Winners and Losers: An Equality Ploughshares Story (Patreon)

Eric grimaced as he felt another wave of nausea wash over him. He felt like throwing up, but instead of running to the restroom and letting it go, he clenched his jaw and held it back. He’d always had an iron will, never let himself go like other guys.  Even in middle age, he had a hard, flat belly, bulging biceps. If only he could say the same for his son, he thought, glancing over at the reedy stick man of his son, Owen.

They were in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, so he kept his voice down. “I thought you were going to use this gap year to lift some weights, put on some muscle like your old man,” Eric said, looking at his son’s bony arms. “You could walk on the football team, run track. “It would be good for you in so many ways.”

“Well,” Own said, his eyes on the TV, where the reporter was talking about The Equal Ploughshares. “Maybe if you would chip in and help me pay for college, I wouldn’t have to spend my gap year working two jobs to make tuition.”

“I paid my own way, and you can, too,” Eric said. “It’s character building.”

“College cost a lot less when you were my age,” Owen said.

“Crybaby.”

“Right to the name calling, eh? This conversation is over.”

“Your whole generation is a bunch of snowflakes,” Eric said. Knowing he was not getting through to his son and having had this same conversation a dozen times already, he picked up a copy of Men’s Health and opened it up only to see a picture of a hugely pregnant man who really looked more like a woman with big eyes and lips, a tiny nose. The man had his hands on his belly and a big, happy smile on his face, like getting pregnant was the greatest achievement of his life. Must have been gay to begin with, Eric thought.

He sighed, disgusted. This was the kind of thing that now filled the pages of Men’s Health. Used to be articles on how to build muscle, he thought, disgusted to see a sidebar that read: “Ten things a man can do to make sure his breast milk is epic.” The title of the main article read: “Winners and Losers: Which Men will be Mommies for Mother’s Day?” He was about to flip, when his eyes caught the name of the proud preggo: Grant Slag.

Eric did a double take. Grant Slag. He looked back at the picture, looking over the man with his belly, his breasts, his skin and that smile– was he even wearing makeup? Grant Slag? It unnerved him. Slag had been an Iron Man competitor and champion, one of the strongest and toughest men around. To compete in an Iron Man, you had to be dominant, physically and mentally. Slag had dated supermodels and actresses, and he’d been as lean and hard as any man with a chin like a butcher’s block.

What the hell happened to you? Eric wondered, hardly able to believe that this soft thing was Slag, had been Slag. It made him feel sick to see such a once great man reduced to this. There was a line, a quote, and it made Eric wince. ‘I can’t wait to be a mommy.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Owen said, looking at his father, who did seem to have gone pale.

“What?” No. No.” Eric closed the magazine. “It’s nothing.”

The Mpreggos creeped him out. He felt that they should be shut away, hidden from the world. Just as those thoughts were crossing his mind, a commercial came on the television. What looked like two very pregnant women came walking up to each other, each one wearing overalls. Each one put his hands to the small of his back, smiling, laughing. “Hey, dude,” one of them said. “You’re a mom.” The other one just giggled and said, ‘Hey, Dude. You’re a mom!”

The screen then flooded with mpreggos in all different maternity wear– dresses, jumpers, overalls, while the theme song played:

Hey, boy, you got a bun in the oven

That’s no reason you can’t be lovin

Cool fun clothes for the expecting man

You’ll be cute, sexy and oh so glam

The mpreggos then all turned to the camera, blowing kisses as the company slogan appeared: “Maternity wear for men.”

“Disgusting,” Eric said, shaking his head. “Men wearing maternity clothes. This whole country has gone to hell.”

“What are they supposed to wear?” Owen said.

“Of course, you would be in favor of men wearing dresses,” Eric said.

Owen started to talk back, but just gave up. His father had always been an asshole. What was the point of even trying to fight him over anything?

Eric had gone into the exam room with Owen, mostly because he wanted to push the doctor to recommend some body building supplements to his son. Dr. James Hammond, it turned out, was pretty fit. Eric was always assessing other men in terms of their physical fitness, sizing them up. He had no respect for men who didn’t take pride in their bodies. He did a quick evaluation of the tall, rakish Hammond: ectomorph, but works hard to add muscle to his slender frame. Legit. I wish my son were more like him.

As Eric checked him out, Dr. Hammond glanced over from where he’d been giving Owen his physical. “You’re remarkably fit,” Hammond said. Eric wore a tight pullover and a pair of shorts. The comment caught Eric off guard. He felt a swell of emotion, and, then, shockingly, his eyes burned as he felt a sudden urge to cry. He turned away, unnerved by the sudden feelings, and focused his will, fighting back the tears. Hammond went on with his exam, and when it finished, he put a hand on Eric’s shoulder. ‘Look, did I do something out of line?”

Eric felt his skin tingle where Hammond touched him. There was something comforting about the man’s voice, the look in his eyes. “Nah. Thanks for the good words,” Eric said. “I’ve been dealing with some– allergies.”

“Well, make an appointment,” Hammond.

“Maybe I’ll do that.” The doctor left, and Eric wanted to kick himself. He’d completely forgotten about asking about supplements for Owen. Eric stopped at the front desk to make an appointment. Paul greeted them. Eric didn’t have much respect for male nurses, but Paul at least was big and clearly did a lot of lifting.

Chapter 2

Eric slid another 45 pounds plate onto the bar with a satisfying “clang” as it slammed into the other 45 pound steel plate. That was 225 pounds. His usual for a set of 8. He lay back on the bench, gripped the bar, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline as he got ready to lift. Pushing the bar up, he then brought it down to his chest in a steady, smooth movement and– unh– when the bar came to his chest he winced. His chest had been extremely achy and sensitive lately. He did a few more reps, then on the sixth rep found his arms trembling as he strained to push the bar back up, pushing his feet into the ground, straining, straining. Finally, he managed to push the bar up and rack it.

