Going Home - Disposable Income

When the semester started, life returned to normal, meaning harried. Though I no longer received the teaching stipend or housing, I still had classes to teach, seminars to attend, and the research project.

Gwen took leave from her program to focus on learning German. She enrolled in an undergraduate class and regularly sought help when she struggled. Eventually she began to get a feel for the language, her vocabulary expanded rapidly, and she began to show signs that she would eventually become conversant. I began talking to Gwen almost exclusively in German in everyday situations, which helped greatly. We also worked on reading German and that seemed come more easily for her. Though she had her doubts, I was confident she'd be academically qualified to be admitted to the doctoral program for the Fall term.

The baby was also something we had to consider. Her first order of business when we returned to Pasadena was to make a doctor appointment to confirm the pregnancy. The results were as expected. The doctor estimated a due date of August 8 but pointed out that babies often arrived on their own schedule.

There had been few changes while Gwen and I were in Massachusetts. But there was one significant one. There was now a 'For Sale' sign in front of the Finch house. I ran into Jessica early one morning when I took our trash to the end of the driveway.

'Good morning, Jessica.' I greeted her. 'I see you're going to move. Where are you going?' I asked, not realizing how insensitive the question might be.

Jessica nodded to acknowledge me but didn't respond. She just turned and went back to the house but not before I saw she was upset.

The man who owned the house next to Pollock had also brought his trash to the curb. I didn't really know him beyond the courtesy of introductions and the occasional wave from opposite sides of the street. But he motioned for me to come speak with him.

'Good morning, Todd. What's up?' I asked.

'Jessica's husband shot himself a couple days before Christmas,' he told me. 'Marge tells me they have to move. She can't afford to keep the house. They were already struggling. She's worried the bank will take it before they can sell.'

Todd and I talked briefly but he had to leave for work and I needed to get to the lab. I thanked him for filling me in. As I crossed the street, I looked up and down the block. I saw all the 'For Sale' signs. Signs I had noticed the first day I visited Gwen and Mike at the house but hadn't given much thought since. The realization that other families on the street were probably in similar situations bothered me.

I arrived home from campus midafternoon the following Tuesday. Gwen was out but Mike was home. She was in a foul mood. Her face was a scowl of anger that would curdle milk. She was unpacking her trunk and everything she touched received a dose of her wrath.

She smiled when she saw me but there was no joy in it. It was more like the smirk of someone about to explode in anger at a deserving target. I'd never seen Mike this angry.

I plowed ahead with the obvious question. 'What's wrong?'

Mike broke into tears. 'I got fired today!'

'Why? What happened?' I followed up.

'Basically, I was born without a dick!' she exploded in rage.

'What are you talking about?' I asked.

'I was replaced by a man because he 'has a family and needs a job. I was told I should be married and raising a family,' she answered, the response dripping venom.

'I don't know what to say, Mike.'

'Don't say anything, Jonas,' she spat out. 'Just leave me alone.'

I lingered, risking fueling her anger more. 'What are you going to do, now?'

Mike slammed a dresser drawer closed and turned to face me. 'I'm going to look for a job, obviously. If I can't find one, I don't know what I'll do.'

'Mike, you're welcome here as long as you want to stay. Don't worry about anything while you look for a job.' I told her.

'Thanks,' she said, still agitated. She went about finishing her task, ignoring me. I retreated and maintained my distance. Mike stayed in her bedroom for the most part.

When Gwen arrived, I was reviewing data I collected in the lab over the previous week and procrastinating about attacking the homework I'd collected from my students that morning. We spoke only briefly. I filled her in on the afternoon's events before she went to see her friend. A few minutes later, Gwen told me they were going out and wasn't sure when they'd be back.

'Mike needs to talk,' Gwen said. 'and she wants to go out. I'm not sure where we're going. Can you fend for yourself for dinner?'

'Sure. Do you want me to come, too?'

'No. It's a girl's night. This is something you can't help with.'

'I'm not sure I understand,' I said. I certainly understood firing Mike didn't make sense and the reason provided, if true, was unfair.

'I'll spell it out for you when I get home.' Gwen turned and left. I heard the car start and the two of them drove off.

They got home after ten. I was writing up a summary of the experimental results for the previous week. Mike couldn't walk in from the car. She'd had too much to drink. Gwen came in to get me. I carried her in and we both helped her into bed.

