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Hannah
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Theofaron
This is my first try at writing erotica, enjoy the first chapter.


I never thought I would see Hannah again. Our breakup last winter was ugly, emotional and final; for a month or so I had hope for some sort of closure but it never came. She either blocked my number or changed hers, and my texts went unanswered. I suddenly couldn’t see her on Facebook or Instagram. Her friends and family unfriended me and didn’t respond when I reached out to ask if she was okay. I wondered what horrible things she had told them about me. There were nasty words I wish I could take back-- but Hannah had said her fair share of nasty words, things I fumed over when I couldn’t sleep. But as winter turned to spring, then summer, I became resigned to the idea that I’d never have that talk, that closure. So when I ran into her, hundreds of miles from home, I wasn’t prepared.

I was on a work trip. Three nights in a charmless chain hotel in Raleigh, North Carolina, three days in offices doing the same tech demonstration and sales pitch again and again. I’d thought about Hannah when I was told I’d be coming to Raleigh: that’s where her parents lived and we’d spent a weekend down there last spring, before things got bad. I hoped I wouldn’t bump into them and face some very awkward small talk. But it was a big city and I didn’t see them and I pushed myself to forget about it. But after my last day of presentations, I was exhausted and hungry and I couldn’t resist looking up Pete’s Pit, the hole-in-the-wall BBQ place Hannah and her family had taken me to. 

It was her voice first. I’d placed my order and was standing in the corner of the tiny, pickup-only restaurant, scrolling through my phone, when I heard it. A husky sweet voice, with just a trace of a Southern accent, that registered as familiar somewhere between “brisket” and “cornbread.” I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Hannah has slightly curly, dark-red hair that I’d recognize anywhere, and that’s what my eyes landed on. From there, I registered her pale skin and her green eyes, slightly obscured by her glasses as she looked up at the menu. What are the odds? I thought. What are the odds she’d be here visiting at the same time I am? 

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. That was the sweet round face I’d held and kissed, and last seen hissing obscenities at me. That was the soft neck I’d gotten in trouble for leaving a hickey on before we came down to Raleigh last year. That was her ample chest, looking even fuller and more tempting than I remembered, a fair amount of cleavage showing under a tight tank top. And then things got strange. Where I expected her soft, chubby tummy there was something massive and round, stretching the purple top to its limit. I was already processing the shock of seeing my ex out in the wild, and now this?

She was pregnant. Very, very pregnant. Pregnant enough that I counted the months in my head. We broke up in December, and now it was July… oh shit. Oh SHIT. All this mental processing took just a few moments, and Hannah had finished her order, and now she was turning, coming over to wait at the pickup window… where I stood, eyes wide, staring. I couldn’t hide in the tiny restaurant. I couldn’t run; the exit was behind her. All I could do was wait in slow-motion dread as she approached, a pronounced waddle in her step, and finally looked up and had the same realization I’d had. I watched her expression, too, become oh shit

“Alex?” she asked, hurt in her voice. Like I’d stalked her all the way down here and followed her to this BBQ place. All I could do was shrug, a deer in the headlights.

“Hey.” I offered a weak smile. I watched her try to tug her zip-up sweatshirt over her tank top, but there was no hiding that belly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Fair question.

“I’m here for work,” I said, trying not to stare at her stomach. I was caught off-guard, almost giggly with shock. She blinked at me, anger rising in her, and I couldn’t blame her. This had to look like an ambush.

“You don’t travel for work,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“I got a new job,” I told her. A better job than the one I’d had when we were together. I’d changed a lot of things in the last six months. “I’m here for a couple days giving presentations. You’re visiting your family?”

It looked like she didn’t believe me. “I moved back in with them,” she said. There was a pause. Neither of us wanted to be the one to bring it up. I thought for a moment that maybe we’d just leave it at that, pretend that she wasn’t hugely pregnant, make a little chitchat, and head our separate ways. It wouldn’t be any weirder than this whole thing already was.

Hannah sighed and walked over, leaning against the wall beside me. Maybe to get away from my stare. Maybe to take the load off her back. I’d gone a little weak in the legs, and I couldn’t imagine how she felt. The question on my lips-- is it mine?-- seemed unnecessary, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Luckily, she spoke first.

“I didn’t tell you, because I wanted to do it on my own,” she started. “You said some really terrible things to me. We broke up for a reason, and I didn’t want you around anymore.”

“So this is my fault?” I asked.

She laughed. “Yeah, isn’t it?” she rested her hand on her belly for emphasis. I tried not to gawk, but it was hard to believe it was real. It looked like a pillow stuffed up her shirt. And funnily enough, I knew what Hannah looked like with a pillow stuffed up her shirt.


Hannah and I were together for a little over two years, and halfway through that first year she discovered my thing for pregnant women. She thought it was weird at first, then it became the subject of little jokes. She’d point out pregnant women in public and ask if I thought they were cute. Then once, when we were fooling around and my mind was wandering a little, she took a deep breath and puffed out her stomach and asked if I was interested now. And I was. Immediately at attention. When Hannah pushed her tummy out she could pass for four or five months. Seeing the effect she could have on me, she came around on my fetish, and she’d bust out that little trick once in a while.

On our first anniversary, she took things to the next level. She’d asked if there was something special she could do for me in bed and I demurred. I’d kept from asking for that puffed-out belly move too often, not wanting her to think I only found her sexy when she looked pregnant. When I came over to her apartment and found her wearing a loose dress with a pillow stuffed underneath, I hadn’t expected it. She looked so pleased with herself for the surprise she’d given me, an expression on her face that asked, “so, I did it right?” The pillow was uneven, but it did the trick. I was kissing her before she could get a sentence out, one hand on her stomach, imagining that it was tight warm flesh instead of fluffy stuffing.

Soon we were in bed making out, my hands tracing her curves from the fake belly up to her breasts. “I wondered if I should stuff my bra too,” she laughed. “To make it more realistic.”

“Mmm, they’re big enough,” I smiled, giving one a squeeze. I got harder and harder with each kiss, each touch. She reached down and grasped me through my pants.

“You really do like this, huh?” she asked, patting her pillow-bump. I smiled back, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah. You look amazing.” I leaned in and kissed her neck. Beyond how good she looked, I was excited that she would do something like this for me.

“What is it about pregnancy?” she asked, her hand still gently massaging me. “I’m still not sure I get it.”

