mpreg-consandvans

I've been posting a lot less of myself on Instagram lately and, well, here's why. I became a dad for the first time seventeen years ago, before I could even drink and now at 37, I find myself at peace with the fact that I'm soon to be a single father of two.

I got myself into this situation at a punk show about seven months ago. I went with a friend of mine. A night of music turned into more. My joints may not be able to handle a show like they used to, but...my duderus sure can. You know how this goes: two friends find something more with each other, fall in love, have an oops baby and live happily ever after. That's fine for some! Only problem is that my friend is already a married (albeit open) father of four and I have no intention of asking him to change his living situation. His husband is aware and supportive of my pregnancy. More than supportive, really, given that he's invited me to bed with them several times in the last few months - an offer I was more than willing to accept every time. We talk finances on the mornings after, me in my robe that barely fits over my belly now and them in their pajamas. All is well. My second daughter will be provided for by all the father figures in her life, while being doted on by her five half-siblings.

Other than that, my life's stayed mostly the same. I rock the orthotics in my Chucks these days. Some of my older band tees got a little crop job to make room for belly growth. My coworkers politely offer to assist me in standing from my office chair. My daughter just laughs in the way only a teenager can about how the responsible, careful parent who constantly harps on her to use protection if she's getting intimate with someone ended up with a raw load up the butt. I'm also not able to finish my sleeve tattoo just yet.

That's all, though. I still go to shows. I wear tight jeans. I have wild nights where I get my dick sucked by guys in leather harnesses. I work, I play, I walk, I run, I live.

"I thought you had a nice smile, that picture of you and your homemade cream puffs made my stomach growl and I like being the tall one in a relationship."

It was presumptuous, but Jorge admired the gall, so he agreed to drinks with the handsome 29-year-old. At the end of a whirlwind night, Jorge found himself on the front stoop of Devon's place, struggling to anchor his arms around Devon as he stood on tiptoes in his Converse to passionately french the much younger man. He'd almost accepted the invitation for a nightcap that came soon after, but chickened out at the last minute, overwhelmed by the experience.

They made standing weekly plans from there, which morphed into thrice-weekly plans before they could even be considered an established routine. Jorge's own lease ended eight months into the relationship and simple as that, Devon invited him to move in.

It wasn't all easy, but it proved not to be hard for the two men to become accustomed to living together. Their only regular disagreement was over the fact that Jorge liked to initiate foreplay immediately after dinner was eaten, whereas Devon thought the dishes should always be washed first. The two proved surprisingly simpatico, so it was no surprise to their friends and family when just shy of two years into the relationship, on Jorge's 50th birthday, Devon got down on one gangly knee and playfully requested, "Hey old man, how about we get married?"

They could've made a grand affair of it, what with Devon's high salary working in tech and Jorge's penchant for frugality leaving him with significant savings, but instead chose a courthouse elopement. A small gesture just about the love shared between the two men. Devon cried during the recitation of the vows and Jorge had wiped away his tears with a shaky hand.

Thus, Devon Desai and Jorge Gallardo became Mr. and Mr. Dellardo and settled into married life, falling more in love with each other every day. The communication was great, the respect was better, but the sex was the best. Devon's veiny six-inch cock tickled Jorge's prostate better than any man's ever had before. It was rare for Jorge not to ejaculate solely from his husband's slow internal massaging when they made love and Devon's velvety lips were always quick to lick his husband clean of their "love juice", once he himself had deposited a good solid load of it into Jorge's supple ass. The pair woke up together every morning and even on the rainiest days, could only see sunshine in the beautiful life they shared.

And then something shifted. Jorge's fantasy existence suddenly started weighing him down. He'd awake groggy and run down in the mornings. He'd feel faint and queasy after only a few minutes on top of Devon. Even their standing nightly family dinner became a burden, as what Jorge thought was acid reflux and a stomach weakening with age began to eat into their usually adventurous culinary options.

"You knew what you signed up for when you married an old man, eh?" Jorge joked as he exited their bathroom after upchucking the burrito with extra spicy salsa and gave his husband a pat on the shoulder.

"Are you sure you're alright, baby? I know you're getting older, but I dunno, this feels off."

"Don't worry about me, sweetie. I'm okay. I really think I just need to get my sleeping under control or something. Maybe our mattress is too old."

"Could be that you need a sleep study." Devon offered, "Not to be alarmist, but if it's apnea or a neurological thing, I'd rather we just find out now so we can deal with it."

"Really? You think it could be something that bad?" Jorge said with alarm.

"No, baby, I'm just saying we should get you to a specialist to find out more. I hate seeing you so tired in the mornings. It's not like you and I want you to feel your best. You deserve that."

Devon stood to give his husband a long kiss and an embrace, holding the shorter man firm in his long arms.

The appointment with the sleep specialist was made and two agonizingly sleepless weeks later, Jorge found himself fidgeting on the cold paper slip atop an exam table as he filled out reams of paperwork. An hour ago, a nurse had taken his blood pressure (verging on elevated), gotten his weight (a few pounds higher than he was used to), executed a number of breathing and stress tests, had him urinate in a sample cup, and pulled a blood sample that was being analyzed now.

As he was finishing up, he heard a double knock on the door and his doctor entered the room.

"Hi there, Mr. Dellardo. I'm sure you're sick of waiting, so let's get right to these results from your testing."

The doctor flipped the folder open and raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Dellardo, you're married, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"You have a husband, correct?"

Jorge was confused.

"Is that...relevant?"

"Mr. Dellardo, I'm not going to say it definitively, because we really will need a proper test, but based on these hormone results, I think you're pregnant, which could explain your recent sleep issues."

Oh. Ohhhh.

"I'm...are you sure? I'm 51. I'm pretty sure I'm in manopause."

The doctor chuckled and flipped to another page, tapping a number with his pen before turning the folder around to show to Jorge.

"That number is hCG. It's...quite elevated. You generally only find those levels in men who are pregnant or have duderine tumors and you have none of the other pituitary hormone levels associated with a duderine tumor. Based on how spiked these are, your fetus is somewhere between 8 and 10 weeks old, putting you towards the end of your first trimester. I'll order a pregnancy test on your urine sample, just to confirm, Mr. Dellardo."

The doctor swiveled on his office chair and began typing rapidly into a chart while Jorge held a hand against his stomach in wonder.

What? Pregnant?

He and Devon had never even discussed pregnancy as an option, given his age and marked propensity for playing a passive role. Sure, they'd talked about adopting an older kid in a few years when they had a bigger place and more space, but this was...mind-boggling.

30 minutes later, Jorge Dellardo walked out of the sleep clinic, pulled out his cellphone and called his husband. They usually texted. Devon picked up on the second ring.

"Hey honey, is everything okay? Did you get some answers?" Devon asked tentatively.

"Dev, baby...we're gonna be daddies. I'm pregnant!"

Devon laughed.

"Oh, very funny prank, honey! I'm glad you're okay, though, since you clearly wouldn't be doing this unless you were."

Jorge smiled and giggled to himself, a giddiness coming over him. Admittedly, he had pulled some small gags on Dev in the past.

"Not kidding, babe. I got a blood test and a urine test. I'm at least two months along. You knocked this old man up with that fat cock. I can't believe it either, but it's true. I'm pregnant with our little baby Dellardo!" he said with joy into the phone.

"You're not joking," Devon said in disbelief, "Jorge...we're having a baby? Like...by the end of this year, we're gonna be dads? And it's all thanks to your irresistible old man butt?"

"No, because it's thanks to your thick, warm loads that I love so much, too. Fuck, I wanna jump your bones so bad, Devon. I need more of that fertile seed smeared all up inside me. You're so virile. You made us daddies!"

As the months wore on, the initial symptoms of fatigue subsided and Jorge began to take on a parental glow as his belly expanded with the new Dellardo. Sex had become a joy again, especially now that it was medically prescribed by Jorge's obstetrician who recommended daily intercourse to help stretch the tissues of Jorge's birth canal in order to make delivery and postpartum easier for the now 52-year-old father to be. For his part, Devon took his role as non-bearing father quite seriously. His cock was now a prescription, after all and he was rough with his injections, bucking from side to side while penetrating his lover to stimulate stretching of the tissues while Jorge screamed in ecstasy, experiencing multiple prostate orgasms per session and turning their bedsheets crusty as his cock spewed a seemingly endless spray of semen with wild abandon.

But when the pregnancy reached 38 weeks, a few pensive moments came upon the loving parents. The important questions loomed. The choice to not learn the sex of the baby until birth. The hope that delivery would go well. The possibility of Jorge being able to get pregnant again after healing from his first birth. And of course, Jorge's age.

Paulo and Brad met in 2008, when the world was quite a different place. They had an age difference of 12 years: Paulo had recently turned 34 and Brad was a brash 22, fresh out of college at the time. Despite being in quite disparate places in their lives, they connected, began casually dating, and officially became boyfriends a few months into the year. It was a few weeks after they became official that Brad found out he was pregnant. It had come as a surprise and was nothing short of a total accident. Paulo had apologized profusely as it was undoubtedly his error that had caused the pregnancy and told his boyfriend that he could terminate the pregnancy if he felt it was too soon.

Brad didn't think it was too soon.

Eight months later, the pair became fathers to a baby boy.

Pau celebrated his 51st birthday this year with the announcement of a pregnancy: his own.

Brad's quite pleased with himself. The last time Pau's belly was swollen with one of their children, he hadn't even been 40 yet, so it's a testament to Brad's strong sperm that Pau is once again getting thick in the gut.

The couple's six older kids could only laugh. They'd seen it coming. Their dads get a certain gleam in their eyes when they're baby crazy. An anniversary getaway, a few nights the kids stay with their aunts and uncles, maybe even just a long weekend when both dads took off work to spend the day together...it never required much private time. Pau and Brad were just in love and in sync, such that any time they were ready to have another child, one of their wombs was receptive and one of their members was prepared to spurt deep, thick and virile.

My family's old fashioned. Momma made me swear I wouldn't get married while I was pregnant and that's a promise I have kept. We had a window after our six-year-old. Plans were in motion and we even had a date secured...and then I pissed positive on the day we were supposed to sign the final venue rental papers.

It's not like I'm trying to keep myself pregnant. I just have an active sex life with the man I love and both of us happen to be very fertile. Every time I slide myself onto him I feel an indelible euphoria only matched by what I experience when one of our children exits me. It's a powerful, instant love. I feel protective, paternal, loved. I know I'll be bonded to the thing I'm joined with for life.

I truly love it. I love getting round and fat with our children. Rylan still treats me like a king whenever we're together, even though I've learned to manage the execution of basically every household task while bloated and unbalanced due to pregnancy. I cook, I clean, I care for our brood, take them to and from pre-school and daycare nearly every day, and I still find time to show my man how much I adore him for the fact that he provides me the life I've always wanted.

