Seven bottles of beer on the wall
Summary: Over the years, he became "The Dean" for her. Then he showed up on her doorstep. Maybe she was his "The Lisa."
AN: Not so much alcohol (the theme of these stories) as sex. It's not really graphic though, just PG-13 stuff, if that, even.
The Dean
He was hot. There's no denying it. And anyway, who in their right minds would want to deny it?
He had the bad-boy attitude down, from the top of his short, spiked-up hair to his worn leather jacket, all the way down to those heavy-duty biker boots that he used to kick the asses of some guys that were "bothering" her, aka flirting with her in the hands-on way rough guys like to do. He bought her a drink, then she bought him one, and then all of a sudden, they were in his car (amazing car, by the way, equally as hot as its owner) groping at each other and making out like it was their last night on earth.
Lisa admits that at twenty-one, she was a naïve little girl, determined to rebel against the good Christian values her middle-class parents had brought her up in. She skipped classes, smoked, drank like a fish, and had one-nighters with random biker guys with no permanent addresses or even a phone number she could reach (if she even wanted to, which she didn't).
Looking back now, she was stupid to risk herself like that. Guys like that, they don't give a damn whether or not the sex they're having is safe, as long as it's good. Thank goodness Lisa never caught anything…except for a minuscule sperm cell that fertilized one of her egg cells and resulted in nine months of miserable vomiting and cramps that culminated in a painful thirty-nine-hour labor.
Ben's the best thing that's ever happened to her, and that's God's honest truth. She wouldn't change what happened for anything; she'd die first.
Even if she doesn't know who his dad is, even if she was drunk the night (or day) she got pregnant (she doesn't even know the exact date), even if she hasn't had sex since she found out she was expecting (and nine years is a hell of a long time, just you try it and see).
She's Ben's mom, and that's who she was meant to be.
Still, Lisa fantasized. Girl can dream, right?
She remembered that green-eyed leather-jacketed badass angel who swooped down and charmed her right out of her pants, literally. She remembered that weekend they spent locked up in her apartment, having sex on every surface and in every position imaginable, with some "toys" that were probably illegal, and then some. She remembered the way he'd grinned when she told him she was a yoga teacher; she remembered the things he did with his—Well, the sex was amazing. Let's leave it at that.
She remembered his name: Dean Winchester. He became "The Dean," in the nine years since she'd seen him. His was the only name she remembered. All the other guys, the bikers, the truckers, the drifters—they all sort of amalgamated into a collective "sort of people" that she didn't want in her life again. She wouldn't let them within a hundred feet of Ben either. Not on your life.
But this Dean Winchester character, he was…different. He wasn't any younger, or older, than her usual fare—about her own age. He was certainly significantly more attractive than any of her previous and later conquests, but that wasn't why she remembered him. He was…a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy. Considerate, you know? Even though he seemed all tough and dangerous on the outside, once in a while, he'd show this incredible…well, "sensitivity" seems to be a weird word to use to describe the guy, but she can't think of another word that could describe the way he apologized if he accidentally bumped her up against anything, if he thought he hurt her in any way while they were doing their thing. He'd even asked her if she was sure before they left the bar, looking straight into her eyes with his dreamy golden-green eyes, as if trying to make sure she wasn't too drunk to make a good decision.
Sober or not, hell yeah, she wanted to have sex with him.
And in between the rounds of sex, they talked, just a little, but that was kind of nice too. She found out he had this little brother, smart as hell, and stubborn as a mule. And he was obviously very found of him, the way he talked about him in such a proud and affectionate way. So hot. Right, so maybe it was because she was ovulating or something, but that turned her on like gawd.
So she dreamed and fantasized about Dean Winchester. For nine years, she remembered every single detail of all the things they did. When she made new "respectable" friends, all mothers themselves with kids Ben's age, and they gossiped about their wild days of the past, she always talked about one guy, and one guy only: "The Dean." He became kind of a legend over the years in their little group. To be honest, he'd become a sort of sex god in her mind as well. Not that she minded. She didn't think he'd mind either.
So when he showed up at the door, with a how-the-freaking-hell -did-he-get-even-hotter-over-the-years grin, her brain stuttered to a stop. You know how you feel when you've got this crush on an actor or singer or whoever and you know there's no way you'll ever be with them but you still fantasize anyway, and then they show up on your doorstep? Well, maybe you don't, but you know what I mean. That was how Lisa felt.
Nine years later, he came back. He even tracked her down at her new address. That's dedication for you; maybe she was his "The Lisa."