I groaned and grasped her breast harder, looking at her stomach between kisses. “I don’t know. The way it looks just makes me excited…” I reached down and undid my belt buckle and zipper, needing her touch. Hannah eased my pants down and grasped my bulge through my underwear. “And seeing you like this, it makes me think… I did this to you… I put a baby in you, you’re growing all big and round with my baby…” I babbled. 

Hannah smiled, getting the idea. She straightened up in bed, sitting beside me, playing with me as she rubbed her bump. “Yeah, you left your mark on me, didn’t you? You put a baby in me?” I nodded frantically, touching the pillow with her. “You bred me,” she added, her voice dropping a register, and I almost exploded.

“I need to fuck you,” I breathed, lifting my butt up and tugging off my boxers, tossing them to the floor. My cock pointed straight up, red and angry and throbbing. Hannah smirked, pleased with herself, as she maneuvered out of bed. I watched, fascinated, as she struggled to get herself up with the fake belly in the way. She stood by the bed, pulled up her dress, and showed me the tank top she wore to keep the pillow in place. 

“Dress on or off?” she asked.

“Off,” I responded. She pulled the dress over her head and stood before me in her white tank top, which showed off her loose braless cleavage and hard nipples, and my favorite red underwear. She wiggled the fake belly in my face.

“You bred me. You made me look like this,” she teased. I found I was thrusting my hips already, raring to go. “You remember how we made this baby?”

“I do,” I said, reaching down and jerking myself to the sight of her. “Can we reenact it?” 

Hannah moved to take her panties off and found it was difficult with the fake bump in the way. The pillow, which stuck straight out of her torso, was squished as she bent over. We laughed at the shape it took when she’d finally shimmied her underwear off, then worked together to squeeze it back into place. “Sorry, baby,” she said to her stomach, patting it. 

“Come on,” I said, beckoning her over. “I need you. I can’t take it.” With that, Hannah had finally teased me enough, and she climbed on top. I shivered as she planted her thick thighs on either side of me, then leaned forward, squashing her fake tummy into my stomach. 

“Happy anniversary, baby,” she whispered, then slipped me in. I groaned and grabbed her hips, stabbing upwards, burying myself inside her as she straightened up. I was in heaven, staring up at her, her pillow bump looking even bigger and rounder from below. She sighed with pleasure, putting her hands over mine on her hips and beginning to rock. Her pussy felt so good around me; she knew this was my favorite position. She rode me expertly, keeping a slow, steady rhythm, massaging my shaft up and down as carefully as if she was using her hand. 

After a few moments she threatened to pitch forward: keeping her balance was always a challenge, and usually she leaned down so we could be face to face. But with the pillow in the way that wasn’t really possible, so I grasped her sides and helped her stay upright. Before long my hands found my way to her breasts, grasping and squeezing as Hannah threw her head back. Groping her made me even harder inside her, feeling her soft breasts, watching them bounce with her movement. I yanked down the neckline of her tank top and scooped out first one, then the other. She watched my enthusiasm with a smug smile.

I kept groping and squeezing, mashing her pale breasts together, first covering her sweet pink nipples with my fingers then letting them go so I could stare at them. The way they rested above her fake belly really did something to me. We grunted and groaned and strained together, and soon Hannah’s hair was frizzy and sweat was dripping down her forehead.

“Are you close?” she asked. “I kinda want to take this off.” I felt a pang of guilt, wanting her to be comfortable. I hadn’t imagined how hot it must be. 

“Just another minute,” I smiled, moving my hands down to the pillow. “I want to finish like this. Looking at you.” I realized I was out of breath. 

“Okay, hold on tight,” she panted, rocking faster. We’d been together long enough that she knew how to press my buttons, send me over the edge. I groaned and grunted, thrusting up into her, my hands falling to my sides as I watched her ride. That pillow belly pistoned up and down and her breasts jiggled with every thrust. Sweat ran down her neck, into her cleavage. I was getting close, the pleasure edging towards unbearable, my balls tightening, but I wanted it to last. Hannah could tell I was holding back, so she drew out her new secret weapon.

“Mmmm, I can’t believe you bred me,” she moaned, her accent coming through. “You gave me a baby, I’m having your baby…”  She knew I was reaching the point of no return, and she loved it. I grunted a warning as the pleasure rose and rose, and I slammed my cock up into her, grabbing her hips for leverage. She kept riding as I exploded, drawing my orgasm out, giving me a show with her heaving breasts and belly. When I finally spurted my last spurt and went limp beneath her, she gingerly climbed off and kissed my cheek. I got my last glimpse of her pregnant body before she stripped off the sweaty tank top and let the pillow fall to the floor. Naked, she smiled back at me as she went to the bathroom to clean up. 

When she returned, cuddling up next to me, our hot sweaty bodies working together to recover, I rolled her over and spooned her, kissing her neck and resting my hands on her soft tummy. “Thank you,” I groaned into her ear. 

“You’re welcome,” she breathed. “Now, what did you get me?” We laughed together, feeling safe and warm, and in that moment I knew I wanted it for real.


So nearly two years later, that afternoon with the fake bump was one of the things that flashed through my mind when I spotted Hannah, actually pregnant Hannah, at Pete’s Pit. Present-day Hannah looked tired, bags under her eyes, hair frizzy, and it seemed like the last thing she wanted to do today was have this conversation with me. 

“I can’t believe you kept this a secret,” I said, looking down at her bump. It hung low and heavy, where the pillow had stuck straight out. She had to be ready to pop.

“I didn’t want to involve you in this,” she said. “You don’t have to be responsible, and I don’t have to have you around.”

“This is nuts, Hannah,” I said, trying to keep calm. “This isn’t how this works.”

She glared. “Just leave it alone, Alex. Pretend you didn’t see me.”

I laughed. “Oh yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go home to New York and pretend I didn’t see my ex-girlfriend, what, nine months pregnant with my baby?” We’d been hissing at each other, under our breaths, but people were still looking. Hannah blushed, something I’d always found irresistibly cute. Just like the trace of a Southern accent that came out when she was angry or excited-- and was out in full force now. Could I still be attracted to her despite all this? It appeared so.

“People can hear us,” she said. “What a fucking mess.” She tapped her foot impatiently, ready to run off without her dinner. They called my number, and I quickly collected my bag, worried she’d disappear when my back was turned.