“Damn,” he hissed, sitting up, putting a hand to one of his aching pecs and squeezing. He usually could do 8 reps without much strain on the first set. Today, he hadn’t even finished one set. “The hell’s wrong with me?” He muttered. Just then, he heard giggling and looked up to see a bunch of those mpreggos coming out of their preggo gym class, whatever the hell that was. They were all dressed in leotards, leggings, sports bra– girl clothes– and heading to the locker room in a pack. Eric got up and moved away, as did a bunch of other guys. Everyone was worried about catching the Baby Bug, as they’d come to call it. It was hard to even recognize the former men in the midst, but Eric had known a couple of them back before they found themselves in that– condition. Poor fools, he thought, looking at their swollen bellies, their swelling breasts. It must suck, he decided, to be demoted from man.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, his eyes went wide as he was hit with another wave of nausea. This time, he could control his impulse to vomit. His stomach clenched and he felt the mush of his breakfast coming rising up his throat. He managed to keep his mouth clenched, the vomit just trickling out of the sides of his mouth, and then he rushed to the bathroom, found a stall and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, hurling his breakfast back up. A cold sweat clung to his forehead as he got to his feet, feeling a little wobbly. There was a guy there he knew and couldn’t stand– Miscoff. “A little morning sickness, missy?” Miscoff said with a smirk.

“Nah,” Eric said, going to the sink, splashing cold water onto his face. “I’m immune to that shit.”

The morning of his doctor’s appointment to look into his allergies, Eric stood staring at the mirror, a dollop of shaving cream in his hand. He barely had any stubble. Usually, Eric woke with an impressive chin full of stiff, black hair, but today as he looked at his face there was almost no stubble at all. Instead, there were so fine, wispy blonde hairs that were almost invisible. “I must’ve shaved last night,” he thought, rubbing the foaming cream onto his cheeks anyway. There was a little something there to clean up. “Or, maybe it’s the allergies.”

He put a hand on his distended belly. He’d always prided himself on keeping fit, having maintained turtle shell abs his whole life. Now, he could see no sign of his former abs, with his belly looking soft and round. He looked fat. Well, he thought, feeling a little misty eyed, Dr. Hammond would figure out. They just needed to find the right medicine, and he would be fine. The fleeting thought crossed his mind– could I have it? But then he looked at his arms and shoulders. Though he’d lost some strength, he still had bulging biceps and thick shoulders. His thighs were ripped and ridged with muscle. Even though his beard had thinned, this was still his face, and he still had his square jaw. The mpreggos he’d seen all looked like girls. He didn’t.

He got in his car, his belly brushing against the steering wheel. As he drove to the doctor’s office, he turned on the rock station. At one point, he heard what sounded like a young woman come on and say, “I’m Johnny Blaze, and you’re listening to WRCK, the original rock station.” Then, there was a giggle. The message gave him chills. Johnny Blaze? The lead singer of Destruction Inc. He sounded like a girl now, and it was so gross and disgusting to Eric, he felt ashamed for the man. “How can he even go out in public now?” Eric thought, let alone do a promo with that voice?

Distracted on his phone, he went to the front desk, looked up, then did a double take. “Paul?” He said. The man had wasted away. His building shoulders were smaller, more narrow, and his arms had shrunk as well. His face– he looked like he’d grown 10 years younger and had the face of a tween boy. Most shocking of all, the top of his shirt was tenting, pushed out by what looked like small breasts.

“Good morning,” Paul said with a chagrined smile. “Yeah. I’ve got a bun in the oven.” He gestured toward his breasts and his belly, which under his loose-fitting shirt still looked pretty flat.

Eric took a step back. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He went to the examination room and climbed up onto the exam table. The room looked about the same as always with neutral colors, a counter with cotton swabs, bandages. A scale. The only change was a poster that showed what looked like a pregnant woman, but which read “A Man’s Guide to Being a Good Mother.” It had a bunch of tips about diet. At the bottom it indicated it had been produced by The Department of Health. Eric felt himself seethe. The government shouldn’t be getting into this, he thought. Probably some feminist who loved the idea of men carrying babies.

Dr. Hammond came in and looked Eric over, his face calm and detached. He looked fit, strong. Eric smiled. He didn’t know why. “Take off your shirt,” Hammond said.

Eric felt a little– make that a lot– embarrassed. On the one hand, he still had huge, bulging biceps and muscle laded shoulders. Veins snaked his forearms, and his legs were thick as tree trunks. Yet, he’d just been looking at his belly, his puffy chest, and he didn’t love the idea of Hammond seeing how fat he’d gotten, yet he also didn’t want to seem like some kind of self-conscious wimp. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, feeling the now familiar sensation of his chest jiggling as he did so.

Dr. Hammond started off by pressing his fingers to Eric’s neck.  “I’m examining your lymph nodes,” he said. “Just as a precaution.” He then brought his hands down to Eric’s chest, squeezing, lifting. “Checking for lumps,” he said. To Eric’s embarrassment, he felt his nipples getting hard as the doctor’s strong hands sent tremors of pleasure through his sensitive chest.

“I gotta do more pushups,” Eric joked, trying to push down the sensations he was feeling.

“Lay back,” Hammond said, and when he did, Hammond got a jar of some kind of goo and began to rub it on Eric’s belly. It felt cold.

“What’s that for?” Eric said, though he was pretty sure he knew.

“I need to do an ultrasound,” Hammond said.

“Hold on,” Eric said, pushing the doctor’s hand away from his belly. “I’m not one of them. I’m immune.”

“I need you to trust me,” Hammond said, staring into Eric’s eyes.

Eric felt his heart flutter. He did trust Hammond. The doctor had such kind eyes. Even the he found the very idea of an ultrasound insulting as well as terrifying, he lay back and nodded. Hammond went back to work, spreading the gel over Eric’s belly. “This is propylene glycol,” Hammond explained, partially just to distract his anxious patient. “It helps me to move the transducer across the skin and also eliminated air between the skin and the tool, which leads to a better read.”

Once he’d spread the gel, he began to run the transducer over Eric’s belly, making a point not to react to what he was seeing emerge on the monitor. Eric looked straight up at the ceiling, chanting in his head, “there’s no way. None. A guy like me? Shit no. The guys who get knocked up are all wimps.”

“Okay.” Hammond said. He handed Eric a towel, which Eric used to wipe the gel from his belly as he sat up and looked at the screen. Keeping his tone as matter of fact as possible, he pointed to the screen. “What you see there is a uterus, and there…” he pointed again, “is a fetus.”

