#mpregstory

[mpregtales]

Cuddles

With my belly so large and heavy, I can feel every ounce of its weight as I lay down, but the moment his arms wrap around me, all that tension seems to melt away. His hand rests on the curve of my belly, and I can feel the gentle pressure as he cradles the life growing inside me. There’s a sense of security in the way he holds me—like he’s not just supporting my body, but everything we’ve built together. Feeling his chest against my back, his warmth surrounding me, it’s like we’re sharing the experience of this pregnancy together. It’s intimate, grounding, and a reminder of the love that’s brought us to this moment. Every time he pulls me close, I feel safe, loved, and deeply connected to both him and the babies.

[pupboy666]

Look at how big and round you made my belly Master. It’s so round and tight you can see your cubs moving around inside. It won’t be long before I’m giving birth to your litter.

[michaelmanley]

True Accounts of a Pregnant Man: Shopping (Story)

A bell tinkles faintly above the doorframe as I step into the cozy little boutique. My cheeks are rosy red and numb from the faint autumnal chill in the air outside, so the warmth of the shop causes them to tingle slightly. My nose twitches, and I inhale deeply through my nostrils, noting the faintest hint of vanilla mingling with pine wafting through the air.

“Coming!” a woman’s voice calls from somewhere in the back. Waiting for her to re-emerge, I wipe my boots awkwardly on the thatched doormat, drying off the dampness on their soles from the cold November rain. Beginning to unwind my scarf, I cast my gaze around the quaint little boutique, taking in the scenery noting the evergreen boughs and festive garland already adorning the eaves. Not even Thanksgiving, and this place had already broken out the Christmas decorations. I roll my eyes. Well, that explained the smell, at least.

The sound of labored, sluggish footfalls approaching snaps me out of my reprieve. The shopkeeper must have found whatever she was looking for in the back. I suck in a nervous breath, trying to prepare myself for the horrifically awkward social interaction that is assuredly about to transpire.

Stepping through the stockroom door with a cardboard box tucked under her arm, the ruddy-faced shopkeeper gives me a tiny smile through pursed lips. Given the nature of this specialty boutique and the thing it specializes in, she’s younger than I thought she would be. Early thirties, by the looks of things, but I’ve never been any good at guessing age. Her sandy-blonde curls are done up in a messy bun, the frames of her readers slipping down the bridge of her nose. She’s wearing a stretchy pair of black leggings, and for warmth, a gray cashmere cardigan bundled up tightly over the rather significant protrusion of her expectant midriff. A shorter woman (I stood at only five foot eight, and her head came up to about my shoulder), she was all belly, and carried her bump in the shape of an uncomfortably engorged pregnant orb of pure baby sitting heavily in her stomach.

“Sorry about the wait, sir,” the shopkeep says, and I note the shallowness of her breathing, a symptom of her overwhelming fullness. She opens the box and pulls out a series of identical cream-colored sweaters in various baggy sizes, preparing to restock the shelves while she talks. “Hard for me to get around these days!”

“It’s alright,” I say. “Trust me, I understand.”

“So, what can I do for you?” she asks brightly as she waddles over to one of the plastic belly-sporting mannequins and adorns it with a comfortable looking cable-knit. “Shopping for a special someone this holiday season?”

I grimace, steeling myself internally. “No,” I say. “I’m shopping for myself.”

The shopkeeper freezes, and slowly turns to look at me with incredulity. Wearily, I shrug off my baggy winter coat, revealing the form that had been concealed within its folds before. There is no mistaking the subtle but unflinchingly firm distention of my abdomen, the way my stomach bows outward obviously. My favorite turtleneck can no longer stretch far enough to cover my belly, and every time I try to tug it back over the hump of my baby bump, it simply slides back up, so I’ve simply given up on fighting it. A tantalizing sliver of pale pregnant tummy is clearly visible in the seam between my sweater and a too-snug pair of jeans which I’ve similarly given up on buttoning.

The shopkeeper can’t help it— she gasps, loudly, then claps a hand over her mouth in shame. She takes a half-step backwards, circling around me slowly as she sizes up my fertile form, unable to make sense of what her eyes are seeing.

“Take a picture,” I say, sarcastically. “It’ll last longer.”

I delicately lift the hem of my turtleneck a few inches further, giving her an uninterrupted view of my pregnant belly. The shopkeep, initially having stumbled away in shock, is overcome by curiosity, and magnetized by the sight of bare boy belly, creeps closer to where I stand.

“Can I feel it?” she says, but her trembling palms are already pressed to the subtle swell of my bump. I can feel them poking and prodding curiously, sweeping over the smooth, rounded curve of my belly, insatiable in their desire to know more, to feel the miracle for herself firsthand.

“Go ahead,” I say. “At least you asked for permission after you touched it. Most women don’t ask for permission at all.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and her hands withdraw as she barks out a laugh in disbelief. “I always complain about strangers touching my belly without consent, and well— here I go, giving my gender a bad name. At least I’m not the first woman to make a hypocrite of herself, though, I take it?”

“You are not,” I confirm, my voice twinged with irony. “I don’t get a whole lot of strange men feeling me up without warning, at least. They’re mostly repulsed by me on sight. But women can’t keep their hands off me now. I guess there’s something about this belly they find irresistible.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem like such a bad deal for a strapping, handsome young man like you!” the shopkeep teases. “Come on, you must be at least a little flattered by all that attention!”

“Not really,” I sigh. “Are you flattered when strangers touch your tummy without warning? I guess getting pregnant means I’m public property now.”

The shopkeep’s mouth opens then closes again, sympathy and understanding dawning in her eyes. The mystery and romance of my miraculous maternity has slowly faded as she realizes that the reality of my life as a pregnant man is much akin to her own, our struggles and objectification mirrored (except obviously, the discrimination I faced was more severe by several orders of magnitude).. “Ah. Say no more. Trust me… I know the feeling.”

“Thank you,” I say with a weary smile. “I’m glad you understand.”

“My name’s Brittany,” the shopkeep offers, extending her hand for a cordial shake by way of apology. “Thirty-one weeks today.”

“Michael,” I reply. “But only my mom calls me that. You can just call me Mike. I’m eighteen weeks along.”

“Only eighteen?” Brittany gapes. “But you’re so… big! Are you carrying twins?”

I give her another stare, and she laughs, remembering herself. “Oh. Right. There I go again, saying something I’d hate to hear myself in this state now that the shoe’s on the other foot. How sexist of me. This must happen to you a lot, huh?”

“It does indeed,” I confirm. “And it’s just the one. My family has a history of carrying big.”

“So,” Brittany says, trying to plow forward in the conversation and push past any awkwardness, “Mike. You… need a new wardrobe, I assume?”

“Yes please,” I affirm eagerly.

“Nothing fits anymore, huh?” she teases, gesturing to her own stomach. “We’ve all been there.”

“It’s not just my gut,” I explain. “The entire shape of my body is changing, too. My jeans still fit me fine length-wise, but they’re starting to get snug in the waist as my hips widen. And my chest… it….”

“Relax,” Brittany says with a smile. “Let’s just take it one step at a time. Here, why don’t we step into one of the changing rooms, and I’ll take your measurements first, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, fidgeting with my scarf anxiously. Brittany waddles towards the back of her maternity boutique, and I waddle after her. My nose twitches again as I sniff the air. Now that we’ve moved away from the faux trees in the window display, the scent of artificial pine is ebbing, and another aroma has taken its place.

“Do you have a candle lit or something?” I ask. “I thought I smelled it before, but that vanilla odor is pretty thick over here.”

