Violet

“You okay over there, Violet?” Marie asks, popping her head around her monitor. We decided to move her desk into my office for our latest project so we don’t have to keep running back and forth between our offices all the time. Now the only things separating us are our thirty-inch computer monitors.

“Brazilian wax this morning,” I say, sitting up on one cheek, cringing.

She scrunches up her face, and a shiver runs through her body. “Oh God, say no more. Wait, do say more. Why are you waxing your lady bits? Do you have a hot date?”

“Not tonight, but this weekend, yes. It’s with the guy I met a few months back in Oceanside when I went down for the wedding that never happened.”

“Mr. Hot Marine from the sidewalk?”

“That’s the one. Hey, I could ask him if he has any nice friends to hook you up with.”

She instantly shakes her head no.

“I’ll just live vicariously through you, Violet. Thanks though.”

“Such a waste. You’re a great person, Marie, you know?”

“Sure, great,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I’m having trouble concentrating today, what with the sting between my legs from being waxed and the excitement of my upcoming weekend. I can’t wait to see Major again. Double dating with Kimber and Garcia will be fun too. That’s something I don’t have much of anymore—fun.

I’ve been waxed head to toe, I had a mani/pedi, and I even had my hair trimmed. The only thing I’m worried about now is my baby bump. It decided to pop out this week of all weeks, and unless I blame it on being bloated after a big meal, I’m going to have some explaining to do soon.

Major knows my body well enough to notice a change like this. I’m in pretty good shape, so the smallest amount of weight gain is easy to see. I’m still fine in clothes, but naked, different story. I think it’s time to tell the Major he’s going to be a daddy again. Ever since I learned how he feels about fatherhood, I’m concerned now more than ever about his reaction.

“You wanna take an early lunch today?” I ask Marie.

“Sure. Why? What’s up?”

“I’m just sort of worthless today. I think I need some fresh air.”

“Yeah, or some shopping.”

This surprises me. Marie isn’t exactly fashion conscious, and neither am I. I have to let a salesperson put all my outfits together. The only things I’m any good at picking out are lingerie and shoes.

“We could. Anything specific you have in mind? I’m not the best shopper, in case you didn’t notice.” I pinch my boring white shirt at the shoulder, lifting up the material and dropping it.

“I like the way you dress. It’s so . . . I don’t know, so—”

“So I don’t give a shit what people think?”

“Yes, that!”

“Well, if that’s the look you’re going for, I’m your girl. Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in the middle of a lingerie boutique on Mission Blvd. holding up a pair of lacy black and red, barely there panties. What the hell am I’m doing here? I’m pregnant. This stuff is what you wear to get pregnant. It’s too late for that. I don’t even know what Major likes, but here I am, picking out uncomfortable sexy underthings to stuff my pregnant body into.

“I like those,” Marie says from behind me. I turn around and find her with ten of the skimpiest pieces in the store dangling from velvet hangers.

“Uh, Marie, is there something you’d like to tell me? Like are you a closet sex kitten or something?”

“Oh gosh no. These aren’t for me, they’re for you,” she says, thrusting the scraps of lace and satin into my hands.

I must be doing a better job of hiding my extra pounds than I thought. She’s gotta be kidding, thinking I can fit into some of these things. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe they aren’t actually supposed to ‘fit’.

“Go try them on. Fitting room is back there.”

“You’re pretty familiar with this place, Marie. You sure you haven’t been here before?”

“I have a friend who shops here. I help her sometimes.”

“Okay then, I’ll see what I can do.”

In the dressing room, I strip down and turn to the side to look at the profile of my belly. There’s definitely a bump. I swear it’s bigger now than it was this morning before work. Can that happen? Do babies grow that fast? No, of course not. I’m not growing a vampire like Bella in Twilight. It’s just my imagination. Has to be.

I slip into a black little number—emphasis on little—and look at myself in the mirror with my hands on my hips. Not bad. It camouflages Mr. or Ms. Bump nicely. Definitely a contender. Next up is a white three-piece set with a garter that works nicely over my tummy too. Number three is a no-fucking-way, and four and five are out as well.

When I’m slipping out of the last set, a perfectly manicured hand thrusts a baby doll nighty and matching panties between the slit in the curtain.

“I thought you might prefer something with a little more coverage in your condition,” says a voice I don’t recognize.

I poke my head out, holding the curtain around my body, and find a saleswoman in her thirties or forties, smiling unapologetically.

“What do you mean, in my condition?”

She lowers her eyes to my bump and then back to my face.

“How did you know?”

She shrugs. “It’s my job to know women’s bodies. I could just tell. You should really tell your girlfriend, you know. It’s obvious by her choice of lingerie that she has no idea.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. We work together, and she’s not gay.”

I don’t think.

“Huh. Could have fooled me. Anyway, give that a try. It’s comfortable and sexy. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

She turns on her stiletto heel and struts away onto the sales floor.

Marie, gay? Maybe she’s right.

The cornflower blue baby doll set compliments my brown skin perfectly, and it’s so much more comfortable. Nosy sales lady seems to know best.