“Then come with me. Back to my hotel,” I tell her. “We can talk about this.”

She shook her head. “I’m bringing back dinner for my family.”

“Then afterwards,” I say. “Come on, Hannah, please.”

She stood still, pretending she didn’t hear me, checking her ticket number and looking to the window. She was trying her hardest to appear calm and collected but I could see how upset she was. I was frustrated with her-- beyond frustrated, pissed, shocked-- but I still loved her, and I wanted her to be OK, and I wanted to talk to her. 
“Hannah, I--”

“Leave me alone,” she said, the tiniest crack in her voice. They called the next number and she shuffled as fast as she could to the pickup window. I tried to stop her as she went to the door with her family-size carryout bag. 

“I leave in the morning,” I told her. “I don’t know if you blocked me, but my number is still the same. I’m at the Hilton by the airport. Room 413.” She said nothing as she pushed past and left the restaurant. 


I took my barbecue back to the hotel, stopping on the way to pick up a six-pack. My head was spinning. What should I do? I could probably have found Hannah’s parents’ house, but showing up there felt like a bad idea. I was the asshole who abandoned their pregnant daughter. Calling someone, like my mom or a friend, and sharing the bizarre news might have made things more overwhelming and complicated. I wondered if I should change my 9:15 AM flight. I realized I was pacing around the hotel room, and made myself stop and take a breath.

First things first, I needed food. I sat at the little desk and ate my ribs and cornbread, washing them down with two beers. With my stomach full I felt calmer. I texted the room number to Hannah, just in case. Then I finished packing. Getting all my stuff in the right place helped settle my mind. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror-- still in my work clothes, my hair curling from the humidity, sweat stains under my arms. So I took a long shower, brushed my teeth and trimmed my beard. 

I came out in a towel and checked my phone: of course, no response. It had been two hours since I’d run into Hannah, and the sun was going down. I laid down on the bed, trying to decide what to wear-- should I be comfortable? Dress nice for her? It depended on what I wanted. Was I going to try to win her back? Just look for closure? The shower felt good but my mind was still racing, and I knew another thing that could slow it, at least momentarily.

I’d done my fair share of jerking off on this trip, but this time I didn’t need to look up any porn. I laid back, threw off the towel and thought of Hannah. I felt a little guilty, being turned on by her in the middle of this mess, but I was. My old fantasy had come to life. I closed my eyes and saw Hannah with a big pendulous belly and swollen breasts, and tried to imagine what she looked like naked. I heard her teasing me when she’d worn the fake bump. You bred me, you gave me a baby, I’m having your baby… it didn’t take long for me to finish. I still felt guilty but my head was clearer. I cleaned myself up, put on some jeans and a t-shirt, and opened another beer.

By ten, I had given up hope. I’d spent the last few hours perking up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, checking my phone every few minutes, but the nervous anticipation had died down. I finished five of the beers, saving the last just in case, and felt warm and swimmy. I prepared to wake up at 6:30, fly home with a headache, and live for the rest of my life knowing I had a kid out there whose mother wanted nothing to do with me. I’d be a good guy, I told myself. I’d reach out and offer child support. It occurred to me that I didn’t even know if Hannah was keeping the baby. There was so much I didn’t know, and might never know. I was pulling off my jeans when there was a knock at the door.

My heart skipped. All those hours to prepare, and I didn’t know what I was going to say. I got my pants back on and went to the door. I could see that red hair through the peephole.
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OliviaCohen
Definitely need chapter 2. Great work.
Liked by bigboy23 (Sep 4, 2020), Theofaron (Sep 4, 2020)
Theofaron
(Edited)
(Edited)
Second chapter!

I took a breath and opened the door and there she was. Like me, Hannah had showered and changed clothes. Her dark floral-print maternity dress was more conservative than the cleavage-showing tank top. Her frizzy hair was washed and pulled back. She had put on some makeup. She didn’t quite look dressed for a date, but she was stunningly beautiful, and for a moment I could only stare.

“You gonna invite me in?” Her tone was calmer than in the last exchange we’d had, but maybe sadder. Resigned. I stepped aside to make way. 

“Thanks for coming,” I said. I gestured into the room. “Uh, sit down wherever.” I hated how formal I sounded, how distant. But I just didn’t know how to act.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Hannah said. While she was in there I gathered the empty beer bottles and tossed them in the trash, but I couldn’t resist opening the last one. I was going to need it. I sat on the bed, pretending my heart wasn’t racing. The toilet flushed and a moment later Hannah came out.

Her movements were slow and deliberate. She set her purse down, went to the ugly green armchair in the corner, and lowered herself down with a grunt. I inspected the label on my bottle, not wanting to stare at her. She planted her feet on the ground, leaned forward, and began.

“I’m jealous,” she said, pointing at the beer. “You know how badly I wish I could be drunk for this?”

“I’m not drunk,” I responded, but I was definitely on my way there. My skin felt warm, my body relaxed despite the tension of the situation. 

“Let me have a sip,” she said. She saw the look I gave her. “It’s fine, I promise. The doctor says I could have a full glass of wine a week. Gimme.”

I reached out and gave her the beer. Cheap stuff, warm now. She took four quick gulps like it was nectar from heaven, then wiped her lips and returned the bottle. “You’ve still got crappy taste,” she smirked.

“Some things don’t change,” I said, and took another swig. It was quiet for a moment, then Hannah stifled a burp. She laughed, I laughed. The temperature came down in the room.

“I’m sorry I ran off like that earlier,” she said. “I got freaked out.” 

“I’m sorry if I badgered you,” I responded. “I was freaked out too.”

Hannah leaned back in the chair, trying to get comfortable. She scratched her stomach. “Are you really just down here for work?” she asked. “Did you really not know?”

I watched her belly shift as she moved around. “I am, you can go through my suitcase of demo products if you want,” I said, gesturing to my bags, packed and waiting by the door. “And no, until a few hours ago I had no idea you were living here, let alone…” I gestured.

“...really, really pregnant?” she asked.

“Yeah. Really, really pregnant.”

“I could tell you hadn’t found out,” she said. “You looked like you were about to have a heart attack.” 

“So did you!” I smiled. “A heart attack, or maybe a baby.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that. It really must have been a shock,” she said. 

