The scene was already divine. The bright, mid-morning sun shone down upon her, illuminating and glorifying all of her majestic curves.
Then the soft spring breeze tugged at the slim tendrils of hair that had managed to slip free from her hair tie. They shimmered as they danced in the air, as if to torment Paul even further. He marveled at how the sunlight turned them from chestnut brown to gold.
Despite the clear, sunny weather, the air was still quite brisk. Marcy looked right at home in her tight, burgundy sweater and dark blue sweatpants.
Paul's coffee was getting cold as he gazed at her from all the way across the quad. He couldn't have cared less.
Something had made Marcy hesitate; made her stay in place for just a moment, giving him a clear, unobstructed view. Until that moment passed, Paul had no time for anything else.
He couldn't have been more wide awake; but his heartbeat was as calm and measured as a man fast asleep. That was normal. His heart was always peaceful when he caught a glimpse of her these days.
It had been very different in the beginning. In the weeks when Paul first became so wrapped up in her, the mere thought of Marcy used to make his heart race like crazy. Now, he only felt peace.
For Paul, there was no mystery about where all that boisterous spirit had gone. He was looking at it, right now: across the quad, sealed away inside that perfect swell in Marcy's belly.
He had given it to her in a fit of careless ecstasy, a little more than seven months ago. His energy, his strength, his flair - all the qualities that define a 20-year-old male striving to assert himself in the world - had exploded out of him in a desperate bid to reach her splendid womb. Even now, Paul could vividly recall how slow and weak his heartbeat had been immediately after it had happened; how he had realized almost immediately that his fiery male vigor had abandoned him.
Marcy, with all her feminine grace, had nurtured that power and grown it in to a magnificent baby bump.
Looking over at it now, so large and proud on Marcy's frame, he was pleased. His precious life energy was precisely where it was supposed to be. It was a truth he was certain of, on an instinctive level.
Paul wasn't oblivious to the complications of 'getting a girl in trouble'. Those concerns had caused him plenty of sleepless nights over the past few weeks. But all that anxiety went away whenever he saw Marcy; especially recently, with her belly growing ever bigger. Seeing her made all the first-world drama and sexual politics fade away; leaving only the memory of that amazing, primal act through which that bundle of complications was conceived.
Try as he might, Paul couldn't bring himself to regret such a perfect experience. At times, he couldn't understand how or why, but even after seven months and the benefit of hindsight, he was still thoroughly delighted that he and Marcy had sex.
It had forever changed him. It had changed her even more. In his mind, Paul was aware that they were bittersweet changes, at the very best. But in his heart, all he felt was satisfaction.
For a brief instant, he took his eyes off Marcy to take note of the trees lining the quad. High above her was a lush green canopy of spring regrowth. It reminded him of the brown, fallen leaves that had blanketed the ground that evening, many months ago; how they had decorated the sidewalks he had traveled on his way to that fateful encounter.
He smirked as he realized how the rolling of the seasons was not unlike the many timely changes that had occurred between Marcy and himself over that period. Fall had been a season of change for both of them, as the simplicity of their relationship, and the presumptions they both had about their futures gradually wilted away. Winter began with an abrupt and sobering chill, but quickly settled into a period of dormant numbness. Now, with the dawning of spring, came hints of a new beginning and bright, new opportunities. Once again, Paul felt that things were changing; though to what end, he couldn't say.
He mused that Mother Nature probably had a separate schedule for everyone and everything; trees, critters... even a couple of foolish young college kids. In a vaguely reassuring way, it felt as if the numerous changes that had occurred between himself and Marcy over these past months had all been running to some elegant, natural timetable. Yet it was hard to reconcile that idea with the fact that nothing about the past seven months had been planned.
Even the very beginning, the moment that had upended his entire life, had come without any warning. Nobody could've predicted what was about to happen, even a mere fifteen minutes beforehand.
-----
By all accounts, it
should've
been a relatively uneventful evening. Dan had invited ten friends over to his house for a cordial gathering; ten grounded, sensible people he could count on to not turn the evening into a shambolic, beer-drenched frat party.
Paul had been surprised to discover that Marcy was there, but her boyfriend, Jeff, wasn't. Dan whispered in Paul's ear that Marcy and Jeff had broken up.
Jeff and Marcy were well known for their fierce quarrels. It was a routine spectacle on campus to see them storming off in opposite directions with scowls on their faces. But they would always get back together and make up, usually very loudly.
But apparently, their latest fight had been a real doozy, and it seemed like they had really broken up for good this time.
It hadn't surprised Paul that their volatile relationship had finally fallen apart. But he was amazed by how at ease Marcy appeared to be, so soon after her breakup.
A conversation brewed up in the house's spacious living room. Various people joined in and left as time passed. Eventually, it dwindled down to just Paul and Marcy.
Ever since that night, he was able to picture her with crystal clarity, sitting on that L-shaped sofa, a good, respectable two or three body widths apart from him. He could picture the long, dark brown hair with the slightest hint of frizz, cascading over her shoulders. He could picture the sensuous movement of her full, pink lips as she spoke, and the glimmer where her feminine hazel eyes reflected the ceiling lights. He could picture her simple-yet-stylish black sweater, and the coarse, rich blue denim of her figure-fitting jeans.
But for the life of him, Paul could not recall a single word of the conversation they had shared on that sofa.
He had tried so hard, in the intervening months, to remember what had been said between them; as if remembering the conversation would somehow help him to make sense of everything else that followed. But no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to recall even the general subject of their discussion.
All he could remember was that, at some point, Marcy began flaunting her sexuality. Very gently - perhaps even accidentally, at first; but soon enough, with skillful potency.
He suddenly became very aware of the way her large breasts filled out her sweater. He had known Marcy for years, and she had never been shy about her voluptuous bust. But he had never looked at her body with such fixation before.
He remembered believing that they were simply playing a foolish game with one another, with all their subconscious signals and coy comments; a game more frustrating than fun, as far as he was concerned. Until the corner of Marcy's mouth twitched briefly into an odd smirk. In retrospect, Paul concluded that must've been the moment she'd decided, "What the hell?"
She turned to him with a smile and said, "Hey, why don't you come with me? I wanna show you something!"