“You really are pregnant,” she breathes in awe. “I wanted something gentle but fairly festive that wouldn’t bother my pregnant patrons or me. Your sense of smell might be unusually sensitive, though. Do you want me to put it out?”

“No,” I say. “It’s fine.”

“With a nose like that, morning sickness must have been a bitch for you, huh?” Brittany says, clicking her tongue sympathetically.

I shudder, recoiling with revulsion at the unpleasant memories from the not-too-distant past, and say nothing more.

Fishing around in the pockets of her cardigan, Brittany pulls out a brass key, and unlocks one of the dressing rooms. Grabbing a stool and a tape measure, she waddles in after me and shuts the door behind her.

“Alright!” Brittany says. “If you just pop those clothes off, we can get started with your sizing!”

“Um,” I mumble, rubbing my arm sheepishly. “Do I really need to?”

“Well, with your clothes in the way, I won’t be able to get any accurate measurements,” Brittany explains. “Why? Is that a problem? If you’re uncomfortable— wait.”

Brittany’s brow furrows, as if mulling something over. I can already tell where this is headed.

“Are you—“ she starts.

“I’m not trans, no,” I explain, wincing apologetically. “I’m a cis man. If that makes taking my measurements uncomfortable for you at all, I can—”

“No, no, not at all!” Brittany assures me with a cheeky grin. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. How do you think I wound up like this, hmm?”

I let out the breath I had been holding, silently grateful that the shopkeeper hadn’t thought to ask how I myself wound up in my current state, in light of this new information.

“Come to think of it… how did YOU wind up like this?” Brittany presses.

I facepalm. She does, too.

“Oh my God,” Brittany groans. “Today is not my day. Blame it on the pregnancy brain. I am so sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine,” I groan back, the shopkeeper’s constant apologizing for her verbal sexual harassment beginning to wear thin. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

“You don’t have to tell me, by the way, if you don’t want to,” Brittany offers, but her face is burning bright red with curiosity, so I decide to indulge her.

“Medical experiment,” I say, by way of explanation. “Fertility trial. They’re running it over at the university. I’m carrying some donor’s eggs in an artificial womb conjoined to my prostate. They tell me the data I’ve given them has the potential to progress our understanding of gender-affirming care and human biology by entire centuries. It’s being kept tightly under wraps until they confirm both fetal viability and my capacity to carry to term.”

“That’s so noble of you. I could never do what you’re doing, Mike,” Brittany says. “You have it so much harder than me. No woman has any right to complain to you about pregnancy ever again. Or childbirth, for that matter.”

“Yes, well,” I quip dryly, “knowing that makes it all worthwhile.”

Emboldened by the knowledge that this conversation could not get any more awkward or uncomfortable than it currently is, I wiggle out of my turtleneck, having psyched myself up to begin the measuring process. The air on my fully exposed and highly sensitive nipples causes them to stiffen and stand on end, and I try not to think about how puffy my pecs are, how their faintly sagging shape is beginning to appear more and more breast-like.

“You’re so smooth,” Brittany marvels, taking in the sight of my totally taut and silky smooth stomach as I stumble my way out of my jeans, grunting as I peel them off my hips..

“I had to shave all my chest hair,” I blurt defensively. “The ultrasounds couldn’t get a good reading with it in the way of the signal.”

“Not just there,” Brittany says, her eyes flicking up and down as she methodically unwinds her measuring tape. “Everywhere.”

I nod. My legs and arms are shaved clean, too, which was certainly unusual for a man, but certainly the lest unusual thing about me. “Well, it felt weird being hairless only on my tummy. And besides, I was never crazy about it, all the hair on my arms and legs. This feels… less weird to me. It sounds crazy, but it makes me feel more pregnant in a way. Before, with all that hair covering my body, I could pretend I was just bloated or putting on weight, but with no fuzz covering my curves, it’s harder to deny.”

“I see. Still, all that hedge-trimming must take you forever,” Brittany muses sympathetically. “I hope you’re not getting too accustomed to having nice smooth legs right now. Once your bump gets big enough to start getting in the way of everything, you’ll give up on that part of your routine pretty quickly.”

“I still don’t know how I’m supposed to shave my happy trail for the doctors once this gut sticks out too far for me to see the underside of my bump,” I complain. “Just thinking about trying something that scary with a razor fully blind…”

“I can’t imagine,” the saleswoman gasps. “I’d be so terrified I would have nicked the baby somehow if I scraped my belly with the blade too hard! Don’t you ever worry about that?”

“All the time,” I confess. “I know it’s silly, and that my womb is very well protected in there, but this isn’t a normal pregnant person problem. It takes me forever to shower and shave.”

“You poor thing,” Brittany sighs. “Like I said, I could never deal with everything you’re going through.”

“Well, I’m lucky I have such a good support system,” I say. “And once I get to that size, I’m sure my mom will help me shave my stomach.”

“You live with your mom?” Brittany asks, and I nod.

“I moved back home once I found out the procedure took. I was previously enrolled in the university, but I’m taking an impromptu gap year now for obvious reasons.”

“Well, that’s good!” Brittany offers. “She’s been through this before with you, after all. I’m sure she takes excellent care of you.”

“She could certainly do better,” I grouse. “When I told her I was beginning to outgrow my old wardrobe, she insisted I try on all her old maternity clothes from when she was pregnant with me. That’s why I wound up coming here.”

“Oh, that sounds like a priceless memory!” Brittany crows. “Did she take any pictures for the photo album?”

“Several,” I grumble. “Of all the women who need to learn boundaries when it comes to my body, she’s by far the worst offender.”

“Well, she might tease you now, but I’m sure she’ll do the right thing and spoil you rotten when the going gets tough,” Brittany reassures me.

“She’d better,” I huff. “I deserve nothing less. After all, it’s not like this is just a walk in the park for me and baby. I’m doing a lot of hard work here, you know. There was a slim chance the procedure would even work at all, and now that I’m actually pregnant, the risks have decreased significantly, but it’s still super dangerous…”

An unsettling quiet descends upon the changing room, leaving much unsaid.

“Do you think it’s silly?” I ask, after a beat. “That I worry about stuff like that.”

“Not at all!” Brittany readily assures me. “That’s just your paternal instincts kicking in. I’m sure you’re going to be a great daddy.”

I smile faintly, feeling a fluttering in my chest. Moments later, I realize the feeling isn’t just metaphorical, and that the surface of my stomach has begun to shift slightly.

“Oh!” I whimper. “She’s moving…”

Brittany’s eyes shimmer with excitement as she tentatively touches her fingertips to the side of my gravid gut, smiling in awe as she feels the faint stirring.

“She?” Brittany asks to clarify, and I nod excitedly, head bobbing up and down.

“That’s my girl,” I say, and Brittany giggles.

“I figured as much” she replies sagely. “Even if it wasn’t obvious from the way you’re carrying her, you give off huge girldad vibes. Call it mother’s intuition.”

“Do you think I’ll develop any of that?” I tease, and she snickers as she starts to wrap her tape measure snugly around the width of my waist.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, Mike. Will you… get to keep her?”

“I’m going to keep her,” I say, firmly. “I don’t care what the university lab says about it.”

“That’s sweet,” Brittany hums, jotting down a few numbers on a little notepad. “I’m sure you and your husband will make a wonderful family.”

“Oh, I don’t have a partner. And my sexuality is none of your business, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't pry,” I clarify, but she just sort of nods absentmindedly and pays me no mind while she tugs on the yellow cloth tape. I know she has tuned me out. Even in spite of my sexuality, women seem to find me completely non-threatening in this state. It is as if I am just one of the girls to them now, my pregnancy having disqualified me as a man in their eyes. Maybe that’s why they’re all so touchy-feely, despite how many times I try to tell them the intense discomfort I feel from their prolonged and persistent physical contact.

