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I was right; my son and I did have a lot of fun that summer. As I left my difficult first trimester behind, I felt pretty good, no longer so fatigued and sick all the time. I did develop some nasty heartburn that didn’t go away until after the baby came, but I had energy, I had something to be excited about, and I had a good man to share it with.
I shared my news with my friends and my coworkers, using my sperm bank story. I expected invasive questions about where this baby came from and whether I was too old to be doing this all over again, but everyone seemed overjoyed for me. I remembered how nicely people treated pregnant women. As my belly grew past my breasts and I bought my first maternity clothes in two decades, strangers held doors for me, smiled at me. I felt special. That was part of what I wanted for all those years, yearning for another baby.
I no longer felt unseen or self-conscious, thinking of myself as an old woman with bags under her eyes and a shock of gray in her hair. I was pregnant and radiantly happy, and people could tell. My appetite returned and I ate well, with Ben always willing to pick up takeout for me, try his best to cook, and keep me stocked with sour Skittles.
I gained weight all over, not just my belly and boobs, but my hips, my thighs, even my face, but I didn’t mind. I was proud and full of life. Ben helped me feel that way. Beautiful, even, on good days. I hadn’t thought I wanted a man around, a partner, until suddenly I had one again.
He was there for me when I was cranky and hungry and needed a snack. He was there for me when I got emotional thinking about my new baby, or worried that I was too old to be a new mom again, or sad that Ben’s father wasn’t here to see this. He went shopping with me, picking out baby clothes and furniture for his dorm room at the same time. Whatever I needed, I knew Ben was always just a phone call away.
And yes, sometimes what I needed was sex. My libido had dropped in the years I didn’t have a partner, but now that I had one who was loving and attentive I couldn’t get enough. My hormones were wild and unpredictable. We made love as often as when we were trying to conceive, if not more. We tried new things, no longer confining ourselves to quick nighttime romps in my bed.
One afternoon I came into Ben’s room while he was sitting in bed working on his computer, and while we chatted I felt him staring at my chest. He blushed when I caught him, but I wasn’t mad. Forgetting what I’d come in to ask him about, I took his computer away, climbed in bed with him, and before long he was naked on top of me. It was thrilling and naughty doing it in his bedroom, his little bed rocking and squeaking beneath his shelves of action figures and sports trophies.
Another day Ben made a move on me after helping put the groceries away, but I told him I was too sweaty and gross after the shopping trip and needed a shower. The way his face lit up when I told him he could join me made me remember him as a kid on Christmas morning.
Under the steamy water in the master bathroom he carefully washed every inch of my growing body, from my ever-swelling breasts to the unruly hair between my legs to my bellybutton, which was getting shallow as my uterus expanded. The whole time his insistent hardness pressed into me, sliding around my slippery skin. He asked to put it in me and I told him shower sex was usually a recipe for disaster, then I took him back to my bed.
On one memorable day, something got into my head while I was at work and wouldn’t leave. I was, without warning, too hot and bothered to look at my computer anymore. I went to the bathroom and texted Ben to see if he was around. He was, thankfully, and I asked him to meet me at home, making sure to assure the nervous boy that everything was just fine.
I told my boss I wasn’t feeling well and drove home, feeling reckless, a burning need growing in me as surely as the baby was. Ben was waiting for me in the kitchen and I ordered him upstairs in my Mom-means-business voice.
“Mom, is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” Ben asked as I closed my bedroom door. I was still dressed for work, in a maternity blouse that clung to my bump and breasts, a black skirt that went down to my knees, and pantyhose. Very different from the cozy, pajamalike clothes I usually wore around the house.
I said nothing. Instead I carefully set my glasses on the bedside table, took Ben by the shoulders, and knelt. I looked up and met his eyes; he was still confused but it was dawning on him what was going on. By the time I undid his belt his eyes were wide with surprise.
Roughly, I tugged down his pants and underwear, and was face-to-face with his flaccid penis. We’d been making love for months but had never used our mouths on each other, and had actually talked about how it felt a little out of bounds for us. But this was what I needed, and while Ben seemed shocked, he grew quickly in my hands.
When I planted a kiss on his tip, he groaned, and I felt his shaft twitch. cihangir escort Later, I felt guilty, and made him assure me I hadn’t done anything he wasn’t comfortable with. But in the moment, I didn’t say a word. I felt a fire raging inside me as I ran my tongue along the underside of Ben’s penis, one hand holding it in place, the other on his hip.