I nodded. “I know our breakup was rough, but I really, truly can’t believe you’d keep this from me.”

She sighed. “Before we get into all that, can we do some easy questions?”

“Like what?” I asked. 

“Ask me if the baby’s yours.”

“It is mine,” I said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” she said, patting her stomach. “Sorry if you were hoping it wasn’t.”

“When is it due?” I asked.

“August 23rd.”

“Shit, really?” I said. She seemed confused. “Sorry. I mean, that’s almost a month away.”

“Yeah, I’m huge, right?” she asked, hand on her bump. I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just asked another question.

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” she said, a smile on her face. A girl, I thought. I have a daughter. Like I’d always imagined. The next question was harder, and there was silence as I brought myself to ask it.

“Are you keeping her?”

“No.” I sighed, feeling relief and sadness at once. “There’s a very nice, very Christian couple from Texas who’re excited to have her.”

“Wow,” I marveled, sipping my beer. “How do you feel about that?”

She shrugged. “It’s weird. But I feel like I’m doing the right thing. I really thought I could keep this a secret, and you’d never find out.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why not at least tell me?”

“I know you,” she said. “If you knew, you’d want to be all over this--”

“Yeah, I’d want to be involved in my own kid’s life,” I interrupted. “What an asshole.”

“I’m not even going to be involved in her life,” she corrected.

“Then, yes, I’d still want to be involved. It kills me I wasn’t there for you this whole time. It must have been so hard.” The chill atmosphere we’d had was gone. 

“It was,” she hissed. “It would have been harder having to deal with you. I had to think about myself. I’m sorry.”

Another silence. I finished the beer and wished I had another. Hannah adjusted herself in the uncomfortable chair, and I held back a nasty thing I wanted to say. Instead, I took a breath and held it.

“I’m sorry,” I said when I was done. “I know I said some awful things to you. I didn’t realize it got so bad that you wouldn’t want to reach out when something like this happened.” I thought about her having to deal with this in the wake of an ugly breakup, and my stomach hurt. “When did you find out?”

“I missed a period that week we were fighting, and I don’t think I even realized it,” she said, picking at the fabric of her dress. “By the time I noticed, I figured it was because of stress. Then I barfed three times on the plane down here for Christmas.” Her eyebrows went up. “I took the test in the guest bathroom, and… I don’t know. It was a shitty Christmas.” She sighed.

I remembered how self-pitying I’d been during that holiday, how miserable I was. Wishing she’d call or text, trying to figure out what to do with the concert tickets I’d gotten her and couldn’t return. Having no idea what she was going through. “What made you decide to go through with it?” I asked. Honestly surprised that ambitious, career-driven Hannah, who’d thought of me as so much dead weight by the end, would continue an unwanted pregnancy.

“I don’t know,” she said, shifting again in the chair, failing to find a comfortable position. She went to pull herself up and couldn’t, but waved me back when I moved to help her. She got it on the second try, her belly wobbling as she found her balance. “I didn’t have any moment where, you know, I heard the heartbeat and fell in love. I was sure I was going to get an abortion, as soon as I could find the time, and I just kept not making the appointment.” She paced around the room, making tracks in the ugly carpet. I couldn’t help but notice the extra sway in her hips and the extra jiggle in her butt, even through the loose-fitting dress.

“I always thought I’d be terrified if I got pregnant.” She laughed. “I mean, you know that.” 

“Yeah,” I said, thinking back to a pregnancy scare that had made her put the fake-belly stuff on pause.

“But when it actually happened, it was somehow the one thing I felt calm about.” She was talking to the ceiling now. “Once I was out of the first trimester and started to show, I packed my stuff and came home.”

“Did you quit your job?”

She nodded. “They said I’d be welcome back anytime. You started somewhere new?”

“Yep,” I said, explaining the dull but lucrative tech job I’d gotten a few months after our breakup. “I moved out of that apartment too, got my own place. No more roommates.”

Hannah smiled, turning to look at me. “Wow. Who would have thought a year ago you’d be the one with the good job and the fancy apartment? And I’d be living with my parents?” I took the insult, I was so happy to see her smile. I’d really missed it. And she had a point; my career had been a mess while we were together. 

“It’s a whole new Alex,” I smirked, watching her hold the small of her back. Her belly looked even bigger when she did that, stretching out the flowers on her dress.

“And a whole new Hannah,” she said, scratching her stomach. “Look at how much we’ve changed.”

“You look great,” I said, then blushed. It was the sort of thing that sounded cool and detached in my head, like I was totally over her. That’s not the way it sounded out loud. I saw a little smirk come my way, a little glint in Hannah’s eye that told me she hadn’t forgotten our adventures with the pillow up her dress, but she chose not to address that particular elephant in the room just yet. Instead she circled around the bed and sat down behind me, grunting with effort. I turned and saw she was trying her best to remove her shoes.

“Let me help you,” I said, and she shook her head. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Miss Independent to the end. It was one of the things I liked about her. She got one flat yanked off, then crossed her legs the other way. I had to twist around, but I got a glimpse of her pale, smooth thighs and I actually shivered. She didn’t notice. She tossed her shoes on the floor. 

“My fucking feet are so swollen,”  she complained. “It was already impossible for me to find shoes. I’m a twelve now. That chair sucks, by the way.”

“I know,” I said, standing up and finding Hannah wasn’t the only one wobbly on her feet. “You can have the bed.” I stretched and looked at the clock. 10:41. “Where do your parents think you are?”

“I’m 26, they don’t have to know where I am,” she said. I gave her a look, knowing her parents. “I told them I was going to Danielle’s place. She’s always trying to get us to spend more time together; she almost pushed me out the door.” 
I smiled. Danielle was Hannah’s older sister, the stay-at-home mom Hannah vowed never to be. “So she thinks you’re babysitting?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Hannah murmured, still facing away from me, talking to the drawn curtains. The endless hum of airplanes continued over our heads.

“I’m surprised she wasn’t the one who offered to take that baby off your hands,” I said. That got a little laugh, a fake one. The beer was going through me, and I needed the bathroom. “Be right back.”

After I peed, I splashed cold water on my face, trying to sober myself up. I wanted to remember this night clearly. Alcohol made me slow and sleepy, and I didn’t want to pass out early while we still had the chance to talk. When I came back, Hannah was lying on top of the sheets, using all the pillows to prop herself up. Her feet bare, her ankles crossed. The way I’d found her waiting for me hundreds of times. I didn’t want to go home.