“Mhm,” Brittany says absentmindedly as she pokes my hips, admiring the way her finger sinks in slightly. “Thirty-six men’s in the waist. I wonder if I have anything that translates to that size…”

“I was a thirty-two eighteen weeks ago,” I say quietly. “And please do stop touching me like that. It’s demeaning.”

“Well, you’d be lucky if you stay in the forties, at that rate,” Brittany jokes, ignoring me. “Word to the wise, Mike. Stretchy pants are your new best friend. Ooh, and look at this! Your man-boobs are almost big enough to fit into a B-cup! I guess you’ll probably want to order a bra, too, right?”

“What would be wrong with that?” I say, crossing my arms protectively over my budding breasts. “I’m going to need the extra support due to all the growing and changing my body is doing. A bra isn’t just worn to be ogled, you know.”

“Yeah, but come on,” Brittany teases, her finger darting out to flick my nipple. “Don’t you think that’s a little girly?”

“Brittany,” I say bluntly. “Stop touching my tits.”

Brittany squeaks and stumbles backwards, bumping up against the dressing room door. I roll my eyes, beginning to grow frustrated with her constant sexism. Perhaps my hormones had me running a bit hot, but there was only so much a man could take.

“In the future,” I remind her, “it might be wise to check your privilege. Pregnant men are much more likely to be ogled and sexually harassed by the female population based on their state of dress, as you yourself just clearly demonstrated. Additionally, I find your tone towards me to be patronizing— pregnant men also deal with a greater degree of mammary growth than their female counterparts, due to their need to develop the tissue from scratch, so the fact that you believe such articles of clothing are coded solely to your gender is deeply misandrist. After I went out of my way to try and show you some grace since this was clearly your first time meeting a pregnant man, the fact that you willfully violated my own boundaries in turn is deeply disappointing to me.”

“Of course,” Brittany meekly ekes out. “Right. Any objectification I face as a woman is nothing compared to the discrimination and hardship you face as a pregnant man. I wasn’t thinking. I apologize.”

“That’s quite alright,” I say to the shopkeeper. “I’d like a little privacy now, please. Why don’t you fetch me something to try on, ma’am? I’m sure your options are limited given my unique proportions, but I’ll gladly take anything you’ve got that fits while you special order something in for me.”

“Of course, sir,” Brittany says, her demeanor reverting to professional rather than personable as she bows her head in shame. “I’ll try to find something that suits your style and needs.”

“Thank you,” I say politely but curtly. “That will be all.”

The shopkeeper takes her leave, and I shut the door behind me. Exhaling sharply in frustration, I give my pregnant tummy a little pat, feeling my unborn daughter squirm slightly from my touch, as if pleased by her daddy’s protectiveness. Turning towards the dressing room mirror, I pause as I drink in the sight of my fully exposed body, still somewhat foreign to me.

My frame is undeniably fertile, from the prominent protrusion of my gravid gut and the engorged state of my steadily-forming tits to the width of my hips and the arch of my back. Every inch of me looks soft, curvaceous, and plush, a far cry from the limber, lithe, and skinny-framed man I was before. But these are far from the only changes. My face seems fuller, my skin seems dewier, my cheeks rosier, exuding that ephemeral pregnancy glow. My long, curly strands of brunette hair, which were already thick and luxuriant, have become even healthier and heartier, framing my face in a flattering fashion. Usually, I kept it at a medium length, but with its tendency to grow faster and faster of late, I had simply given up, and now it neatly reached down to frame my face flatteringly. And though my sharp, angular jawline and Adam’s apple were undeniably masculine, with a little makeup and a shift in presentation, I could effortlessly pass as feminine. It’s not hard to see why my burgeoning bump and body are subject to so much attention.

I must admit, I look quite good.

A knock sounds at the door, followed by the sound of someone nervously clearing their throat.

“If you have clothes for me, please kindly place them over top of the changing room door,” I say to Brittany, having had quite enough of my body being visually violated for one day.

“Of course,” Brittany says apologetically. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir. I tried my hardest to find something that matched your personal style and specifications to the letter, since I knew it would be terribly inconvenient for you to have to change your look just on account of this pregnancy. I was able to find something that should hopefully have enough stretch to accommodate your bump, but as far as pants go… none of the maternity jeans or yoga pants I currently have in stock are wide enough for you. Not that that’s a bad thing! Don’t worry, though, I’ve already placed an order for a new shipment. In the meantime, this is the best I can do.”

Brittany passes me the bundle of clothes over top of the changing room door. Unfurling it, I find a stretchy charcoal gray turtleneck dress, made with a soft but sufficiently hardy material to withstand the winter winds while still allowing enough give for my body to continue growing. Paired with it are some semi-translucent black tights, along with a very practical beige bra for my blossoming bust. A new pair of more fashionable black boots and a long black overcoat with a women’s waist cut complete the look.

“No pants in my size?” I say wryly. “Your boutique could stand to be more accessible and welcoming to all body types.”

“I’m really very sorry, Mike,” Brittany says.

I sigh. “It will have to do. Now then, Brittany, if I open this door, will you promise to behave?”

“I promise,” Brittany agrees readily.

“Good,” I say. “I am going to open the door now. I will expect your assistance in adorning my bra. You are not to touch me in any other capacity than is strictly necessary in the course of your duties. Have I articulated my boundaries clearly to you?”

“Yes,” Brittany says, sufficiently cowed.

I unlock the dressing room door, ordering her to enter as soon as my back is turned. She approaches hesitantly, and wraps her hands around me from behind, slipping both of my boobs into the B-cups of my bra as I wriggle my arms into the thin little straps. Once everything is in place, she latches the hooks fast.

“Is everything alright?” Brittany asks. “Can you breathe okay? How does it fit?”

I inspect myself in the mirror, cupping my sagging breasts with both my hands as I admire the faintest hints of cleavage beginning to form between them. The tension in my upper back has lessened slightly, too, at least one source of stress on my spine having been alleviated.

“Yes, I feel quite well supported. Thank you, Brittany,” I say with a smile, and I can tell she has visibly relaxed with relief. “Does this bra come as part of a matching set, by any chance?”

“It does,” Brittany says. “I didn’t think you’d want the panties when you already have your briefs.”

“I might as well,” I say, shrugging. “I’d like it if you could get them for me, please. And I’ll be putting them on myself.”

Brittany departs, and returns moments later with a silky beige slip. I shut the door on her once more and sit down on the bench in the dressing room as I wiggle out of my old briefs and slide the snug-fitting panties up my shapely legs. Tucking my member snugly inside my new well-fitting underwear as they securely cradle the package, I admire how they cling to my hips, flatteringly highlighting the pleasant plumpness of my posterior. Next are the tights, which I struggle fiercely to tug over the humps of my hips. Shrugging on my new turtleneck dress and sliding into my new overcoat, I slide my elegant gray and black patterned scarf over my shoulders, the only remnant of my previous outfit that still fits. I give myself one last once-over in the mirror, rubbing my pregnant belly in satisfaction with my appearance.

When I open the door, Brittany is standing there with an empty brown paper bag.

“For your old clothes,” she says helpfully. “You can wear your new ones out of the store.”

“That’s good,” I say. “How does it look?”

“You look stunning,” Brittany breathes. “It definitely suits you.”

“And how much do I owe for this?” I inquire. “I’m ready to be rung up, please.”

“Oh, no,” Brittany says. “I feel bad that I didn’t have anything in your size… and for everything else. Please, it’s on me. I would feel just awful if your poor experience today soured your opinion of my boutique, and I want to make this a more inclusive space for you.”