Gwen and I went to bed once we were sure Mike was safely tucked in.

Gwen told me about Mike's situation at work. Apparently, she'd been told a man would be better suited to the work. Even worse, her boss told her she was fired only after he had pulled up in front of the house to drop her off. Mike had been given no notice, wasn't even going to be allowed to finish the week. And she would receive no severance.

Gwen curled up next to me with her head on my shoulder. I felt my tee shirt get wet from tears she shed for her friend. We were both soon asleep.

I awoke in the morning to a hand inside my boxers, stroking my cock. Gwen was looking up at me and grinning widely.

'I wondered how long it would be before you woke up,' she smiled.

'How long have you been waiting?'

'A while,' she said with a smile. 'But in all fairness, you were already standing tall when I started.'

'There's a reason for that, and it doesn't have anything to do with you,' I grinned as I disentangled myself and headed for the bathroom. Gwen couldn't avoid giggling.

'Is it difficult to pee with a hard-on?' she asked with a laugh.

'You have no idea.' I responded, which received another giggle.

When I returned to bed, my morning wood had deflated.

Gwen pouted when she saw my lack of an erection. 'I have to resurrect it before the fun begins?'

'I'm sure you'll manage,' I teased.

I got into bed and moved to embrace my wife. She eagerly pulled herself to me. She kissed me and moved a hand to my cock, which quickly grew hard. She circled the head with her finger then moved the head toward her sex and rubbed the head along the split between her labia.

She broke the kiss and arched her back. Her voice was husky when she spoke. 'I don't want to make love, Jonas. I want to fuck. I want to fuck hard and fast.' She rolled onto her back and spread her legs. 'Fuck me, Jonas. I want to feel your cock inside me. I want you to fill me with cum.'

I got on my hands and knees and crawled between her legs. Once I planted my hands on the bed adjacent her breasts, I pointed my cock at her opening. Gwen guided me in. I slid inside her easily, slowly and gently at first. She was hot and wet. And eager.

'Noooooo, Jonas!' she complained. 'Fuck me, Jonas! Fuck me hard. Fuck me fast! Don't hold back! Don't stop until you fill me with cum!'

I did my utmost to accommodate her. I drove my cock into her hard. My hips slammed into her upraised buttocks with a slap. Gwen groaned in satisfaction. She had her first orgasm after about five or six thrusts. Her hips rotated up to meet my forward thrust and her fingernails dug into the flesh just above my hips as she tried to pull me further into her. Her hands moved up my shoulders, locked behind my neck, and pulled hard, lifting her upper torso to mine. Her mouth found my right shoulder and I felt her teeth sink into the muscle. It hurt but it didn't slow me down. I continued to slam my cock into her forcefully. With each stroke, her intensity, and her desire grew. She seemed to reach a new peak with each stroke.

The sensations of pleasure building in my cock were so intense I was barely cognizant of the sweat on my forehead being launched into space with each forward thrust.

Gwen's second orgasm was even more intense than the first. Her hips shot so forcefully that the only reason she didn't throw me off was her legs were wrapped around my waist, her feet locked together. Her legs squeezed tightly around me. She shook violently as orgasmic spasms seized control of every muscle in her body.

When her orgasm subsided, her legs relaxed, and she fell back onto the bed. I was fast approaching my own release. I kept driving my cock into her as pins and needles tickled my scrotum. I pushed into Gwen as hard as I could, expecting this thrust to put me over the edge. But Gwen bit my shoulder again as her body began another ascent. The bite hurt enough to delay my impending eruption.

After another half dozen thrusts, Gwen went off again. She cried out loudly as her body stiffened from the onslaught. I didn't hold back. A mind-numbing jolt began in my scrotum and simultaneously shot up the length of my cock and my spinal column. It spread rapidly through my body as my testes pumped semen into Gwen's slippery vagina. Each jet of cum sent another jolt through my body. The last couple of spasms were almost painful.

Sated, soaked, and nearly breathless, I fell onto the bed beside Gwen. I shivered briefly as my body cooled. Gwen rolled onto her side, her back toward me and began giggling. I lifted my head to see what she was laughing at but only saw she was on her side curled into a fetal position. I forced myself to sit up and saw she had a hand between her legs.