I looked up again, my eyes finding his. He was panting with excitement, his chest rising and falling under his t-shirt. I took him into my mouth and his eyes closed. I sucked gently, savoring his hardness, my heart pounding. I was as surprised as Ben was to find his penis in my mouth; I’d just planned on asking him for sex when I got home but my hormones had other plans. I couldn’t remember the last time I sucked a dick. I worried I wouldn’t know how anymore.
But it came back to me like riding a bike. I grasped the root of Ben’s penis while I bobbed my head up and down, sliding him in and out, getting him nice and slick and wet. I tasted his sweat and the pre-ejaculate that leaked from his tip. Down beneath my growing belly, I was on fire. I knew my panties were soaked. When was the last time I’d been this turned on?
As I built up speed and Ben gasped and groaned and grasped the sides of my head, I no longer felt like a boring fortysomething mom. I felt young and exciting and sexy, doing a great job of pleasuring my teenage lover. I was virile and youthful, a baby growing in my belly, my breasts swollen, my mouth full of a young man. His bristly hair tickled my nose and his shaft twitched against my tongue and I couldn’t get enough.
It didn’t take long. Ben’s grunts became fast and urgent, and I could feel him tugging his hips away, trying to warn me. “Mom, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I murmured, my mouth full. I used my hand to jerk him as I bobbed my head faster and sucked harder, and in an instant he was muffling a scream as he finished. Hot salty seed flooded my mouth, spurt after spurt, and to my surprise I swallowed it.
I wasn’t in control anymore. The estrogen and progesterone surging through my system were. I swallowed it all down and kept sucking until Ben pushed my head away, too sensitive now. He and I gasped for air after he popped out of my mouth, a dribble of seed landing on my maternity blouse. We just stared at each other, red in the face.
“Help me up,” I told him, feeling 41 again as I became aware of aches in my knees and back. I laid down on the bed and put my hand down my skirt while Ben watched, looking dazed. It only took me a moment to ride my hormonal excitement to a powerful, toe-curling orgasm, but what I’d done with my mouth had been the main event.
I stared at the young man in front of me as I came, watching his softening penis, knowing I’d put him in that daze of pleasure. I still felt that power when he flopped down in bed beside me and I kissed him on the cheek. “Wow,” he panted. “Hormones?”
I laughed. It was a running joke between us at that point. But I still felt embarrassed, even though Ben didn’t seem to mind. We didn’t talk about what had happened, and it didn’t happen again.
Maybe it was inevitable that my feelings towards Ben would change. We were bonding, having a baby together, making passionate love several times a week. I had thought we could keep the two parts of our lives separate, but I realized I was falling in love with him.
I kept that feeling to myself, expressing it in the bedroom, not wanting to put my son in a strange position. Being in love with him felt much stranger and more serious than having sex with him. But as the summer wore on and our baby grew and grew, I started to really dread him leaving to go to school.
It was a muggy morning in mid-July when Ben drove me to my OB/GYN. I’d told him about the nervous excitement I had for my anatomy scan, and he’d asked if he could come along. I’d had many appointments, bringing home blurry ultrasound printouts for Ben, but this was a big one.
We’d see the baby’s gender, and more importantly the doctor would check for any irregularities or birth defects. I’d been up at night worrying that something might be wrong with the baby, because of my age or because Ben was my son. I’d prayed for this child for so long, and now I worried that I’d been irresponsible and I wouldn’t get what I wanted after all. Ben had comforted me on my sleepless nights, assuring me that no matter what happened he’d be there for me, and that had only made me fall deeper in love.
At 18 weeks I was almost halfway there, and my belly was small but obvious. I wore a new pink maternity blouse, my way of keeping my fingers crossed for a girl, and Ben told me I looked cute. But I felt like a gross ball of nerves as he drove, my hands clasped over my tummy, wishing I could fast-forward time. Ben took the turns slowly, knowing my stomach was in knots. But soon we were pulling into a parking spot. He looked over at me.
“Mom, are you ready?”
I nodded, but I didn’t feel esenyurt escort ready. Ben took my hand. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. The baby is fine, look at how much you’ve been growing!”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’m getting really fat really fast?” I looked down at my changing body.