I smile, having already mentally noted that the price for this luxury dress, coat, and boots would have been well over a hundred dollars. “I see. Well, I suppose that unlearning your sexist attitudes and practices towards men takes time, and I do appreciate the gesture.”

“You’re so right,” Brittany says eagerly, bobbing her head. “And I have so much to learn, especially from you. Please accept my formal apology for my inappropriate conduct, Mike. I had no idea how difficult it was to be a pregnant man.”

“I acknowledge your apology,” I say. “But I don’t accept it just yet. In the future, I hope to see that you’ve learned your lesson.”

“That’s totally valid,” Brittany says. “You don’t have to accept my apology yet, but I’d like it very much if you could someday.”

“Well, Brittany,” I say. “That depends entirely on you.”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” Brittany adds quickly. “I’d really like to make it up to you, Mike. In fact, I’m part of a group of pregnant women—“

“Pregnant people,” I remind her. “You need to use more inclusive phrasing that’s less hurtful and exclusionary towards pregnant men like myself.”

“Pregnant people, right, sorry,” Brittany says hurriedly. “I’m part of a group of pregnant people who attend a maternity aerobics and prenatal exercise class. I know I’m a bigot and you have no reason to trust me after my disgusting and reprehensible behavior towards you, but I’d really like it if you could come to a session with us. I think we could all learn a lot from your bravery and strength.”

Brittany hands me a yellowed flyer advertising a water aerobics class being held at a local gym. I crease it once down the center and fold it into the pockets of my new overcoat.

“I’m sorry,” I say politely. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t have a thing to wear.”

“I can order you a swimsuit!” the shopkeeper reassures me. “That would be on me, too.”

“Why thank you, Brittany,” I reply. “I’ll certainly consider your offer.”

Brittany beams at me bashfully. “No, thank you! I appreciate you giving me a second chance, and I hope you’ll continue to correct me and check my privilege so I can become a better person.”

“Well, Brittany,” I state, “I can certainly tell you’re sincere in your intentions, so let me tell you this. The first lesson to unlearning your privilege is to be silent and listen when an oppressed group is speaking.”

Brittany opens her mouth, then closes it, nodding as she pulls the pen and pad she used for sizing notations out of her cardigan to jot down my words.

“For instance, it is highly rude to complain about your problems or your pregnancy in the presence of a pregnant man, since pregnancy is many orders of magnitude more difficult for me than it is for you,” I continue. “It is also basic etiquette to defer to a pregnant man in matters of common courtesy. In order to best serve the oppressed, you must be of service to them. Do you understand?”

“I see!” Brittany says. “I’ll do my best to learn my place and speak when spoken to, and I really do appreciate you educating me about the microaggressions coded into my behavior. I hope I can be of service to you in the future. Would you like me to hold the door open for you on your way out?”

“Very good!” I say politely as I waddle out the door, giving Brittany a reassuring style. “You’re learning quickly. I’m sure you’ll see the error of your ways in no time.”

“Come back any time, Mike!” Brittany calls after me. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know!”

I cheerfully wave her goodbye, bundling my overcoat around my bump more tightly as I approach a parked car positioned next to the curb. Waiting outside is a striking woman in her mid-to-late thirties with curly brunette hair, standing at about five foot eleven and holding an umbrella to shield herself and her slim-fitting teal medical scrubs and crisp white lab coat from the downpour of sleet. As I draw closer, she opens the passenger side door and gingerly helps me inside.

“Thanks for waiting, Mom,” I say as I ease myself into the passenger seat.

“Nonsense,” Mom says with a smile. “There’s no need to thank me. I remember how uncomfortable it was, trying to squeeze behind the wheel when I was pregnant with you, bump pressing straight down on my bladder. I wouldn’t want my pregnant son to go through all that!“

“Well, even if you’re only doing what’s expected of you, you’re still a halfway decent chauffeur,” I say, complimenting her.

“Thank you, Michael! I’m just happy to help,” Mom says as we pull away from the quaint outdoor mall where Brittany’s maternity boutique is located. She hands me a golden bag, which I recognize instantly as bearing the insignia of my favorite confectionary shop from across the street— a little present to sate my cravings. “Anything I can do to make your condition more comfortable. Look, I even got you those sweets you were gushing about!”

“That’s wonderful!” I say with a smile. “I’m glad you’re being more considerate of my cravings, and I appreciate the effort. Stuffing myself with something sweet will help to take my mind off things.”

“That must have been very scary for you, in there,” Mom says sympathetically.

“It was mortifying,” I sigh, opening the bag to find a ribbon-adorned box of white chocolate candies. “There’s just so much intolerance in this world. It’s a very scary time to be an expecting father, what with all this vitriol and bigotry. You have no idea how difficult my life is like this.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for standing up to prejudice,” Mom says as I pop a couple handfuls of candies at a time into my mouth, moaning faintly. “It’s unfair that society treats you so poorly as a pregnant man.”

I feel my unborn daughter stirring slightly in my womb as I munch on a mouthful of molten chocolate, licking my fingers clean.

“My daughter will grow up knowing exactly how much her daddy struggled and suffered to bring her into this world,” I sniff sadly. “And she’ll never once doubt how loved she is because of it. After all, no one has it worse than a pregnant man like me!”

[mpregstory]

ANNOUNCMENT

My inbox is open again for questions and story requests!

- mpregstory

[sporadicmind13]

Thinking about a fantasy mpreg:

-Runaway Prince meets Outcast. -They start to fall for one another. -Have tiny little Prince/Outcast babies.

The end. :)

[mpreg-adventures]

Foodbaby:  A corn pregnancy pandemic

(early part of a new stories series. a first exclusive on tumblr, will be added later to DA. Hope you enjoy)

Foodbaby:  A corn pregnancy pandemic A Mpeg-Adventures/ Anzacfarmer1997 production and creation

A pandemic that caused healthy young men from the ages of 22 to 29 to develop a baby bump and pregnant-like symptoms each, but these 'infected' men weren't  actually pregnant. 'Golden Fortune' sweet corn (known as 'Milho Verde' [Green Corn]) was a recent new hybrid corn recently trialed and it passed its trials and was allowed to be grown specially as a 'corn on the cob' variety for human consumption.

The dangers of the new sweet corn variety weren't known yet and will only be finally accepted once it has claimed some victims. 'Golden Fortune' had a sweet sugary like taste and was best fresh and it was a star performer across the globe, it had a 70 day maturity making it a early cropping sweet corn and one of the fastest performers on the sweet corn market.

It was one man Henry George Fernandez a Brazilian Australia who actually caused the entire pandemic, he was patient zero.

Sunday 19th September 2022.... Henry Fernandez purchased a package of the new sweet corn from the local supermarket, once he returned home he barbequed the cobs up and smeared butter on them and dinned in on them, his six-pack abdomen began swelling as he was halfway eating the first cob, and then as he finished the first cob his abdomen started violently moving as if he was pregnant. He poked at his swollen six-pack abdomen and it was firm and not squishy but the load of the new sweet corn kernels inside his belly returned a reply by 'kicking and fluttering' about as if he was pregnant with a fetus.

Henry was taken to the local hospital and had examinations and ultrasounds and the ultrasound came be with imaging of a mass kicking around inside his abdomen.....

[broodybelly]

That moment when a guy goes to put on his pants but they are feeling tight around the hips. He tries buttoning the pants up but he can't seem to get the button to the hole. He thinks "these must have shrunk." Except he tries all the pants in his wardrobe but all that will fit around his slightly bigger belly are a pair of sweatpants. He looks at himself in the mirror, maybe... no! Was his belly sticking out a little bit more than before? When did that happen?