“What?” she asked, finding me smiling at her like a goon. 

“Nothing,” I said, then reconsidered. “I’ve been wishing we could talk like this for months, Hannah. I’m sorry I was so shitty to you. I’m sorry I felt threatened by you, and didn’t work on myself, and took you for granted. I’m sorry I told you you were cold and you weren’t capable of love…” I had to take a breath. She looked up at me.

“We don’t have to do this,” she said, folding her hands on top of her belly.

“Yeah, but I might never see you again,” I said, finding I was close to tears. “It, it broke my heart when you left, and then it broke it again when you disappeared… I had the best time of my life with you. I’m sorry I pretended I didn’t. I miss you.”

I wished she would get up and hug me from behind, nuzzling her face into my shoulder, like she used to when I got upset. Instead she listened and nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Emotion rose in my voice.

“Okay, thank you for saying that,” she said. “I appreciate it. It seems like you’ve been working on yourself. But…” she shrugged. “I don’t want to get back together, if you think that’s what this is. I just want that to be clear.”

I sat down on the foot of the bed, deflating. Maybe I would pass out. It seemed like I had run into her at Pete’s a week ago.

“I’m sorry for a lot of stuff I said too,” Hannah told my back. “I’m sorry I said you’d never make anything of yourself. I’m sorry I called you a loser.” I realized why it was hard for her to hear my apology. Hers just dredged up nasty memories all over again. “And I’m sorry I disappeared. I really am,” she said. Her tone had changed a bit. I turned back to look at her.

“I know you would have taken care of me the last eight months. There’ve been days where I really wished you were there to do that,” she said. I heard the hurt in those words and I wished I’d been there too. “But I wanted to be done. I wanted to be alone. I wanted us to stop hurting each other.”

I shrugged, blinking away tears. “So much for that, huh?”

“So much for that,” she echoed. It was quiet again. “Do you have anything to drink? Besides beer?”

I shook my head. “I can get you a water from the vending machine. I should probably drink some too.” 

“That would be great,” she said. I got up and slid my shoes on. Worried that she’d disappear, I hustled to the vending machine, but when I got back there she was, adjusting her mountain of pillows. I handed her a bottle and she thanked me. After a few quick swallows, she giggled.

“What?” I asked, thinking I’d left my fly down or something.

“Cold water always wakes her up.” Hannah smiled, moving a hand to her tummy.  I almost gasped, the emotion that ran through me was so strong. This was what I’d always imagined when I fantasized. It wasn’t just Hannah with a big belly and big boobs. It was Hannah giggling with my baby inside her, laying in my bed, a warm future ahead of us. Hannah both strong and fragile, needing me but also taking care of me. She looked up, her sweet green eyes meeting mine. “Do you want to feel?” I reached out from where I was standing, but she patted the empty side of the bed. I climbed in, resting my back against the hard headboard, then had to shimmy closer to be able to reach. I could feel the warmth of her body against mine as I just barely touched her stomach.

“Up here,” she said, grasping my wrist and moving my hand to the top of her bump, closer to her breasts. That’s when I got a real feel, not just grazing her but really taking her in, pressing my palm against her. It was real. Not a pillow. Warm, soft Hannah. A bit of squish, then firm and tight. I was just getting used to that bizarre miracle when I felt it-- an unmistakable jabbing movement from beneath Hannah’s skin. Stronger than I would have imagined. I tried to say something and I realized I was crying.

“Right?” Hannah smiled, excited to share the moment. “Isn’t that the wildest shit?” I nodded, but I still couldn’t talk. I just sniffled. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, or even better, have her wrap her arms around me. I wanted to lay my head on her chest and listen to her heart. I wanted to doze off with her, feeling our baby squirm around inside her, and spend a lazy morning doing the same thing. It seemed like all I’d ever want.

“You alright?” she asked.

I nodded. “It’s, uh, it’s been a long day.” 

She laughed. “I know.” She looked over at the clock. “Should I let you get to sleep?”

“No,” I said, too quickly. My hand was still pressed to her stomach, though the movements had stopped. “I mean, not yet. If you can stay.” So much for my cool, over-it facade. I’d told her she looked great, said I missed her, cried in front of her... I was a mess. I wiped my face. She put her hand over mine on her stomach and waited for me. A simple gesture, but so unimaginably tender I thought I might melt.

We were pressed up together in bed, side by side, and she turned ever so slightly towards me. Without thinking, I kissed her right on top of the head. “Uh,” I said, ready to apologize. But she didn’t say anything. Instead she laid her head on my shoulder, just like old times. The comforting weight of her against me. Her hair catching in my beard. I inhaled and smelled the same shampoo she’d always used. I kissed her head again, and her hand squeezed mine.

I put my other hand on her shoulder, holding her close. Feeling her warmth, listening to her breath. A long minute went by, where I was afraid to do anything lest I disrupt the moment. It was perfect. But finally, Hannah squirmed. “I gotta pee again,” she said, and I let go. I sighed. It was almost midnight, and she’d have to head home anyway.

When she left the bathroom she went to the door. Was she leaving? “Hannah, wait. I’m sorry,” I started. She turned and looked at me as she flicked the lightswitch, killing the harsh overhead lights. She came back to bed, grasped my shoulders and kissed me. I heard a plane take off, climbing farther and farther overhead until the sound faded. The kiss ended. Another one began. We tipped towards each other, lying on our sides, the mound of her tummy pressing into me. I stroked her cheek. Pushed away a flyaway strand of hair. She rubbed my back. I traced her side, my palm rising, falling, rising. Tracing curves that were familiar but not quite as I remembered them. She was softer all over, her hips wider. She was my Hannah and she wasn’t. We kissed slowly, carefully. 

She pulled away to catch her breath; her face was flushed. She laughed. I laughed. “I missed you too,” she said quietly, facing the ceiling. “It’s been really lonely.” I put a hand on her shoulder, stroking her upper arm, feeling her soft skin. I’d had many lonely nights myself, dreaming of this exact thing. More or less. Hannah removed her glasses and set them on the bedside table, then turned back to me and we were making out again. I wanted to tear her clothes off, but a voice in my head told me to savor it. Take it slow. It might never happen again. So we kept kissing, almost lazily, and I kept reacquainting myself with her curves. 

