Inna's Story

Writing stories is not a simple task, but here's what I think: a simple story that happened to you or that you heard doesn't require any special talent, which I don't possess, and I want to retell what I heard, so I write without inventing anything, just retelling what I heard. During another shift before a call. Among our "girls," a conversation started on the topic of family relationships. Interrupting each other, they tried to prove their points to one another. One said that snagging a man isn't so difficult; you just have to give him, and since their brain is strongly connected to their dick, he'll come back for a portion of sex again and again, then he'll get used to the visits and he's yours, you won't be able to

drive him away even if you try. Another, interrupting her, denied this approach. She presented her own theory—If you give it to him, of course he'll come, but if you get knocked up, he'll be blown away like the wind, and you'll forget his name. And turning to the others, she asked—Is there anyone here who got married because of a pregnancy, and the guy didn't run away, but married you and still lives with you to this day? There is—answered Inna Nikolaevna, our dispatcher. Even though she was sitting apart from everyone, she had immersed herself in the conversation topic. Everyone fell silent and looked in her direction. And who is it? — asked one of the speakers from before, after a pause that followed. I answered, Inna. Well, I'll be. And won't you share the secret? — said the one who considered pregnancy not a topic for keeping a man. Yes, I got pregnant and the one from whom I got pregnant married me, and we've been together for over 30 years now. Only, it wasn't all that simple. When I was 15 years old, I met a guy. It was winter, somewhere in mid-February, and we started secretly seeing each other. He looked about 16. So we met on weekends and holidays, he took me to the movies, for coffee, we walked in the park, and once he came to the meeting place in a Volga. I was very surprised and asked him—Did you steal it from your parents? He laughed and said it was a work car and he had been driving the company director around in it for about half a year. And the director was his older brother. That's when I found out he was a little over 18. In the spring, he went into the army. I was with my mom at his send-off, since I couldn't go alone because of my age. Two years later he returned and our friendship continued. Our outlooks on life were different by then; I had entered medical school, he was at the polytechnic institute, so we continued to meet on holidays and weekends as before. Another two years passed, and our meetings became more intimate; they didn't go all the way to sex, but there was other stuff—kissing, hugging, caresses with stroking of all intimate parts. On days off, after walks around the city, the park, or visiting the cinema, we would come to our house and lock ourselves in our summer kitchen, which wasn't far from the house. It was quiet there, and no prying eyes. The only thing was, the only seating there was one chair. He would sit on the chair, and I would sit on his lap. And to be more comfortable with each other, I would sit straddling his legs, facing him. I liked it when he, while kissing, would reach into my panties and stroke me between my legs, and since I was sitting straddling him, my legs were spread and his hand had easy access to my vagina. . It was like that constantly, for almost two years,—as soon as he tried to take off my panties or unbutton his pants and take out his tense tool, I would place my palm on his hand, after which I would get up. And then one time, he was stroking my body parts as usual, and moved the lower part of my panties aside, giving my vagina freedom. I decided not to take any action, let it go, I thought, let everything happen as it should. If he understands that I agree, then he'll insert it; if he doesn't understand, then so be it. Taking my inaction as consent, he slowly began to unbutton his pants, And I lifted myself a little to let him do it. After that, with my vaginal lips feeling the touch of his penis, I began to lower myself, clenching my teeth tightly in anticipation of pain and a "fountain of blood," letting him enter. But he entered without pain or blood, made a few movements, and came. I sat on him feeling his penis shrink, and then it completely fell out. After all this, he somehow changed and left much earlier than usual. And at the next meeting he asked—Who was there before me. To which I swore that there had been no one. At that meeting, we didn't do anything, and at the next one he came as usual, we were in the kitchen for a long time and had sex twice. And then he declared that he believed me, but would like me to visit his grandmother for an appointment. She's a gynecologist. I don't know why, but I agreed. And the appointment in his grandmother's chair happened. But it was already too late, because after examining me she said I was pregnant. And regarding the pain and fountain of blood, she said that my hymen was still intact. She said that happens, and to many. So at the wedding, many noticed my protruding belly. We are not only still together, we have three children and two grandchildren.