He keeps telling himself it's just water weight. He's slightly bloated. But slowly his belly keeps getting bigger and bigger no matter how many exercises he does the beer gut stays.

He has to admit to himself maybe this isn't water weight.

#mpreg #mpregstory #gainerfiction #mpregfiction #gainer #gainerstory #bellyinflation

[ilitiaforever]

someone reposted your art mpregstory. tumblr. com/ post /655539035615428608/

Thank you very much for informing me, and I will send a message to whoever published it, to put my nickname, thank you for supporting and protecting my work. 

[moiracolleenodell]

Honestly, I follow one blog with an mpreg storyline and reblog from it because it’s Good Omens and Aziraphale has been expecting twins for the last nine months (they were born last week), and Tumblr thinks that means I want to follow mpregstorys and andrewsmpreg and god knows what else. I don’t even reblog from it much. Just a few scattered posts tagged “mpreg” and Tumblr recommendations thinks I have a fetish.

[mpregtales]

[mpregtales]

Sonogram

Lying back on the examination table, I can feel the cool gel spread across my swollen belly, the sensation a mix of soothing and strange. My belly, round and prominent, stretches upward, a physical reminder of the life growing inside me. As the technician moves the wand over my skin, I watch the screen intently, heart pounding with anticipation.

The room is dim, and I can hear the soft, rhythmic whoosh of the babies' heartbeats, echoing through the monitor. Seeing the images appear—tiny limbs moving, little heartbeats fluttering—fills me with a sense of awe and wonder. It’s like a window into a secret world that I’m carrying around with me every day.

In this moment, all the changes my body has gone through—the growing belly, the weight, the adjustments—feel so worth it. Watching our babies move on that screen is a reminder of why I’m doing this, and it fills me with a love so deep it almost takes my breath away.

[mpregtales]

[mpregtales]

Laboring

The early stages of labor are intense as you get on fours, demanding every ounce of your strength, focus, and resilience. With your belly hanging low, swollen and full, your body arches forward, your massive, plump glutes rising into the air. The weight of your pregnancy presses down, pushing the babies closer to delivery. Each contraction sends a powerful wave of pressure through your hips and thighs, making your thick, rounded cheeks jiggle with every tremor of effort. Your glutes, now fully spread, quiver as your body stretches wide to make room for the baby, your entrance pulsating with the strain of the process.

The sensation intensifies as the baby begins to crown, the burn and stretch deep and powerful, your muscles working in sync to guide the baby through. The jiggling of your cheeks becomes more pronounced with each push, your hips spreading even wider to allow for the life making its way into the world. As you bear down one last time, your body trembling, the baby finally slips out between the soft, bouncing mounds of your glutes, the release of pressure immediate and overwhelming. The warmth of the baby leaving your body is met with a rush of relief, exhaustion, and joy, your cheeks still quivering as the contraction fades. You feel utterly spent, yet profoundly fulfilled, knowing your body has just accomplished something extraordinary.

[mpregtales]

Luke & Owen Part 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] ⬤ [Part 5]

One evening, after a quiet dinner at Owen’s dorm, Luke found himself cradling his belly absentmindedly, feeling the baby move beneath his hands. Owen, noticing the gesture, moved closer, his eyes soft with affection.

“Can I…?” Owen asked, his hand hovering near Luke’s belly.

Luke smiled and nodded, lifting his shirt to expose the smooth, stretched skin. “Go ahead.”

Owen’s hand rested gently on the curve of Luke’s belly, his fingers tracing the contours with a kind of reverence that sent shivers down Luke’s spine. This touch was unlike any he had ever experienced—it wasn’t clinical or casual. This was deeply intimate, filled with care and admiration. Owen wasn’t just acknowledging the pregnancy; he was connecting with Luke on a profound level, recognizing the vulnerability, strength, and beauty that came with his changing body.

“You’re amazing, Luke,” Owen whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Luke’s heart fluttered at Owen’s words, but there was something deeper stirring within him—something primal. His body, so full of life, ached with a tension that had been building for weeks. His hormones had reached a fever pitch, and as Owen’s hand moved gently across his belly, tracing the smooth, firm skin, Luke felt a need rising within him that he could no longer contain.

He leaned into Owen’s touch, kissing him again, more deeply this time, with a hunger that surprised even himself. The kiss ignited something between them, and Owen responded in kind, his hand moving with purpose as he caressed Luke’s belly, the connection between them growing stronger with each moment.

Owen's hand roamed lower, exploring the firm but softening expanse of Luke’s body. His touch was gentle but deliberate, and when his fingers trailed down to Luke's hips, Owen’s breath hitched slightly. Luke’s once-athletic frame had changed in ways that were impossible to ignore—his glutes had grown fuller, rounder, as the pregnancy progressed, creating a striking contrast between their muscular firmness and the soft curve they now held. The added weight made them bounce slightly with even the smallest movement, an undeniable testament to how much Luke’s body had transformed.

With both hands, Owen reached back to Luke’s mountainous cheeks, cupping them fully, one hand on each side. The sensation of Owen’s hands gripping the firm, muscled flesh sent a jolt of electricity through Luke’s entire body. His glutes, once firm and solid, had become round and bouncy, growing in size as his pregnancy progressed. Owen’s fingers pressed into the muscular mounds, appreciating both the firmness and the give in their new fullness.

The primal desire that had been building within Luke for weeks began to surface with full force. The way Owen held him, his hands reverently caressing every curve, every change, made Luke feel both cherished and desired in ways he hadn’t expected. The tenderness of the moment was almost overwhelming, but it wasn’t just tenderness—it was something raw, something powerful.

Owen slid his hands beneath the waistband of Luke’s gray sweatpants, his fingers pressing directly against the bare skin of Luke’s cheeks. Luke gasped softly as Owen’s hands found their way deeper, grabbing his backside more fully. The intimate contact sent a surge of heat through Luke’s entire body, his cheeks flexing involuntarily under Owen’s touch.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to melt away. Luke’s breath quickened as the sensations coursed through him, the intensity of it all nearly taking his breath away. He had always imagined this kind of connection with someone, but the reality of it, especially now, while his body was so profoundly changed, was more than he had ever anticipated. It was more than just physical—it was emotional, spiritual even.

Without thinking, Luke instinctively shifted his weight and rolled over onto all fours, his knees spreading wide on the bed, his back arching as he pushed his now-mountainous cheeks out toward Owen. The position made him feel vulnerable, exposed in a way he hadn’t felt before, but it also felt right—natural. He had cradled life within him, and now, he offered himself fully to the man who made him feel safe, adored, and wanted.

Owen’s gaze never left Luke as he took in the sight before him. Luke’s backside was full, round, and inviting, the muscle beneath the growing softness flexing subtly as he held himself in position. Owen’s hands returned to their place, this time with even more intensity, caressing and holding Luke’s cheeks with a mixture of admiration and desire. Luke felt his heart race, his body responding to the way Owen touched him, how his hands seemed to worship every curve, every inch of his body that had changed during this pregnancy.

There was no rush between them, no urgency. Instead, it was a moment of pure connection—a shared understanding that this was more than just physical attraction. Owen wasn’t just drawn to Luke’s body; he was drawn to Luke, to who he was, to the incredible strength he had shown throughout this entire journey.

Owen leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the small of Luke’s back, just above where his belly began to curve outward. Luke shuddered under the touch, feeling the tenderness and care in every movement Owen made. For the first time in weeks, Luke felt at peace with the changes his body had undergone, at peace with the way things were unfolding between them.

Luke could feel the weight of his body shifting as he remained on all fours, the roundness of his belly hanging beneath him, a reminder of the life growing inside. His heart raced with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. This was a new level of intimacy for him, one that went beyond the physical—it was emotional, a leap of trust that he had never taken with anyone before.