Every year, we add a few more burgers to the grill than last year for our early autumn cookouts. This time last year, I was sullen over the fact that I wasn't already pregnant again. This year, I'm brimming with life. My belly's taut and firm, thanks to Rylan's insistence that I up my calorie intake. He's always telling me how he likes my thick thighs and muffin top while we make love. I can't help but smile when I look at him as he snaps a photo of me at the grill. My stud. My lover. The father of all my tomorrows.

As I got closer, he bent awkwardly, his bulging belly forcing him to keep his torso straight to pick up the newspaper, then heaved himself back to standing.

"Mornin', Stavros!" I shouted to greet him as I jogged by, waving as I passed.

He straightened and a knowing smirk came over his face as he waved back with the hand not occupied holding the paper.

"Good morning!" he waved back.

"Lunch?" I asked with a shout, looking back over my shoulder as he receded behind me.

"Lunch!" he agreed, cautiously swinging his hefty form around to bring the paper back into his home as I jogged off. He was getting so big.

Stavros...what can I say about Stavros? Ambitious. He'd been the city auditor for many years and more recently a city councilman. A head for numbers and a knack for getting things done. Quite a go-getter. He'd been here when I bought the house on the next block, 5 years back and we'd become fast friends at the neighborhood cookout I'd attended a few weeks after moving in, given we were the only two queer people in attendance, albeit not the only two in the neighborhood. As a matter of fact, Stavros had a husband, Lee, an equally ambitious man who had the impossible task of being an oral surgeon, an avid golfer and the oldest competitive weightlifter in the state at the age of 57, when I moved in. Consequently, Stavros had a lot of alone time during daylight hours.

We'd done a fair amount of day drinking together. I liked the same Japanese whiskys he did, so we'd often sip our rocks glasses together at his lavishly appointed bar on our spare noons. We became each other's gossip friends. He talked endless shit about the nincompoops on city council and I regaled him with the endless tales of the dunderhead employees at my roofing company, and in that way, we became close. I could feel him growing rather enamored with me. It started small; an occasional comment, a flirtatious overture about how he liked my "strong hands", or going out of his way to touch me while laughing at my (bad) jokes.

We got real, sometimes. I was forthright about the fact that I was single by choice and didn't see monogamy as working for me, which of course led Stavros to tell me all the wonderful parts of his marriage that he was worried I'd miss out on. It was a short list. I could tell it had been longer at some point, but he was mentally crossing things off as he went to recount them, realizing they were no longer true. I simply nodded and said that I understood his perspective, though I didn't share it. He simply sipped his whisky for a long few minutes after that, lost deep in thought.

Finally, a few years into our friendship, the subject of children came up. Stavros asked me as we were sampling a particularly exquisite vintage whether I'd ever thought about having kids. I told him I didn't have to think much about it, since I already had four of them, with four different men, and that was just the ones I knew about. He was flabbergasted. When had I had them and why didn't I talk about them? I calmed him down and informed him that in truth, all of them were accidental. Since men getting other men pregnant was drilled into my head as quite difficult during sex education classes, after PrEP became available, I saw no reason to continue using condoms and, well...my sperm count's apparently abnormally high. I paid my child support consistently and I saw most of my brood about twice a year, but their bearing fathers had scattered to the winds. They all had lives to live that didn't involve me and I was alright with that. Two had stepdads and one a stepmom, none of whose toes I much wanted to step on. I was functionally more of a sperm donor than a father.

That was when a sadness came into Stavros' eyes. He informed me that he and Lee had been trying to have a baby for the last ten years and that his husband, proud as he was, had been unable to seal the deal. They'd had a miscarriage at 15 weeks, a couple of years before I moved in, but Stavros had been unable to get pregnant again after that loss. He was concerned about Lee's sperm count, given his husband was almost fifteen years his senior, and growing ever more concerned that he himself would run out of viable eggs before long. A failed round of IUI had already revealed that his stock was dipping.

I inserted myself into the situation, or more correctly, I inseminated myself into the situation. It could be called an affair, as we definitely were both falling into a romantic entanglement without the knowledge of Stavros' erstwhile husband, but in a much simpler people-pleasing sense, I also desperately wanted Stavros to get the experience of a successful pregnancy. While Stavros pretended to be making one final push to conceive with Lee, I became intimate with him almost on the daily. I'd come over for "lunch", dump a thick load of myself into the older man, then do my best to get him to ejaculate as well.

Stavros and Lee had welcomed baby River just eight months ago. It was blatantly obvious that the boy had my eyes, not that Lee seemed to notice, busy as he remained. Stavros was not even a month postpartum when he invited me to "lunch" again.

My fifth baby daddy often told me he felt like I was the missing piece in his life while I massaged his belly, growing thick with our offspring once again. He loved Lee, he loved me and he loved the son I'd given him. I was content simply to kiss the man who'd accepted my cum so willingly for these past few years. I could tell that he wouldn't be stopping at two. Fertile years were dwindling.

He mused often about how my super sperm was so good at knocking him up that there was probably a good chance I'd have given him multiples if I got to do it when he was still a more virile man.

Reid was gay. Gay as two dudes wearing only rainbow flags sucking each other's dicks inside Stonewall during Pride Month. Gay gay. His wife sure didn't realize. Nor did the two children he'd given her, now both in their teens. How would they know, after all? He'd given no outward indication of such a thing during their lives. Well, no indication that they'd know about.

The "work trips" were an indulgence. A multifaceted lie, in their way, to his family, his workplace and to himself. Always without any fellow coworkers, always to multi-day conferences, always to cities far removed from the one he lived in, and always utilizing utter discretion. No credit card purchases of anything suspicious. A nice wad of cash withdrawn from his secret bank account that his wife didn't know about - double secrecy so nothing was traceable in case she found out about the account itself.

He'd go to the first day of the conference, then ditch during lunch. Enough to say he'd been there. It was easy to catch up on any recorded speeches on the plane home, anyway. God bless the digital age.

First stop was always a sex shop. Sexy underwear that cradled his bear body like the cheap practical shit he wore at home never could, a few dildos of increasing size, a cheap douche, a large bottle of lube, a value pack of condoms. All cash, of course. Back to the hotel, pants off, sneakers in the air, dildos up his butt for a few hours as he relearned bottoming. By then, it'd be evening and he'd find a gay bar. It was never hard, unlike his cock at this point.

He liked a young stud. Meatheads in their 20s who fucked like they only lived for sex. The guys he'd never been able to have when he himself was young. It usually took a few hours. Less than one might think, but daddy kinks were real. Reid's bald head, goatee, cheap Polos and beer gut had an air of stodgy, realistic straightness that a lot of older gay men couldn't achieve. Schlubs could still get it.

He was usually a bottom. His cock was thick, but on the shorter side. Satisfying enough to his wife as he'd used it to father their two children, and fun to stroke and suck for an eager young top, but not as suited for a man's hole. That was fine with Reid. He was always ready for a prostate massage that made use of the ultimate toy: a real penis.

He was firm, but fair with his young partners. They were only to fuck him with a condom on. Lots of lube. Anything else they wanted was up to them, so long as it didn't leave a long-lasting mark. He'd been BDSM'd all across the country, subjected to dozens of niche fetish and kink nights, had so many types of fluids slopped over his body that he'd lost count, and once a session was done with one man, it was on to the next. Most of his trips lasted three days. The low end of his body count during a single trip was about 15 men and the record high was 134, when he'd taken a trip to Portland at a time that "Gangbang Week" had overlapped with a four day tech conference.

Reid's goal was not to hit the same city twice. He left no contact information with his partners, always used fake names and hid all his identifiable belongings in the hotel safe, including the small, cheap bits of purchased souvenir kitsch he provided his family to distract them from digging any deeper. Such was life before he was forced to return to the drudgery and bland domesticity of the old ball and chain.

All things must come to an end.

Reid broke his own rules. He'd returned to San Francisco a year and a half after his first time, having made a number of particularly lovely memories. At the bar, he'd immediately cursed himself after running into a familiar face: a 20-something roided out muscleman called Caleb whose 7-inch rod had provided Reid with just the third prostate orgasm of his life during their initial encounter. Recognition was instant for both. Reid held himself back, but the flirting was intense and soon, they were heading back to the hotel.

Reid had forgotten his original San Francisco pseudonym and had reintroduced himself as "Paul", only for Caleb to question why the man he'd known as "Billy" was going by "Paul" now. Reid sighed and knew he was going to strike out on the chance to have one of the best orgasms of his life if he didn't come clean, so he showed Caleb his ID. The younger man was charmed at the candor and showed his own in kind. They'd gotten back to business.

Caleb was an excellent buttfucker with a perfectly shaped cock for Reid's prostate, but not such an excellently shaped cock for standard male condoms. Unbeknownst to both men, the friction of their vigorous lovemaking put a rip in the reservoir tip of one of the five condoms they availed themselves of that night. One might've been enough. Factually, though, as Reid and Caleb spent the next two days ravaging each and tore through the entire 100 pack of condoms, they broke a grand total of seven. Perhaps coincidentally, Reid experienced a total of eight prostate orgasms.

It was not a smart idea, but Reid paid cash for a burner phone to keep in contact with Caleb. Solely pictures and sexting, they'd promised one another. No calls, no feelings, just two men sharing their hot, horny bodies.

The phone stayed in a lockbox in Reid's car glove compartment. He'd pull it out only on the way to work or coming home from work, see what his secret paramour had sent him and reply in kind with a quick nude or some stimulating words. There was a public park between the two places that he'd often swing by, get out of the car, snap a photo of himself in a compromising position, then send to his lover before stuffing the phone back in the lockbox until the next time he was alone.

Reid noticed the swelling after being quite unwell for a while. He knew his wife had given up on his health years ago, resenting the fact that the thin man she'd married had gotten fat while she carefully stayed trim for him, so when even she commented on how big his beer gut had gotten, he knew something was up.

A trip to the doctor had bowled him over. Four months pregnant. The doctor, a family friend, had raised an eyebrow at the result. Reid had never been so thankful for medical privacy laws.

After returning to his car, Reid couldn't help but pull his shirt up and look at it. He'd always liked the fatty glob on his front in the ten years since it had started forming, but now that it held a piece of that sexy stud Caleb...he felt his penis begin to harden and without a second thought, he pulled his pants down so he could masturbate, right there in the parking lot. Midway through, he scrambled for the lockbox, pulled out the phone and positioned it to take video, after which he brought himself to a screaming orgasm.

He sent the video to Caleb with a photo of the doctor's paperwork confirming his pregnancy.

Caleb sent back a 5 minute long video registering his shock and asking Reid what he wanted to do. For his part, Caleb wanted to keep the child, but recognized that Reid's life would likely be destroyed by the choice, so he told Reid that the decision was his alone.

Reid contemplated the situation for a long while after the video was received. Several days of low contact with Caleb where he gave no answers before he finally went to the park before work and snapped the picture below, with the following text.

Reid: Caleb, I'm sorry for taking so long to respond to you, but I realized this morning that I'm ready to take some drastic steps with my life. If you will have me, I'd like to enter a romantic relationship with you, so our child can be born into a family with two loving fathers. My current marriage is over. It will not be a quick divorce process, but I plan to serve papers next week and move out of the home I lived in with my wife soon after. I would like to move close to you, but if you are not ready, I understand. I will be having this baby either way.

