Beard and Emily Novel – Blowing out a deep breath, I blurted out my news. Our news. “I’m pregnant and you’re the father.” The whole clubhouse went silent as they waited for the president’s reaction to the news of his impending fatherhood. “Got no interest in being a father at this stage of my life.”I was stunned at Beard’s nonchalance “Is that…your final…decision?” I was stammering, so I forced myself to calm down. “I know this is a shock, but maybe you should take some time to think about it some more?” “Don’t need time to think about something I have no interest in and never wanted. I’ll send support for eighteen years if you prove paternity, but don’t ask for or expect more from me because those checks will be the extent of my involvement.”
Emily OK, keep cool, tell him what you need to tell him and make a plan like reasonable adults. You got this, Emily Louise. You are both adults. He’s a nice man. Probably. Just because you don’t know his real name and you’ve been hooking up for three months isn’t a bad sign. Things were casual and now they’re…a bit more serious. The man runs a flipping MC. He’s not going to lose his cool. We’ll both stay calm, talk about how we move forward, co-parenting. It’s all good. The two lines on the pregnancy test confirmed what I’d suspected for the last two days. Now, at age 39, when I’d been told by so many doctors that getting pregnant just wasn’t in the cards for me, I was pregnant. Pregnant despite using a protection every single time, I idly wondered what this child I was carrying would look like. Who, I guess, would be more accurate.
Beard was an older man, around late fifties, early sixties if I had to guess, and here I was, on the cusp of my fortieth birthday. When I’d met him at a bar my friends had dragged me to one night — a bar I soon found out was owned by the MC — I’d immediately spotted him across the room, playing pool…and his eyes had been on me. Intense and unwavering. And he’d kept them on me as he made his shot. And missed spectacularly. I’d smiled huge at that, and he’d grinned right back at me, not caring in the least, and handed his cue off to someone. He headed right for me, blowing past anyone who tried to stop him. He was a handsome man, but those eyes of his captured me with their intensity. No games. No nonsense. And since I’d been on an eight-month dry spell, when he’d asked want to, I’d said, yes, please.
My friends knew of him and gave Beard their not a creeper seal of approval. Since I knew they’d be safe together at the bar if I left, I felt comfortable going off with Beard. I’d offered to Uber to the MC’s clubhouse because I’d had a vague idea that bikers didn’t let just anyone on the backs of their bikes. Shaking his head, amused, he’d told me to get on. I got on, held on and enjoyed the ride to the clubhouse. His bike only enhanced his charm, and he’d already been pretty darn irresistible. Somehow, the man had kept his amazing body, and though he was beefy, it was all muscle bulk. And his stamina? I don’t know if he had a Viagra drip, but the man could go for hours and was that unicorn lover who was seriously dedicated to his partner’s multiple pleasure. After that night three months ago, we’d meet up at the bar three or four times during the week.
If I arrived at the bar first, Beard was never far behind, and I wondered if the bartender was telling him when I arrived because my schedule was somewhat erratic each week. Beard would arrive, we’d leave, and then have some fun. Despite the passing months, the sum total of what I knew about Beard was that he was the president of the MC, he was called Beard or Prez by everyone, and he was the hottest man I’d ever seen in my life. I’d thought he was a few years older than I was when I first met him, maybe mid-forties and prematurely gray, but he’d made a few comments that made me revise his age upward. His hair was as gray as his thick beard, but it just made him more swoon-worthy. A complete silver fox. And now, I could add one more thing I knew about him to my short list: he was the father of my baby.
My mind still couldn’t grasp that I was actually carrying a baby and that I was nine weeks along already. A serious lack of periods and no real symptoms other than exhaustion — which is what had me running to the doctor, finally — had let me be near the end of my first trimester before I’d even realized anything. Good thing I wasn’t a drinker since there was always a possibility I’d be called in for a shift if things got busy at the hospital. So, given that I’d been a regular at the MC’s clubhouse, I knew where to find the man. I parked down the street from the clubhouse and walked up to the gate and waited while the prospect phoned Beard. “He says you can go through,” the prospect said to me, and I thanked him and made my way to the clubhouse, grateful the very short walk gave me a few moments to collect myself.
I opened the door and Beard was there, about twenty feet back, looking annoyed at me, arms crossed over his chest. I’d never seen him with that expression, and I didn’t care for it. “Hi,” I said, determined to be cheerful through this talk. “I’m sorry for stopping by, but I needed to talk with you and don’t have your cell.” “There’s a reason for that.” OK, Emily Louise, we might be entering another drought if he keeps up with the attitude. Emily “Right,” I said, still Suzie Sunshine. “Could we please go somewhere to talk?” “Say whatever you need to say right there.” With that unfriendly gesture, Beard sat down on the couch, legs splayed, classic male power position. “Trixie, Jade, have a seat,” he called to two of the club girls as he patted his thighs. He was the Prez, he held power and he was hot. They came running to sit on his lap. “Go ahead.” His dark blue eyes challenged me as Trixie and Jade looked at me with something between hostility and pity.
Blowing out a deep breath, I blurted out my news. Our news. “I’m pregnant and you’re the father.” The whole clubhouse went silent as they waited for the president’s reaction to the news of his impending fatherhood. “Got no interest in being a father at this stage of my life.” I was stunned at Beard’s nonchalance. I’d just told him I was pregnant with his child and he didn’t even flinch at this life-altering news. Nor did he stand up from the couch, dumping the two club girls that were currently on his lap to the floor. I could feel the eyes of all the MC members on us, watching this little drama unfold. “Is that…your final…decision?” I was stammering, so I forced myself to calm down. “I know this is a shock, but maybe you should take some time to think about it some more?” “Don’t need time to think about something I have no interest in and never wanted.