My hand caressed her hip through her dress, marveling in how it had changed in just a few short months, then slid down onto the globe of her stomach. Rubbing slow circles, taking in its size and its shape. I was enamored with it, how round and solid it was, the way it gently rose and fell with her breaths. How different it was from the soft, squishy tummy I was used to. How I knew it was full and round because of something we’d done together. 

But I couldn’t give her bump all the attention. I slid my hand down the fabric of Hannah’s dress until I found bare skin, the back of her thigh, and I grasped gently. She let out a little moan, music to my ears. I rubbed there for a while, up and down, loving the smoothness of her skin. Her thighs were even thicker than I remembered, and I ached to get between them. My hand traveled up, under the fabric, and squeezed her big ass through her panties. Hannah moaned again, her kisses trailing off the side of my mouth, over my cheek, to my ear and my neck. It was like riding a bike. We were falling back into our rhythm, the reliable moves we’d made on each other dozens of times.

I grasped her butt cheek hard as she kissed and nipped at my neck, my toes curling with pleasure, energy sparking in me that needed somewhere to go. I took my hand out from under her dress and slapped her butt-- timidly, compared to the way I used to do it. Her flesh jiggled beneath my hand, and I liked it, and I did it again.

“Harder,” she hissed in my ear. My hesitations about spanking a pregnant girl vanished, and I hit her butt hard with my palm, a nice smack filling the air. She groaned. I was rock hard, everything down there aching, needing relief. Hannah nuzzled my neck, kissing me then tracing a path with her tongue. I grasped her shoulders and moved her back so I could kiss her lips again. Not so slow and lazy anymore. 

I brushed her lips with my tongue, and her tongue pressed back. We panted, out of breath already. I pulled her as close to me as I could, her breasts against my chest, her full belly against my stomach, my bulge against the bottom of her bump. My clothes felt hotter and more restrictive by the second. Was I really still wearing jeans?

I rolled away and sat up so I could pull my shirt off. Hannah laid there panting, watching me. Then I undid my belt. Awkwardly I lifted my butt, working to tug my jeans down without getting up. Finally I kicked them off along with my socks, leaving me in just my bulging shorts. She smiled but didn’t move to take her own clothes off, and when I reached over and pulled on the hem of her dress she put her hand on mine. 

“Can we turn the light off?” she asked, nodding to the bedside lamp.

“I want to see you,” I said. “You know I do.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But I still feel weird about it.”

“You’re beautiful,” I told her, my hand on her hip. “You’re always beautiful. You look fucking amazing. I want to see you.” Still she hesitated. Then she grunted as she rolled over and got to her knees in bed. 

“Okay,” she said, tugging at her dress. “Help me out of it? Please don’t rip it, I don’t have much that fits.”

My heart raced with anticipation. Together we tugged the dress up, over her belly, her breasts… she raised her arms and we got it free, throwing it over the side of the bed. Hannah blushed hard, looking down at the sheets, avoiding my eye.

“Wow,” I breathed, taking a second to stare at her. She didn’t look like a pregnant woman in a magazine, a stick figure with a perfectly round bump. She was big to begin with, and her body had always driven me wild. But now… her hips were wide. Her breasts were swollen and huge, her cleavage formidable in a plain tan bra that was far too small. In the middle of it all was her belly, looking even bigger than it had under her clothes. It hung so low it covered her crotch as she knelt. She didn’t have the popped-out bellybutton that some women get; instead her navel was a shallow void. Her skin was pale and clear, but jagged purple stretchmarks formed a rainbow across her lower belly and onto her hips. Maybe that’s what she was worried about. Maybe it was just stripping in front of me after six months where she’d changed a lot and thought a lot about terrible things I said. Maybe she worried I’d just see her as some sort of fetish object.

“You look fucking incredible,” I said, looking into her eyes. She was my same old Hannah, but even her face was different. Her chin rounder, her skin clearer, her hair thicker and more lustrous. I reached out and touched her bare belly, electricity shooting through my body at the skin-to-skin contact.

“It’s a little different from a pillow up my shirt, isn’t it?” she said, smiling. 

I nodded. “It’s so much better. Really, I know I have this kink or whatever, but even if I didn’t… you’re beautiful. You look fantastic.” I was repeating myself, having trouble putting it into words. I leaned in and planted a kiss on the top of her bump.

“I spent a lot of time wondering what you’d think of me like this,” Hannah said, touching her stomach where I’d kissed it. “Like, maybe the reality wouldn’t live up to the fantasy.”

“You look better than in any fantasy,” I said, laying back to admire her. She got off her knees and laid down again, turning to face me, her stomach resting on the sheets. The cheesy line didn’t get me another smile.

“You aren’t doing this just because of a fetish, are you?” she asked. “Like, that was one of the things I wondered about. I figured you’d want to fuck me if you saw me.”

I shook my head. “I’m doing this because I miss you. I miss touching you and holding you and kissing you. I miss laughing with you. I want all that no matter what. This--” I patted her stomach. “Is icing on the cake. Very, very nice icing.” I thought for a moment. “And we don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to.”

“Who said I don’t want to fuck?” she asked. I’d softened a bit as we spoke, but I was immediately at full attention again. “Alex, I haven’t been touched since last year. My hormones are out of fucking control. I was worried this would happen if I came over here.”

“Really?” I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on in my life. I was shaking.

“It’s not cool to admit it, but I fantasized about this. Do you know how many nights I laid in bed at my parents’ house and masturbated, thinking about you fucking the shit out of me when most guys won’t look at me at all? Thinking about you looking at me like--” she gestured to my face, my wide eyes, my open mouth. “--like that? Thinking about how you’d probably cum in your pants if you saw me? I thought about how you’d probably do fucking anything for me--”

I grabbed her and kissed her, stopping her mid-sentence. I squeezed the nearest breast through her bra and groaned. It had to be twice as big as the last time I squeezed it. My fingers moved into her sweaty cleavage, greedily groping. I was painfully hard. I kissed her and kissed her as I reached around, fumbling, unable to find the hooks on her bra. 

“Up here,” she said, taking my hand and planting it back in her cleavage. The catch was in the front. I’d never undone a bra like that but I gave it a try and it practically exploded off of her, it’d been so tight. 