I have realized that I cannot live a lie any longer. After this baby is born, I intend to never use prophylactics when sleeping with a man ever again. I wasted so many of my good breeding years pretending to be straight, but now that I know how it feels to have a man's seed growing within me, I wish to always be full of the seed of any man who wants my womb, but moreover, I want to have more of your children.

I've recently been observing my fellow frequent subway commuter. I probably noticed quicker than the majority of these dullards who take the subway that he's growing a gut too fast for it to be solely a result of the inevitable slowing of metabolic activity that comes with age. When viewed from across the car, he was always quite a sight. I'd seen him around at the gay clubs and even chatted with him once, a few years back. I think his name was something like Tim or Thomas. The music was loud, okay? We hadn't gotten any further than a bit of banter before his friends dragged him to some other spot and we'd had to part ways, anyway.

It was fine. I had my own prospects and so did he, back then. I'd considered trying to talk to him during our shared commute, but he used to wear a wedding ring and I'm no homewrecker. Surreptitiously, however, I did happen to notice that he'd stopped wearing the ring earlier this year. It might've been gone for a while and I just hadn't caught it, but it was perhaps four months ago that it was gone for good. Coincidentally, that was around when his clothes started getting a little tighter.

I'd at first assumed a post-divorce bulk, but no, Tim or Thomas was seemingly a devoted gym goer in the last few years, given the previous development of his muscle tone. He wouldn't be packing on the flab like that just because he was letting himself go.

It was about six weeks ago when I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye on our regular 30 minute morning trip that I understood. He'd winced in genuine pain, held a hand against his protuberant gut, looked down upon it and smiled before patting it beatifically. Pregnant. No doubt.

I was wearing linen pants and no underwear on that particular day, so I spent the remaining 15 minutes of the trip with my bag on my lap, desperately trying to conceal the erection that was standing proud.

The mind boggled at the possibilities and all of them were enticing. Had he cheated? The dirty dog! Letting some other man into his marriage bed...tsk tsk. He wore it well, though. But perhaps it was kinder to assume that he and his husband had broken up over the issue of having children at all and this was his personal choice. Maybe he'd fallen into a new entanglement soon after the separation and the pregnancy had been an accident...or an "accident". Maybe a sperm donor. He wasn't old by any means, but he wasn't young. The childbearing years were bearing down on him. If he wanted to be a father, his choice was likely between "now" and "never". Or maybe the end of the marriage had left him in dire financial straits and surrogacy was the only option to make up the difference? This city wasn't cheap to live in.

From his relationship with his ex-husband, Isaac had three children, the eldest of whom had just gotten married towards the end of his health journey. It was not so long ago, following a few years together, that his son confided in him that he and his wife were having trouble conceiving and had found out that neither of them had a viable womb. They were devastated.

Isaac offered his womb in a heartbeat.

It feels little strange to be carrying his own grandchild, but Isaac is happy to do it to give his kids a chance at their own family. Despite his advanced age, he's gotten a clean bill of health at every checkup since the insertion of the embryo. He hasn't even done much to change his gym routine, still getting his reps in with the weights. Building back his pelvic floor is still a priority for the pregnant senior.

"Thank you for the donation, Dadmaker87, me and the baby appreciate it. Ooh, gosh, he really appreciates it. He's moving a lot. Guess he can tell his papa's turned on."

Jordan was cringing inwardly as he struggled to maintain his "sexy" voice. The grad student wished quite strongly to be anywhere else but streaming on DaddysLittleSecret.com, but it wasn't like the rent paid itself.

When he'd first gotten pregnant, he'd thought things were going to be perfect. He had a steady boyfriend of four years with a good job, was doing well in school and expected that the pregnancy would put a little bow on top, such that he graduated as a married father.

Life had other plans.

His boyfriend was hesitant to accept the pregnancy, but did...until Jordan was five months along and he changed his mind. They'd argued, then gotten a little physical, and finally his boyfriend called it off and moved out. The letter from the custody lawyer disclaiming the child and offering support with no visitation as a best and final offer was the icing on the cake.

Jordan had no savings. Camboy was the only option. Faceless, at first. Chubby didn't earn much and he'd hidden the pregnancy, but one of his regulars asked privately after a few days if he was really pregnant, given how fast he was getting bigger. Jordan bashfully admitted that he was, at which point the guy offered Jordan a donation big enough to pay his rent for the next three months and an invitation to DaddysLittleSecret.

The site was niche, invite-only and high roller central. If you were male, pregnant and willing to show your face, an invitation was all you needed to start earning serious coin. Jordan had nothing much left to lose.

He rubbed his belly and gave a loud moan as he heard a notification ping.

"Oh, ChuckDads, good to see you! I'm wearing your gift. Thank you for the donations as well and I have it on my list to buy another pair of Converse like you suggested."

ChuckDads is typing popped up on the screen.

ChuckDads: fucking hell ur huge and omg those hot ass chucks...dude, if you buy a new pair and wear them during a labor stream ill give you 30k, fuck ur so hot

I'm Dr. Keegan Baird. I'm an astrogeologist, which basically means I like rocks from other planets. Thrilling, I know! I make a fabulous dinner guest, because everybody else has a more interesting job and I'm a great listener. I got my doctorate at MIT and then went to work for NASA on the Ares program, which at the time was just in its infancy. For a long time, I was married to my job. As of eight years ago, though, I'm married to an incredible man named Xavier who runs a hole-in-the-wall hardware store in Cape Canaveral.

I joined the astronaut candidate program about when we got married. They fast-tracked me since I already had a minor in Russian during my undergrad degree. Soon enough, I became an official member of NASA Astronaut Group 26 and went through all the training. There's 10 of us who made it through. They dubbed us "The Pinkys" because by strange coincidence four of us independently broke a toe or finger at various times during our years of training - all pinkys.

My nine fellow ASCANs are some of the greatest people I know. Those 6 women and 3 men would give me the shirt off their backs in an instant if I asked them to, and I would do the same for them. It's the type of bond one needs to have with people whose lives are in each other's hands.

Being part of the first Astronaut Group specifically trained for the Ares Program, all 10 of us had eyes on Mars. How could we not? If everything went well, we'd be some of the first few humans to walk on its surface. The idea of getting to stand on an unending field of Martian regolith is intoxicating to a guy who likes alien rocks, as you can probably imagine. Our training was completed alongside the announcement of the first official Ares Program launch dates and mission assignments.

Ares 1 was splashy, being the first, but not the gig anybody with a vision of glory really wanted. Setting up the Ares Space Station was certainly high on the list of priorities and a worthwhile endeavor to support everything else, but the Ares 1 crew were spacebound the whole time. No plans for those four to ever set foot on Mars; just a long trip there, a few months on the station, then a long trip home.

Ares 2 was the big kahuna. That was the Armstrong and Aldrin of Mars. Landing and setting up Ares Planetary Base for long-term habitation was the stated goal and as a side benefit, you just happened to get to break new ground for the human species and get your name written in every history book published for the rest of eternity.

I knew that I wanted Ares 2, but we all wanted Ares 2. There were only three slots for it and I, not being a medical doctor, was already ruled out for one of them. I was also not a pilot, so that was another slot down. That left the mission specialist role. I thought I had a decent shot at that. I'd taken plenty of engineering courses and being a soil and rock specialist, I knew I had the knowledge to optimally help set up the base.

But, the day finally came and I ended up on Ares 3. Another planetfall, thank god. I'd be the fourth, fifth or sixth person to set foot on Mars, depending on how fast I got out of the lander. The first gay man, I might add. That gave me a certain amount of pride.

Xavier was initially as thrilled as I was when the announcement came, knowing how much this meant to me. It just so happened to coincide with my 39th birthday, so we celebrated and started marking the calendar for 34 months later, when my launch was scheduled.

We had some tough and fairly bittersweet conversations after that. Xavier and I love our life together and he's respected my desire to be independent and adventurous...but we'd also been trying to conceive for a while, with no success. I'd started intra-duderine insemination during the early days of astronaut training after a year of failed attempts to conceive naturally. Three failed rounds later, we'd decided that it just wasn't in the cards for us. We'd tossed around adoption and surrogacy as an idea, but training was taking a toll on me physically and I couldn't handle the added mental strain at the time. To placate my husband, I'd told him that if I got assigned to a late enough mission, we'd have our child somehow and I'd be there for the critical early years before my two-and-a-half years away. Ares 5 was our cutoff, a full 5 years down the line. Plenty of time for us to adopt or use a surrogate.

That just wasn't meant to be. Ares 3 was history-making, but too soon. After the schedule was made, everything kicked into gear. I was training for a million eventualities, doing podcasts and TV appearances, even attending Chicago Pride as the grand marshal of the parade, being the first openly gay man to become an astronaut for NASA. It was too tight a timeline for us to have a child, on top of which, by the time I got back from The Red Planet I'd have soaked up so much cosmic radiation that it was likely my fertility would be affected, and Xavier would be closer to 50 than 40. The stars may have aligned for my career, but fate was not on our side. We decided to stop talking about our family planning, by mutual decision. The final pin put in place was a promise to discuss fostering older children when I was back on Earth.

The launch drew closer every day and suddenly, I was spending my final night with Xavier before pre-launch quarantine began. We consumed two and a half bottles of outrageously expensive wine, gorged ourselves on every food I was going to be unable to access for the next few years, and tried to watch some dreadful romcom, but instead spent the whole time drinking each other's presence in and cuddling on the comfy couch in our den. It became a fair bit more than cuddling after a fashion. One of our best nights together, on the whole. We drifted off together, him curled around me as my big spoon, in a pile of slightly damp clothes. Our goodbye kiss in the NASA parking lot the next morning lasted 10 uninterrupted minutes.

My next 14 days were spent getting poked, prodded, tested, re-tested, lectured, drilled and generally harangued about every contingency alongside Dr. Gabrielle Durango, Sergeant Madeline Gauthier and Corporal Neil Huang. I liked them all well enough, though I was closest to Madeline, given that she was the only other Ares 3 crewmember from The Pinkys. We'd be the second and third Pinkys to make planetfall, following in the footsteps of flight engineer Sarita Latkar, who sent us a congratulatory message directly from Ares Planetary Base while we were in quarantine.

Launch day was a blur. I strapped in, executed my piece while Neil and Madeline did all the difficult pilot-y parts, and all of a sudden, we were weightless and locked in a capsule for seven months.

The food was an adjustment for me. We'd sampled all the ration packs beforehand to make sure we could handle and enjoy them, but my guts were not cooperating in zero-G. I was thankful for the vomit-collection system carefully built into the eating area, as I'd availed myself of it several times as I began my routine preparing for life on Mars. Exercised a lot. Read a lot of books and put a lot of music on. My taste in media is similar to Dr. Durango's, so we bonded over that.

