The Suddenly Pregnant Man

Asian

So, my wife, Ellen, was 25 weeks into her first pregnancy. Last Tuesday, she started spotting at an alarming rate. We rushed to the ER and quickly found out that, due to some cervical issues that had apparently been worsening throughout the gestation, both the baby and Ellen were in mortal danger. A C-section could’ve been attempted, but a baby that premature had less than a 50% chance of survival outside the womb.

An alternate solution has just recently become available thanks to modern medicine, though. If I, along with my wife, underwent emergency surgery, I could receive a synthetic uterus and the fetus could be implanted within it immediately. It was the best option to save both our unborn child and Ellen’s lives. So, naturally, we went for it.

*27 Weeks*

The procedure(s) went smoothly for all three of us; Ellen and I are both fully recovered already, and the baby’s looking very healthy. Today, I’m 27 weeks pregnant. Or, 27 weeks into this baby’s gestation; I haven’t been pregnant for 27 weeks personally. Weird calculation there. Oh, and I’m a man; sorry if that wasn’t entirely clear before. A very suddenly, quite visibly pregnant man. This is so fucking weird…and completely fascinating.

I’m still adjusting, of course. I can just manage to see the tips of my toes beyond the bump when I look down; my crotch is obscured by the bump entirely (unless I’m fully erect). Thus, I’ve taken to sitting down to pee. It’s quite comfortable! Felt a bit odd and maybe a touch emasculating to begin with, but I’ve taken to the practice pretty quickly. About a week and a half spent with the belly, I’ve just begun to understand my new center of gravity within the past two or three days. I’d been nearly falling down frequently, making sure to move around near walls or sturdy furniture to catch myself when I’d inevitably lose my balance. Arching my back and pushing the belly out a bit, I’m finally walking with some amount of confidence and safety.

The new look, shape, and feel of my body are, naturally, what are taking the most getting used to. The stretch marks came instantly, which isn’t too surprising: my stomach did go from fairly flat to more than halfway into a pregnancy in a matter of minutes. I can see the marks if I look carefully and maybe move my hair around a bit, but generally my seriously hairy body covers up such details.

I’ve gotten hairier since the fetus was implanted due to some of the hormones they’ve been giving me to allow the gestation to continue. (Oh, and the hormones have me all sorts of horny, which is pretty fun…) The thick, dark red hair covering my entire torso shrouds not only my belly’s stretch marks, but my nipples darker red hue and my newly flattened navel. It’s not quite an outie yet, but not an innie anymore: it’s pretty much flush with the rest of my belly’s rounded surface, and seems like it’ll probably pop out shortly.

I’ve become pretty obsessed with staring at myself in our full-length mirror, which became a close personal friend and confidante about two minutes after I was impregnated. I’d been quite fond of staring at Ellen’s pregnant physique for extended periods, but now didn’t have to worry about making someone else feel like an object to be stared at. I was fine objectifying myself till the cows came home. Using a variety of smaller mirrors in conjunction with the full-length, I manage to view my pregnant body from every angle I can conceive of. From the back, you’d never guess I was carrying a child: I’m one of those “all belly” folks you hear about, it would seem.

Besides that from-behind angle, though, there’s really no mistaking my pregnancy for anything else, at least not while I’m nude (which is pretty much the only way I look at myself…it’s just more fun that way). I’m too thin and the bump is too curvaceously rounded to mistake it for a beer belly. From below, it curves elegantly from just above my (untended) pubic hair to a few inches below my nipples. From straight-on, its pleasant curves are quite obvious, even with my hairiness slightly obscuring the shapeliness. From the side, the belly is probably its most obvious: it’s too round, it sticks out too far, and the rest of my frame is way too slight for it to remain at all inconspicuous.

Wearing baggier clothes in public, I seem to avoid a decent percentage of glances, pregnancy apparently easier to hide when clothed. Not that I’m overly worried about hiding it or anything: it’s just kind of interesting to go from a thin man to an early third-trimester pregnant man in an instant, immediately unable to effectively hide your condition. No time to get used to things: I’m just an obviously pregnant dude in a world not used to such a sight.