I’ll send support for eighteen years if you prove paternity, but don’t ask for or expect more from me because those checks will be the extent of my involvement.” He looked at me for a minute like I was some stranger off the street before continuing. And I really wished he hadn’t. “But to show you I’m not a complete prick, if you come suck me off, I’ll throw in medical expenses.” He hadn’t really said that, had he? I was stunned into speechlessness. “No?” he correctly took my silence as refusal. “Well, let me know about that paternity test, then. Good luck to you.” Emily Taking a deep breath, I turned away from him and walked toward the door. He’d include medical expenses? Don’t do it. Do not do it, Emily Louise. Don’t you dare. You’re better than this. I spun around. “Beard! Did you…did you mean it? About paying for medical expenses?” He’d been lounging back on the couch and he tilted his head at me, his eyes narrowed as if he was surprised I was asking. “Sure. We do a blood test to prove paternity and I’ll pay all your medical expenses.” Emily Louise, stop.
Do not do this! This is beneath you! “I have your word?” His lips tipped up at the corners as if he had me right where he wanted me. “Yes.” Swallowing down my fear, I slowly walked back toward him. He dismissed the two club girls from his lap with a sharp nod of his head. I’d never heard the clubhouse so silent. “Unzip me.” As I reached for him, he stopped me. “No. Kneeling between my legs.” I blew out the breath I’d been holding and dropped to my knees. It’s not too late to run, Emily Louise. Do not do this! You are not this kind of girl! I noticed my fingers trembling as I reached for his zipper and pulled it down. He pushed his boxer briefs down low and exposed his shaft and balls. “Always wanted those lips of yours on my shaft,” he said quietly, his voice low. And it was true. He’d asked many times, but I’d always refused. Emily, no, no, no! This is not right. Don’t lower yourself this way! My fingers slowly reached for him, and he inhaled and exhaled deeply in anticipation.
Then, without telegraphing my next move, I grabbed his balls in my hand and twisted them while I squeezed, hard, enough so that I had his undivided attention and not one thought of my mouth on his shaft. I had him so hard by the balls that I would have bet money that the only thought in his mind was I hope t she doesn’t rip my balls off. I stood up quickly, and he had no choice but to stand up just as quickly, his eyes on mine. “I don’t need you to pay for medical expenses,” I sneered at him. “But next time you’re in the presence of a lady — although it’s doubtful with the company you keep — get to your feet.” I twisted in the opposite direction and squeezed even harder suddenly before I let go. He went to his knees, like he was praying, trying to catch his breath, his hands cupping his abused balls. While everyone rushed to the president or stood around dumbfounded, I ran out the doors, past the gate, to my car. I floored it away from the clubhouse.
You shouldn’t have done that, Emily Louise! My conscience prodded me. That was beneath you. You are not that kind of girl. You’re a doctor! You’re supposed to help people! Well, I was giving myself a pass in this case. Somehow, I had no problem with that. Emily As I drove away from the clubhouse, I headed for my parents’ home. Since I was clearly on a roll with relaying news of my pregnancy, I figured I might as well go for broke. And, because it was near dinnertime, I could score a home-cooked meal. I walked in through the front door and followed my nose to the kitchen. “Hello, daughter,” my father said to me as I pressed a buss on his cheek. He was sitting at the kitchen table, golf club across his knees, adding lead tape to the head of one of his irons. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “Hey, Mom,” I called to her, and she shot me a smile, but kept stirring whatever was in the pot. Wanting to get this over with before dinner, I took a deep breath. “So, I have some news.” “Oh, my gosh, you’re pregnant,” my mom said, looking at me over her shoulder.
“What? How’d you know?” I demanded. The spoon clattered to the stovetop with a small crash. “What?! You mean you are?” she asked, turning fully toward me, shocked. “I just always guess that when someone says they have some news. I didn’t think you really were!” She actually did say that, come to think of it. I should have led with something else. “This is so exciting,” she crowed, coming toward me. “Except now, at your age, it’s way too late to make it onto Sixteen and Pregnant.” You would think that someone as brilliant as my mom, a renowned epidemiologist, would like to read essays on quantum physics or something in her spare time, but nope. Mom loved reality TV shows and watched all of them like it was her religion. “That Kody,” she’d say, “Not sure how he got even one wife with that hair of his, much less four. You would think one of those women would have taken him aside and said, look, I get what you’re going for but it’s just not working.”
Dad was known to walk into the family room, see what she had on the TV, make some disparaging comment about it…and then stay to watch and talk back to the stars while he practiced putting. “Sorry to disappoint, Mom,” I said. She came and gave me a hug. “Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait to be a grandmother! Oh, I’ll need to figure out my grandmother name! When are you due, honey? Oh, and Fabio, we’ll need to convert one of the bedrooms to a nursery!” For the record, Dad’s name was Gilbert, but when he hit 45, he had a mid-life crisis and grew his blondish-brown hair to his shoulders.
Mom had started calling him Fabio because, she had said, with his hair long, he looked just like that man. He did not. Dad, a well-known cardiothoracic surgeon who traveled all over the world talking about his latest surgical techniques, gave me a look. “How are you doing?” “OK. My urine test proved I was pregnant, but my doctor did a blood test to confirm and to see what’s what. Then I ran home and did my own pregnancy test, just to be sure. That also confirmed I was pregnant. I should get the blood results on Monday or Tuesday.” Dad grunted, his usual response to any medical information given.