As always after a wedding, I was so keyed up for the month following that I was worthless. All I could think of was what was between my legs and what was hanging off my chest. I wanted to be pregnant again and was afraid those days were behind me. My periods were coming sporadically and I knew menopause was just around the corner.
I was ashamed as well as proud when Margaret showed up at the house in the green shift announcing her pregnancy. Ashamed because I was jealous. Proud because she was my daughter.
When I got my period I wore the red of ovulation and accepted every man who asked.
But I still didn't catch.
Then, one evening, David came home from work with a big grin on his face.
"What?" I said, giggling at his obvious excitement. God, he looked like a little boy who needed to go to the bathroom the way he was dancing from foot to foot.
"There's going to be a First Celebration this weekend," he said.
"Wonderful," I said.
In The Community, a girl is a girl until she turns 18 and then she is wed to her betrothed, a marriage typically arranged when she was born. A boy, though, is a boy until he decides he's ready. That typically happens around 19 or 20. The same breeding program that has given the women of The Community big breasts that produce well has left the males with puberty delayed. Then he selects his First and they are exclusive until she gives him his first baby.
"Who?" I asked.
"Benjamin," he said, and I couldn't help the grin on my face. Benjamin had been our paperboy, our lawn boy, our pool boy, and David's all-around helper for most of his life.
"That's wonderful," I said, "and who will be his first?"
David's grin got even bigger, something I hadn't thought possible.
"You, gorgeous," he said.
I had seen the phrase "her knees got weak" written, of course, but this was the first time I ever felt it happen.
My breath caught, my knees got weak, tears started flowing, and I said, "Don't tease me about something like this."
"I wouldn't," he said, taking me into his arms, holding me, "God, I'm so proud of you."
"He really chose me?" I asked
He was smiling at me like a very proud papa when his daughter has won the spelling bee.
"Yes, Paulette," he said, and his use of my full name told me he was serious, I am almost always Elsie or Pauly to the world, "he asked me earlier today and I thanked him for the honor."
He kissed me again and flashed a grin, "Maybe now we can complete our baseball team."
I giggled at that. We had eight children and David had always said he wanted a full baseball team. But my youngest was three now and I was beginning to think she would be my last. I could already feel menopause beginning and I hated it.
When you're chosen as a First you are exclusively His until you prove gravid. By tradition, if you haven't quickened after a year He can choose another for his first baby, but I could not remember that happening.
I was crying. No, that is far too gentle a word. I was bawling, my entire body was wracked. I couldn't breathe.
"Easy Pauly," he was saying, his hands gentle on my back, rubbing.
"What if I," I started but he cut me off with a kiss.
"I figure about this time next year we'll be griping about diaper changes and 2 a.m. feedings," he said, reading my mind as he sometimes did and making me giggle weakly.
I got myself under control.
"Are you okay," he asked, holding me so my cheek was against his chest. He was stroking my hair, petting me like a cat. I liked it.
"I'm just worried," I said, "you know how it is. The change is starting."
He patted my back and then reached down and patted my belly. "Don't worry," he said, "you're far from done."
"God I love you," I said and threw my arms around his neck.
I was hopeless for the next few days. I burned meals, broke dishes, had to be reminded to change the cat litter, and forgot a dental appointment. ALL I could think of was that I had been chosen as a First. I was walking on air and trembling with nerves by turns.
When Friday arrived David took the day off to help me prepare, as husbands do.
He brought me breakfast in bed, the little homemade egg McMuffins he knew I loved, with coffee and orange juice. He plumped the pillows behind me and fed me, telling me I was beautiful and he was proud of me. I accepted the ministrations, as was my due, but I shed tears as well.
When I was fed he walked me into the bathroom, wiped me when I was finished, and then into the front room.
He had the big Tupperware bowl I used for tossed salads ready with hot water, as hot as I could stand. I could smell the Epsom salt in it as I lowered my feet into the footbath.
While I soaked he did my fingernails.
David is a good husband and understands all of his duties. He carefully shaped them and then used the Cobalt Blue polish, the color of a First, to finish them.
On his knees, a towel across his lap, he did my feet. He used the little callus block on my heels and the insipient bunions. Then he shaped the nails using only the emery file, and polished them, matching the color of my fingernails.
All of this attention had used up most of the morning.
He walked me up to the bedroom and showed me the First robe he had made. To make the presentation robe is the responsibility of the male in charge of the one chosen as First, a husband or father or, rarely, an older brother. He had me lift my arms and I giggled when he bent and kissed the hair of my armpit before he put the robe, actually a one-piece shift although it was always called a robe, on me.
He tested the fit and then took it off of me. He carefully ripped a bit of the seam under the arm and then resewed it, before putting it back on me. It was just a bit tight across the bust now, and I felt my nipples tighten from the gentle pressure. I was not surprised when he walked me to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and there were two wet spots where my nipples were leaking a little.
"Perfect!" he announced.
He lifted the shift off of me and said, "hold that thought." He left and I heard him on the stairs and assumed he would be putting the shift into the washing machine.
I heard the blender running and giggled. I knew what was coming next.
Sure enough, he was back with a giant glass of a thick, yellowish liquid. It was the energy smoothie, the same as we had prepared for our girls on their wedding days. A healthy mixture of bananas, cinnamon, yogurt, dates, sesame seeds, and French vanilla ice cream, it was guaranteed to keep you going all day or, in my case I suppose, all night.
He stayed with me while I slowly got the energy bomb down. His fingertips were light on my skin. It was almost as if he was a blind man wanting to remember what I looked like. He told me, over and over, that I was beautiful, that he was proud of me, and that Benjamin was a brilliant young man to choose me. I wallowed in the attention.
"Rest now, baby," he said, "you have a big night in front of you. I'll wake you at three and have you ready for presentation at five."
He turned out the light.
I couldn't get to sleep so I masturbated.
And then slept.
I woke, giggling, as the Schnauzer was licking my face.
"Okay," he said, shooing the dog away, "your duty is done."