“Holy fucking shit,” I whined. I had to move back to really see her tits. They were enormous, blue veins faintly visible under her pale skin, stretch marks around the edges where they’d grown. Her nipples, once smallish and pink, hard to see against her pale skin, were big and thick and hard, surrounded by bumpy areolas the color of milk chocolate. I could see lines and indents where her bra had dug into her skin. Hannah laughed at my reaction, and I knew she was right: I would do anything for her. I kissed again. I groped again. I hefted a breast in my hand, amazed at how heavy it was. I brushed her nipple with my thumb and she growled. 

I don’t know if I’d ever heard her make that sound before so I did it again. Hannah growled, and the growl turned into a whine as I kept playing with that nipple, batting it back and forth, and then she was the one who got rough. She pushed my hand away, then grabbed the waist of my shorts and shoved them down, revealing me in all my throbbing, dripping glory. I’d never, ever been that hard before. My cock was twitching on its own, an animal beyond my control. Hannah got on her hands and knees, got the bra off over her shoulders, and let those swollen breasts dangle in front of me as she grasped my shaft. Her soft hand found just the right grip, and her smile told me she was tickled by how turned on I was. She jerked me slowly, as if she needed to work a little and get me hard, as if I wasn’t twitching in her palm already, my prostate aching...

I tried to warn her. “Wait! Wait, don’t--”

But the third time she pulled on me my whole body spasmed. I exploded in her hand. She gasped. I’d jerked off just a couple hours ago, before she showed up, but it might as well have been last month I was so pent up. Hannah pushed my cock so it aimed up, onto my stomach, but the damage was done already. I shot cum all over myself, and the sheets, and Hannah’s hand, and her arm. A dribble ran down her breast into her cleavage. A glob was on her cheek. 

I didn’t realize any of this for a minute or so because I was on another planet. I couldn’t remember the last time I had an orgasm like this, one that made my whole body buck and shake, one that went on for what must have been thirty whole seconds. I heard a strange roaring sound that I thought was an airplane until I realized it was coming from me. When I was finally able to look up at Hannah and the mess I’d made, she seemed amused and maybe a little frightened. 

“Oh my God.” It took a lot of effort to form words. “I’m so sorry.” As I came back to earth I felt a rush of embarrassment. Not only had I finished early, I’d made a huge mess. 

“I’ll take it as a compliment, I guess?” Hannah asked, wiping her hand on the sheet. I could tell she was struggling not to laugh. My head fell back onto the pillow and I covered my face. The bed creaked as she got up and went to the bathroom; when she returned she tossed a warm washcloth onto my crotch. I cleaned myself up and watched as she did the same. It was well past midnight and I was spent, but seeing Hannah casually wiping my cum off herself got me going again. My dick was dead for now, but I wasn’t about to just pass out.

“Well, is that it?” She seemed to be reading my mind.

“Fuck no.” I tried to stand but my legs were jelly. Instead I sat on the edge of the bed and used my washcloth to clean a gob of cum off Hannah’s breast. “Missed a spot.”
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Knockeduplovrr
This story is amazing! Is there a part 3 coming?
Liked by Theofaron (Sep 4, 2020)
Theofaron
Thank you! There are either one or two more chapters coming soon, depending on how I split it up.
Read my stories on Literotica!
Liked by hughman (Dec 8, 2020), bumpbaker (Sep 6, 2020), OliviaCohen (Sep 4, 2020), Knockeduplovrr (Sep 4, 2020)
OliviaCohen
This is excellent writing, dude. And also kinda hitting home for me, I’ve got an old friend named Hannah. I’ve fantasized about her pregnant so much.
Liked by Theofaron (Sep 4, 2020)
insanelover88
Agreed with everyone else. This story is excellent!
Liked by Theofaron (Sep 5, 2020), OliviaCohen (Sep 5, 2020)
User 10772
Nice. I love the scenario and the realistic approach. Fluid writing, too.
Liked by bigboy23 (Sep 6, 2020), Theofaron (Sep 5, 2020), OliviaCohen (Sep 5, 2020)
Theofaron
(Edited)
(Edited)
Thanks so much for all the kind words! Here's chapter three; four will be the finale.

She laughed, looking down at me from where she stood in just her panties. “God, I thought I’d seen you excited before.” 

I shrugged, rubbing her sweaty cleavage with the cloth. “You know how to get me going. You always have.”

“I think they’re clean, Alex,” she smiled, looking down. I followed her eyes. I still hadn’t gotten enough of her new boobs, easily a cup size larger or even two, hanging low, resting on her stomach. When I took the washcloth away, I thought I’d missed another spot-- but that wasn’t cum on her nipple. She saw my eyes go wide. “Oh, yeah, I get a drop here and there. You like it?”

I dropped the washcloth and took Hannah by the hips, guiding her closer. Her belly was in my face, and I kissed it. Then I kissed the top of her breast, tasting sweat. A little lower, a little lower, tracing a line, over the bumpy glands in her areola, then finally planting my lips on that big, dark nipple. The droplet of milk was thin and sweet, and I wanted more. I kissed Hannah’s nipple again, my hands rubbing her hips, and then I sucked it into my mouth. She gasped.

“Careful,” she warned. “They’re sensitive.” So I worked gently, teasing the fat nub with my tongue, swirling it around. It was so much bigger than I remembered. Hannah sighed. I was doing it right now. I moved one hand to her breast and squeezed as I sucked, and was rewarded with another dribble of milk. My other hand found her other breast and hefted it, groped it, played with the nipple, as Hannah’s breathing got fast and shallow. I looked up and saw her eyes were closed with pleasure. I’d exhausted her milk supply and I let her nipple pop out of my mouth.

I kissed across her chest, into her cleavage and back up the other breast. Down to her nipple, my tongue licking and swirling. Then tracing a line back up to her neck. I was able to get to my feet. Hannah wasn’t short but I had a good six inches on her; I loomed over her and kissed her neck. Her shoulders. All the while rubbing her belly. Every little sound she made was magic. I bit her neck a tiny bit and she gasped. “Don’t leave a fucking hickey again,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. Embracing me sideways so her belly wasn’t in the way. A twitch went through my limp penis: it would recover.

I kissed her lips, feeling down her back until I got to her underwear. I grabbed her butt hard through the fabric and felt her grunt, then pushed her panties down. I broke the kiss so I could yank her underwear down over her hips and her thighs and onto the floor.