“Okay. Very funny,” Eric said, laughing, but then getting serious. “This is bullshit. Some kind of prank, right?”

Hammond anticipated that a guy like Eric would not react very well to finding out he was with child, so he tried to remain as calming a presence as possible. “It can come as something of a shock, I know, but let me assure you that my patients who’ve –”

“Not interested,” Eric threw the gel sticky towel on the floor. Pulled on his t-shirt. “I’m not one of them,” he said, standing up. He flexed his arm, showing off his muscles. “They get small, turn into girls. Look at me. You’re wrong.”

“Eric, I just want to–”

“Bye, doc,” Eric said, storming out, his head swimming. He saw Paul at the front desk, and his anger blazed. I never should have kept coming to see a doctor who had an preggo nurse, he thought. As he drove home, his mind reeled. There’s no way. Not me, warred with I’ll fight it off. I am fighting it off. He felt alienated from his own body, betrayed by biology. Could it be real? Could there be a little person growing inside him? The thought made his skin crawl, and he pictured the scene from Alien, where the little alien baby bursts out of the belly of a man, killing him.

A car changed lanes, swinging in front of Eric a little close. Eric slammed on the steering horn, then gunned the engine, pulling up alongside the other car, rolling down his passenger window and screaming, “watch where you’re going, asshole!” People think they can disrespect me, Eric thought, got another thing coming. When he got home, he parked the car in the garage, slammed the door and stormed into the house. Owen was sprawled on the couch, playing some video game where he was shooting zombies. The sight sent Eric into a rage.

“Get off your ass,” he shouted. “Go lift some fucking weights.”

Owen looked at his dad, with his bulging belly, and he almost said something, but he just didn’t want to deal. “Whatever,” he said, getting up and wandering off.

“This is all bullshit!” Eric shouted, then grabbed his smart pad and did a search for ‘How to beat the nanos.”

Chapter 3

The alarm rang. Saturday morning. Eric had decided to go for a run in the park. As he sat up, he frowned as he felt his chest jiggle. He cupped his chest and squeezed. He really needed to lift more, do more pushups, but he’d been steadily losing strength and had started to feel embarrassed by his now pitiful lifts. Getting up, he went to the bathroom mirror and looked at himself. Not only did his chest look puffy, but his nipple area had gotten bigger and puffier as well. Turning to the side and looking at his big, round belly, he felt disgusted with himself. The doctor was wrong. He was sure of it. He’d just let himself go and needed to work harder, eat less.

He looked at his face. He looked the same– or, rather, the same-ish. It was his face, but he no longer needed to shave, and he was almost sure his nose had gotten smaller, but then, once Hammond had planted the crazy idea of the nanites in his mind, he was sure he’d begun to imagine things. Fucking doctor. Yet, Eric kind of missed him. Weird.

Since he’d be running, he’d put on a super tight t-shirt in the hopes it would keep his flabby chest from jiggling, then a sweatshirt over that, which used to fit pretty well, but now hung on him loose and sack-like, the sleeves too long, coming down almost to the tips of his fingers. He pulled on a pair of workout pants, which he had to struggle to get up over his hips and ass. He resolved to cut even more calories from his diet. His body was, in a word, disgusting. He stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a Stud Shake from the refrigerator. It came from a new company that specialized in diets that made men more resistant to the scourge of the nanos and included a bunch of good stuff that increased testosterone. Eric gulped it down, patting his belly. “You’re going bye, bye,” he said. “And you won’t be missed.”

Once Eric got to the park, he stretched, then started jogging. There was a group of mpreggos out on the grass, sitting in a circle, hands on their bellies.  A couple of them had their shirts pulled up and were breast feeding babies. At the sight of it, Eric felt his nipples start to ache, and he cupped one pec and squeezed, quickly looking away. It was too soon for any of the mpreggos to have delivered his baby, so Eric knew this was something he’d heard about: mpreggos taking on breast feeding duties from their wives. There’d been a whole article about how some of them were staying home now, living as housewives while their actual wives went to work. It made Eric sick.

He stopped jogging pretty fast, instead opting for a brisk walk. He just didn’t feel like running, and the way his body jiggled when he ran made him uncomfortable. His chest kept aching, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that mpreggo with the baby suckling at his breasts.

“Eric?” He heard a voice call.

“Samantha,” he said, surprised to run into his ex-wife. He dropped his hand from his chest, forced a smile. “So good to see you.” It was a lie. They had not separated on good terms.

Samantha looked over her cheating ex and nodded, smiling, answering his lie with one of her own: “You look great.” He did not look great. His face looked a little puffy and rounder than she remembered, and even though he wore an over-sized, baggy sweatshirt– like a girl might wear, she thought, snickering– she could see his forearms had shrunk down and no longer rippled with muscles and veins. His shoulders seemed more narrow, his whole frame smaller in some ways but softer in others. He looked like he’d let himself go, other than his skin, which had never looked so bright before. She welcomed him in for a hug, wanting to get a feel for whether her instincts were correct. When she pulled him to her– was he shorter?-- she confirmed her suspicions– the body underneath that sweatshirt was chubby. He had always had rock hard abs, but now he had a belly, and she clearly felt his man boobs press against her body.

Samantha gave his rounding tummy a pat, then started to rub. “You naughty slut,” she said. “You slept around so much you got yourself pregnant.”

“Haha,” Eric said, pushing her hand away. Then, added, “I’m immune. I just let myself go a little bit.”

“Of course,” Samantha said. ‘You’re way too much of a stud to end up a mommy. Well, gotta go.” She walked off. Eric watched her for a minute. She was slender, trim. “Skinny bitch,” he whispered, feeling jealous.

Eric sat on the couch, spoon in hand, digging into a tub of Rocky Road. Despite his intentions to get himself on a strict diet, he’d found himself constantly starving. Today he’d woken up craving Rocky Road, and after struggling for all of, oh, three minutes, he’d gone to the freezer, grabbed the whole carton and munched down, happily licking the spoon after each and every bite. Owen, who’d been put by the pool doing body weight exercises, slid open the patio door and pulled off his tank top as he crossed the living room. Eric felt a mixture of pride and jealousy. Owen had been working hard, putting on muscle, getting bigger, while Eric only seemed to lose muscle these days.