I think I’m dealing pretty well (especially for such a new condition) with the whole masculinity v. femininity angle of being a pregnant male. illegal bahis I’ve given it a fair amount of thought and have really only come to pretty positive conclusions. It’s not like I was ever the most macho guy in the world, so it’s kinda hard to threaten my self-image on this front. I loved the “fertility goddess” aspect while Ellen was the pregnant one, especially as her breasts filled out along with her bump. “Fertility god” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, but is that just because we’ve never heard that phrase before? Male pregnancy is so new in society, we really don’t have much language or many ideas around it.

So, it feels like I can kind of decide how to feel about it and speak about it and handle it myself. I love the firmness and curviness of my pregnant body, much as I love those things on pregnant women. I also like my extra-hairy body, a sort of masculine counterpoint to the baby bump, bringing in some traditional masculinity in a not-unpleasant way. If pregnancy’s a magical experience for women, it is for men, too, it seems to me. Simplicity is the way to go in conceptualizing all this, I think. It’s not that complicated, or at least not much more complicated than female pregnancy: I’ve got a baby growing inside me. That’s pretty much what’s going on, and that’s pretty fucking cool.

While she is, of course, happy about the baby’s health (and both of our healths, too), Ellen has been a bit sad about losing the maternal condition herself. She’s just started showing some interest in my bump in the last few days, so I think she’s making some psychological progress as far as this whole messy process has gone and continues to go. Hopefully, with time she can be as into my bump as I was into hers, and we can have some unique fun before the baby comes…

*31 Weeks*

About a month has passed since my last journal entry, and things have progressed smoothly along the lines you’d probably imagine. I’m rounder and sticking further out in the bump department, bigger all over, more exhausted, and even hairier than I was at 27 weeks. Most delightfully, I think, my bump is getting firmer and firmer, presumably due to the baby taking up more and more space in there. I love the firmness: I won’t deny having jerked myself off while feeling my own taut bump with my non-jerking hand (maybe far more than once…). It’s sexy as hell, as far as I’m concerned.

The swelling of ankles and feet is uncomfortable, but the modest extra curves I’ve been developing ass- and hips-wise are pretty cute and pleasantly plump. I wish my tits would grow, but that’s not in the cards physiologically. Maybe with time and hormonal advancement in the field of male pregnancy? I’m not sure, but I’d be 100% down for some tits (milk-filled, preferably!) if I were to be pregnant again in the future.

For the past week or so, I’ve been going out significantly more than I had been earlier in my gestation. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of not giving a shit about the stares I provoke in public, getting more comfortable with the inevitability of my drawing substantial attention. I actually find the folks that just silently glare at me more troublesome than those that approach me with curiosity. I’m more than happy to spread the word about male pregnancy, show off my hairy bump, and even get a little belly rub from a stranger.

No problem at all: just talk to me, for Christ’s sake! I love a belly rub from anyone, especially random folks, for some reason. Don’t know why, really: maybe I’ve gotten comfortable enough to display some pride in my condition? Maybe I dig blowing ignorant minds? Whatever the case may be, I’m very much enjoying flaunting my new physique in public.

It is impossible to hide my shape at this point, publicly or privately, clothed or nude. I’m practically all belly, and the baby in there is huge. The bump protrudes a solid foot further than any other part of my body: it is not subtile. My slight frame hasn’t filled out all that significantly, so the bump is massively conspicuous. It’s measuring at 36 weeks already, so I should get ridiculously huge by the end of this pregnancy. Since I don’t have to push a massive baby out of myself, I’m actually pretty thrilled that I’ll get so big. Why the hell not? I’ve come this far; I see no reason not to be happy about taking things to their gloriously oversized conclusion.

Ellen has made a ton of emotional progress over the past month, coming pretty fully to terms with the pregnancy’s switching over to my body. I’m very proud of her. She unreservedly loves my bump now; we’ve entered a period of intense and always-appreciated belly worship. I’m anointed in oils, creams, and lotions daily, bare minimum. Her massages are thorough, always covering every square inch of my bump (and usually a decent number of square inches on the periphery of the bump). illegal bahis siteleri She seems to relish pushing in on my belly, seeing how much give my firm midsection has to it when moderate pressure is applied. It feels fantastic on my constantly-stretching skin.