I dress in my own clothes, and when I arrive at the register to pay, Marie is waiting, holding a bag with secretive tissue paper poking out the top in her hand.

“You bought something.” I raise one brow and give her a nod of approval.

“Yeah, it’s not much. Did you like anything?”

“I’m getting these.” I hold up the baby doll set and the black one-piece Marie picked out. It won’t fit for long, but I think I’m good for the weekend.

“Perfect.”

Outside, Marie and I decide to walk down the busy street to a café for lunch. I’ve been really lucky, according to the books I’ve been reading. They say that if I were going to have morning sickness, it probably should have started by now.

Smells, on the other hand—now that’s a different story. The smell of a street vendor’s Greek food stops me in my tracks.

“You okay?” Marie asks when I halt in the middle of a sidewalk swarming with people.

I hold up one finger and cover my mouth with my other hand. I lower my eyes to the ground and take a deep breath, waiting for my mouth to quit watering. When I’m 90% sure the nausea has passed, I start walking.

“Sorry, those Gyros almost made me vomit.”

“Yeah? I thought they smelled good.”

I shake my head vigorously and lead Marie into the café. Safe inside away from the smells of the street, I start to feel better when a hostess seats us at a table by the window. Thankfully, there is an awning blocking the hot midday sun. I can’t put off asking Marie if she’s gay for another second.

“Marie?”

“What?” she says, rummaging through her purse.

“Are you a lesbian?”

She drops the lip-gloss she was just digging for back into her purse and she looks at me, panicked.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I was just wondering.”

She takes a deep breath and hangs her purse on the back of her chair.

“Yes, sort of. I’m Bi, but nobody at work knows I have a girlfriend. Please don’t mention it.”

“Of course not. I would never say anything that you don’t want me to say, but why?”

“I just don’t think it’s anybody’s business. They don’t need to know I swing both ways.”

“Okay, well that makes sense then. I always wondered why such a pretty woman didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s true.”

“No, thanks for understanding, and for keeping it on the down low.”

“It’s no big deal, but since we’re spilling secrets, can I tell you one?”

“Of course. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m pregnant.”

It feels so weird to say it out loud. I haven’t told anyone, and Mom heard it secondhand from Dr. Kumar, so this is the first time I’ve spoken the words.

“Wow,” she says.

“I know.”

“I mean, wow. I thought being bisexual was a big secret, but pregnant? Wow.”

“Stop saying wow. It’s starting to freak me out.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Who’s the dad—oh wait, it’s not Major hot pants, is it?”

I nod yes.

“Oh wow.”

“Marie!”

“Sorry. Does he know?”

“No, I’m telling him this weekend.”

“How far along are you? Oh no, wait, like twelve weeks, right? You met him three months ago.”

“Yes, exactly twelve weeks.”

“No morning sickness?”

“Thankfully, no, just sensitive to smells.

“You look amazing.”

“Thanks, I feel pretty good too. A little tired, but that’s normal, I guess.”

“Can I tell you another secret?” she says, lowering her eyes to her lap.

“Sure, what is it, Marie?”

“I had a baby once. I gave him up for adoption.”

“Oh Marie, I didn’t mean to bring up a painful experience. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was nineteen and I had no way to support myself, let alone a baby. My parents handled the whole thing. He was better off.”

“Anyway, I know about being pregnant if you ever have any questions.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I haven’t told anyone, so you’re all I got right now.”

She places her hand on her chest. “I’m honored you chose me to be the first to know, even if it was spontaneously and because I told you I’m bisexual,” she says, tilting her head and looking up thoughtfully.

We laugh and have lunch and skip out on work for the rest of the day.

At home, I snip the tags off my purchases and fold them neatly in a drawer. I’ve become more conscious of being tidy recently. A certain Marine is rubbing off on me. Well, I guess I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m usually pretty messy and he’s a good influence. My apartment has never been cleaner.

Except for my couch. Every time I walk through the living room, I laugh. I’ve considered taking a picture of the rainbow stained cushions and texting it to Lucas, but he’s not worth my time. I ordered new living room furniture the day after our cupcake session. It was liberating. I loved it.

I waste away the rest of the day watching Netflix. I wish Major were here so we could Netflix and chill. Maybe I’ll text him. Yes, I definitely need to text him. Curled up on my rainbow couch, looking as unsexy as I can in my yoga pants, a tank top and big, fuzzy socks, I send a sext to Major.

Me - What are you wearing?

Major – Depends, who is this?

Me – Rainbow bright.

Major – Ah, I remember you. White couch . . . frosting . . . mmm.

Me – Yep, so what are you wearing?

Major – Black boxers.

My mouth waters, and it’s not from nausea.

Me – That’s all?

Major – Yes, what are you wearing?

I look down at my sad sleepwear and sigh. It’s not lying if it’s for a good cause, right?

Me – White lace boy short panties and a push up bra.

There’s a long pause before his response. Maybe he doesn’t sext? Then my phone pings again.

Major – Are you in bed?

Oh he sexts all right.

Me – Yes.

Major – Take off your panties.

