In some cases two out of three ain’t bad. This wasn’t one of them.
That was more than four months ago. It was a good fuck, and I did get pregnant. However, my life had changed dramatically for the worse. Tears were in my eyes, as I lugged a heavier suitcase than a pregnant woman should handle, down two flights of stairs to my Subaru Outback.
My supposed 'life partner,' Jim, had become a controlling, obnoxious, complete asshole, who couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t have an abortion just because he changed his mind about wanting a kid. He also seemed to have no use for me once morning sickness kicked in and my belly started to enlarge. I was really feeling sorry for myself when I arrived at the second floor landing.
Suddenly the door to apartment 2A opened up. Through my misty eyes a guy who almost filled the doorway came flying out.
“Sorry,” he said, stopping just short of knocking me over. “Can I help you with that?”
He was really big, probably 6’5” or 6’6” and over 200 pounds. He had a cute face and a seemingly cheerful disposition.
“I think I can manage,” I said, as I saw his blue eyes fixate on my belly. Belly fixation was a common occurrence when I meet new guys these days. Normally it causes them to turn tail but he didn’t.
“No, I insist. That looks too heavy for an expectant mother to carry. I have a weak mind, but a strong back and carrying stuff is one of the few things in life that I’m good at. Please let me help.”
Before I could really respond the suitcase was out of my hands, and he was carrying it down the last flight of stairs like it weighed nothing. When we got outside I got a better look at him.
He had flowing blond hair, almost the same color as mine. I always notice hair color because I'm very proud of my long naturally golden locks. He also had no facial hair or glasses, big shoulders, and big arms. “Where should I put it?” he inquired.
“Oh,… the suitcase,” I stammered. What the hell else did you think he meant you dirty-minded little twit? I thought to myself. Since the third month of pregnancy it seemed that my libido had taken control of my brain. That, combined with Jim not only becoming a bastard but also no longer interested in having sex with me, was screwing up my mind. “In the Subaru, three cars to the right,” I finally responded.
After placing my bag in my car the friendly leviathan held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Blake, and you are?”
“Hi, I’m Kate,” I replied, trying to avoid his piercing eyes without seeming rude and trying to give a firm handshake, so that I didn’t appear to be a wimp. “Thanks.”
“Is there something else you need carried?” he asked.
“Well there are a few more things, but…”
“Let me help. Where are they?” he continued, with a big smile.
“Uh, well, my ex-fiancé is in his apartment and he probably would object to you helping me.”
“I’ll convince him that it’s OK.” he confidently responded, gently grabbing my elbow and steering me back to the apartment building.
As we walked I was apprehensive but also curious. “I saw you coming out of 2A,” I said. “Do you know Denise?”
Denise, the resident of 2A, is what my ex and the other guys in the building called the 'talking wet dream!'.Why? Because of her big boobs, beautiful face, round ass, and other 'noticeable' features.
“I met her a few days ago and she said that she had a legal problem. However, I think it was just a ruse to get me to visit her,” he complained. “I won’t likely be meeting with her again.”
'He must be gay' immediately crossed my mind, since I couldn’t imagine a straight guy complaining that Denise had invited him to her apartment on a Saturday afternoon, no matter what the circumstances.
When we got to my former apartment Jim was in his normal, as of late, bad mood. “You’re not taking this fucking Bose Music System with you.” he barked, as he looked at one of the boxes I had packed.
“I paid for it,” I replied, but in a voice hoping to defuse the situation.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, with a snarl when he saw Blake.
“I’m the guy who’s helping your ex-fiancé move her belongings to her car, something that I guess you’re too weak to do yourself. Or perhaps you're just a prick?!" Blake replied, in a totally no-nonsense voice, his smile gone.
“Get the fuck out,” Jim yapped.
Blake got in his face, and said something to him that I didn’t hear. Since Blake was a good eight inches and sixty pounds bigger than Jim, I think that Jim got the idea that he shouldn’t mess with him, turned red, and exited the room.
With his smile back Blake handed me the Bose box since it was light and then picked up the last two, large, suitcases that I pointed out to him. We left and I slammed the door behind me while singing the Hallelujah Chorus, to myself. When everything was loaded into my car I thanked Blake again.
“No problem,” he replied, “Where are you off to?”
“This move was sudden. My asshole ex kicked me out, and I wasn’t on the lease, so I couldn’t legally object. I’m going to stay in a hotel for a few days until I can find something else. I have a storage facility with furniture and other stuff from my old apartment in it, and I’ll put most of this there too.” I sheepishly replied.
“We may be able to help each other out,” Blake chuckled. “My boarder moved out at the beginning of the month and I need a new one. Care to look at my place?”
'Maybe he’s not gay, maybe he’s a rapist?' , flashed through my mind. Seeing the obvious apprehension on my face he continued. “Follow me to the local precinct. I’ll give them my driver’s license and social security card, and they can do a background check on me, for you, within a couple of minutes.”
“What?” I blurted out.
“I want you to feel comfortable that I’m not a criminal, and am just looking for a boarder to share my condo. Follow me. I have the blue Honda Insight two cars in back of you.”
I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed him to the police station. He knew the cop at the desk. An office worker behind the cop ran a background check on Blake, at the desk cop’s request, and Blake handed me the printout. Clean!
“Will you at least look at my apartment?” Blake asked, with a pleading tone.
“What do I have to lose,” I replied, “Although, it’s hard to believe that you’d room with a pregnant woman.” He just laughed.
When we got to his building I found out that it was a luxury condo. The doorman knew Blake by name. As we rode up to the top floor in the elevator I was awed. “There is no way that I can afford this place. I work as a paralegal, not a hedge fund manager.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking,” he laughed.