My hormonal horniness seems to be contagious. More than any of the many oils, creams, and lotions Ellen has around for use on my belly, she delights in using my own fluids on my bump. We’re talking about my cum, of course. She’ll jerk me off with my dick pointing straight up against my belly, my load shooting directly onto my bump for her to conveniently rub in. Even when I cum in her, she positions her pussy above my belly to let some cum drip back down onto me to be used as an ointment. Similar strategy when she blows me, letting my load drip out of her lips and onto my bump.

It’s fucking hot all around: I love this obsession of hers, and get off on it just as much as she does. It’s just a shame that the application of the cum necessarily occurs during my refractory period, or else I’d absolutely be fueling my erections and general arousal with my cum baths. Maybe we could save up some cum and apply it later when I’m erection-ready again? I’ll be sure to run that idea by Ellen! I may be onto something there…

At the moment, she seems to most enjoy fucking me cowgirl-style. She’s able to rest both hands (carefully and gently) on my bump that way, which is just where she wants them to be. We’ll do missionary sometimes, too, though the belly is really scrunched up between us when we do, and I can’t get my dick into her very deeply. We both enjoy the cumbersomeness, a recurring and, for us at least, pretty sexy feature of pregnancy. Pegging was a new experience that we’ve done three or four times now: she really wanted to penetrate me, and to be able to grasp my bump from behind. First time for me with any anal activity; it’s pretty fun, great feelings of fullness when the dildo’s up in there.

Anyway, the sex has been pretty great, as have the increased public and spousal attentions. I’m loving being a pregnant man!

*35 Weeks*

I have over a month left to go, but I’m already measuring full-term: I’m the size of your average 40 week preggo. Things have gotten pretty crazy, size-wise. The bump is protruding further and further out, taking on something of a torpedo shape over the past few weeks. Roundness and firmness have continued to increase, to my and Ellen’s constant delight. I’m also still getting hairier, somehow. Seems like I’m going to look like a chimpanzee by the end of this pregnancy.

On the more negative side, my ankles and feet are even more painfully swollen, and constipation and frequent urination control more of my life than I’m happy about. And my nipples are so very sore and dark, but still don’t come with real breasts; it’s like they’re mocking me, aching without producing useful breastmilk or squeezable flesh.

Two weeks ago, I was feeling sort of insecure with my ever-swelling, attention-grabbing body and impending parenthood; Ellen and I decided to check out a pregnancy support group. The women who spoke at the meeting touched on a lot of the issues I’d been struggling with, and gave me a sense of connection and normalcy. I didn’t speak during my first meeting, feeling sort of self-conscious at the amount of stares my novel situation was attracting. After the meeting, though, when everyone sort of roamed around the room casually socializing, at least five women came up to say how thrilled they were that I had come, and to apologize for staring: most said they found my condition striking, gorgeous…different words to that effect.

I felt a lot less alienated after that, resolving to go back the next week and share my thoughts. I did just that, and it felt great to get some things off my chest with such an empathetic crowd. One woman who hadn’t been there the week before stared a lot, even more than anyone had the last time. Ellen seemed to pick up on something about her staring, though, as she excused herself to talk to the woman after the meeting. “She was eye-fucking you the entire time,” Ellen told me when we got into our car. “We’re gonna do a lot more than that with her this weekend.”

The woman was single and extremely attracted to me, so Ellen set up a sexual dalliance for us. Since we’d been together, we’d never done anything sexual with someone outside our marriage; but, this pregnancy was driving us both nuts, libidos-wise. We barely had to discuss whether it was a good idea or not: we were just very, very horny, and another set of genitals was just what the doctor ordered.

She came for dinner (and…more) Saturday night, wearing a cute black maternity cocktail dress. Brunette, very attractive and sporting a perfect 8 month globe of a bump, I was very taken with her, canlı bahis siteleri and looked forward to our post-dinner activities. We got along well during the meal, though the sex was transparently on everyone’s minds, making everything more than a little bit awkward. Once we were all finally done eating, Ellen just went for it, God bless her: “All right, let’s go get naked, folks.” We went to the bedroom and Ellen told both of us to disrobe and that she’d be keeping her clothes on and guiding our adventure. I wasn’t really expecting that, but I was willing to roll with it.