I got the sense that something was seriously wrong when I started rapidly gaining mass. We were routinely massed out on the ship to confirm that we weren't losing muscle tone. Huang, Durango and Gauthier all lost a few pounds within our first month. I gained ten. It wasn't like I wasn't excreting normally; I crapped and urinated in a way that was probably as standard as one can in microgravity. The calorie dense food just felt as if it was sitting heavy.

Dr. Durango was getting concerned about 15 weeks into our voyage, when all three of my shipmates' masses had stabilized and I was still gaining. In her estimation, I needed a full medical exam, which she was more than happy to provide.

During said exam, she offered me her ultimate medical diagnosis by way of testing my stored waste with one of the strips from a sealed medical bag she'd had to take from what was supposed to be our planetside stock. I couldn't help but note that the small zippered bag was bright red: a clear indication of emergency use material. Alarming.

She didn't mince words. I was four months pregnant. She told me in no uncertain terms that she was forced to report this information to Mission Control and request a command to abort mission and return to Earth for the safety of both father and child.

It was the strangest news I've ever received. One of my competing ultimate dreams had decided to rear its head and cancel out the other one. It was the most elated and crushed I've ever felt, all in an instant. I was going to be a father and I was never going to touch Mars...wow.

We told the others before we told Mission Control. Madeline was sympathetic. She knew my fertility struggles. Neil was...not. I knew his military instincts ran deep, but some of the things that came out of his mouth in the immediate wake of the news are things he can't take back. I could accept the anger, but the knowledge that Neil thought I was an "airhead faggot" and "useless rock-fucker" hung in the air for the the rest of the mission...which, in a cruel twist of fate, was not immediately scrubbed.

As it turned out, our fuel balance, flight plan and current speed did not support an Earth return trip. If we turned around now, it would take us five months to get home, due to Earth's orbital trajectory around the sun working against us. In other words, I'd either be landing with a full-term baby in my belly or being just days postpartum with an unsecured infant likely to be harmed or outright killed during a landing. By contrast, our continuing path to Mars would have us making planetfall when I was just seven months pregnant. Precarious, yes, potentially even enough to send me into pre-term labor, but a calculated risk that could be handled.

The real challenge was the fact that I was for the foreseeable future going to be raising a baby on Mars. Our relaunch date was scrubbed and moved forward almost a full year. Too dangerous to return me and the child without proper safety gear. The Ares 4 mission was reworked and pushed ahead into a resupply and safety assignment, with both a pediatrician and an early-childhood gerontologist assigned to monitor the baby, alongside a structural engineer whose assignment was to retrofit the base to accommodate the needs of my son or daughter. They'd be there about six months after we arrived.

Meanwhile on Ares Planetary Base, the return mission for Ares 2 was reworked as well. They'd been scheduled to launch for home with all crew aboard, leaving the base empty once we arrived, but Sarita Latkar offered to stay on and rework base systems as best she could before the arrival of the new structural engineer. Her careful ministrations in reworking the food rations would mean that I would have enough of the extra calories required to safely breastfeed the baby.

We touch down on Mars in four days.

I try my best to keep the fear out of my mind. Our mandated exercise routines help. Harder to do with my incredibly turgid seven month belly. Xavier sends messages every day. I can tell he's worried too. Too many unknowns. He's proud and excited to be a dad, but the fact that he's going to be about 140 million miles away from the baby for the first couple years is...difficult to say the least.

All I can do is hope. Hope that our baby will thrive as the first human ever born on Mars. Hope that NASA knows what they're doing and will plan, plan and plan again for every eventuality when it's finally time for me to bring my progeny back to Earth. Hope for a kinder world that accepts me as more than some rock-loving dope who let his sexual desire get in the way of scientific advancement.

Frances has long been my favorite of our many house butlers. In his 35 years of unerring service, he's provided truly excellent attendance to the skills of propriety afforded to one of his class. His remuneration reflects these skills; he is our highest paid butler almost by an order of magnitude.

Frances is one of the few service staff considered to be both intelligent and discreet enough to attain the rank of surrogate. I still recall quite strongly the first time I noticed he was gaining weight. I must've been only a few years old at the time and I pointed at the bump under his waistcoat and asked why he was growing so round. Too many sumptuous meals from our staff cooks? I admonished him to exercise more in my toddler voice. In return, he'd merely offered a soft smile and informed me that he was growing my little brother in his belly. I was awed. As far as I knew at that time, only Papa could grow a belly that eventually became a sibling for me. I'd become a big brother less than a year prior, when Papa had my sister and he'd recently informed me that Daddy had caused him to be having another. The idea that Frances could also give me siblings was shocking. I told Frances he should tell Daddy not to make him have more after this one, as I quite liked being a young one in the brood. He bowed deeply as he promised that he would do his best to not break my trust.

Frances ultimately bore three of my younger siblings. Between Papa's five (myself included) and Frances' three, we were quite a handful.

Dad passed when I was in my early 20s. Papa was devastated, though the death was a long time coming. I was willed Frances' contract as part of my inheritance, including its still-unfulfilled breeding clause. As it turned out, Frances was compelled to bear five young for the family. Dad's heart was not healthy, so he'd stopped after rounding out Frances the third time, about 15 years ago.

The decision I made to finish the contract was done purely out of attraction. Frances is quite a bit older than I, but he's a deeply sexy man and, as I learned when I made my first son with him, a marvelously experienced bottom with a whopper of a cock. To my surprise, it only took three months for Frances to provide a positive pregnancy test.

The two pregnancies went by in a flash. No complications, quick labor, easy birth both times, and just like that, Frances had given me my two perfect sons.

It was at this point that I requested an extension of the now-fulfilled contract, which he signed without comment, the summer after giving birth the second time. He was round again with our daughter by Christmas.

The extension was intentionally written such that Frances may give me as many children as he desires or is able. As he greets me at the door, ripe with our fifth, I can't help but wonder when this will end. I am still young, virile and ready to impregnate this man for as long as I am able. He is nearing sixty, yet still his womb accepts my seed swiftly and gratefully each time to beget further spawn.

I have considered offering him my hand in marriage. I could see no other man bearing my children. I fear he would deny me.

Are we famous now?

True love is a sport for rich men and I have never been a rich man. I'm a fool and a lover in my heart of hearts. It's no secret, though perhaps it really should be.

They tell me I'm pretty when I'm mad. Some polished stone pulled from dirt with a few notable flaws that only add to its beauty and authenticity, according to incredibly effective marketing professionals who've convinced the world of the same. It's effective. I can't lie and say it doesn't convince even me sometimes, but that just makes me angrier that I'm susceptible to the lie.

The face. God, the face. They harp on it so. "'Quit smoking, you'll ruin everything before you even make it" or "Do me a favor and never touch your eyebrows outside my presence again", among others.

I'm not stupid. I know I'm not that smart, but I'm not stupid. I came to this city to live out a dream and I've been blessed to have things work out. My path's been faster than most. Booked on the first go-see...my agency flipped their lids and started seeing dollar signs.

I do okay. I don't take everything I'm offered and this place is expensive. As most of the American middle class chokes out its death throes, I find myself entering it for the first time. Finally having 'fun money' to spend is a new feeling and I've availed myself of it as cautiously as I could.

He was the danger I didn't see coming. Khalil. He used the mononym. Very Cher, very Zendaya, very Oprah. K, to me, though. God, even the letter sends a shiver down my spine. Actors, man. They're something else. All the right words. The flesh was weak. Nothing to describe the feeling of being there in the moment. It was charged, maybe. Dominated my entire universe and that was just on the first night, when I thought I was merely having a dalliance with a B-lister. If you thought me a starfucker, you wouldn't be wrong.

His fame didn't hurt.

The fact he was in the closet sure did.

Fuck, I'm an idiot. I know better. Of course I know better. My agent warned me about a hundred-thousand times. The actor and the model. Classic. Didn't stop me. He had an insatiable appetite for me, more money than I would know what to do with and he fucked like a stallion. Am I just supposed to ignore that? I had other options, but he checked a lot of boxes.

I let him get to me a little. We weren't exclusive on either end, but I was his #1 and he was mine in turn. I thought that afforded us something. The closeting thing was the crux of our issue. Obviously the paparazzi snapped us together a couple times, but we were carefully PG in public. Both our teams liked it just fine. My agency liked that I was getting a profile boost by being photographed with him and his PR team liked that I was an unknown who made him seem more approachable. I just wasn't allowed to kiss him. Or cuddle him. Or hold his hand. Or run my fingers against his chest. Or let him fuck me in the bathroom at the club.

Well, we did do that last one once.

Stop, stop, stop, I know, I know it was very dumb, but it was quite dark, very quick and in a stall. The friends we were with just assumed we were grabbing a quick bump, which admittedly we also did do. Fun night. A little too fun.

I noticed quick. My face is my job. I eat clean, I exercise, I drink water and other than party drugs, I don't imbibe. Why the fuck was I bloated? In my catastrophizing little brain, I jumped straight to cancer with an assist from WebMD, so the agency rolled their eyes and sent me to a doctor. Motherfuck. Or fatherfuck, I guess.

Pregnant. God dammit. Still early. I didn't tell the agency and claimed I had mixed up my supplements, so the doctors steered me in the right direction and I'd be right as rain soon.

Had to tell him now. We met up at his place. Opulent doesn't begin to do it justice. Loved that apartment. Spent many an evening with my legs splayed in the air, back against that absurd $20,000 mattress of his. He was in good spirits. Said he had big news. I did too, obviously, so he went first.

He booked. He booked big. A-list big. Oscar-winning director big. Nine-figure budget big. He was too excited by the end of his tale. I could already see his pants tenting. We followed that sign to its natural conclusion. I couldn't hit him on a high like that. As we cuddled post-coitally, I got as close to him as I possibly could and locked eyes with the man I now knew that I loved as I muttered those two words.

His face fell. A series of soft little oaths dripped out of his mouth, directed at no one in particular as I felt his body go rigid against me. I apologized. He asked how far along. I told him the truth. The tension rushed out of his body and he kissed me hard, laughing softly as he groped for the drawer of his bedside table, pulled out a small orange pill bottle and presented it to me. He told me I'd damn near given him a heart attack over something so minor and to just pop one of the pills inside.

I realized. Oh. I...wasn't sure. I had visions of something in my head that had solidified when he told me who he was just on the verge of becoming. Once he was properly famous, who'd care if he was queer? This was a done deal and in my mind's eye, I was seeing the pregnancy as a sign that it was time for us to become something more together.

I shook my head and told him my side. His face twisted in disgust. I can barely remember what happened next, but within ten minutes, I was being escorted out of his apartment for what I did not realize would be the final time. In the next 24 hours, I was blocked on all social media, received a notice that my permit to enter his apartment complex was revoked, and got served with a paternity lawsuit.

I shut down my social life. Threw myself into my work and booked a lot of gigs very quickly. Asked the agency to recommend a lawyer for "a family dispute" and got set up with one who told me to be absolutely as quiet as possible. That, I could do. I stacked up a good wad of cash in just those first few months.