“Morning,” Eric said.

“Sure is,” Owen said, disappearing down the hall. Eric’s eyes went back to the television. A commercial had started to roll. The sight of a perfectly shaped woman’s calf in black and white appeared on the screen. There was a smear of shaving cream. A slender hand with long, sculpted nails holding a razor appeared. She drew the razor sensually along her leg, then water rained down, watching away the cream, and let her fingers glide along the newly smooth surface. Eric felt his cheeks growing warm. He loved watching a woman shave her legs. There was something so– oh, hell no, he thought as the soft-focus lens tracked up the screen and the caption appeared. “Hers for Him. Razors especially made for your delicate, mpreggo skin.”

Eric dug into his tub of ice cream, lifted the creamy deliciousness to his lips and closed his eyes as he slipped the spoon into his mouth, felt the sugary and shivery mound begin to melt on his tongue, the tastes of chocolate and vanilla merging and swirling. “At least I’ll always have ice cream,” he thought.

People at work took notice as Eric’s belly began to swell. He came into the breakroom one day, one hand on the small of his back, and this was when his belly was only about ½ as big as it would get, but it was already stretching out his polo shirt, rising up and revealing a strip of flesh between the shirt and his pants. He’d so far refused to get bigger shirts as part of his denial. Two of his co-workers, Melanie and Tina, had been talking, but when they saw him come in, they immediately grew silent, their eyes dropping to his tummy. “So, um, you preggo?” Melanie asked. The release of the nanobots by the Ploughshares and the resulting surge in pregnant men had come about so quickly, social norms had not yet been established for dealing with them. It had become somewhat of a consensus that it was rude to ask a man if he was pregnant, but preferable to wait for him to make the announcement.

The problem was, in Melanie’s opinion, that Eric had gone on far too long in not admitting the obvious truth. She felt entitled to ask.

Eric scowled as he pulled open the fridge. “Hardly,” he said, at this point still deep in denial. “I’m immune to that stuff.”

“Immune?”

Eric pulled out of the fridge and turned around. “Look at my face,” he said. “Do I look like one of them?”

“Not really,” Tina said, considering. “But then how do you explain…?” She made an arching gesture over her belly.

“I’ve just been eating too much. Let myself go. Speaking of eating,” he said as he headed toward the door. “I’ve got the strangest craving for pickles and ice cream. Weird.”

Melania raised an eyebrow, and as soon as he was out of earshot, the two women began to laugh. “Denial is not just a river in Egypt” Melania said. “Poor thing.”

He found the men avoiding him. He dropped by Bob’s cubicle one day after he’d started showing. “Bobby Bobs,” Eric said, stepping around to the entrance of Bobby Bob’s cubicle. “We golfing Saturday?” He tried to imitate swinging a gulf club, but with his belly instead of a smooth, impressive stroke, it just looked awkward. After, he rested his hands on top of his belly.

“Yeah, no,” Bobs said, trying to hide his discomfort while also taking shallow breaths. The mpreggos creeped him out, and he was constantly worried about catching it. “Something came up.”

“Oh,” Eric said, disappointed. He and the Bobster had been playing golf on every good Saturday all summer long. “How about we get a drink after work?”

Bob physically recoiled. He couldn’t help himself. He’d heard these mpreggos started perving on men and, besides, “someone in your condition shouldn’t be drinking?”

“Condition?” Eric shook his head. “Oh, you don’t think I’m one of them? Look at my face. Do I look like one of them?” Just then, Bob’s phone rang, and he sighed with relief. “Gotta take this,” he said.

It became harder and then impossible for Eric to stay in denial over his “condition” as his belly grew larger. Things at home with Owen began to take a turn, but not quite like at the office. While Eric’s progress was unusual, with his belly growing much larger, but the rest of him changing more slowly, he was losing muscle, his face was softening, just very slowly. He’d also found himself becoming more emotionally unstable, flipping wildly from on top of the world joy to crushing despair in a moment’s notice. He finally came to face the truth one day when he was doing pushups.

Thinking Eric had gone out, one day he’d been doing push-ups in the hopes of firming up his softening chest. His shirts now tented with what anyone could see were bouncy A cups. He could not do “boy” pushups, however, but had to do the old-fashioned girl pushups where he kept his knees on the ground and just pushed with his arms. His belly was just too big. So, he was straining, doing girl pushups, when he heard Owen laugh.

“You’re getting weak, old man,” Owen said as Eric stopped and then rolled onto his side. “Doing girl pushups now, I see.”

“Pushups from the knees,” Eric said. “Is what they’re called. And I’m not doing them because I can’t do the other ones. It’s just that my belly is a little too big right now.”

“Because you’re pregnant.” Despite his slightly unusual progression, Owen had come to the conclusion that his father was, indeed, super pregnant, and it pissed him off that even now, big as a house, he refused to admit it.

“I’m not pregnant,” Eric said, patting his belly. “I just–” He stopped as he felt a kick. Then, another. Like all preggos, in addition to the outward changes, Eric had also been experiencing changes in his brain structure as it responded to his pregnancy. He’d been getting mommy brain as his nurturing, maternal areas grew larger. So, though the old Eric had been horrified at the idea of having a baby growing inside him, the new one, the one becoming a mommy in mind as well as body, felt a surprising thrill as he felt this tangible proof of a baby. His baby.

“What?” Owen said, seeing the look on his father’s face.

I’m pregnant, Eric thought as the truth sunk in, a mixture of his newfound pride and old-school disgust. For a moment, he experienced the pure joy experienced by any young mother when she gets the news, but then he pushed back, creating a new stage of denial for himself. “You know what?’ He snapped. “Fine. I admit it. I am pregnant, but the thing is– I’m fighting it off.”

“Fighting it off?” Owen said, shaking his head. “You can’t fight it off.”

“Watch me.” Eric decided to do some research, and soon he was on his smart pad, digging away. Not surprisingly, a whole industry devoted to preggos had sprung up, and one dark corner of that new world offered Eric exactly what he and a lot of other men had been hoping to find. “A cure for your condition” the website promised.