“You know it’s not,” Ben said, squeezing my hand. “You look great. The baby’s going to be healthy, and it’s going to be a girl. I’ll be right there with you the whole time. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Again I felt like Ben was the parent and I was the kid, and while I felt proud I also felt sad about the position I put him in. I tried to get myself together. “It’s exciting. We get to see the baby. We get to figure out how we’re going to decorate that nursery.”
Ben smiled and led me inside. I got checked in and we sat in the waiting room, among other sets of expectant parents. I felt old, compared to the women in their twenties and thirties, but my fellow moms-to-be smiled at me. And at Ben, I thought. A good kid, there to support his mom. We waited for nearly an hour, running over my appointment time, my nerves getting extra time to do their worst. Finally, my name was called. Ben helped me out of my seat.
The nurse led me back to an exam room, where Ben watched as she took my vitals and weighed me. I blushed when I saw how many pounds I’d put on in the two weeks since my last appointment. Then the nurse was gone and I sat on the exam table waiting for the doctor. Ben sat in a chair by the door. “It’s gonna be okay,” he smiled.
I tried to return the smile. “I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too,” he whispered back.
When the doctor arrived she could sense my anxiety, and tried to put me at ease. Ben waited while we talked. I thought he might have questions of his own but he just listened as we went through my symptoms, my growth, my worries. She had me lay back and lift up my blouse, exposing my pale, rounded little tummy.
I saw Ben smile when I revealed it. He’d done a lot of loving on that belly since it started to grow, rubbing it and kissing it and talking to it, and he told me it was really cute. I warned him about what I’d look like at nine months and it didn’t faze him. The doctor rubbed cold gel onto my skin and fired up the ultrasound.
I was still nervous. Ben stood up and held my hand. I worried about that, thinking he looked too much like an anxious dad-to-be, but my doctor smiled. “Your mom’s lucky to have you,” she said, and Ben blushed. I squeezed his hand as the blurry image on the monitor resolved into a picture of my womb.
Ben gasped when the doctor panned around and found the baby’s profile. He’d been looking at inkblot-like ultrasound photos for months, playing along and pretending he could tell what was a foot and what was the head, but now the baby really looked like a baby. We could see the face, the nose, the cheeks. The arms and legs, moving around.
I bet the baby felt my racing heart. I had felt little flutters here and there that might have been kicks and might have been gas; the doctor had told me it was probably too early but every pregnancy was different. I could feel that very light fluttering now, as I watched my new baby’s movements onscreen, and tears dripped down my cheeks.
For the next twenty minutes the doctor did a careful scan, showing off different parts of the baby, making measurements, snapping stills to print off for me. One by one she checked off my concerns. The heart was fully formed and pumping hard. The brain was normal. All the organs were present and where they needed to be. Nothing up with the spine. No cleft lip. The cord was in the right place and my fluid levels were good.
I held it together until the doctor’s final verdict. “Everything’s looking fine. You have a big, healthy baby who’s growing right on schedule.” I started full-on sobbing, Ben holding my hand, my stomach rising and falling with my halting breaths. Relief flooded my body, weeks of worry dissipating.
When I finally collected myself a bit, the doctor held up the ultrasound wand. “Would you like to see the gender?” I looked to Ben. His eyes were rimmed with tears too. I wondered how much he’d been worrying, how much he hadn’t told me while he was busy comforting me. “What do you say, Ben?” she continued. “Want to know if you have a brother or sister?”
“Yeah!” Ben said, and the doctor returned the wand to my belly. After a little searching, she got an angle between the baby’s legs.
“You see that?” the doctor asked. “Ben, you have a baby brother.”
I started blubbering all over again. It was too much. Ben took charge and got us out of the doctor’s office, collecting the ultrasound printouts and even scheduling my next appointment. When we were back in the car he held me while I cried.
I was bummed out for a couple weeks, actually. I told Ben over and over that I knew it was silly: I should have just been happy that my baby was healthy, etiler escort bayan but I had really wanted a daughter after all these years and now I felt like I’d never get one.
I hadn’t even thought of trying for another baby after this, but Ben told me we could if I wanted to. This pregnancy had been unlikely enough, though, and I didn’t feel like pushing my luck any further. Ben was sweet, hearing me out, being there for me through my funk.