The court date was looming. Belly was too big to hide now. Finally told the agency, who kindly congratulated me to my face, then emailed me a day later, terminating my contract.

A sick idea crossed my mind.

----------------

I sat in the moonlight, contemplating what I'd done. I could hear my phone buzzing constantly on the couch where I'd left it as soon as the article went up.

The scoop had netted me a monster payday. Enough for a house, if I left the city, which I now planned to do.

I'd ruined him, probably.

The city below glowed and writhed, alive with a million other lives in progress, all of whom would probably soon know his name and mine.

"Khalil's secret love child with model boyfriend Rashad Avery EXPOSED"

I couldn't say much for the copy editing.

"Hi mama.

It's Colt. I'm sorry I haven't visited ya in a while, but life been's awful busy. I think about you a lot, but coming here to visit you is hard for me. Gets me all teary and makes it difficult to think. That's not on you, though, mama, that's all me. I gotta fix that about myself and that's why I'm here.

It's real pretty 'round here this time of year. I think you must like that. You love the springtime. You always say it reminds you of little Maybelle and our short time with her. How's she doing up there? Well, I hope. I've been thinkin' lots about her too, mama. Wondering if she gets to grow up and live the life she never got down here in this mortal plane, ya know. I guess I won't know until I get to see you again in forty or fifty years. I hope a lot, though. Pray, too.

Mama, I have some things to confess to you. I don't really know where to start. You're a good listener, but this ain't the kinda story I'm accustomed to tellin', on account of you never heard anything quite like it outta my mouth before.

I met someone, mama. Someone who makes me feel loved like I haven't felt since the last time you held me close. Strange feeling. Different, for sure, but definitely love. I'm sure you're excited for me, mama. I know you would be. You always talk about me finding my one, like you had with daddy, so I know if you could be here in the flesh, you'd be giving me one of your big ol' mamabear hugs and grinnin' like a fool. I hope that, at least.

Mama...the person I've fallen in love with is a man.

The most wonderful man I've ever met, actually. He's everything you always told me that daddy was before he passed: kind, handsome, strong, well-mannered, but still a good ol' country boy. He makes me wanna be the best version of myself for him. A kiss from him is a tall glass of ice-cold sweet tea on a hot summer day. We're goin' on four years together and he still leaves me feeling giddy that he's mine every time I get a good glance at him.

I tell you all this, mama, because I know what you think of men bein' with men. 'Unnatural' and 'not of God' and whatnot. You've been gone a long time now, though. Nigh on fifteen years in a few months. The world's changed. Attitudes changed, people changed, laws changed, but my memory of you has stayed the same and mama... that haunts me.

I know what you thought when you left this world, but I know you were not a stubborn lady. I'm here because I want your blessing. I want you to send me a sign that you hear me. God, I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life, because I can't have the last thing I heard out of my mother's lips about the life I lead being that nasty dreck the pastor poisoned your tongue with.

I'm sorry for cryin', mama. No, no, I'm not. You don't want that for me. Like you always say, 'tears are for a reason'. I'll cry it out.

I felt that. That wind against my cheeks. Your hands wiping away my tears. Rustling the flowers as you breeze towards me to wrap me up. You're here.

Mama, I've got another little somethin' to share. You're gonna be a grandma soon. My partner and I are expectin' a baby. She's growin' inside me right now. I worry every day. How odd that is. You always get on my case for bein' so easy breezy and now I'm wound tighter than a drum. I guess that's what life as a parent is about, though. All the worry, worry, worry for the life you're giving to a child and whether it'll be better than what you had.

I don't want you to worry anymore. That's my burden now. I'm the mark you left on this world and I wanna do you proud. I want you to enjoy bein' a grandma. I'll bring the little one to meet you here, soon. I think we're long overdue for a family reunion. This ain't the solemn place I made it out to be in my head; it's a place of joy.

When Neil cashed in all his stock options, I went fully remote at my job and we set out on this journey last year, it was supposed to be an adventure across the American countryside. Our stately RV was going to take us to all kinds of sights as yet untold. Neil would drive and we'd have the road trip of a lifetime before we settled down and got married, as we planned to do in 2025.

I realized rather quickly that a road trip spanning a year loses its novelty pretty fast. You can only see so many "World's Largest [Thing]" before you stop caring enough to get out of the air conditioning to get a look.

Neil recognized I was losing my taste for it and attempted a few other methods of raising my spirits. One of those attempts was in Gravette, Arkansas, seven months ago at about three o'clock in the morning. I was horny and sick of Arkansas. He was horny and sick of me bitching. We hunkered down to screw and found we had no condoms handy. He offered to run to the store - at 3 AM? What store in that godforsaken town would be open? I told him to just fuck me.

And now, here I lay in the middle of a weekday, spilling this giant baby bump out of my overalls on an uncomfortable cot in the back of our RV, while Neil drives us to god knows where.

"Hey, you're Kris Eichmann, right? I think our daughters are in the same class," Arvind said to the gray-haired man as the attendants of the PTA meeting began to filter out of the gymnasium, "I'm Arvind. Sara Chaudhri is my daughter."

The gray-haired man shook his head and grinned as he took Arvind in.

"Close, but no, I'm Vance Eichmann. Our daughters are in the same class, though, assuming you think my daughter is Louise."

Arvind blushed slightly.

"Ah, my bad. 50/50 shot and I got it wrong. Yes, I assumed you were Louise's dad. Either way, nice to meet you."

He extended a hand and received a firm shake from Vance.

"Likewise, man. Louise told me that she'd just met another girl with two dads last week and I was wondering when I'd get the pleasure. Not too many of us around these parts," Vance said, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Arvind shrugged in a non-committal way.

"Yeah, as far as I know, our kids are the only ones with two dads in the grade. I think there's a boy in another class with two moms, but yeah, a little lonely out here," Arvind said.

"It's tough! Small town politics, you know. The kids are easy and the teachers are fine with it. It's the other parents you have to watch out for. Lot of sneaky little snakes in the grass in these parts. Anyway, Louise told me that you guys are new in town. Where did you move here from?"

"Pittsburgh! My husband Tim is an oncologist and he was working for the University of Pittsburgh. Housing prices were out of control there and we've always wanted to be in the suburbs, so Tim took a job at Our Lady of Mercy and we made the big move. It was also precipitated pretty heavily by uh...this," Arvind said, cradling his baby bump, "We hadn't really planned on another just yet, but life happened and we had to speed up our timetable."

"Ah, I was wondering. I'm also in the family way, as you can see. This'll be number seven for me," Vance said, patting his belly from both sides.

"Whoa, big family!" Arvind said in surprise.

"Ha, yeah, though only the third I've given birth to personally. Kris is my third spouse. Two kids each with both of my ex-wives, the youngest of whom is now seventeen. Louise is my eldest with Kris."

"So you're bisexual or...?"

"Nah, I'm definitely gay, hence the two divorces, but it took me until 40 to figure that out. Wasn't gonna let that stop me from being a dad!"

"Hey, good for you. You like being a dad a lot, then?"

"It's the freakin' best. Even better when they bake in your own oven. I love my older kids dearly, but these young ones...oh, it's different. Breastfeeding was the first time I really felt it. Pregnancy is so abstract, but when you have a real human baby in your arms who's drinking straight from you to survive, you can't help but fall head over heels."

"Gosh, that sounds amazing. This is actually my first time carrying for us," Arvind confessed, "Tim was hellbent on carrying at least one of our children, despite the fact that he's 80% of our household income and was finishing up residency at the time, so Sara was his one. I'm excited to get my chance."

"Arvind, my man! Oh, dude, you're gonna love it. How far along are you?"

"Just hit 30 weeks."

"Ahhh, about a month ahead of me. You're in for a fun time soon. This is right when the hormones start to mature and your birth canal begins to stretch. Your husband's gonna take notice and be all over you. Make sure you let him go to town on you at least every other day, starting in about a week. It'll help build up some muscle tone and it makes birth a lot easier."

Arvind blushed again in embarrassment as he checked to see that nobody else at the PTA meeting was still in earshot.

"Yeah, I guess I can try that with him, maybe," he said, unsure of what else to fill the awkward silence with.

Vance smacked himself on the forehead, realizing his faux pas.

"Ah, sorry. Me and my big mouth! I'm realizing now that you probably think I'm some hypersexual weirdo because I said that without telling you my job. I'm a sex therapist specializing in queer sex and pregnancy; I don't have a lot of shame when it comes to talking about traditionally taboo topics. Ignore me!"

Arvind chuckled as he realized the error.

We'd let our imaginations run wild in the forest both our houses backed up to. I was the schemer and dreamer, Owen, the bravery and execution. Forever was I coming up with some new game for us to play, a new project to bring to fruition or a million other things to occupy our time, all of which Owen interpreted and cleverly found ways to make real. I imagined, he made. It worked.

Before Owen, I was timid and shy, painfully insecure about being heavy and gawky-looking. Nobody could argue I was a bad student, for I tested well, but teachers always noted that I had trouble socially. Owen, by contrast, was naturally gregarious and bold, albeit a tad brash. A middling student, but easy to talk to and likable, not to mention obviously handsome. When we came together, it was like two halves of a machine finally being joined. We each made up for what the other lacked.

When we were in middle school, I dreamed up the idea for the treehouse. A place for us. There'd be innumerable blanket forts and closet hideaways for us in the earlier years, but as we grew older and acquired more autonomy, it became clear that we needed a staging ground for ideas that was a neutral ground away from either of our respective homes. Owen was as enraptured by the idea as I was and it was clear that no matter how much effort it took, this was going to happen. Thus came the treehouse. We scouted out a good solid oak about a mile into the forest and with the assistance of Owen's construction supervisor father, brought the dream to life. We christened it with a sleepover at the beginning of our seventh grade summer. It was a tad cramped, more than a bit uncomfortable and late night rain proved that our attempted waterproofing still needed work, but our excitement was not dampened by any of these factors. We finally had a place to call our own.

The treehouse was the place where we became blood brothers. Nightly homework went quickly in the treehouse and hours of board and tabletop roleplaying games were wiled away in its confines. It was, however, a private space for us two alone. Our parents would occasionally make the trek into the forest to call us for dinner, but never violated the sanctity of the house itself, always remaining firmly on the ground and shouting up to us. Owen's little sisters also never joined us, due to crippling acrophobia. That was why I was surprised, one day during our Sophomore year of high school, to climb the sturdy twenty-foot ladder and discover not just Owen, but a girl - a girl I recognized, at that.

Yesenia Alvarado was a statuesque, amber-eyed athletic girl who'd started attending our high school at the start of the year. All the boys had been immediately taken with her, of course. She was whip-smart and had an air of untouchable movie star glamour that she wore comfortably. I was startled by her presence and only barely caught myself on the ladder after jumping slightly.