Slowly, he began to tug down the waistband of his gray sweatpants, the soft fabric sliding over the curve of his hips. As the material slipped lower, his ripe, full, rounded cheeks were exposed, their muscular firmness giving way to a subtle jiggle as the elastic band cleared the plump mounds. The sensation sent a shiver through Luke’s body, not just from the cool air that brushed against his bare skin but from the intensity of the moment.

Owen’s breath hitched. “God, Luke…,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight before him, completely overwhelmed by the raw beauty of Luke’s form—by the fullness of his body, the way his cheeks seemed to invite his touch. Without hesitation, he reached out, his hands caressing the smooth, firm skin of Luke’s backside. His fingers traced the curves reverently, marveling at the way Luke’s body had transformed, the pregnancy giving him an undeniable allure that only heightened Owen’s desire.

Luke let out a soft moan, the sound escaping his lips unbidden as Owen’s touch sent ripples of sensation through him. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that overwhelmed him—it was something deeper, something primal that stirred within. His hips, which had grown fuller and rounder over the months, tingled with a strange, unfamiliar energy, as if they were calling out for something, someone, to fulfill the desire that pulsed deep within him.

This was his first time being intimate in such a way with anyone, and the vulnerability of the moment was almost overwhelming. He had imagined what this might feel like, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. The weight of his belly beneath him, the fullness of his body, and the primal longing that flared in his core made him feel raw, exposed in ways he hadn’t expected. Yet, at the same time, it felt right. So right.

Owen leaned in, his breath warm against Luke’s skin as he placed tender kisses along the small of Luke’s back, moving lower. Owen parted Luke’s massive cheeks with both hands revealing his moist, quivering hole. Owen was overcome by desire and buried his face between Luke’s cheeks, licking up the moisture there and tantalizingly prodding Luke’s hole as he squeezed the mounds of his cheeks. The sensation was unlike anything Luke had ever experienced, and he gasped softly, his body reacting instinctively to the intimacy, to the tenderness. Every touch, every kiss sent waves of warmth through him, making it hard to focus on anything but the feelings building within.

As Owen pulled back, he fumbled with his own waistband, his hands trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. He slid his pants down, his body responding to the overwhelming desire he felt for Luke, revealing his long hard ten incher pulsing with intensity. He paused, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself, the weight of what they were about to share sinking in.

“I want you,” Luke whispered, his voice filled with longing. The words surprised him, but they came from a place of deep desire—one that had been growing ever since he had first felt Owen’s touch.

Owen, his heart pounding in his chest, reached for the lube on the bedside table, his hands moving with care as he prepared them both. He coated his manhood generously and his fingers moved gently over Luke’s entrance, applying the cool gel with reverence. He leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Luke’s left cheek as he worked, letting the intimacy of the moment build. He could feel Luke’s body responding, the tension in his muscles giving way as Owen took his time, making sure Luke was comfortable, making sure everything felt right.

Then, with deliberate care, Owen positioned himself between Luke’s cheeks, his hands steadying Luke as he guided himself forward, his bulbous tip resting on Luke’s quivering entrance. As Luke pressed forward, the initial sensation was intense—Luke’s cheeks flexing as they adjusted to the head breaching him. Owen eased into him inch by inch, Luke’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the fullness, the sensation of being connected in such a profound way. It wasn’t just physical—it was an emotional release, a moment where everything seemed to fall away except the two of them. It seemed that the length of Owen’s manhood would never end until his firm muscular crotch was pressed firmly against his plump round cheeks, completing the union.

As Luke held himself steady, he was overcome with a feeling of deep satisfaction he had never experienced before and pressed himself back into Luke’s crotch deeper, jiggling his mounds as Owen let out a deep moan. Owen began to move his hips slowly, his thrusts a steady rhythm, mindful of Luke’s body and the way his cheeks bounced to each gentle thrust. Luke, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure and the closeness, began to move with him, their bodies finding a rhythm together. Each movement brought them closer, both physically and emotionally, deepening the bond that had been growing between them since the day they met.

The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, of whispered words of affection and love. Owen’s hands never left Luke, one hand resting on his hip, the other sliding up to cradle Luke’s growing belly. The weight of it, the roundness beneath his palm, was a reminder of the incredible journey they were on together. It grounded them both in the moment, in the life they were building together, one step at a time.

The pressure began to build deep within them. Luke surrendered himself fully to Owen, allowing him to grab his cheeks and stroke his own hard and impressive manhood below, his belly rocking with each thrust. As Owen reached the peak of his desire, his movements became more urgent, the intensity of the moment overtaking him. Luke, lost in the sensations coursing through his body, arched his back, his cheeks flexing and bouncing with each thrust.

The warmth of Luke’s body against his own, the way their bodies moved in perfect harmony, and the sight of Luke’s ripe, plump, pregnancy-thickened bubble butt bouncing on him brought Owen to the edge. And then, with a final, deep thrust, Owen climaxed, his breath catching in his throat as he held Luke close, the warmth of their shared moment enveloping them both. Luke moaned softly, the sensation of Owen’s release filling him deeply inside, the weight of it a reminder of just how far they had come together.

Owen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Luke’s cheek as they both caught their breath, their bodies still humming with the afterglow. Slowly, Owen pulled back, his hands never leaving Luke as he gently helped him roll onto his side. They lay there together, side by side, Owen’s hand still resting on Luke’s belly, cradling the life that was growing inside him.

“I love you, Luke,” Owen whispered, his voice filled with tenderness and certainty.

Luke, his heart full, turned to face Owen, his eyes shining with emotion. “I love you too,” he replied softly, the words carrying the weight of everything they had been through, of everything they had yet to experience.

In that moment, everything felt right. Luke knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, bound by love, by trust, and by the undeniable connection that had brought them here.

By the time Luke entered his eighth month of pregnancy, his body had transformed in ways that left him in awe—and, at times, in discomfort. His belly had expanded into a large, firm globe, stretching his skin to its limits, making every movement a challenge. His once firm and athletic glutes had softened and rounded, growing noticeably fuller and adding weight to his hips. The sway in his walk had become more pronounced, the fullness of his cheeks and the pressure from the baby creating a rhythm in his gait. Even the simplest tasks, like getting dressed, had become an ordeal. Pulling his jeans over his wider hips, feeling them hug his newly expanded curves, was a reminder of just how much his body had changed.

The pregnancy had also brought on more cravings—he’d never been one to indulge much, but now, Luke found himself reaching for foods he never thought he’d want. Owen teased him when he dipped pickles into ice cream, but there was something comforting about these strange combinations. His growing body demanded nourishment, and Luke was more than happy to oblige.

Despite the physical changes, college life went on. Luke tried to keep up with his classes, though he was finding it more difficult to navigate campus with the weight of his pregnancy. His friends were especially supportive. For Luke, though, Owen was more than a support system—he was becoming the person Luke could count on when everything else seemed to fall apart.

And things were falling apart. The family situation back home had deteriorated further, and Luke could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, even from a distance. His parents’ marriage, once held together by their shared hope of another child, was unraveling fast. Arguments became the norm, and the tension between his mom and dad was palpable. His mom, Julie, was trying to hold it together, still clinging to the dream of raising a baby, while his father, Mark, had become increasingly detached. Luke, always the peacemaker, had been caught in the middle for too long, and it was becoming clear that no child could fix what was broken between them.

Then came the appointment that changed everything. It was a routine check-up, one of many Luke had gone through during his pregnancy, but this time, the doctor had news. As the ultrasound wand glided over Luke’s massive belly, revealing the now-familiar image of the baby on the screen, the doctor smiled. “Would you like to know the gender?”

