Have you ever met someone and had the feeling you've met them before?
That was my first thought when I met Emma, my new neighbour, on the Saturday she moved in next door.
We talked over the fence dividing my yard from hers. Emma's face, framed by her long dark hair, looked familiar, but I couldn't think where we might have met. As she flicked back a strand of hair, I saw the wedding ring on her hand. She was moving in alone, so another question sprang to mind. Were she and her husband still together?
I saw Emma again at around lunchtime on the following Saturday. "I'm off to work," she said, sounding surprisingly cheerful for someone who had to work on the weekend. Midday seemed like a strange time to be starting work, and I wondered to myself what sort of work Emma did. That was another question to add to the list.
Emma certainly worked unusual hours. On some Saturdays, she left around lunchtime and returned only a few hours later. On weekday evenings, Emma went out at around 7.00 p.m. and seldom returned before I went to bed. Then about five weeks after she moved next door, she stopped going to work altogether.
Around the same time, with the weather warming up, I started to see Emma out in her backyard, sunbathing in a bikini, next to the pool. But it wasn't just the sight of her in a bikini that caught my attention. Now I could see why, although tall and slim, she was slightly pear shaped. She was pregnant.
I've always had a fetish for pregnant women. So if I saw her sunbathing, I'd find an excuse to go outside and chat over the fence. Later, I'd fantasize about what it would be like to have sex with her and wonder if it could happen. It didn't seem likely, unless I was prepared to ask her straight out.
One night after tea, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, and I was a little surprised to see my neighbour standing there. She wore a short skirt and a tee shirt that looked rather too small.
"Are you driving to work tomorrow?" she asked. "My car is in for a service and I've got a doctor's appointment in the city. I was hoping you might be able to give me a lift."
We agreed on a time, and as I closed the door, I was already looking forward to tomorrow's trip to work.
In the morning, as I walked downstairs to the garage, I found Emma already waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She was dressed much as she had been the previous evening, in a short skirt and a top. The tight, tanned skin of her swollen belly peeked out of the small gap between her top and waistband of her skirt. The curve of her stomach pushed the waistband down so it sat almost under her bump, as if to support her stomach.
As we drove towards the city, we chatted about nothing in particular. Then, out of the blue, she said, "So you like pregnant women? You've been much more chatty since I started to show!"
I couldn't be sure whether she was teasing me, or whether she was serious. I felt my face redden slightly, which probably gave the game away. I guess I hadn't been as subtle as I thought with my backyard chats.
Emma continued, "I know some guys like pregnant woman. That's one of the reasons I keep wearing my wedding ring, even though Dave and I are getting a divorce."
"I'm sorry you getting a divorce," I said, because it seemed the right thing to say.
"It's ironic really. When we were first married, Dave kept saying how much he wanted kids. But I found out I was pregnant after we broke up, and all he could say was he'd pay for the abortion! I couldn't believe he'd say that! He wasn't happy when I told him I wouldn't be having one. He said, 'You're dreaming if you think you'll get maintenance from me for the kid.'"
Her words surprised me and we drove on in silence for a few minutes. Then, changing tack, Emma asked, "Do you want to come over for a swim tonight after work? I think the pool is warm enough now." Definitely teasing this time, she added, "And that way the fence won't interrupt your view!"