Owen apologized for not asking if he could bring her, but I assented that it was fine. There was enough space for three people while maintaining some level of comfort, albeit probably not four. I wondered, however, at the fact that Owen had brought this girl here at all. I'd never seen them interact before, outside of occasionally working together on group projects in the English class we all shared. Was he attracted to her? We'd never really discussed crushes before, let alone anything more serious. Our time together was all about imagining and sculpting reality. When we talked about the future, it was always in broad, sweeping terms like "wanting a family". The shape of that family always escaped us. Perhaps Owen was finally taking the initiative. I had to admit, I didn't think his choice was a bad one. Yesenia was objectively very pretty and no slouch, academically.

At this point, I did start to feel self-conscious, though. Though neither of them did anything specifically to make me feel like an outcast, it became clear as we interacted that they had been talking for a while, without my knowledge. This was fine, though surprising. I wasn't some crazy person who banned my best friend from having other friends, but Owen was not shy about talking to other friends when I was around, usually. It occurred that perhaps Owen had been hiding her from me, worried about my opinion.

The night wore on with homework and chatter, eventually leading us to pack up and go home - Yesenia lived only a few blocks away and walked alone, despite Owen's offer to accompany her. I worked up the courage to tease him a little, once we were alone in his backyard.

"So, you got a girlfriend, huh?" I joked.

He blushed.

"We haven't...I mean, I haven't asked, but I like her," he said, pausing awkwardly, "Sorry, again, for not asking your permission to use the treehouse. She said she'd heard about it from someone at school and she was curious. I figured you'd be cool."

"No worries, man. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

He grinned and gave me a bear hug.

"Love you, dude. I think she enjoyed herself and she seemed to get along with you, which was really important to me. If you didn't like her, I knew it wasn't gonna be right. That's why I didn't talk to you about it until now. I promise I won't bring her every night or anything and I'll always ask in the future."

I appreciated him asking, but something in that response gave me a twinge, deep in my gut. I broke our hug and thanked him for valuing my opinion as I internally assessed what I was feeling. I felt my eyebrows knit together involuntarily as I recognized the sensation. Wait...what? I was getting an erection.

I did my best to act nonchalant, quickly saying goodbye and making the 40-step journey back to my house, feeling my penis continue to firm in my underwear as I climbed the steps to my bedroom, made my way in and tossed myself on the bed. My pants and underwear were off in a flash and there it was, standing straight up, five inches long and fully erect. What the fuck? I was no stranger to riding one of these bad boys to splooge town, but mostly when thinking about swimsuit catalogue girls or Owen's older cousins, who came to visit a couple times a year. I thought again on Owen's hug and "Love you, dude". It twitched in response.

No fucking way.

Did I like Owen as more than a friend? I carefully ventured a hand to grip and experimentally tug on it, Owen's face in my head. It remained firm. I lay there, petrified, hand on my cock as my thoughts raced. Had I always liked Owen? Was this something new? Was I just a hormonal teenager making more of something than I should?

Half in terror, half in curiosity, I held onto the image of Owen as I jerked myself off. A real sense of dread came to me as I felt the telltale building pressure of approaching orgasm. I was aroused by him. Hastily, I grabbed a tissue from my bedside table and felt full body chills as I spunked into it.

My dreams that night were full of Owen. His face, his body, pressing into me, kissing me, caressing me, toying with me. I awoke in a cold sweat at 4 AM and quickly realized the dream in which Owen had been sucking intensely on my cock had resulted in me soiling my underwear. Disquieting. I decided to consider it a fluke, despite my mounting suspicion that this was far more dangerous.

Yesenia became a weekly visitor to the treehouse, usually on the weekend when she didn't have soccer practice to attend. It was on these nights that I got to know her and unfortunately, liked her a lot. She was kind, easy to talk to and a surprisingly good baker, as we found out from the various sweet treats she often brought along with her. It wasn't for any of this that I liked her most, though, but rather because every time she visited, Owen would always make encouraging faces at me when her back was turned, thanking me for being welcoming, and inevitably leading me to another erection and a night of sex dreams about him. They didn't solely recur on those nights and they weren't daily, but I quickly realized that the dreams were not going to go away, even if I ignored or stopped encouraging them by riding my Owen-related erections to orgasm.

Yesenia was a rare topic of discussion for us in the nights she wasn't there and I had no issues with that. When it was just the two of us, it felt normal again and we'd have our schemes as normal, though less frequently than when we were kids. During the summer after Sophomore year, Owen broke the taboo on discussing her presence.

"Harry, I...asked Yesenia an important question today," he said with trepidation, cross-legged in the treehouse, facing towards me with schematics for a potato cannon laid between us.

"Oh?" I said, lamely.

"I asked if she would be my girlfriend. She said yes. I want you to know that it doesn't change anything about us. You're still my best friend and I don't want you to think she comes before you or anything. Are you okay with all that, though?"

No, I thought.

"Yeah, man, that's really cool. She's great," I said, trying to muster any positive response I could manage, "I'm glad you're happy with her."

"And uh...Harry, I dunno if this is something you're interested in, but I don't want you to feel like we're unequal. You know Whitney Callaghan, from Spanish? She's Yesenia's friend and Yesenia told me she has a crush on you," he said earnestly.

"Oh, uh...oh," was all I could get out in response to this, in my characteristically awkward way.

"Would you like to go on a double date to the movies? Me and Yesenia, you and Whitney? She's really interested and she said she thinks you're cute."

I was quiet for a moment, chewing on the idea. Whitney Callaghan was a gorgeous, very quiet girl I'd had a few classes with over the years. She wasn't part of any of the big social circles despite being on the soccer team, and as far as I knew, she was mostly known for wearing a lot of brightly colored overalls, which people often said was a "weird-girl thing". She was too attractive to be "the female me", but she was probably the closest thing that existed in the school. I didn't think I was into her, but I realized that I was being given the best out I could possibly get in this circumstance. If all it took was Whitney Callaghan to get me out of having the hots for Owen, so be it. Besides, Owen had been pushing me a lot towards being more social, lately.

"You know...yeah. That sounds really nice. Uh...have Yesenia tell Whitney I think she's cute too, I guess," I anxiously tried to dissemble.

Owen smiled wide and clapped me on the back.

"Hell yeah. I promise you won't regret this, Harry. It's gonna be an excellent date."

We arranged the date for a week later. At Owen's insistence, I hastily got a haircut and bought a razor to shave the thin, unruly wire hairs that had been poking out of my chin and cheeks for the last six months in irregular patches. Owen said I looked good when I arrived for the night at his house, attired in a button-up shirt that had once belonged to his father and fitted slacks that didn't hide my belly paunch like my usual oversized hoodies and jeans. I still felt horribly exposed in the outfit, but Owen's comment at least made me feel a bit better.

Whitney and Yesenia arrived together, in matching sparkly knee-length dresses - Yesenia's gold to complement her deep brown hair done up in complicated curls and bring out the gold in her eyes, Whitney's silver to give her the appearance of an ethereal fairy, against her sleek platinum blonde hair and pale, unblemished complexion. I'd never seen Whitney done up like this before and the effect worked for me. I greeted her with a hug.

"Heard you have a little thing for me!" I said, jovially, "I think I may have one for you too. You look incredible."

"Thank you," she demurred with a small smile, throwing her hair over one shoulder as she accepted the hug, "You're really handsome tonight. I like your hair!"

I ran a hand against the cropped, gelled monstrosity that Owen had forced me to make of my thick locks. I hated it, but I was glad at least that someone appreciated it. She got my audible thanks, nonetheless.

We continued on to the theater, just up the street. It was strange, walking hand in hand with Whitney. Her hands were thin and long-fingered, sharply in contrast to my large, pudgy ones. She nuzzled my neck a bit as we walked.

"I was really shocked when Owen told me about this," I said truthfully, while we walked, "You're really pretty and I don't get a lot of female attention, you know."

"I can't imagine why," She said breathily, in her low-toned voice, "You're very handsome, you know, especially when you put in a little effort, like tonight."

I blushed. Should I tell her that it wasn't really my effort, but Owen's pushing that led to this? No, better not.

"I aim to please," I said, a little under my breath, "You a big movie fan?"

"More of a popcorn fan," she joked, "I could eat a whole bucket by myself."

"Fair! I could definitely polish off a bucket or two, myself. I'll have to share, I guess."

We reached the building and made our way inside, Owen purchasing our tickets and I our concessions, then heading towards the back of the seats in our theater. It was a nearly empty showing. Whitney and I took a seat in the left side of the row, while Owen and Yesenia were on the right side, about six seats away from me. My stomach did a little flip as we settled in and Whitney lay her head against me.

"I can't believe I'm here doing this," she said a little timidly, nuzzling against me, "Gosh, I was so shy and I thought you'd just be my little object of desire from far away."

I stroked my hand through her hair and gave an "mhm" as I craned my neck to observe Owen surreptitiously. He and Yesenia were still hand-in-hand, chattering to each other in low voices as the previews rolled. For an instant, I imagined it was me that he was holding hands with, but I felt a chill and shivered as that thought washed over me.

"You cold, Harry?" Whitney asked turning her head to glance at me, as she registered the shiver.

"No, just, um, nervous," I lied, "You're like...way out of my league."

"Oh, I don't think so. The guys 'in my league' are pigs. I like people who are nice. You're my speed for sure," she said in her soft voice, dripping in earnestness.

We chatted pleasantly as the previews continued and she rose to sit normally as the movie began. To my surprise, since Owen had purchased the tickets, this was a horror movie. I wasn't opposed to the genre and I knew he wasn't either, but Yesenia wasn't a fan, based on our discussions. The tactic became clear once the first jumpscare happened. I could hear Yesenia softly startle in her seat and Whitney half jumped out of her skin, nestling closer to me as if for protection.

Oh. Owen picked this movie for a reason.

I took a gander at he and Yesenia in the dark theater. Sure enough, they were entwined like I'd never seen before. Whitney, meanwhile, was practically clawing for my hand to hold hers, which was trembling. I opened up to accept hers and she gripped her thin fingers tightly around my palm, wracked with tension.

It went on much in this fashion for the rest of the movie, with her grip slackening in softer moments and tightening back up during confrontations. I kept sneaking looks at Owen and halfway in, my heart sank as I turned to see him locking lips with Yesenia, paying no attention to the film. In horror, I realized that I might be expected to do the same with Whitney and I was not ready for that.

Dinner afterwards was uneventful and I mostly kept to myself, stewing in my juices about Owen and frequently cleaning my glasses to forestall awkward lulls in conversation with Whitney. As we walked home to each of the girls' places, I apologized for being distant and blamed it on nerves. Whitney accepted this politely and gave me a peck on the cheek as I delivered her home. She told me she'd had a lovely time and couldn't wait to see me again, which I nodded politely to and assured her that we'd definitely do this again.

I caught up to Owen as we returned to our houses and asked if we could go to the treehouse. It was after dark, but we still had another hour before curfew. Enough time for a chat, certainly. He happily assented.

Once we'd gotten situated, our buttoned shirts untucked as we sat cross-legged and disheveled in the treehouse, I spoke my piece.