Luke glanced at Owen, who was sitting beside him, holding his hand. They both nodded.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, her tone warm and gentle.

A boy. Luke’s heart skipped a beat. He had always dreamed of having a little brother—someone to look after, to play with, to share experiences with. But now that dream was tangled with something far more complicated. He had also dreamed of having a son one day, a child he would raise with a partner he loved. And now, here he was, carrying a boy—a baby who was both his sibling and, in many ways, felt like his own.

The emotions hit him hard. Luke felt protective of the child growing inside him, but he also knew the reality of the situation. This wasn’t just his baby—it was his parents’. Or at least, it was supposed to be. The internal conflict raged inside him. He loved the baby, but how could he give him up now? Especially when his parents were barely holding it together.

He cradled his belly frequently, his hands instinctively finding their place along the firm, round surface as if grounding himself. As the baby kicked and rolled inside him, Luke felt a deep sense of connection, a protectiveness that surprised him. Yet this protectiveness came with its own set of complicated emotions. It was one thing to feel a bond with the child he was carrying, but it was another to know that the baby was, in fact, his brother. This created a strange, internal conflict—he couldn’t help but love the baby, but the knowledge that it wasn’t his own child twisted his feelings in uncomfortable ways.

As his body continued to change, so did his emotions. The pregnancy hormones surged through him, amplifying his feelings of attachment to the baby. There were moments when Luke found himself imagining a life where he kept the baby, where he and Owen raised him together. It felt right, in a way, to be this child’s protector. But every time he let his mind wander down that path, he was brought back to the reality that this baby was supposed to be his parents’. It wasn’t his to keep.

Luke, who had always felt like the glue that held his family together, now felt helpless as he watched them crumble. One evening, after Luke had returned from an emotional visit with his parents, he broke down in Owen’s arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” Luke confessed, tears streaming down his face as he cradled his now large belly. “I can’t believe I thought this would fix things for them. It’s not going to. And now… I love this baby. I want him. But how can I take him from them? And how can I leave him with them when I know what a mess everything is?”

Owen held him tightly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You didn’t know this would happen,” he said softly. “You were trying to help. You’ve always been the one to keep things together, but this isn’t your responsibility. It’s not your job to save their marriage.”

Luke nodded, wiping away the tears, but the guilt gnawed at him. He knew Owen was right—he shouldn’t have volunteered to be the surrogate. He had been so desperate to hold his family together, to give his mother what she wanted, that he hadn’t fully considered the emotional weight of what he was taking on. Now it was too late for an abortion, not that he could ever bring himself to do that. He loved this baby too much. But the idea of handing him over to his parents, knowing the state of their marriage, made Luke sick with worry.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Luke whispered, his voice trembling. “I can’t give him up. I can’t let him be subjected to what I went through as their kid. He deserves better.”

Owen cupped Luke’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes with a tenderness that made Luke’s heart swell. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “We’ll raise him. Together. I’ll be there every step of the way, Luke. You’re not in this alone.”

The words hit Luke like a wave, both relieving and terrifying him at the same time. He knew that Owen meant every word, but the reality of the situation was daunting. Still, the idea of raising this child with Owen, the man who had been his anchor throughout this chaotic time, filled Luke with a sense of hope he hadn’t felt in months.

The next day, Luke sat at his desk, staring at the blank email screen for what felt like hours. His body ached—his belly rumbled with kicks, his glutes and hips sore from the strain of carrying the baby. The weight was no longer just physical. He could feel the emotional burden pressing down on him as well. He had always been the one to fix things, to keep his family together, but now it felt like everything was falling apart, and he was helpless to stop it.

He rubbed a hand over his stretched belly, feeling the baby shift beneath his palm, a wave of warmth and protectiveness washing over him. Luke loved this child—more than he had anticipated. The idea of handing him over to his parents, knowing the state of their crumbling marriage, filled him with dread. He needed advice from someone who understood this journey, someone who had walked the path before.

With a deep breath, Luke began to type:

Hi Aaron,

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to reach out to you because I could really use some advice—and I figured you would understand what I’m going through more than anyone else.

I know I mentioned before that my parents were considering surrogacy, and I ended up offering to carry their baby. Well, I’m pregnant. It still feels surreal, and I’m about eight months along now. It’s been a lot to process—more than I ever anticipated.

At first, I thought I could do this for them without getting too attached, but now… I don’t know anymore. I’ve grown really close to the baby, and with everything going on at home—my parents’ marriage falling apart—I’m feeling conflicted. I’m scared that if I hand the baby over, he won’t get the life he deserves.

Also, I’ve started seeing someone. His name is Owen, and he’s been incredible throughout all of this. He’s been my rock, and I’m beginning to wonder if we should raise the baby together. The thought of giving him up to my parents feels more impossible by the day.

I know you’ve been through some complicated family dynamics yourself, and I’d really appreciate any advice you can give me. I’m struggling to see what the right path is here, and I don’t want to make the wrong decision for the baby or myself.

I know your daughter’s planning on coming to my university for a campus visit soon, and I’d love to meet up with you if you have time. It’d be great to talk in person.

Thanks so much,

Luke

Luke hit "send" before he could second-guess himself. He leaned back in his chair, his hand absentmindedly caressing the swell of his belly. Now, all he could do was wait.

The response came quicker than expected:

Hi Luke,

First of all, congratulations on your pregnancy. I know it’s a complicated situation, but I want to start by acknowledging that what you’re doing—offering to carry a child for your parents—is incredibly selfless and brave. However, it’s also okay to feel conflicted, especially now that you’ve bonded with the baby.

I can understand the attachment you’re feeling. When I carried for my stepson, I also felt that closeness to the baby, and it can be emotionally intense, especially when you have unresolved family dynamics at play. The fact that your parents’ marriage is struggling complicates things even further, and it’s completely valid to worry about the kind of environment the baby would be entering.

It sounds like you and Owen have built something special together, and the idea of raising this baby with him isn’t far-fetched at all. Family takes many forms, as I’ve learned through my own experiences. The most important thing is that this child is loved, supported, and raised in a stable environment. If you feel that’s something you and Owen can provide, then that’s a discussion worth having.

I’ll be on campus next week with my daughter for her tour, and I’d be happy to meet up for coffee. I think it’d be helpful for you to talk through everything, and I’m happy to listen and offer any advice I can.

Take care, and I look forward to seeing you soon.

Aaron

The relief Luke felt was palpable. Aaron’s words had a way of cutting through the confusion and guilt, reminding him that there wasn’t a single path to family. There were options—real ones. And Aaron had lived through it all.

The following week, Luke found himself sitting at a small table outside a café on campus, nervously rubbing his belly. Owen sat next to him, offering a comforting smile. He hadn’t met Aaron yet, but Luke had told him everything about the advice Aaron had offered, and Owen had been eager to meet the man who had made such an impact on Luke’s journey.

When Aaron finally walked in, he smiled warmly, his presence immediately putting Luke at ease.

“Aaron,” Luke greeted, standing slowly, his belly jutting out in front of him. “Thank you for meeting us.”

He looked the same as Luke remembered from their earlier interactions—calm, confident, and wise beyond his years of experience. Beside him was his daughter, a young woman with a kind smile and an eagerness to explore the campus. After some brief introductions, Aaron’s daughter excused herself to start her tour, leaving the three of them alone.

Luke felt a wave of emotion hit him as Aaron sat down. It wasn’t just that he was seeking advice—he was looking for reassurance, for guidance, and perhaps most of all, for permission to let go of the expectations he had set for himself.

