“There is just no way. At least not for another year” The doctors left precious little hope. Come back in a year and maybe, but until then, no way. “Here’s a script for birth control” I was told on my way out the door. After the injury, there was no way I could get pregnant. Too dangerous. Too many risks. As if that wasn’t bad enough, not a week later my husband was caught in a tech lay off. “There is just no way” his manager said before handing him the severance packet. 3 months health insurance, 3 months paycheck. That’s all six years of loyal service had earned us.
In 3 months, we’d be without an income, without healthcare. And all we had to show for it, a script for birth control. And a box of condoms. For, you see, my husband was terrified. Terrified pregnancy would be dangerous. Expensive. How would we afford the doctors? In this economy? So, he doubled down. “Don’t forget to take the pill” he’d tell me every night. “I won’t” I answered. And the few times he was horny enough to fuck me, he’d wrap it up anyway.
But, you see dear reader, I never took those pills. At first, it was just denial. If I didn’t take them, the issue wasn’t in front of me. If I didn’t take them, I could pretend our dreams weren’t in tatters. And so I didn’t.
Then one day I met him. I met him at the grocery store. I forget if it was the canned food aisle or the cheese counter. But I met him. He asked me some inane question. Made a silly opinion about the flowers on my dress. And from there on, we didn’t stop talking one minute. We got in line together at the self checkout so we could keep chatting away.
I was a bored housewife with shattered dreams, he was recently divorced. “I’m Thomas by the way”. “Hi, Thomas, I am Amy”. He was a few years older than me. His wife had started a fling with her boss, and once he found out, she didn’t care enough to do anything but ask for a divorce and move in with her newfound love. No kids, no mortgage, it was easy. He signed the papers and six months later he was free to go. I told him everything. I confessed my injury, my damaged fertility, my husband’s fear, the unemployment. I was never than open. But with Thomas, it was like being with an old friend. I told him everything.
Somehow we ended up at his place. In his bed. Fucking. He gave me orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. “Give me that sloppy wet pussy” he said. “I wanna eat that until you can’t walk straight no more”. Nobody had spoken to me like that. Nobody ever promised to fuck me “till all you can do is whimper and beg”. And certainly nobody delivered. But Thomas did. He was magic. He wasn’t even the biggest dick I’d ever had. But he knew things. And by the time he was done with me, I had trouble walking straight and I was a whimpering mess soaked in my own juices. I smelled like sex. He slipped his number in my wallet, and saw myself out.
I lied to my husband, said I ran into an old friend and we went for coffee. I left his number in my wallet. Unused. For a day. For two days. And then I caved. I called him. “I missed you” he said. Did he even know who I was? Did he just say that to every girl he gave those digits to? I didn’t care. I wanted him. So we met again. And he did it again. He had just fucked me two days ago. But when I was back, he fucked me like he hadn’t fucked in a year. His passion. That’s what it was. Thomas fucked because he loved fucking. He enjoyed a good orgasm as much as the rest of us, but he wasn’t focused on it. He genuinely enjoyed the journey. He made me cum like that because he took his time, because he enjoyed my taste, he enjoyed listening to my moans, he enjoyed watching my body twitch under his touch. He enjoyed what I looked like, my ruby red cheeks, my hard nipples, my “sloppy wet pussy”. It all mattered to him. He fucked like it was about the journey more so than the destination. And that made him a wonderful generous lover.
I lied to my husband again. He didn’t seem to care. When he tried to have his way with me, I obliged. His sex felt boring, hollow. He wrapped it up, thrust in me a bunch of times, grunted a bunch and then pulled out. Five minutes from “wanna do it?” to throwing the condom away.
I called Thomas. He was out of town. “Next week” he said. He was probably fucking some other girl, you know? But I didn’t care. Or rather, I did. I was jealous. I wanted him to myself. But I also knew if I pushed the matter, I’d lose him. And, let’s be honest, what right did I have? I was a married woman with no intention to divorce. What could I offer him? Sex once a week? If he was gonna meet someone, good for him. He wasn’t cheating, I was.
I missed him like hell that whole week. And then he texted me. “How about tomorrow?” he said. “9am your place?” I answered way too quickly. Those Cosmopolitan articles tell you to wait a bit to text back. But I was above those games. Or maybe beneath them. Suffice it to say, I had craved his body all week and I couldn’t wait. I was outside his apartment at 8:45. At 8:50 I knocked. “Up early” he said when he opened the door. I shut the door behind him, “talk later, fuck now” I said, grabbing his face, bringing his lips to mine.