It was one of the nicest condo apartments that I had ever seen, certainly in Charlotte. It had a great view of the city. It had two spacious furnished bedrooms each with its own bathroom, a completely glass wall in the living area with expensive and tasteful furniture, and a modern kitchen. I’m sure that I was gap jawed. “How much?” I asked.
“Well I was going to ask 500 dollars a month, but since you’re a paralegal and I’m an attorney, maybe you can do some legal research for me on weekends. I’ll give you the smaller of the bedrooms for 400 dollars a month.”
“That’s less than half market!” I said, flabbergasted.
“That’s the deal, take it or leave it; it’s not worth my time to look around for someone else,” he nonchalantly replied.
Blake moved all of my stuff up within an hour and gave me a tour of the kitchen, showing me how all the appliances worked. By then it was about 6:30 p.m. “How about some dinner,” he asked, rubbing his tummy “I don’t feel like cooking tonight, so let’s go out, my treat.”
“Only if I treat you.” I said, still unable to wrap my mind around my good luck.
In a two hour meal we found out lots about each other, and I confirmed some more things that I had tried not to be too obvious about before.
At dinner I found that we had lots of things in common. We both were adopted and never knew our birth parents. He loves the same types of food that I do; we even ordered the same entree and salad at the restaurant. He has the same optimistic outlook on life that I do. He has a cute nose, almost as cute as mine, another feature that I'm proud of. Also we both work in the legal profession and have a strong sense of justice.
We also have lots of differences. He is two and a half years older. He has different eye color, and differently shaped ears. We grew up in a different parts of the country. He hates country music (except Kellie Pickler’s videos) which is all that I listen to, and he is almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than I am.
Our first work week living as roommates exposed virtually no “issues.” I really liked his company and he seemed to enjoy mine. He gave me space when I needed it, and chatted when I was in the mood. As a bonus that I didn’t expect he made dinner every weeknight. I wondered how things might change on the weekend.
He had a number of athletic events both weekend days, but didn’t go out on dates any weekend night. He watched a pay per view movie with me on Saturday night, and Sunday night asked me to go bowling with him, and two of his male buddies. I was horrible, but the ribbing I got was completely good natured.
I had some real questions in my mind, though. I felt comfortable enough talking with him, to be straight forward about them, as we ate dinner together in the condo Monday night.
“Blake, it seems that you only have pro bono clients,” I said between mouthfuls of lasagna.
“Mostly pro bono cases, but also some court appointed cases that the public defender's office can't handle,” he casually replied.
“How do you make any money, let alone enough to afford this place?”
“That’s pretty personal, isn’t it?” he laughed.
“So,” I said, “I’m curious. You can either answer or tell me to mind my own business. Of course since I’ve got all sorts of preggo hormones flowing through me, if you tell me to bug off I’ll probably start weeping uncontrollably,” I retorted, with a devilish smile.
“Damn, I knew it was a mistake rooming with you,” he said with a fake sneer. “OK, but don’t tell anyone.”
“Deal,” I replied, before shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth.
“I’m independently wealthy, unfortunately my adopted parents died in a private plane crash when I was twenty two, and left me boatloads of money. That means that I do what I want, which is helping people who can’t help themselves,” he replied in a matter-of-fact manner.
“So am I one of your charity cases?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he grinned, and then laughed.
“Since you’re so forthcoming I have another sensitive question. Are you gay?”
He laughed again then with a snicker said, “So, because I haven’t made a pass at you, you think that I’m gay?”
“No, I’m just a sexless, chubby, creature. However, by all appearances, you turned down a liaison with walking-wet-dream Denise – which would make you gay.” I said, also with a snicker.
“Maybe she’s not my type. Maybe my type is 5’6”, blond women with a cute nose, big eyes, flawless complexions, long slender legs, and big bellies,” he said, staring at me with dancing eyes. “Oh wait,” he said mockingly, “that must be you.” Then he laughed.
“If I’m you’re type, then why haven’t you made a pass at me?” I asked, trying to act flippant, but inwardly starting to get serious.
“Maybe I need encouragement,” he laughed. Then he changed the subject.
Even though we both wanted our dinner conversation on Monday to be light, it apparently hadn’t really turned out like either of us expected. Things were a little awkward on Tuesday. Wednesday things changed.
When I got home from work on Wednesday my feet were killing me. I had worn the wrong shoes for someone now five months pregnant. Blake came in from work a few minutes after I did, and saw me rubbing my feet.
“What’s up, Kate?” he cheerfully asked.
“My feet are killing my poor preggo body today.” I groaned.
“Let me help.” he chirped. Not giving me a chance to respond or react he sat on the couch next to me, grabbed my feet, put them in his lap, and started rubbing them.
“Oh, that feels so damn good." I moaned, after just thirty seconds of his attention. After two or three minutes two things happened. One, his cock got really hard, as my feet on his lap confirmed, although he appeared to try to hide his reaction from me. Two, my libido – which I had been trying to suppress for months, but which seemed to get stronger every day – started to get the best of me. My pussy started leaking I was getting so hot.
I was embarrassed by my reaction, and I knew that my face got flushed. I pulled my feet away. As I got up I said “Thanks so much, Blake.” Then I scurried into my bathroom and within seconds fingered myself to an orgasm. I recovered by the time that we ate dinner.
I wasn’t too worthwhile at work on Thursday, since I spent most of the day wondering if Blake wanted to fuck me. I started to believe that he did when he rubbed my feet again on Thursday night. I had to go get myself off again soon afterward.