"Thank you for this, Owen. I mean that deeply. You didn't have to do it, but I'm glad you did. I...noticed some things that happened during that, though, and I think I need to clear up where I'm at."

"Okay..." Owen said cautiously, leaning in towards me as he recognized that my tone was not matching his, "What exactly is this about?"

"During the movie, I saw that you were, well, you were kissing Yesenia. I'm...nervous about that, 'cause I think Whitney will want to kiss and I think I'm gonna fuck it up."

Owen gained a broad grin.

"Well, Harry, it comes pretty naturally," he laughed, "Just put your lips together, touch hers and get a rhythm going. It's just kissing! Nothing serious."

"Owen," I said gravely, "Don't laugh at me. We're different, okay. I don't have confidence like you. I can't just do things and have them work all the time. What if I'm bad at it? What if I get the rhythm wrong? What if my lips lock up? What if my tongue gets involved?!"

I was spiraling earnestly. He put a hand on my shoulder to calm me down.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. Shhh, shh. Calm. It'll be okay. Nobody is perfect on the first try. Whitney will understand," he said in that damningly soothing tone he only took when I was really losing it, "You can move slow too. Your relationship with Whitney doesn't have to go just like mine with Yesenia. You guys might not like making out! It's okay."

My anxiety was still high.

"I just wish there was some way to give me a chance to try before I buy," I said, "Even if she's nice about it, I'm gonna feel judged."

Owen rolled his eyes and out of nowhere, crawled over to me, and his face was against mine, lips to mine. I was too shocked to react as his lips pulsed, varying pressure on my slightly slack ones.

"Kiss back," he said with a hint of annoyance, slightly muffled by my face as he continued to kiss me.

This broke the spell of shock and I kissed him back. He tasted like pine tar, mint and something smoky. Better than I'd expected, in a strange way, not that I'd ever even really considered the taste of his mouth before, despite my frequent imaginings of becoming intimate with my best friend. Involuntarily, my hands began to fondle him, wrapping on his torso with my thumbs resting on his nipples where they began making small circles to stimulate them. It was a reflex. I'd done this often in my dreams, so it came without any conscious thought, but the reaction was instant and I could feel him shiver as I rubbed. His kiss became more intense and I matched him in intensity, our lips warring. I could feel my cock hardening. He broke the kiss.

"See? You're just fine at kissing," he said, raising his eyebrows dramatically to emphasize.

I had continued to hold him firmly and play with his nipples.

"Pretty good at it, actually," he said, rolling me onto my back and getting astride me, my hands suddenly holding him on my lap.

I could tell he would be able to feel the stiffness against his butt. Anxiety rose again. His eyes studied me as he looked down from on high, a god observing his loyal subject tethering him to earth.

"That feels incredible, dude. Can I try that on you?" he said, glancing down at where my hands worked his nipples.

"Uh...um, I don't..." I stammered, "This isn't really..."

"Harry," he said firmly, "Friends help each other out. I'm just helping you and you're helping me. Don't overthink it."

His hands found purchase on my chest and the thumbs dug hard into the nipples of my slightly protruding breasts. I gasped aloud as he ferociously dipped into them with massage-level pressure.

"Softer," I whimpered through a groan, "Please. Fuck."

He let go of me, pensive as he considered the situation for a moment. His quick fingers then began to undo the buttons of my shirt and roll up the t-shirt beneath to expose my belly and slight breasts to the chill evening air. He ran his index fingers over both nipples simultaneously and I felt a shiver run up my spine as my cock twitched. I was sure he could feel it. It was pressed directly along his taint, though with pants and underwear separating us on both sides.

"Can I...?" I asked in a tone dripping with implication as I let go of him with my right hand and slowly wiped across his torso towards his crotch.

"Just to touch?" he asked earnestly, eyes concentrated directly on my nipples as he teased them softly with both hands, fixated on the task, "Yes."

I unzipped his pants and worked his underwear down, allowing his cock to spill out. I was shocked, albeit also gratified, to see that he was sporting a fairly firm erection too. Beyond all reasonable expectation, he was into this at least as much as I was.

I wrapped my grip around his member. Weighty. Bigger than mine, but not massively so. I could feel the blood pumping in it as I smacked it against my belly experimentally. He winced, closing his eyes and ceasing playing with my nipples for a time. I did it again.

"Yes. I like that," he said softly through gritted teeth, "Take out yours. I wanna touch it."

I complied, scooting him back as I began to jerk his cock. It was strange, reversing the motion of what I'd done to myself so many times to please someone else, but felt strangely appropriate. I found a good position to leave him in and leaned up to pull down my pants with the hand that wasn't jerking him off, releasing my hold on his torso. When my underwear came down, it stood straight up.

He marveled at it. I could tell I was harder than he was. Maybe this wasn't a fantasy he'd desired in the same way it had been for me, but I could feel him beginning to plateau at the peak of firmness as I continued to jerk him, so I knew he was enjoying himself. I realized I had no idea what to do next as he straddled my legs, gazing at my hard cock.

"Should we...do you wanna...?" I couldn't get the words out.

He forestalled further comment by leaving my nipples alone, holding up a finger, and then bending in half, such that his mouth landed perfectly over my cock, taking the entire thing into his mouth in an instant. I gave a strangled cry of surprise and unfurled my crunched up torso out of his way, releasing all connections we had, other than my penis and his eager mouth. My cry of surprise soon morphed into a moan of pleasure as his tongue began to play with the head of my cock.

My wildest dreams had been met and exceeded. There I sat, a boy whose fantasies had become reality, as Owen gave me my first ever blowjob. I was too stunned to react when I felt my penis begin twitching after very little stimulation, disgorging semen into my best friend's mouth. He swallowed greedily.

"Oh fuck," I said aloud in pure embarrassment as I prematurely ejaculated into Owen's mouth, "Goddamn man, I'm so sorry. I didn't warn you or anything."

Owen finished licking me clean before he looked up to meet my eyes. I was sure I looked insane, but he gave me a quizzical little squint.

"Don't be sorry. You tasted good," he said in what I could only describe as a flirtatious tone I'd only heard him use with Yesenia, "Can you do mine now?"

I nodded and he scooted himself up my body until his cock was inches from my face. I gulped audibly and leaned into it until I could feel it brush against my lips. In another second, it was past my lips, teeth and tongue, gagging me as it pressed into my throat.

He was fucking my mouth.

I couldn't even register the rapture as he pounded my mouth with his meaty stick, causing me to cough every few strokes, but never long enough to disrupt the rhythm. I kept my teeth out of the way as best I could and tried to position my tongue in ways that would moisturize the whole affair, which led to a fair amount of slobber down my chin as we continued. Eventually, I could hear him moan and I felt a warm goo glob hit the back of my throat. He ceased thrusting and I was inundated with it. I swallowed every drop and sealed my lips around his pulsating prick, licking it down from every angle so I didn't miss even a milliliter.

He withdrew from me at last and there we were, panting and sore, half-naked, cocks limp and dripping.

I wasn't sure what to do next. Was this a one time deal? Did this change our relationship forever? Were we...dating now? What about Yesenia and Whitney?

"Damn, Harry, you were really good at that. I had a lot of fun," Owen said, buttoning himself back up as he rolled over to the other side of the treehouse, "We should do that again."

"Owen...what exactly was that?" I said, picking my words carefully.

"Didn't you hear me earlier? Friends helping each other out. I wouldn't trust anyone but you to do that. This is why we're best friends. You're so cool, dude," he said, cool as a cucumber as he re-tucked his shirt and examined it for stains.

"Owen, we just had sex," I said, dumbfounded, "I would call what I just did 'having sex with you'."

"Sex? That was just a little mutual help, Harry. Nothing major. I needed to get my rocks off and you clearly did too. Don't overthink it."

"Just help? Owen, that was two blowjobs. Sex, Owen."

"Dude, don't be crass. It's just help, between friends," Owen reiterated firmly.

I could tell I wasn't going to get through to him.

"Okay. Help between friends. Can we do that again, then? Some other day?"

"Yeah, dude, anytime we're alone together and we need a little help. I trust you heavy, Harry. Anytime you need me to help, I'll be there and likewise, I'll do it for you."

I threw up my hands and accepted it.

The so-called "help" was pretty regular after that. Most evenings in the treehouse, at least one of us would offer the other "help" and it wasn't unusual for us to both need some. This was only on nights the girls weren't over, of course. They were coming together on the weekends, now, as Whitney'd agreed to be my girlfriend on our third date.

The arrangement went on undisturbed from there. The girls were our girlfriends and we decided on a vow of chastity for them. No sex before marriage. I questioned our arrangement sometimes internally, but questioning it with Owen was never up for discussion. We got to spend a lot of time together naked and that was good enough for me. It saved a whole lot of awkward conversations with Whitney, at least. Sex dreams only occasionally bothered me now and mostly centered on the taboo I hadn't broken with Owen: anal play.

It was senior year, a bit after my 18th birthday when I finally plucked up the courage to have the discussion I'd been wanting to have for years.

"Owen," I said, tapping him on the head from his doze as we cuddled together naked in the treehouse, "I'm sorry, but...what are we?"

"Best friends," he said groggily, then pecked me on the mouth, "You're the person I'm closest to in this world."

"Owen. I'm gay."

It was the first time I'd ever said it out loud. He smiled and tousled my thick hair.

"I know. I've sort of always known. I accept you. It's okay."

"Owen, I don't think you get it: I'm in love with you. I don't wanna be just your best friend. I wanna be yours."

Owen frowned.

"Don't be silly," he said, swatting me lightly on one of my hairy teats.

"Ow!"

"Stop being a baby, Harry," Owen said, rolling his eyes.

"Owen, stop fucking playing around. You heard me. I'm in love with you. I want to be your boyfriend. Or frankly, your husband, but we have to start somewhere."

Owen looked me in the eyes, incredulous.

"You're kidding, right? This is a really dumb joke, Harry."

"Why would I be joking? Is it really so hard to believe that I'm in love with you? My cock gets hard every time I'm around you. You've consumed gallons of my cum. We suck each other off every day and we've spent more hours making out than either of us has spent making out with our respective girlfriends. We're inseparable and we're in love."

"I guess you've misread some signals, because I'm not in love with you."

I was angry now.

"What signals have I misread, Owen? The semen in my throat? The fact that you know everything that turns me on? The dozens of lube tubes we've gone through together? The fact that I know everything about you and you know everything about me?"

He looked surprised.

"Wow, I don't know what to say. I thought this whole thing was clear. You're my best friend and I'm really glad that you're able to finally be open about your sexual orientation with me, but I'm not gay and I'm not in love with you. I love Yesenia. Love her so much that I'm about to pop the question in the next couple months, actually. I'm sorry, man. Really sorry."

I was dumbstruck.

"What the fuck? What am I to you? A sex toy? Your living fleshlight? This is insane, Owen. Get real."

"Dude, don't be gross. I respect you enough to help you out. It can't have been easy being gay in this town and you're lucky to have had me here this whole time. I love you like a brother, but I'm not in love with you."

