Jen's Legacy.

Claire closed her eyes and tried to transport herself into his thoughts, into his body as she had done that one morning a few nights ago, even as he had been inside her body properly, for that first time: that magical moment when she had followed the passage of those sperm from his body on that short and violently-tortuous journey (that she would never be able to describe to anyone for fear of being thought deranged), to be expelled into her own welcoming body when he’d ejaculated deep into her. But that had been in a dream. Albeit a very real dream. Such out-of-body fantasies did not occur in real life.

Mrs. Prescott could see that some of what she’d suggested was beginning to bear fruit, so did not interrupt her thoughts.

There were many things she could do to keep herself occupied. Her gran was right. She would start a journal and capture every single memory, every moment; capture every thought, every word they had exchanged, every tingling moment, every touch, each breathless caress, each kiss. She would document her first fears and concerns about him with the way he had crashed into her life, and trace out her gradually changing feelings about him and what had slowly changed. Although there had been nothing slow about any of it.

She had his phone with all of his personal photographs of that previous life of his.

It needed re-charging, that was all, but then she could preserve all of those memories, and others he’d snapped of her when he’d thought she hadn’t noticed. She also had a hundred or more photographs of her own of him.

He’d seen her take a few of those, but had been unaware of many others she’d snapped of him, especially that first morning as he’d bathed naked in the river and had walked out toward her, even as she’d wished she’d stayed hidden away in the comforting depths of his sleeping bag.

She’d never seen a truly aroused man before and could not understand how he could be like that, other than that it seemed to have something to do with her. She’d heard of what it meant for a man to be like that, had even had it described to her by others who had learned about men the hard way (pun), but one had to see that beast, to believe it to be possible, without wondering about the next step with her and for her body; which would, of course, be impossible... if she would be given a choice about it. No wonder most women were scared the first time that item came at them with obvious intent, and no possibility of escape, or retreat.

It had not been a comforting thought, but there had been nothing comforting in anything that had happened in those first hours, other than that he’d pulled her from the river and saved her life. When you thought about it rationally, nothing else mattered after that, so what the hell had she been worried about? He hadn’t done anything to her... not physically...at that moment, but he certainly had, mentally.

She’d put an album together of his photographs and preserve them for him and posterity. And for Jen and their children. It would he Claire’s way of thanking them both. He’d be surprised when he saw those photographs. He’d be even more surprised when he saw those she’d taken of him, and mostly of that one thing about his body that had constantly most-fascinated her about him. Those photographs; some taken within his sleeping bag with him lying there with an erection--that always inevitable erection-- had been very personal indeed, and extraordinarily candid. Her grandmother had taken some personal ones of her too that had been just as candid, as she’d wandered that motel room completely naked. She’d add those.

Right there, were two albums of memories that she could work on, and so much more.

She could draw; she was a good artist, just as Jen had been, and she could bring those strange dreams to life before they totally faded forever, though there were scenes in those that would never fade. They had been so real.

She could work on those, and help her gran with what she would be called upon to do at all hours until they both dropped from exhaustion. She would never want to go to bed with Royce not being there to greet her and hold her close in his warm embrace, and doing that other wonderful thing to her as well as kissing her and mouthing at her breasts as he built up to that magnificent climax in her. That moment, when time stood still and they both froze, capturing that moment in the violent agony of procreation as his fluids jetted into her body and they writhed in confusion together. She missed that. It was too new; too wonderful; too frustrating to think about.

She would sleep with her gran until Royce came back to her. She vowed never to sleep alone again if she could avoid it.

She also needed to confide in her grandmother about other things; about meeting with Jen in a strange way, and how she was convinced she was pregnant even then, though was not sure she could confide those details, just yet. That was still too early to talk to anyone about, and not about such strangely illogical events.

“Thanks for the idea, Gran. I can start a journal and even print out those photographs. I can also add some drawings of my own.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll distract and help each other.”