'Get a towel please. I want to clean myself before I get up.'

I got out of bed and retrieved a hand towel from our bathroom closet. When I returned, Gwen was on her back holding a hand over herself to stem the flow. She wore a grin as she motioned for me to hurry over with the towel.

While Gwen wiped her groin, I returned to bathroom and began to get ready for the day. Gwen soon joined me. We showered together. The sight of her lithe body and the occasional physical contact while we showered resurrected my cock.

Gwen turned and looked over her shoulder at my erection when it rubbed against her buttocks.

'Uh-uh,' she said matter-of-factly. 'I've got stuff to do and you've got roomful of undergrads that will be expecting you shortly.'

After we finished dressing, we went downstairs and found Mike sitting at the kitchen table. She looked terrible. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair was a mess, make-up smeared. She wore a robe but hadn't bothered to close it or secure the belt. Her mood was not improved from the previous afternoon, probably made worse by a hangover. She had managed to make coffee.

I poured a cup for Gwen and another for myself then began making breakfast while the women talked. When the aroma of cooking bacon filled the kitchen, I heard a chair crash to the floor and feet pounding a rapid departure. I caught a glimpse of Gwen disappearing around the corner, headed in the direction of the first-floor bath.

A moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting. I shut the burner off as Mike jumped up and headed in that direction with me just a few steps behind. Gwen was on her knees, dry-heaving into the toilet. Mike's dark mask morphed into a look of sympathy.

'You've got morning sickness!' Mike exclaimed. 'I wondered if you were pregnant the entire time I was in Europe.' She turned to look at me. 'How long have you known?' she asked as Gwen heaved again.

'For a while, now. Gwen suspected, and we had discussed it before I proposed.' I responded sheepishly.

Mike shook her head. 'Why didn't you tell me?' she asked of Gwen but not really expecting an answer considering Gwen's current incapacity.

I shrugged. 'We didn't know for certain. Gwen's doctor confirmed it a couple weeks ago. I thought she might have told you.' Gwen heaved again. I was beginning to feel a bit queasy, too.

'Get your breakfast at the school cafeteria,' Gwen gasped. 'I got nauseous as soon I smelled the bacon. I don't think I can stand the smell of food right now.'

'There's not much we can do for her. Hopefully, it won't last too long. She should be okay by the time you get back this afternoon. But this could be a regular occurrence for a while.' Mike told me. 'I'll fix some tea and dry toast for her.'

I got my briefcase and headed for campus. Gwen was better when I got home that afternoon. But she suffered a daily bout of morning sickness for over a month. Fortunately, it passed each day after a couple hours.

Mike dedicated herself to taking care of Gwen. But it was easy to see her unemployment status gnawed at her. Gwen and I remained sexually active. But Mike wasn't interested in participating for the first week or so after her return. I'm not sure why. Maybe it had to something to do with Gwen being pregnant. Fortunately, it didn't last long enough for us to become concerned.

Jessica Finch's situation ate at me. And consequently, it made me concerned about the other families with 'For Sale' signs in front of their homes. I called the attorney, Edgar Montoya, and asked if he had time to meet. We set up another lunch meeting.

I described what little I knew about Jessica Finch's situation and that it seemed likely to be the case for several other houses up and down the street.

Edgar shrugged. 'You're probably right. There are quite a few war widows and wives with badly disabled husbands in the area that are facing foreclosure. There's not much that can be done about it. It's a problem for the banks that hold the mortgages, too.'

'Why is it a problem for the banks?' I asked. 'They'll end up owning a house worth more than the mortgage. Their profits aren't at risk.'

'Actually, it's an expense the banks don't want. They'll have legal fees from the foreclosure process. They must maintain the property until it sells. They must pay someone to check the property periodically. They become responsible for the property taxes and utility costs. There will be real estate agent commissions to pay. A foreclosure usually sells below market value. And then there will be the time lapse between when they take ownership and the sale is complete. Time is money. Trust me, they'd rather not foreclose. It's more profitable if the owners can make the monthly mortgage payments.'

I thought about what Montoya had told me and began to come up with a plan. I scheduled a Saturday lunch with my father.

We met at his favorite spot for a late lunch. The crowd was sparse, so we were able to find a table in a quiet corner where we could talk. I began the discussion.