“What’s got in you girl?” he laughed. “Ovulating much?”
“You know I can’t get pregnant” I retorted, a bit resentful of his joke
“That’s not what you told me. You just said it would be a risk”
“Yeah it’s the same”
“No, it’s not. Do you want to get pregnant?” he asked me
I stopped for a moment, like a deer in headlight. I had never considered that question. Nobody ever asked what I wanted. I was just told not to. By the doctors. By my husband. They all told me “no”. Nobody asked what I wanted. I stopped for a moment, but barely for a moment
“I do” I answered, blushing. It felt true. It felt deep. Yeah, I did. As wrong as it all was, I did. I wanted to get pregnant.
Thomas smiled like an old wise shaman. It’s like he had read me all right. He picked me up and dumped me onto his bed. Ripped my clothes off me. I hadn’t seen such fury in him. How would I go home with three buttons missing on my shirt, and torn up panties? He didn’t care, did he?
He climbed on top of me. “So you wanna get pregnant uh?” he asked again. And “yes” I told him one more time.
He penetrated me. Bare. He had all the time worn a condom. He had all the time taken forever before coming to this. Usually penetration was the last act of our sex escapades. Not today. He penetrated me. Without even a bit of foreplay. And yet he found me as wet as ever. A few words has gotten me as turned on as infinite magic of his tongue on me. What buttons was this man pushing?
“It’s so wrong uh?” he said.
“What is?” I asked, panting as he fucked me
“You know what. All of it. You’re so much at risk the doctors gave you pills. Bet that turns you on. The danger. It’s scary uh?”
I was … speechless. He was right. It was. It was scary. It was wrong. And it was turning me on. How did he know?
“Can you even afford the doctors anymore? You can’t, right? You’re gonna face a difficult pregnancy all by yourself, with no help whatsoever. Fuck that’s so wrong. Is that why you want it so bad?” he continued
“Yes, yes it is” I moaned
“No money. No doctors. Against medical advice. Oh, and you’re cheating on your husband too. Fuck this is so wrong. How can you do this?”
I was in a heaven I didn’t even know existed. How did he know these buttons were inside me? How did he discover them? And how did he know to push them so expertly? But fuck he was right. The more he told me all those things, the more I just wanted him to knock me up.
It was wrong. It was unfair. It was dangerous. And I wanted it. “Shut up and put a baby in me” I told him. He pounded me. He pounded me like an animal. He grunted. I knew what that meant. Just like my husband. He was gonna cum. I was ready. I was on the verge of losing it. I needed one single drop of his cum and I would explode.. ..and he stopped. And he pulled out.
I felt my hips thrust, I felt my body seeking him, I moaned, I whimpered.. “why?”
“Because it’s wrong” he said
“I don’t care I want it” is all I could answer. I was aching. My body twitching uncontrollably, drool coming out of me. I was a horny sick mess
“Then say it” he told me
“Say what you want” he repeated
“You know what I want” I answered
“No. I need you to say it”
“I want to be pregnant. I want to be pregnant even though it’s wrong. No, fuck that. I want to be pregnant because it’s wrong. It turns me on because it’s so fucked up in every way. Fine? That’s what I want. I want to be pregnant against the doctors’ advice. Those doctors I can’t even afford no more. I want to be pregnant with a bastard child of a man who I don’t even know. I want to be pregnant even though we’re fucking broke. If my husband finds out he will leave. Barefoot and pregnant. And with no healthcare. And I still fucking want it? Happy now?”
I couldn’t believe I had said that. That was the dirtiest, scariest, most fucked up thing I had ever said in my life. And yet, I said it. And it rang true. Every word. It was self destructive, cruel, selfish. And I loved every moment.
He pushed his cock back inside me, and with a couple of thrusts, he came. And I came. I felt his cum inside me. And I came. It felt like a pure exhilarating rush. I had never done cocaine, but I had to guess that’s what it felt like. Cocaine felt like the most dangerous breeding game in the world. It felt like letting Thomas fuck up your life because your body needs to be pregnant so fucking bad.
“I love you, you sick bastard” I told him, as I laid next to him, my legs in the air, keeping every drop of his cum inside me.
He said nothing, but he caressed my belly and kissed my cheek. He looked content.