't transcend that description. But her words were always in response to something he'd said, not to his looks -- which were by no means cute.

He went back, purchasing a Sunday Tribune on the way. He washed the dishes and then read the Trib until it was time to get Carolyn. Early at the church, he listened to the radio while watching for the flash of light which would mean that the door had opened. When it came, Carolyn was among the first ones out. There were two steps down from the walk up to the door to the sidewalk. He met her there. When he put out his hand, she grinned at his worry, but she too the hand. He opened the car door for her, and, when she was inside, went around and got in.

"What happened?" He asked before starting the car.

"An absolute coup d'etat. Gladys is now treasurer of the UMW. Apparently, the officers rotate, but the list of four doesn't change. Your storming the Bastille has led to a new government. I just hope Gladys has some plans."

"The Hagopians have plans," he assured her. He'd known Dan and Gladys far longer than she had. "They always do. Remember the Thanksgiving meal?" When he'd still been too afraid of Carolyn's anger to sk her for another date, Dan had invited him to celebrate Thanksgiving with his family. Carolyn had been there, too. They'd been seated beside each other, and Gladys had asked him to drive Carolyn home. That had brought them back together. The next Thanksgiving, they had been guests of the Hagopians again -- as a married couple expecting a child.

He'd always enjoyed walking up the stairs behind Carolyn. These days, he did it less to watch the flexing of her buns -- invisible, anyway, under her parka -- than to make sure she didn't slip. In the apartment, he bolted the door if he couldn't nail it shut. They were, until late next morning, all alone in their own little world. And that world was getting even smaller. He closed the bedroom door, turned on the lamp, and turned off the overhead light. He stripped as she was stripping. When she was in bed, he joined her.

"Bill." Carolyn took his hand and placed it on her belly. He felt their baby kick. "Hello to you, too," he thought. She rolled onto her back while he tried to keep his hand on the right place. He couldn't feel any motion, now, though. He moved so that he could kiss Carolyn. Her mouth was sweet and accepting. He brought his hand back to her pregnancy.

"Look, can we change something?" she asked when he left her mouth to kiss her face and her neck. This didn't sound promising. Of course he could change almost anything, but the request seemed to bode a change he wouldn't like.

"What am I doing wrong, now?"

"It's really not doing something wrong. You know how you turn us over at the end? So you don't lie so heavy on her?" Well, yes, and he'd been doing that for months now.

"Is that wrong? I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Well, when you started, it might have been a bit premature -- lovely, caring, thought, though. Right now, it might not be quite enough. Do you think you could do it earlier?" That didn't sound so bad, certainly not worth the hesitation and long build up.

"Earlier?"

"Like right at the beginning. Once you're in me, could you roll us to the side, like you do now, but at the get-go?"

"Oh, sure. You don't want to try from in back?" As long as they were going to keep making love almost every night, her preferences as to how were -- especially now -- fine with him.

"That'll come soon enough. You don't mind?"

"Darling, no. I'm just sorry I've been pressing too hard." And, when he had, she could have mentioned it.

"Really, you haven't. Remember that Dr. Gabel told me that sex was safe as long as it didn't make me uncomfortable. Well, that puts me in charge, doesn't it? You aren't supposed to feel if I'm uncomfortable; I am. And, as soon as it starts to get uncomfortable, I suggest a change. Sorry. You aren't in charge, I am." Well, that was fine. Even, by this time in her pregnancy, if she cut back on frequency. But the idea that her being in charge was the result of the pregnancy was absurd. She'd said no often enough earlier.

"You always have been." She seemed to accept that.

He started over, after all this conversation. He kissed her, explored her mouth. His hands stroked over her pregnancy, between her thighs, into her snatch. He alternately watched her face and kissed her melons as he stroked her towards the edge. She grimaced as she went over.

He kissed her pregnancy, each melon, her pregnancy again as she relaxed. Then he stroked her while sucking on the tips of her melons.

"Bill," she said, and -- as she was in charge -- he left off the foreplay to move over her and between her legs. She grasped his dick and guided it into her snatch.

"Darling," he said when he was buried to the hilt. Then, remembering what she'd said, he rolled them nearly onto their sides. She cooperated by wrapping her legs around him before he began the roll.

In this position, he had to hold himself up on his hands and couldn't feel her melons. The feel of the slick warmth around his dick compensated for that lack. He moved in and out slowly, luxuriating in that feeling, but his arousal kept trying to speed him up. She was close, too. He watched her face. She grimaced just before her snatch gripped his cock tightly. As she went over, she took him with her.

"Darling!" He buried his cock as deeply into her as it would go and pumped his lust, his love, his very life into her snatch.

He collapsed, to her side from this position. Gradually, he realized that he was still lying on her thigh. He rolled onto his back and raised his knees. When he rolled further over, she got to her side of the bed and he turned off the lamp.

When he turned towards her, she backed slowly into the spoon position. She drew his hand to the baby's kicking once again. She was so considerate -- letting him participate in the small ways he was able in her mystery.