It wasn’t until I hit the official halfway mark, 20 weeks, at the beginning of August that things changed. That’s when, as I was drifting off to sleep, I felt a distinctive flutter from inside my stomach. I had forgotten what it really felt like after all these years, but it was unmistakable. My baby was moving.
I held my breath and waited until I felt it again. I held my belly in the dark. “Hello there,” I whispered to the baby I’d wanted for nearly twenty years.
I called out for Ben. We didn’t sleep in the same bed unless we’d made love that night, but he’d been sleeping lightly, always ready to come if I needed something. He was in my room instantly, worry on his face.
“What’s up, Mom? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I smiled, my voice an awed whisper. “He’s kicking.”
The worry left Ben’s face. “Really?” he asked, getting in bed beside me, adopting the same hushed tones. His movements were careful, as if he’d scare the baby. His hand joined mine, feeling my tummy through my nightgown.
“You won’t be able to feel it yet, but he’s definitely moving around in there.” I was teary-eyed. I felt like Ben must be sick of seeing me cry; it seemed like I’d been crying for months. But he didn’t mind. He kissed my cheek as he felt around my stomach, trying in vain to feel the movement.
“That’s amazing,” he said. “What does it feel like?”
“It’s just a little flutter now,” I told him. “The kicks are really small and cute at first. But by month eight he’ll be hurting me, if you were any indication.”
He laughed. “How long until I can feel?”
“A couple weeks or so,” I said. “I wish you could now. It’s the most amazing feeling.” The twitch had died down, but we laid there for a few moments, cuddled up next to each other. “Thank you,” I told Ben quietly.
“For giving me this baby. I know I’ve been out of sorts the last few weeks but I’m really happy.”
“Good,” Ben said, holding me closer. “That’s all I want.”
“I’ve got a healthy baby on the way and a good man,” I said, running my fingers through his hair. “What more could I ask for?” I kissed him on the lips. He kissed me back. We made out gently for what must have been twenty minutes, taking in the awe of the moment. I tried not to think about how I only had a month left with Ben at home, but that made moments like these all the more precious.
Ben took off the t-shirt and boxers he’d been sleeping in, and carefully removed my nightgown. I watched him look at my new body, softer, rounder, my belly getting quite prominent. He was still as excited as he’d been that first night, when I let him undo my robe. He kissed my bump all over, then moved up to my breasts.
I made joyful little sounds as he loved on me. I watched as my nipples hardened and my areolas wrinkled, responding to my son’s touch. From my breasts, he traveled up to my neck, trailing little kisses, and when he was close enough to my ear he asked me: “is it still okay for me to be on top?”
I grinned. “I think so. You better do it while you still can.”
He smiled back and kissed my lips. “If it’s uncomfortable just tell me.” He climbed on top of me like he did that very first night, his birthday, and eased himself into me. I gasped with pleasure. I felt stretched out, like I was getting tighter. I was more sensitive, and maybe it was my imagination but I thought I could feel Ben’s pulse inside me.
He made an effort not to rest his weight on my stomach; already I had grown enough that we didn’t quite fit together the way we used to. “Is that okay?” he asked.
“It feels great,” I gasped, looking up at him with love. The tenderness he showed towards me always made me melt. Tonight our lovemaking was slow and gentle. Ben took his time, thrusting in and out gradually, building a slow rhythm. He would pull himself all the way out, tease my opening with his tip, then inch himself back in, stretching me all over again. It drove me crazy.
We paused here and there to kiss, my belly slightly squished under his weight when he leaned to reach my lips. I stroked Ben’s back and hips, and he played with my hair and my breasts. “I love you, Ben,” I whispered. He was so handsome as he loomed over me. More of a man than he’d been six months ago. More like his father.
“I love you, Mom,” he whispered back. I didn’t know how much he knew. If he was aware of how deep my feelings went. “This is my man,” I thought, gazing up at him, feeling the pressure in my womb as his child grew inside me. “I love him more than anything.”
A few moments later it seemed that Ben could take no more teasing, no more gentle lovemaking. He picked up the pace, slamming his penis into me, wheezing with effort. His sweat dripped onto me, heavy with pheromones, man-stink. The muscles in his arms worked hard; veins appeared beneath his skin. He was a man. A man with his mate. My toes curled in pleasure as I thought that.
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