The next morning, Eric went to the fridge and got out the ingredients the Cure website had promised would increase testosterone and help lead him to freedom. It consisted of spinach, oysters, garlic, Brazil nuts and a raw egg. He dumped it all in the blender with a cup of ice, ground it up, poured it into a glass, took a sip and– “Oh. Wow.” It was so not good, just drinking it made him feel like more of a man. Then, he went to his easy chair and began to do the new exercise the website had suggested: Kegels, tightening and then loosening the muscles in his pelvic floor.

Owen came down, and Eric felt the sting of jealousy watching how easily his son moved, how hard and lean his body was becoming. Owen took a whiff of the blender. “That smells disgusting,” he said.

“It’s oysters and garlic,” Eric said, proudly taking a sip. “I got the recipe off the Internet.”

“You’re even starting to think like a woman with the crazy diets,” Owen said.

“Shows how much you know,” answered. “Those ingredients increase testosterone. They’ll help me fight off this.” He waved toward his belly. “I’m getting my muscles back.”

“Okay, Erica,” Owen said. “Thanks for sharing your beauty secrets with me.”

Despite his best efforts, Eric’s arms and shoulders kept getting smaller, while his breasts and hips kept getting bigger. The Condition website urged men to wear bras in order to avoid stretch marks, and as he’d swelled to a B cup Eric had decided it was a good idea, buying new workout clothes from the website including now just sports bras, but little nylon shorts and tank tops that read “Fight it Off” across the chest. They even published workouts, and so Eric found himself doing wall squats one day wearing what to any observer looked like a woman’s workout gear. The baby was kicking like crazy.

Owen came in and did a double take. His father wore a tank top with spaghetti straps that looked more like a camisole, and which couldn’t cover his big belly. He wore little nylon short shorts. His face had continued its slow march to feminine. He now looked more like a woman than a man but was still somewhat androgynous.

“Morning, Erica,” Owen said.

“You won’t be able to call me that much longer,” Eric said. His voice, like his face, had grown androgynous, resigning somewhere between a low woman’s voice and a high man’s. He flexed his biceps. “I’m getting big again.”

Delusional, Owen thought, watching his father flex his pipe stem arms. There were no muscles there at all. They looked like girl arms, and a girl who lifted. “Yeah. You should enter the Mister Universe Content,” Owen said. “Your arms are huge. Wanna arm wrestle?”

Eric, as deep in denial as he was, knew better than that. “Um… no…” he said, dropping his eyes, blushing. It embarrassed him, but he knew his son was now much stronger than him– not to mention taller.

“You gotta stop lying to yourself about this,” Owen said. “You’re wearing a bra for chrissakes.”

“That’s just so I can work out even harder,” Eric said, wagging his head from side to side. He turned and waddled off, his hands at the small of his back. He felt his shorts being suctioned into his butt crack and refused to dig them out until he was out of Owen’s sight. “All those squats must be paying off,” he thought, smugly. His baby kicked, and he looked down, rubbing his tummy. “We told him off, didn’t we?” He said. “Yes, we did. Yes, we did.”

Chapter  4

Eric sat on the examination table, his small, cone-shaped breasts jutting from his chest. His nipples had grown hard in the cool air and then even harder as Dr. Hammond had performed a breast exam, carefully touching, pressing, squeezing Eric’s humiliating new friends. When he’d finished, Dr. Hammond said, “Your breasts are perfectly healthy.”

“Healthy?” Eric said, his voice cracking. More and more, he struggled to speak in a deep, masculine place as his voice battled his desire, growing higher pitched, buzzy and seeming to only want to get higher and higher, buzzier and buzzier. “I shouldn’t have breasts at all.”

“I understand why you feel that way,” Hammond said, putting a hand on Eric soft, round little shoulder. Eric instantly felt calmer, safer at the doctor’s touch. “But, it’s actually perfectly natural for someone in your condition to grow breasts and to start lactating.” He gestured toward the monitor, which had a picture that showed Eric’s womb, the baby growing inside him. “You’re going to have to accept that you’re pregnant, Eric. You’re going to be a mother.”

“I’m not,” Eric said, still reeling with denial. “I’m fighting this off.”

“As your doctor, I have to advise you again that The Condition is not based on any scientific evidence whatsoever. In fact, what research we do have suggests that even if you do produce more hormones as a result of your diet, they will be the hormones a pregnant man is supposed to produce, which will be a mix of testosterone, estrogen and all the rest of them.”

“I just can’t accept that,” Eric said, picking up his bra and slipping into it effortlessly. He’d already gotten used to putting them on and off. He tugged and adjusted, getting his breasts fitted properly in the cups. “I refuse to accept that.”

“It’s really not so bad,” Peter, Hammond’s nurse, said, putting a hand on Eric’s other shoulder. Peter had shrunk down to maybe 5’ 7” and he now had a full, swollen pregnant belly to go along with his own budding breasts. “There’s a support group…”

“No, thanks.”

“Petra,” Hammond said, ignoring Eric’s objections. “Can you get Eric one of our packets? There’s info on the support groups in there,” Hammond said.

As soon as Petra had left, Eric scowled. “Could you get him to wear something a little more appropriate?” Peter wore a pair of black leggings and a t-shirt with a plunging neckline that revealed his soft cleavage, while one shoulder was uncovered, making his bra strap visible against his tan shoulder. ‘He looked like a hussy.” In fact, Eric was struggling with denial. He’d found himself wanting to dress more cute.

“It’s one of the effects of the EP nanos,” Hammond said. “The fashion sense of mpreggos evolve. Besides, I think Peter looks nice.”

“You’ll never see me in leggings,” Eric said, picturing himself in leggings. Hearing Hammond say that he thought the outfit looked nice had immediately caused Eric to want to wear it– and to resent Peter even more for wearing it. Who does he think he is? Eric wondered, seething.

“I think those are actually called spanks,” Hammond said. “They hold everything in, or so I’m told.” He might have said more, but Peter came back in and handed the folder to Eric.

“I want you to read that material,” Hammond said, once again putting a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “And I strongly suggest you give the support group a try.” Eric looked up at Hammond, his eyelashes fluttering as he felt himself getting all bubbly. Dr. Hammond was so confident, so kind, so strong.