I took her by the waist and steered her back to the bed. Pushed gently. She took the cue and laid down. I crawled in after her, crouching over her to kiss another trail. Down her chest, between her swollen boobs. Up the slope of her stomach, into her shallow bellybutton. Over the rainbow of stretchmarks. As I kissed her, my hands trailed behind my lips, stroking her skin, grasping her breasts. The same buildup I’d done for her many times before, when I’d followed a path down a soft stomach, not a big round bump. I could hear her fast, shallow breaths. And as I kissed down the slope, over the lower hemisphere of her stomach, I could smell her.

I eased her legs apart. Crouching between them, I kissed one thick, pale thigh, then the other. Then repeated. Then moved my lips to the fat, soft mound above her opening. Making a circle, each time moving a little closer to center, teasing her. Her pussy looked different. The usually-neat patch of copper hair was overgrown. Her lips were swollen and dark, bulging out in front of my face, open to show the wetness inside. The scent was strong. I thought of an overripe fruit. I leaned in and kissed gently, deeply, sneaking a little tongue, like I was kissing her mouth. Hannah groaned. I smiled and went to work.

I probed slowly up and down with my tongue, tasting her. She was soaking wet, and her taste was more intense than I remembered. I was as eager to explore her new pussy as her new belly and new breasts. I felt around, up and down, savoring her. When I finally landed on her clit, Hannah cried out. It usually took a while to get her warmed up, but I wasn’t the only one who was more worked up than usual. 

I pressed my head into her, lapping slowly at her clit, licking up her juices. Gradually building speed and pressure. I wanted to make Hannah feel as good as she made me feel. It was tricky, with that belly in the way, pushing against my forehead as I tried to find a comfortable angle. Sometimes when I went down on Hannah I’d look up at her, sneaking peeks at her breasts and her face, but tonight her stomach blocked my view like an eclipse. I was, at least, still able to reach around it to massage her breasts. She tilted her hips back, giving me more room. I rewarded her by going deeper. Harder. I swiveled my head on my neck, my tongue on her button, my hands on her bump. I listened for the changes in her sounds, her breathing. My tongue traced circles, the pressure building.

Hannah whined and groaned. Her body writhed in the bed, her muscles tensing. I just kept making circles, knowing to keep my movements consistent. I turned my head here and there to inhale, but I didn’t want to interrupt as she got closer. Breathing became difficult. But I was intoxicated by her smell, her taste, her sounds, the effect I was having on her. I imagined what it would be like to bury my cock in her and I groaned. But I wanted her to cum first.

I continued until I had a crick in my neck and the muscle under my tongue was burning, and then Hannah reached down and grasped my shoulder. She did that when she was close. I gave her my all, holding my breath, obscene wet noises filling the air. It was getting hot between her legs; my face and beard were soaked; my lungs ached. Under my hand, her stomach rose and fell rapidly with her breath, and then I felt something shift. The baby was moving. I pressed forward with my whole body to build pressure and Hannah squeezed my shoulder so hard I found a bruise the next day.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, her breath ragged. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t--” 

And she was screaming. Loud enough that it startled me, loud enough that the baby jumped in her belly. Hannah bucked her hips, her fat thighs closing around my ears, and I held on for dear life, trying to keep the pressure where it counted. I had heard her moan and groan her way through many orgasms, but it seemed like this one descended on her with a shock, like maybe it hurt a bit. It went on for what felt like minutes, and I kept my tongue in place until she shook my shoulder to get me to stop. 

I surfaced panting, smiling, victorious. Wiping juices off my chin. Hannah looked, if possible, worse off than I was after I came. She was spread-eagle on the bed, struggling for breath like she’d sprinted a mile. Her face flushed, her hair all undone and sweaty, her body glistening. She seemed unaware of my presence, quivering and groaning with little aftershocks. I felt like a smug little shit, and I wanted to remember this forever. I was hard again.

I pushed her water bottle into her hand. She guzzled, a lot of it slopping down her front and into the sheets, which were already ruined. “You alright?” I asked, and she nodded feebly. She found my hand and grasped it.

“I’m so hot,” she moaned when I tried to cuddle up to her and kiss her neck. I got out of bed and cranked the AC as high as it would go, and I stretched and continued to admire my handiwork. Hannah scratched at the stretched, sweaty skin of her stomach and looked at me, smiling. She seemed more aware of where she was, but it was clear she was exhausted. 

“Just wait till I tell the girls in my birthing class about this,” she said, and convulsed with laughter. Delirious. I tried to get close again and she pushed me away, still hot and flushed. “What time is it?”

I checked the clock. “Almost two.” 

“Shit,” she groaned. “I gotta go home…”

“You stay here,” I told her, and she shook her head. She heaved herself into a sitting position then wobbled. “Hannah,” I said, worried she’d fall if she got up. “Stay here.”

“You just want me to stay because you want to fuck,” she said, gesturing to my hard cock. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but I knew minutes-from-sleep Hannah when I saw her. She wasn’t going home tonight. “I’m okay,” she assured me. And for a second she sounded more awake, more with it. Gently, she laid down and turned onto her side. 

“You can have my water too,” I told her, but she was asleep. 

I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself off a bit. I collected our clothes from where they’d fallen through the room, draping Hannah’s dress on the chair and hanging her damp panties on the doorknob to dry. Curious, I checked the tag on her bra: 40E. The last bra I’d seen her wear was a D. I tossed the cold washcloths on the bathroom floor, then pulled on a fresh pair of shorts. Hannah snored while I paced around, something I’d never heard her do except when she was sick.

I took one last moment to admire her before covering her with the top sheet and turning off the light. When I got in bed I gave her the same goodnight kiss on the shoulder I always used to.

I had so much to think about. Would I really go back to New York and leave Hannah here for the last weeks of her pregnancy? Hannah had said she didn’t want to get back together; had she changed her mind? What did this encounter mean? How would I feel for the rest of my life, knowing there was a little girl somewhere in Texas with my eyes or hair? I thought I’d stare at the ceiling all night stressing, but before I knew it I was out.
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OliviaCohen
So, is there more? Or is this the Schrodinger’s Cat version of Preggo Literotica?

Love this series, dude.
Liked by Theofaron (Sep 5, 2020)

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