'You know Grandfather Bailey left his estate to me. Both houses and a pretty good income. Aren't you a bit curious?'

'I knew he had some money. He was the senior partner in a large, very successful law firm. He owned the Beacon Hill house and the farm,' he replied. 'I figured if you wanted me to know you'd tell me.'

'I have significant disposable income, a little over thirty-three thousand dollars . . .' I told him, hesitating before continuing.

My father nodded. 'You'll be able to live very comfortably,' my father said as he lifted his beer to take a drink.

'A month.' I continued, softly.

My father almost choked. 'What?'

I detailed my financial situation, the real estate and cars which he was already aware of, the trust, the trust income, and gaining control of the estate at thirty-five. My father listened slack-jawed.

'Was there something you wanted to talk about specifically or did you just want to tell me about your money?' he asked when I was finished.

'I'm not bragging, Dad. I'm still uncomfortable with it. But there is something I want to talk about.' I responded. 'My next-door neighbor lost her husband, a badly wounded veteran, just before Christmas.' I didn't mention the suicide. 'She can't afford to keep her home. She has it listed for sale. And there are about a

more houses on the street with for sale signs that I suspect have similar stories.'

'What are you getting at?' my father asked.

'I'm thinking about setting up a foundation that will help war widows to keep their homes.'

'That's very considerate, but it's not your responsibility,' my father began before I interrupted him.

'Look, I was safe at university while others my age and men with families were dying. I don't entirely understand why I was left in Switzerland. But it still doesn't sit right with me. I want to do something to help the families of the men that didn't come back.'

'There's more to your time in Switzerland than I can tell you,' my father said. He sat quietly for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was as serious as I'd ever heard. 'I think your instincts are good, and your heart is in the right place. Be very careful about how you go about this, if you do it. Make sure you associate with people you can trust. Try to figure out a way to make the foundation self-financing. You can't subsidize it forever, no matter how much money you have.'

I ignored his comment about being stuck in Switzerland. He wouldn't elaborate. While he never told me so, I knew my father was a spook, or at least had been. 'I've already worked most of that out.' I haltingly changed the subject. 'There's something else you need to know about, Dad.'

My father looked at me curiously. 'Something else you're going spend your fortune on?' he asked, a little sarcastically.

'Well, in a way you could say that.' I said with a smile before continuing. 'You're going to be a grandfather.'

My father's face was initially expressionless, but he was soon grinning widely. But he didn't say anything.

I continued. 'The baby is due in early September,' fudging the due date.

'Where will the baby be born? Are you staying here through the summer or going to Massachusetts when the term ends?'

I hadn't considered that. Gwen and I would have to discuss where the baby would be born.

The following Monday, I called Edgar Montoya and asked if he knew a reliable and trustworthy attorney with knowledge of non-profits and charitable foundations. After he asked several questions, he gave me several names but recommended an attorney named Gary Abbott. I met with Abbott a couple weeks later and gave him a retainer when I liked what I heard. Once he had completed the necessary documentation, we met to review it. He filed the papers the next day to incorporate the Taibay Housing Trust, forming the name by mangling the beginnings of my grandfather's surname and my mother's married name. I arranged an appointment with the Williams-Davis Group at their Los Angeles offices and set up a foundation checking account with a significant deposit.

Trustees were recruited from among my father's colleagues and the professors I knew. My role was limited, though I resolved to provide a stream of funding for several years. Montoya was put on retainer, tasked with researching properties under foreclosure and negotiating terms with the banks. Montoya, on behalf of the trustees, hired Mike as the first paid employee. Her role was to contact prospects, present the opportunity, and then manage the process, including getting contracts signed and paying the banks.

The foundations' goal was to assure families that sacrificed during the war didn't lose their homes. Mike would approach a family whose home was in foreclosure and offer to provide a means to remain in their home and retain their equity rather than lose everything to foreclosure. The foundation would negotiate terms with the banks, hopefully buy the loan at a discount, end the foreclosure, and allow the family to remain in the home until they decided to sell. Ownership of the property would be split between the foundation and the family based upon an equity share in the property. If the family decided not to sign on with the foundation, no pressure was applied. Only a few didn't take the opportunity. Any profits from a sale would be used to fund operating costs and future activities.