“I’ll read it,” Eric said smiling, clutching the folder to his chest. “And,” his voice had now risen, growing higher, softer. “Thanks so much, doctor.” He reached out with one hand and gave Hammond’s arm a squeeze. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Owen came in from his workout on the pool deck, soaked in sweat. He pulled his sweaty tank top off and tossed it to Eric, who was sitting on the couch munching on popcorn he’d flavored with cinnamon, sugar and sea salt– plus some paprika. Another of his weird cravings. Owen tossed his sweaty shirt on the floor. “Hey, Erika. I need you to run a load of laundry for me.”

Eric tensed, thought to fight back, but then he just hooked his hair behind his ear and shrugged. “Okay.” His hair grew so fast these days, he always seemed to need a haircut, and for now it had grown down to his jawline, while bangs swept across his forehead.

Owen tried to hide his smile and failed. He’d just ordered his father to do the laundry, and his father had just said okay? What the hell?  “The rest of my stuff is in my bedroom hamper. Chop, chop.”

Eric put his bowl of popcorn to the side, then started to get to his feet. As he was struggling to get up, Owen pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing,” Eric said, smirking as he posted it to social media under the title ‘preggo dad.”

As Eric waddled off, one hand on the small of his back, Owen snapped another picture, this one titled “My Dad of Daisy Duck?” Then, he sent a friend request to Eric, snickering. “Serves him right,” Owen thought, “for all those years bullying me.”

Eric threw all of Owen’s stuff in a laundry basket, balanced it on his hip and gingerly made his way down the stairs to the basement. The laundry room was on one end, a washer and dryer, an ironing board that hadn’t been used since his wife had left him, a shelf above the washer and dryer with soaps and bleaches and fabric softener. There were spider webs in the corners, and he felt a little nervous at the sight of them– not for himself, but he was worried about a spider biting his baby.

“Forget about all that,” Eric thought as he tossed the clothes into the washer. “You’re never going to have this baby.” Just as he thought that, he felt the baby kick. “Sorry,” he whispered, feeling a little guilty that he intended to get rid of the little thing.

Eric had been taking his own clothes to a laundry service since the separation and hadn’t done a load of laundry since his college days. As much as part of him was annoyed at Owen bossing him around, his maternal instincts were growing stronger, and a part of him he didn’t even understand felt all warm and fuzzy at the thought of doing some to take care of his son. He reached for the bottle of detergent. “What?” He could reach. Not only was he shorter, but with his huge belly pressing against the washer, he couldn’t even get close. “Owen?” He called, feeling humiliated, but not knowing what else to do. “Owen?”

He listened as footsteps thumped across the floor above, and then he heard the basement door open, saw a shaft of light from upstairs cut across the wall. “What is it?”

“I need your help!” Eric called back, extra annoyed at how small and feminine his voice sounded now.

Owen bounded down the stairs, and Eric once again felt a little jealous of his mobile he was. “What is it?’ Owen asked, wondering how it was his father couldn’t even manage to do laundry without help these days.

“I, um, can’t reach the detergent?” Eric said.

Owen knew this was a golden opportunity for a pic. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Show me.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Eric said, planting his fists on his wide, soft hips, tilting his head to the side.

“Show me,” Owen said, taking a stern, fatherly tone.

Eric huffed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes, then reached for the detergent. “See?” He said, wiggling his outstretched fingers, which came far short of the bottle.

“Get on your tipy toes. I’m sure you can reach it.”

Eric rose up on his tipy toes, straining, and just as he turned to look at Owen, the camera on Owen’s phone flashed. “What the hell?” Eric dropped back down onto his feet.

“I’m documenting your preggo life,” Owen said, and posting it to social media. “You’re already so helpless, it’s totally cute. I’m getting so many more women as followers.”

“Social media? You can’t,” Eric said. “You couldn’t.”

Owen turned his phone so Eric could see the post of him on his tip toes, reaching for the bottle, looking at Owen, a shocked look on his face. There were heart emojis popping up as people eagerly Liked the photo. Eric found himself struggling to hold back his tears. This was so humiliating. “You should have more respect for me,” Eric said, trembling, turning red.

“Make sure to use a lot of fabric softener on my undies,” Owen said, grabbing the supplies and lining them up on the ironing board. “Thanks, Erica,” he finished, patting Eric on the head.

Seething, Eric watched him go, then turned back to the task at hand, thinking, “teenagers!”

Chapter 5

Eric sat on the porch and watched as their next-door neighbor’s son, Tal, mowed the lawn. Tal had taken off his shirt as he rode atop the riding mower, and his lean, hard body glistened with sweat. Eric pretended he wasn’t looking, but his eyes were drinking in every inch of that body from the building arms, to the hard chest, to the rippling abs. Tal wore a pair of cut-off shorts, and he had strong thighs laced with muscle. Eric fanned himself, feeling all hot and bothered. When Tal finished, he rode the mower up to the porch. “All done, Mr. Danner,” he said, flashing a toothy smile and what Eric found to be the most incredible dimples.

“You must be thirsty,” Eric said, his voice extra high pitched. “Let me get you some tea.”

“I’m good,” Tal said, and started to put the mower in gear.

“Wait!” Eric almost screamed. “Can you, um, help me put my shoes on? I can’t reach since, you know?” He batted his eyes and smiled.

Tal’s eyebrows scrunched down, he frowned. ‘Yeah, um, I really gotta run.” He put the mower in gear and roared off as Eric waved and called, “wait. I need… ugh!”

Now driven into a minor frenzy and horny as hell after watching Tal for an hour, Eric went inside to indulge what had long been one of his favorite pastimes: porn. Owen wasn’t home, but he locked the door to his bedroom anyway, opened up his laptop and was soon drooling over pictures of studly guys, but it wasn’t just their hard, muscular bodies that were turning him on. As he reached around his belly to find his dick, he gripped it using a towel, he assessed these men using what now seemed an imperative new criteria: he looks like he could be a great father. He has such kind eyes, but I’m sure he could totally kick the ass of anyone who tried to mess with me or my baby. The thoughts of how strong and protective the man would be made him hard, but it was not just his dick anymore– he could feel his nipples rise, get hard, begin throbbing with pleasure and need.