The other preggo and I did as we were told, then awkwardly and nudely stood in front of the still-dressed Ellen. “Hmmmmm,” Ellen vocalized, walking around us and looking us both up and down with a clinically precise eye. “There’s the hair and breast differences, obviously. But she’s a lot curvier than you overall, too, Rob. I know your hips and ass have filled out a bit, but I don’t think anyone who didn’t know you pre-pregnancy would ever guess that. She’s the damn model of the fertility goddess! Curves everywhere; gorgeous!”

Our guest blushed, one hand covering her dark pubic forest and the other attempting to cover at least some of her ample breasts. I let my erection point freely into the center of the room, not particularly caring about who saw it. Our guest saw it, of course, as she once again could not keep her eyes off me.

“Okay: explore each other. Just hands,” Ellen commanded. We did as we were told, both eager to touch the other’s physique we so clearly found attractive (according to her eyes and my boner). Her tits and bump were both wonderfully heavy, her curves soft and gracefully sensual. She seemed to enjoy my hairiness and cock. “All right, enough,” Ellen gave us our next directions. “Both of you lay on the bed, legs hanging over the edge, crotches flush with the end of the bed.” We did as we were told.

Ellen started on our guest, performing noisy, enthusiastic cunnilingus on her. Once she came, she moved on to blowing me, collecting my entire load in her mouth once she finished me off in an embarrassingly brief 90 seconds. She let the cum drip from her mouth onto our guest’s bump, proceeding to rub it in thoroughly, an opalescent white sheen resulting.

“You can shower,” was her last directive to our guest, delivered as she haphazardly tossed her a bath towel. Ellen could be weird and rude sometimes. Very weird and rude.

*39 Weeks*

I’m 39 weeks in, measuring 43 weeks. How is that even a thing? Does anyone even get to 43 weeks? In short, I’m fucking huge. I’ll be getting a C-section next week, and I’m surprised (and a bit saddened, honestly) at how much I’m looking forward to the end of this pregnancy. It’s all become a bit much; significantly less enjoyable than in the last few months given my current absurd enormity. Pains and fatigue are omnipresent. Moving around the house pretty much requires me to cradle my massive belly in both arms, thus tiring out my arms along with everything else. Fun.

When not too exhausted to even consider sex, I remain surprisingly horny, but my belly has dropped down to cover my whole crotch; getting access to my cock is a two-hand job, and isn’t even all that easy then. So masturbation is pretty much out of the question, for one thing. I can lift myself out of the way in order for Ellen to blow me or stroke me off, but anything penetrative is off the table at this point, too. She seems to find my cumbersome, unwieldy physique attractive, maybe even getting off on how difficult just about everything has become and how little control I seem to have over my body. Maybe it’d be hot to me, too, if it weren’t happening to me personally. I don’t know, it’s a bit too much of a pain in the ass right now to get turned on by it.

My public forays have become far rarer. I cannot safely maneuver myself in many public places, my inconveniently protrusive gut knocking items off shelves, pushing over standing displays, and knocking right into other folks (including one 5-year-old I knocked straight to the ground…). My own body is even hard to keep upright, with sturdy furniture and accessible walls having become necessities to my feeling safe moving around any area. It’s all pretty damned inconvenient and unfortunate, especially since I remain as amazed by my pregnant physique as ever, and would love to keep blowing people’s minds at the mere sight of me.

*Post-Partum*

Ellen and I are officially parents! Our daughter, Bridgette, is absolutely beautiful and as healthy as can be. I had the C-section six days ago and I’ve almost fully recovered myself, which is great in terms of being able to pull my weight child-tending-wise.

We’ve already had some (extremely early, obviously) conversations about future children, and Ellen thinks she’d be too nervous to get pregnant herself again, what with the baby-endangering complications she endured last time. I guess I’m keeping this synthetic uterus! Maybe next time the doctor/modern medicine will be able to give me my fantasy set of milk-producing tits…

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