Our fight continued for a few more hours before I finally stormed off. I tried to reconcile a few days later, but Owen was intractable. His position was set. It was around then that I got my college applications back and got the shock of a lifetime by getting a full ride scholarship to my dream school...three states away. I'd sent the application on a lark. It was prestigious enough that I'd figured I was bound for the slush pile, but my essays must've impressed their counselors enough to pick me for the scholarship program.

I had to follow that dream and it meant leaving one behind. I broke up with Whitney at long last, using the excuse of college and not wanting long distance. I tried texting Owen a few times more that summer, but he wasn't hearing me out. I decided I didn't want to see his face any longer, so I stayed out of the treehouse.

He came over the day before I left for college and wished me luck. We were both too tired of fighting to say anything more about our friendship, so I accepted his well wishes at face value and went on my merry way.

Four years swept by in a flash. Three boyfriends, three breakups, plenty of hookups, and a true public coming out to all my family had occurred in that time. Owen didn't figure in at all. I was spending my summers doing internships for the college, so he was far from my mind and beyond a quarterly-at-best text, which became merely a christmas and new year's text by my senior year, we did not speak at all. That was fine with me. My boyfriends had taught me a lot about self-respect and what I wanted. None had been the one, but I was a lot more self-assured. I finally made my way home after graduation, the first time I'd spent more than a week at home in years.

Owen had bought his own house a few streets away, from what my parents told me. He was still engaged, surprisingly. They were waiting on a blowout wedding until they could afford it, since the house was eating up funds. I drove by the place a few times. Nice enough. Smallish. The second time, I saw him out in the yard, watering flowers and my heart about dropped out of my chest.

It was a surprise even to me that I could feel the pressure building inside me. He had a cleanly trimmed beard. His hair remained Hollywood perfect fluff. Still handsome as ever, but distinctly a man who'd grown into himself.

I knew I couldn't let it pass. I parked by the curb a few houses down and walked over to meet him. He didn't notice me at first until I shouted his name, making him drop his watering can in shock and whip his head around.

"Harry, oh my god, hey. Hey man. How ya been?" he said, desperately trying to regain his composure, "Long time no see."

I bear hugged him. It was easier to do, now that I'd embraced my identity as a bear with a bushy beard, potbelly and general demeanor of owning my size. He hugged back and I could feel him collapse a little under my tight hug. I liked that. He wrapped me up just as tight. I felt my cock stiffening.

"Hey dude. Yeah, long time, but doing good. Glad to be back around. How are things?" I asked, trying to distract myself from how hard I was getting and shift my body so that my penis wasn't poking him in the leg as we held the hug.

"Oh, uh, bought this house actually. Not much, but it's mine. And Yesenia's. Well, actually, it's just my name on the deed, but you know, eventually."

I was feeling brazen. I moved my arms behind his head, cocked my own and directed him to kiss me.

It was intense. We macked on one another for an indeterminate length of time that felt like an hour but couldn't have been more than a minute.

"Fuck," he said as I released him, "I missed you so bad."

This was good.

"Treehouse? Is it even still standing?"

"Yes. Yeah, I shore it up every few months. It's sturdy. We can go there."

We groped each other in the forest on the way. His body was toned, taut, muscular...a fine piece of machinery that had to be inspected regularly. He treated mine with the same respect I gave his. I appreciated this.

We were up in the tree before long. It was as I remembered it. Better, maybe, with a few new reinforcement boards in key spots. We tore each other's clothes off and broke our final taboo. His cock felt incredible sliding into me. A catharsis unlike any of my dream versions. I knew every vein and ridge from the many times my tongue, lips and mouth had traced across its surface, but feeling it pulse inside my hole was a different story. Puberty had kept working its magic in the time since we'd last been together and his cock was at least an inch longer and a fair bit thicker than the last time I'd touched it. He was now bigger than any of my exes. It hurt. It hurt a lot, frankly, given that the treehouse no longer had any sexual lubricants stocked in it. Yet still, it was the most incredible rush I'd ever felt up to that point. My years of tortured dreams and daydreams all coming down to this. It had to have been hours. I think I'd arrived in the early evening and the sun had gone down by the time we were finished.

Few words passed between us in the time. His pride wouldn't let him admit that I was right all along: He loved me and he desired me. Our years apart had only made his weak resolve solidify into something steely. I promised him this wasn't the last time and told him a time for the next day. He kissed me and nodded goodbye, a silent agreement.

He was there the next day and we attacked ravenously again. And again the next day. And so on. For months. Nothing but pleasure and a few short words. We'd done so much talking over our years as friends. Now we had to make up for lost time.

I knew it had happened deep in my gut before I registered it consciously. My body felt wrong and the sense of urgency was growing. The wrongness I felt was not imposing, but it was not how my body feels. Being large does strange things to your physicality and yes, it sometimes makes you feel odd sensations, but this was something unlike that. It was...perhaps it was like a shiny little point of light had taken hold within me.

A baby. Owen's.

I procrastinated a week in buying the test, knowing the result already, deep within. It was no surprise when the little thing registered two deep pink lines.

I was going to see him that night, so I arrived early. He climbed up and was surprised to see me sitting there cross-legged on this chilly fall afternoon.

"Hey. You're early," he said casually, climbing in to sit down next to me, "Looking excellent today, by the way."

He was filling the dead air. I gazed at him blankly.

"We have to talk," I said.

He turned away from me, gazing out the slats of the treehouse into the forest of trees, now nearly bare of leaves.

"So. This is the ultimatum, eh," he said cautiously, still looking away, "You want me to leave her, right?"

"Owen. I'm pregnant."

He sighed.

"Damn. No getting around that."

"It's early. Doesn't have to stick around. We gotta talk, though."

"No, I don't think we do. This is the sign. Talking's done and action time has arrived. We both knew it was coming somehow."

I followed his gaze out the window. He was looking towards his home in the middle distance.

"Our place now. She'll be devastated, but maybe in time she'll understand. We'll raise our family there. Maybe two, maybe three, you think?" he said experimentally, clearly thinking out loud, "And we'll get married. Sooner rather than later. You don't have to work anymore. Stay at home. I'll put food on the table. I've been on pause for a bit too long. Time to get back to living."

I put a hand on his neck.

"I love you, Owen."

He finally looked back to meet me and a small smile crossed his lips.

Antos Bogdanov paced through the center aisle of the building that had come to be known as The Center. His silence was telling and the nineteen men arrayed on either side of the aisle understood that this was not a celebratory occasion. When Brother Antos was quiet, trouble was afoot.

He finally reached the end of the line and kept his back turned to the men, who had closed their eyes in silent contemplation.

"Brothers. Dear, dear brothers...do you understand why I have deigned to assemble you on this day?"

The men remained silent, not because they didn't know his desired answer, but rather that they'd long since learned that Brother Antos' questions were rhetorical unless addressed directly.

"The Center has been defiled. Our holiest of holies besmirched by a heathen in our midst. Earlier this morning, an inspection of security tapes revealed two gravid figures garbed in our ceremonial clothing entering The Center, befouling one another with impure sexual congress and leaving evidence of their misdeeds splattered across the floor. Spilled seed. A mortal sin," Brother Antos intoned gravely, turning to face his flock as a frisson of shocked muttering passed through the room.

"The footage was not of a level of quality by which the perpetrators of this crime could be identified. Despite this, we know at least one of the two is identifiable by the evidence left behind. Genetic analysis will reveal this heretic's identity," he spat, glaring across his flock.

Uneasy looks passed a few men, who tried not to meet the gaze of any of the others or wither under Brother Antos' own piercing eyes.

"But." Brother Antos softened, "I am the incarnate child of our merciful God and his envoy here on Earth. He is a God of compassion and a God of forgiveness. The perpetrators of this act will be forgiven...if they speak now and offer their sincere testimony."

One of the red-shirted men collapsed off the pew to his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"Brother Matthew," Antos boomed, addressing the kneeling man, "State your testimony."

"Forgive me, Brother Antos, for I have sinned. Your third gift of life within me is something I do not take for granted, but it has created tribulation within my soul. I feel desires of the flesh. Desires I have not felt in many years. Uncontrollable desires. I was weak to them, Brother. I gave in. I can only apologize to you, my Brothers, and our God himself, for I have sinned grievously in allowing my most precious gift to be callously spilled across the floor of our sacred temple as I tempted another into sin. I have not earned your forgiveness, though I do ask it. I will accept without question any measure as my due for this crime."

Brother Antos' brows knit together in consternation as the speech was delivered.

"The Lord forgives you, Brother Matthew. Temptation strikes deeply at our core and can find its way into our souls even in times when we are most spiritually awakened. Your callousness is recognized as a factor of your altered state. Your due is to spend fifteen nights in stimulative contemplation in my bedchamber. Desire is no crime, when exercised appropriately. This should help you to relearn that. Your devotion is unwavering as evidenced by your three consecutive gift-bearings. Rest easy, Brother Matthew, and return to your seat."

Matthew took his seat again as Antos' steely gaze surveyed the rest of the men.

"Brother Matthew has bravely testified. Does no other seek to testify? Forgiveness comes only to those who face their sin and reckon."

A blue-shirted brother across the aisle slumped forward into a kneel.

"Brother Matthew's testimony is not wholly inaccurate, but he did not act alone," said Brother Job in a quavering voice, without being prompted, "I, Brother Job, defiled our temple with my disobedience and seek forgiveness as well."

Antos sneered at the kneeling man. A relatively new acquisition and one he'd had reservations about.

"In future, Brother Job, you will speak only when addressed directly," Brother Antos admonished, taking a few measured steps towards Job.

Brother Job nodded wordlessly, pursing his lips.

"Continue your testimony, Brother Job," Antos said as he'd finally stepped within inches of the kneeling acolyte.

"Forgive me, God, Brother Antos, and all my fellow brothers, for I tempted Brother Matthew to sin by engaging him physically in the night. He had confessed to me that he was struggling with sexually impure thoughts due to his gravid state. I approached his bedside under cover of darkness, removed his undergarments and began to stimulate his genitals until he was aroused, then woke him up in order to begin a sexual encounter. I caused Brother Matthew to sin. It is I who deserves any retributive action."

Brother Antos glared down at Job, still prostrate, head tilted to the floor in shame.

"Brother Job, when did you last receive the blood of Christ?"

"Two weeks ago, Brother Antos."

"Clearly far too long a time, Brother Job, as you've strayed greatly from the divine plan. You will receive it now, in front of your Brothers. This shall be the first measure of your penance."

Brother Antos unzipped his trousers, releasing his stiff cock. He guided the acolyte's head towards it firmly and in just a few moments, Brother Job's lips had wrapped around him and began to bob.

"The blood heals all wounds, Brother Job, including wounds of the soul," Antos preached as Job sucked him off, "The child quickening within you is a being of light, but you were born a creature of darkness. The purity of God flows through me and into you. You must drink of God's blood regularly, lest you find yourself slipping back to your primal nature. Receive the blood of Christ, Brother Job."