Oh God, am I actually going to do this? Yes, yes I am. I hop off the couch and go into my room. I scrunch my socks down with my feet and kick them off and take off my yoga pants and panties. I’m going to have to switch to voice texting if I wanna do this right, and I want to do this right.

Major – Are they off?

Me – Yes.

Major – Pull your bra down under your breasts.

Me – Okay.

Major – Touch yourself.

Me – I am.

Major – Are you wet, Violet? I love your fucking name, Violet. Have I ever told you that?

Me – Yes, I’m wet, really wet, and yes, I think you’ve told me that before.

Major – Good. I’m in my bed now. I’m so hard for you it hurts.

Shit, this is better than I thought it’d be.

Me – Good. I love your big cock. Stroke it long and slow.

Major – Fuck, Violet, you have a dirty mouth. I love it. Keep talking.

Me – Think about my dirty mouth wrapped around your cock, taking every inch of you, sucking you dry. Do you like that, Major?

Major – Yes, I fucking love that. Violet?

Me – Yeah?

Major – Slide your fingers inside your wet pussy, curl them around, and stroke your sweet spot.

I’m thankful to Lucas for one thing and one thing only. He showed me where my G spot is at.

Me – Ah God, that feels so good.

Major – Now slide them out and circle your clit really slow. Do it slow, Violet, understand?

Me – Okay, yeah, slow.

Major – I wish I were there. I’d lick you back to front and make you come so hard you’d cry.

Me – I may anyway. God, Major, are you almost there?

Major – Yeah . . . but I’m Facetiming you. I need to see you.

Shit! I’m ready to come and he wants to Facetime? I hurry and shed my tank top and try to position myself against the pillows so I look somewhat sexy. What did I get myself into?

The phone makes a unique sound, indicating a facetime call is coming in. I press accept, and his gorgeous, flushed face appears.

He shakes his head. “You’re so fucking sexy. I want to see you come for me, Violet. Are you ready?”

“Uh huh,” I pant, on the edge of release. My hand is between my legs again, and seeing Major makes me wetter, if that’s even possible. I can see his body move. With every stroke of his cock, the muscles in his chest and shoulders flex.

“Hold the phone back a little,” he says, and I try to position it so he can see more of me, but not too much more. I can’t even think straight. I can’t hold on much longer.

“Fuck, Violet, you’re so beautiful. Come for me, baby.” His voice trails off in a strangled moan as he comes, and my eyes roll back in my head when the electric shock of my orgasm pulses through me. I drop the phone and ride the high of pleasuring myself at his command.

“Violet? I’ve got a great view of your ceiling, baby. Pick up the phone.”

I feel around the comforter and find it. “Sorry, I was a little distracted.”

“Me too. I’m really glad you texted me. I’ve been missing you. We should do this more often.”

He winks at me, and I almost come again. Major winking is so sexy. Not as sexy as Major coming, but a close second.

“I agree, like every night.”

“I’m always here. Next time, lets just start with the Facetime and skip the texting. I like to watch you.”

I think I may be blushing. My cheeks feel hot.

“You’re blushing, Ms. Washington.”

I raise my hand to my hot cheek. “Nobody’s ever made me blush before.”

“Hmm, good, keep it that way.”

I worry my lip and squirm around, slipping under the covers. On my side, I prop the phone on the spare pillow and pretend he’s here in bed with me.

“Chilly?”

“Yeah, now that I’ve had a minute to cool off.”

“I’m looking forward to keeping you warm this weekend.”

He’s propped up on his pillows with his arm behind his head.

“I like your tattoo. It’s hot.”

“Are you trying to switch the focus off you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

“You will anyway, so go ahead.”

“What does the one on your arm mean?”

He has the words never ending story tattooed on his bicep with a continuous line all the way around it. I’ve never asked because I originally assumed it was a reference to being a sex machine or something arrogant, but now that I know about his wife, I’m not sure.

“It’s not sexual, if that’s what you’re wondering, although it can be if you’d like,” he says with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“At first I did think you were a little full of yourself.” He rolls his eyes.

“It was for Katie. She was supposed to be my never ending story. I got it when we got married. Ironic, huh?”

I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“The past is the past. Maybe I’ll have a never ending story with someone else now.”

I look away from the screen. I don’t want him to see how much I wish that someone else could be me.

“Don’t look away, Violet. I’m talking about you. You believe me when I tell you that, don’t you? I don’t ever want you to doubt how I feel for you again. I don’t do this. I mean it . . . never. I’m a hit it and quit it kind of guy, or at least I was until you came crashing into my life.”

I can’t hold back anymore. These pregnancy hormones are a bitch. Tears spill from my eyes, pooling against my nose on one side and streaking onto my pillow from the other. If he were here with me right now, I’d tell him I’m pregnant.

That has to be a face-to-face conversation though. I couldn’t spring that on him and then hang up the phone. I would wonder what he was thinking, how he was feeling, if he was angry or happy. I need to be able to touch him and feel his body language when he finds out, preferably in bed, where he won’t leave me alone . . . I hope.

“You bumped into me,” I say, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby.”