Sometimes, life just doesn't...

... go the way we plan.

I know, I've been rumbling about that since the start of this blog. If you're a regular reader, you've picked up on that already...

Tuesday night, Jane came over... a little hanky-panky, if you know what I mean. I found her collar (the one that is black with silver things riveted to it and a heart shaped dog-tag that says "Jane, Peter's Little Fuck." Nice, huh. Anyway, she likes it and I'm a little kinky, so... she puts it on and we swap spit for a bit standing in my bedroom and I slap her ass a bit and then get her nekkid and put her up against a table in front of the window and drop my pants and we do it right there in front of the window, a show for the neighbors across the street, Anne's breasts hanging down and me pounding her from behind. And then I pull out and tell her I want her to lick me clean, and we look down and I'm covered in blood. And she's dripping heavy blood down her leg.

A little over an hour later we're sitting in the waiting room of the local emergency room. Five hours after that we're headed back to my house following the usual ER antics and a pelvic exam for her.

Today her doc tells her she's on bedrest for five days and no pelvic excercise (as in sex) for nearly two months. Gads, that puts a damper on sex, doesn't it?

Tonight, after finishing up my grad class over at Duke, I spin over to Jane's. First off, I want to kill her fucking dog, which is nothing more than a pain in the ass. I've brought Jane dinner and sodas; I figure the bed rest shit is going to drive her nutty; that and I know she doesn't eat right. So I bring over some Thai food and we hang out watching the Wednesday night shows on NBC.

Along the way, Jane tells me about what the doc says, and she shows me a pic from the ultrasound from today. And, yup, there's a damn child there. There being a part of me that wants it to go away. Jane shares with me info the doc provided; the brochure says that 20% of all pregnancies end in miscarriages. I think to myself I should be so lucky. I know. I know. That's an evil thing to think. But, I am truly ambivalent. I'm going to be supportive, and when the little monster arrives, I'll love it dearly. But I'm still at the point that this is not something I really want. Sure, I made the choice and created the situation I'm in. But I don't have to like it.

In the mean time, while she's out, I'll be as supportative as I can. (And I note that the last two pregnancies I went through... both also not planned... but I was married to the mother, so that's something different... were much easier. No problems, at all.) And then I think, for an instance, maybe I should take her in. That thought didn't last too long, though. Yes, I helped get us here. But, Jane is the one who wants to have the baby and mother the baby. I didn't make that choice. And she'll have to carry some of the weight that brings that about. I'm not planning on housing her or marrying her.

That's what Bill, my colleague I told, suggested. After all, one home is cheaper than two. But I don't want to do that.

Things I do want to do, however, include having sex with Anne again. Not likely, since she and Sam haven't gotten in touch with either me or Jane. We gave them our contact info, but didn't get their's.

Ok, enough...