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Never skip leg day

Scale doesnt lie.

Jerry stretched out on the wide lounge chair by the resort pool, the warm Caribbean sun kissing his swollen belly. At eight months pregnant, he felt like a beach ball with legs—round, heavy, and impossible to ignore. The sheer maternity swimsuit Phil had packed for him clung to every curve, the thin fabric stretching taut over his prominent bump and doing little to hide the way his body had changed. Jerry tugged self-consciously at the hem, glancing around at the other guests scattered across the deck.

“Relax, babe,” Phil murmured, settling into the chair beside him. His husband’s hand slid possessively over Jerry’s belly, thumb stroking slow circles across the tight skin. “You look incredible. Seriously. Everyone here is staring because you’re glowing.”

Jerry laughed softly, a little nervous. “They’re staring because a pregnant guy in a swimsuit is basically a sideshow. This was supposed to be low-key relaxation, not… whatever this is.”

Phil leaned in, kissing the side of Jerry’s neck. “It’s exactly what you needed. No work stress, no doctors hovering. Just sun, water, and me reminding you how fucking sexy you are carrying our kid.” His hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of Jerry’s hip. “Come on. Let’s get you in the pool. Show off a little.”

Jerry hesitated, but Phil’s gentle insistence won out. He helped Jerry to his feet, one arm wrapped supportively around his lower back. As they walked toward the shallow end, Jerry could feel eyes on him—the subtle glances, a few open stares. His belly led the way, full and round, the swimsuit riding up slightly with each step.

In the water, the buoyancy was a mercy. Jerry sighed as the coolness eased the ache in his back. Phil floated beside him, grinning.

“Look at you,” Phil said, voice low and appreciative. “Floating there like a fertility god. You should turn around, let the sun hit that belly properly.” He guided Jerry with light touches, encouraging him to lean back against the pool edge where the water lapped just below his navel.

Jerry’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t pull away. Phil’s encouragement was intoxicating—the way his husband looked at him like he was the most desirable thing on the planet. “Phil… people can see everything.”

“Good,” Phil replied, moving closer so their bodies brushed. “Let them see how proud I am of you. How hot you look all full and ripe.” His hand slipped under the water, resting openly on the underside of Jerry’s bump, lifting it slightly as if presenting it. “Arch your back a bit. Yeah, like that. Fuck, Jerry. You’re stunning.”

Emboldened, Jerry let himself relax into the pose. He tilted his head back, eyes half-closed against the sun, one hand resting atop Phil’s on his belly. A few guests nearby smiled or looked away politely, but the attention sent a thrill through him. Phil noticed, of course.

“See? They can’t stop looking,” Phil whispered, nipping at Jerry’s ear. “And why would they? My handsome husband, growing our family, owning every inch of it out here in the open. You deserve to show off. I want them all to see how lucky I am.”

They spent the afternoon like that—alternating between the pool and their shaded loungers. Phil kept up a steady stream of praise and gentle prodding: adjusting Jerry’s swimsuit strap so it framed his chest nicely, rubbing sunscreen into his belly with slow, deliberate strokes that drew more eyes, convincing him to walk the length of the pool deck “just to stretch his legs.”

By late afternoon, Jerry was laughing freely, the earlier self-consciousness melted away under the sun and Phil’s unwavering adoration. As they lounged side by side, Phil’s fingers tracing lazy patterns over the taut skin of his husband’s pregnant belly, he leaned in for a deep kiss.

“Best decision we’ve made in months,” Jerry admitted, voice content.

Phil smiled against his lips. “Told you. Now tomorrow, we’re doing the beach. And you’re wearing even less.”