“You look great,” Aaron said warmly, glancing at Luke’s belly. “How are you feeling?”

Luke let out a small laugh. “Big,” he admitted, rubbing the curve of his stomach. “But okay, I guess. Physically, anyway. Emotionally… that’s a different story.”

Owen, ever the supportive presence, placed a hand on Luke’s back, gently rubbing in silent comfort.

“I read your email,” Aaron said, leaning forward slightly, his voice calm and understanding. “I know this has been a tough journey for you, and I want you to know that whatever decision you make, it’s okay. You’ve taken on so much for your family, but it’s also okay to think about yourself—about your needs, your life, and your future.”

Luke nodded, feeling the weight of Aaron’s words. “It’s hard because… I thought this would fix things for them. But now, I’m not so sure. And I’ve grown so attached to the baby.” He looked down at his belly, feeling the baby shift beneath his hand. “I love him, Aaron. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just… hand him over.”

Aaron listened carefully, his expression thoughtful. “When I carried for my stepson, I had similar thoughts. I wondered how I would let go, especially knowing that the baby would grow up in a situation that wasn’t typical. But the truth is, you’re not just handing him over. You’re giving him a chance at life, and you’re still a part of his life—whether that’s as a parent or as an uncle, or whatever role you choose to take.”

Owen chimed in, his voice steady. “I’ve told Luke I want to raise the baby with him. I’m here for whatever comes next.”

Aaron smiled, clearly impressed by the strength of their relationship. “That’s the foundation you need—love, support, and understanding. If you two feel that raising this child together is the best path, then that’s the decision you should make. Family doesn’t have to look one way. Love makes a family, not just biology.”

Luke felt the tension in his chest ease as he listened to Aaron’s words. This was what he needed—someone who had been through it, someone who understood the complexity of surrogacy and family dynamics.

“But how do I even begin to explain this to my parents?” Luke asked, his voice tinged with fear.

Aaron took a deep breath. “That part won’t be easy, but honesty is key. You’ll have to explain that you made this decision with the best intentions, but circumstances have changed. It’s about what’s best for the baby now, and you have to trust that they’ll understand that. It might take time, but they’ll come around. And you won’t be doing this alone—you have Owen, and you have me, if you ever need advice.”

He paused for a moment, looking between Luke and Owen, as if weighing his next words carefully.

“And listen,” Aaron continued, his voice soft but resolute. “I know how overwhelming this can feel, especially being in college and trying to balance everything. Lucas and I are nearing a big transition ourselves with our twins heading off to college, and we’ve got this big house… plenty of space. If you need somewhere to stay after the baby is born, somewhere stable while you figure things out, you’re more than welcome to move in with us for a while. We’ve been through this before, and we understand how complicated it can be. We could help take some of the pressure off.”

Luke blinked, surprised at the offer. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of moving in with someone like Aaron, someone who had been through the same kinds of unconventional pregnancies and family dynamics. The idea of having that support—of being surrounded by people who understood the weight of what he was going through—felt like a lifeline.

Owen squeezed Luke’s hand, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s… incredibly generous, Aaron. We really appreciate it.”

Aaron smiled warmly. “It’s not an easy road, but you don’t have to walk it alone. And if having a safe place, even just temporarily, can give you the stability you need while you’re adjusting to everything, I’d be more than happy to offer that. You and Owen are building something special here, and I’d hate for the weight of all these changes to make it harder than it has to be.”

Luke felt a knot of emotion tighten in his chest. The relief, the support, and the sense of belonging that Aaron was offering felt like a gift he hadn’t expected. It gave him a glimpse of what life could be like—a life where he and Owen didn’t have to struggle through this on their own, where they could find their footing together with the help of people who genuinely cared.

“I don’t know what to say,” Luke finally managed, his voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, Aaron. That means more than you know.”

Aaron placed a reassuring hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You’ve got a community around you, Luke. Don’t ever forget that. And you’re not the first person to face these challenges. What matters most is that you and Owen make the decisions that feel right for you and the baby. Family isn’t just about biology—it’s about who shows up, who’s there for you, and how much love you can offer.”

Luke nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. He glanced at Owen, who was smiling softly at him, and suddenly the future didn’t seem so daunting. Yes, there were still hard conversations ahead—especially with his parents—but knowing that he and Owen had a solid support system, knowing that people like Aaron and Lucas were in their corner, made everything feel more possible.

“Thank you,” Luke repeated, his voice quiet but sincere. “We’ll think about it… and I’ll talk to my parents soon. But knowing that we have somewhere safe, that we have people we can lean on… it makes all the difference.”

Aaron smiled, giving Luke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s what family does. And whenever you need us, we’ll be here.”

The conversation stretched on, filled with stories from Aaron’s own experiences—his unexpected pregnancies, the surrogacy for his stepson, and how David and eventually Lucas had been his rock through it all. Luke felt a renewed sense of clarity.

As they parted ways, Aaron hugged Luke gently, his hand resting briefly on Luke’s belly. “You’ve got this,” he said softly. “Trust yourself. You’re going to be a great parent.”

Luke smiled, tears threatening to spill over. “Thank you, Aaron. I really needed this.”

Owen and Luke watched Aaron walk away, his calm presence leaving behind a sense of peace. Luke took Owen’s hand, feeling the weight of the decision no longer crushing him. They could do this—together.

The breaking point came a few weeks later around his ninth month of pregnancy, when Luke returned home for a visit. His belly had dropped by then, the baby settling lower as his due date approached. The weight was a constant reminder of the life he was about to bring into the world. His glutes, now full and round, added to the strain on his lower back, and every step felt like a challenge. As he sat at the kitchen table, cradling his belly, he knew it was time to confront his parents.

The conversation started quietly, with Luke gently broaching the subject. But it wasn’t long before emotions boiled over. His mother, Julie, was on the verge of tears, her voice trembling as she spoke. “We thought... we thought this baby would help. We thought it could bring us back together.”

Luke felt a pang of guilt, but he knew the truth. “Mom, this baby can’t fix your marriage,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “You and Dad need to face the fact that things aren’t working. You can’t put that on me—or on him.”

His father, Mark, sat silently, his arms crossed, but the tension in his posture was clear. He wasn’t ready to hear this.

Owen, who had been sitting quietly beside Luke, finally spoke up. “Luke’s right. You two need to deal with your problems without putting this baby in the middle. He deserves better.”

Julie’s tears fell then, and Mark’s face hardened, but Luke pressed on. “I love him. I’ve been carrying him for nine months, and I can’t just give him up. He’s more than just a sibling to me. I’m going to raise him.”

Julie looked up, her eyes wide with shock. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Luke began, his voice filled with resolve, “that I’ll raise him. He’ll still be your son, and you’ll always be his real parents. But Owen and I will raise him and give him the life he deserves.”

There was silence in the room, the weight of Luke’s words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Julie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just want him to be loved.”

“He will be,” Owen said softly, his hand resting on Luke’s back, offering silent support.

Mark, still silent, gave a curt nod. “If that’s what you want, then... we’ll respect it.”

It was a bittersweet resolution, but Luke felt a sense of relief. The burden of holding his family together was no longer his to bear. He had made his choice, and now, all that was left was to bring this baby into the world.

As the ninth month of his pregnancy drew to a close, Luke’s body was at its limit. His belly, now massive, hung low, stretching the skin tight across its surface. His hips had widened even more, and his glutes—full, rounded mounds—jiggled with every step. The weight pressed down on him constantly, making even sitting a challenge. He often found himself cradling his belly, feeling the baby’s movements beneath his hands, a constant reminder of how close he was to meeting his brother.

Part 5

[mpregtales]

[mpregtales]