He closed his eyes, picturing that man in his mind, but he seemed to need a story these days to really get off, and so he found himself going to one of his favorite fantasies: he pictured himself in the kitchen wearing a 1950s style dress, a baby in a high chair playing with his food. Suddenly, flames shot up from the stove. Eric screamed and ran over to their baby, and Jack, he’d decided the man was named Jack, rushed into the room and threw a towel over the fire, extinguishing it. As he imagined his husband rushing over to hug him and the baby he’d just saved, Eric felt himself pop off, semen pumping from his penis and squirting into the towel.

After, he lifted the towel to his nose and sighed with pleasure as he drew in the scent, then put the towel aside, cupped his breasts and squeezed and teased his nipples while looking at the image of a new man, this one was a really jacked badass, but what was driving Eric crazy was the fact that in the picture he was holding a smiling baby.

“Let’s get your measurements, shall we?” Dr. Hammond said after he’d gotten done checking Eric’s ears and throat. He took Eric’s arm and helped him down off the exam table. Eric’s skin tingled with Hammond touched him, and he got that warm, fuzzy feeling. Hammond looked down at Eric, who’d been suddenly getting smaller at a much more rapid pace. “You’re so short!”

Eric smiled and blushed. He’d come to like being short, mostly because Dr. Hammond seemed to like it. ‘Gosh,” he said, using his extra high voice. “I know, right? I’m so petite.”

Hammond took Eric’s height and weight, then wrapped a tape measure around Eric’s belly. Feeling Hammond so close, his arms around him, Eric felt himself starting to get hard, and terrified Hammond would notice, he stepped away, forgetting he was still standing on the scale. “Ahhh!” He cried out as he started to fall backward, his arms flailing.

Hammond grabbed Eric around the waist and pulled him close. Eric, whose arms had been thrashing around and was desperate to grab anything to hold onto to keep from falling, suddenly found himself with one hand wrapped firmly around Hammond’s impressive junk, under his balls. Eric looked up, eyes wide, mouth dropping open. Hammond raised an eyebrow. “You’re hand?” He said.

“Omigod!” Eric squeaked. “I didn’t… that wasn’t… I um….”

“It was just an accident,” Hammond said, bemused. He’d seen mpreggos go through this process before, and he knew Eric was probably struggling with the fact he now found guys totally hot. “And just understand, what you’re feeling is completely and totally natural.”

Eric’s cheeks burned, and he looked away and down, letting his now shoulder length hair drape his face and, he hoped, hide it from Hammond. Hammond was up on the latest research, and he decided it would be best to do a few things to help Eric come along. Putting a hand on the small of his back, he guided him back to the examination table and helped him get up. As he helped Eric up, he pretended to accidentally let his hand brush across one of Eric’s hard nipples.

Eric kept his hands in his lap, trying to hide what was happening, and Hammond began to massage his shoulders. “There’s a lot of tension here,” Hammond said.

“Yes,” Eric agreed, closing his eyes, feeling that tension being lifted. “So tense.”

Hammond then began to give Eric a scalp massage, kneading, pushing. He let his fingers move down from the top of Eric’s head to the bases of his ears, pushing, tenderly pushing, and Eric felt his body tingle, curled his toes as a soft, high-pitched sigh escaped him.  He was lost in a haze of pleasure. Having this strong, confident man take such good care of him… then, Hammond gathered Eric’s hair, letting his fingers brush his cheeks, and pulling his hair around and draping it over one shoulder, he started to massage Eric’s slender neck. Eric squeezed his legs together and pushed down on his stiffy, straining not to pop off. Then, he felt Hammond’s hot, steamy breath on his cheek and then, Hammond puffed into his ear. Eric made a squeaking sound and half jumped, half fell off the table.

As soon as Eric got home, he raced toward his bedroom and his porn collection. “Erica, how did…” Owen asked, but a desperate Eric speed waddled past him. “Can’t talk,” he said. “Emergency.”

The changes eventually finished, and the final changes to Eric’s reality began to settle in.

Despite Eric’s determination to hold off the nanovirus, eventually it won and his physical transformation rapidly accelerated. Soon, he woke up one morning to be greeted by what looked like a cute, pregnant teen. Any hint of masculinity had melted away– he had big eyes ringed with long, curly lashes. They were so big and doe-like that he always had a slightly surprised look on his face. His lips had swelled, becoming plump and inviting, and he now had a pert little unturned nose. Tiny arms and little, round shoulders.  He couldn’t deny the truth anymore, and he spent the morning on the couch, scrolling, scrolling…  It was a grew, cloudy day, and the living room was shadowy, painted in shades of gray. Eric liked it that way. He felt so ashamed of what his body had finally forced him to do.

Owen came downstairs and found his father sitting in the dark, smart pad in his little hands, eyes intense, gleaming in the cathode rays. “What’s up?’ Owen asked, curious.

Eric started to hide the smart pad and deny, but he’d become so compliant he decided he should just tell his son what he was up to. “I’m looking for maternity clothes,” he said. “Go ahead and laugh.” He lowered and flattened his voice, the way women did when imitating men. “Hahaha. Erica’s buying maternity clothes. He thought he was such a big man. Hahahaha.”

Owen, though, had found himself growing more empathetic toward his father. His bitterness had slowly melted away, and maybe even some basic instincts had taken over as he’d found himself feeling more protective of his father as he’d seen how helpless he’d become. Still, it was almost a surprise to him when he found himself saying, “I think that’s great.”

Eric brushed a strand of long that had fallen across his eyes away. The tone of his son’s voice told him the other had not been sarcastic, but that he was sincere. Eric smiled, and in the new confusing mess of his emotions, fought back tears.

The clothes came, so on  Monday Eric strode into the office wearing a pair of maternity overalls, one hand at the small of his back. “Hey, Ricci,” Melanie said as she walked past him, reaching down to let her hand brush across his belly.

“Omigod, hi!” Eric squeaked, smiling brightly. Since he’d become so small and pretty, he’d begun to act more bubbly and perky, sweet and cute. He found people liked him better that way, and they had more of a tendency to be protective and helpful which, he had to admit, he needed help now. He was practically helpless. He smiled and greeted everyone, waving with just his fingers, tossing his now long hair.

