A Crisis Pregnancy, Chapter 2

by S. J.

While I gave her a methodical answer to what we did at the clinic, my eyes gazed at this pretty, boyish girl sitting in the middle of the sofa in front of me. Even though I wasn’t sure she would understand, I gave her the clinical, complex version of unplanned pregnancies and the center’s mission to assist girls who thought they might be pregnant. I figured the longer my answer took, the longer she would stay with me. She was a delight to look at while she played with the soda straw in her mouth as she sipped.

I couldn’t help but notice she didn’t keep her legs together. “Typical boy,” I thought to myself. I decided I liked her already, especially since my preferences included tomboyish girls—boyish girls—well, boy-girls, if you know what I mean.

I was never moralistic to the clients and neither was I to Molly. I made sure to explain to her that I didn’t judge the girls who came in.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Judge the girls,” I commented, giving the appearance of a question.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, now I understand.” Then I added, “I never tell them they are evil for having sex with their boyfriends.”

My eyes went to her calves, where I noticed her dark skin slightly covered with dark hairs. I could easily spot a girl with hair, but then, maybe I just was a hopeful and wishful thinker. Most of the time I was disappointed to find girls’ legs hairless. Occasionally I would strike gold. Molly would be more than gold, I hoped.

“Yeah,” she replied.

Then I told her that a lot of the girls wanted to be pregnant. That they were hoping to be pregnant when we did the test.

“Yeah,” she again replied. She readjusted herself so that one of her legs was on the sofa while the other remained on the floor. Her legs were more wide open than before. I continued to enjoy the view.

I gazed directly at her, often lowering my eyes to between her legs. Trying to change the subject, I told her she was a pretty girl. At the same time, I was trying not to be too flirtatious. She silently smiled.

“Do you fuck?” I inquired abruptly, partly to make conversation and partly to pry. Such a talent was quite useful with the clients who were not always talkative or forthcoming. When it was appropriate, I always used slang words. Now was one of those times.

“FUCKING is gross,” she exclaimed.

That answer shocked me to the point where I was practically speechless. Before I could recover, she asked if I was married. I told her “no.” Then I added, “I have never fucked.” I didn’t know if she would determine the hidden meaning in that statement or not, although I was prepared for her to ask “Why not?”

She didn’t ask. I could see she was wearing some kind of panty, but I couldn’t tell if it was a thong. Now I was wondering if she had hair there. And everything else about her.

“I will never have a baby,” was her acclamation. She shivered as those words were expressed, as if the thought was repulsive to her. Earlier, I had been about to admit that I liked pregnant girls, but I decided it was best that I had not. I figured that was a good decision.

“Things would be a lot better if girls didn’t let guys fuck them,” I added, even though I knew that was a totally unrealistic idea. Once working at the clinic, I had quickly figured out that a lot of teenage girls like dick, much to my consternation, being fucked as well as sucking those dicks. Personally I always believed my tongue was better than any man-dick alive, but I would not breathe a word of that to her. At least not now.

I began looking for a way to mention masturbation. My clit tingling was by now considerably pronounced. Boy-girls always had that effect.