By mutual agreement, he’d been phasing out of the company. He’d been made a consultant, pitching in and helping with other people’s projects while also training his replacement, a skinny bitch named Rene. This morning, he was sitting next to Rene, half listening, answering her questions in a distracted way, and then he became super distracted when the intern he’d nicknamed “shoulders” went walking by. Shoulders was a young stud with a bugle in his pants that made Eric thirsty and hot. “Shoulders,” Eric called. “Shoulders.”

As shoulders turned and came back, Eric turned back to Rene and touched her gently on the wrist. “I’m so sorry. I just have such a craving.” He then smiled, sucking in his cheeks to make sure to flash his dimples.

“Go ahead,” Rene said, shaking her head.

“What’s up?” Shoulders said.

Eric held out his hand and batted his eyes. “Can you help me up?”

“Of course.”

Shoulders took Eric’s arm and helped him to his feet. Of course, Eric “accidently” fell against the big, tall young man and put his hands on the ridges of Eric’s abs. “You’re so strong,’ Eric cooed. Shoulders met Rene’s eyes over Eric’s head. They both shrugged as if to say “mpreggos.”

Among Eric’s new clothes was a nightie. He’d read an article about how, with their bodies, mpreggos were finding that a nightie was a comfortable and functional choice, as it offered ample room for their booties and bellies, while also flowing freely and not restricting movement. It all made sense, and yet Eric had to pause as he sat on his bed, holding up his nightie, adjusting to the idea he was about to wear something so feminine. I’m a man, he thought. I have to hold onto the fact that–

Just then, he felt a kick, as if his baby was trying to remind him– you’re an mpreggo. Get over yourself.

With a sigh, he stood and pulled the nightie over his head, letting it fall down over his body. He looked in the mirror and offered himself a crooked smile as he plucked at the hem of what was essentially a dress. He had to admit, he looked kind of cute, with big eyes, an upturned nose, plump, kissable lips. His skin was bright and radiant, like an 18-year-old girl. He was really proud of his skin and was slowly coming to take pride in being so pretty. It was another step for him toward acceptance. Climbing into bed, he balanced his smart pad on his belly and started to read a novel about an mpreggo who meets this really hunky billionaire. He fell asleep reading and woke the next morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing. “Owen?” He called out. “Owen, can you get that?”

No answer. He checked his phone. Understanding his father’s new vulnerabilities, Owen had taken to posting his schedule on an APP they shared so Eric would always know where he was. Owen was out. Eric huffed, blowing his bangs away from his eyes. The doorbell rang again. He’d have to get it. Half rolling, half climbing out of bed, grumpy and annoyed, Eric waddled to the door thinking he would give this delivery man a piece of his mind. Opening the door, Eric struck what was becoming his standard pose– one hand pressed to the small of his back, one to his belly. With his tangled, disheveled hair, he looked the very image of the groggy mpreggo.  He started to tell the delivery guy off.  “Why couldn’t you just–” the words caught in his throat as he found himself getting hot right away looking up at the hunkiest delivery man ever. He had green eyes and a cleft chin, broad, strong shoulders, and his shirt was open, revealing a hard chest bristling with thick, black hair. He wore shorts that showed off his muscular calves.

“Why couldn’t I just?” The man said.

‘Um..” Eric giggled and hooked his hair behind his ear. “Never mind?”

“I need your signature,” the delivery man said, handing Eric an electronic signature pad.

“Okay. I’ll, um, just sign this, then,” Eric answered, cheeks flushing. He scribbled his name and then, on an impulse he didn’t understand, drew a heart. He handed the pad back to the delivery guy, and when their fingers brushed Eric felt sparks fly.

“You have a good day now,” the man said, handing the package to Eric, and then, omigod, he flashed the most perfect, dimpled smile.

Once he’d made his way back to bed, Eric couldn’t stop thinking about that hunky delivery guy, and he began to play out scenes in his mind where he invited the delivery man in for a drink of water and ended up getting so much more.

Chapter 6

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Eric’s tea, the ice inside having melted from sharp cubes into smaller, rounded shapes, a layer of water floating on top of the darker tea. He was sitting on the porch. He’d told Owen he wanted some fresh air, but the truth was he sat out here hoping to catch a glimpse of Tal. Tal had the coolest red Mustang with a rumbling motor, and Eric had noticed it back in the driveway, though Tal had left for college a while back. He figured the kid was maybe back for a visit, though in truth Eric didn’t much care. Even though Fall had rolled around and the leaves were turning brown and gold, with a little chill in the air, Eric sat out on the porch hoping maybe Tal would be shirtless doing some yard work.

He’d been waiting for some time, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching while he was so totally watching. Finally, he heard the porch door slide open, and then– what the? Eric’s eyes were drawn right to Tal’s rounded belly. Eric gasped. Tal was an mpreggo. For the next few weeks, Eric managed to catch glimpses of Tal through the windows, in the yard, going out to his car. He found it fascinating watching Tal go through the same changes he’d gone through– getting shorter, losing muscle even as his belly swelled. Another impulse grew in him. He wanted to talk to Tal, to see how he was dealing with his mpreggo reality. He wanted to be friends, and he thought about walking over, knocking on the door, but he just didn’t have the confidence anymore.

So, that night at dinner, when they were about halfway through the meal, Eric speared a green bean on his fork and then, acting as if an idea just occurred to him, he said, “Have you heard anything about Tal lately?”

Owen looked over at his father, who had a totally fake, innocent look plastered on his face. As Eric had changed and become more emotional, he’d also become more and more transparent and unable to hide his feelings. “Tal….” he said, pretending to be thinking. “Hmmmnnnn….” He shrugged. “Nope. I haven’t heard anything. Why do you ask?”

‘Oh, I don’t know,” Eric said, slipping the green bean into his mouth, chewing, letting a little silence fill the room so he wouldn’t seem too obvious or desperate. “I just– is that his Mustang in the driveway?”

“Does he drive a Mustang?” Owen said, smirking slightly as he saw the frustration growing in his father’s big, pretty eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Eric couldn’t take it any longer. ‘He’s mpreggo,” Eric shrieked.

Owen laughed. “Hahaha. I know. I was just messing with you.”

“Well,” Eric said, ‘fine or whatever. The thing is, I would really like to have a chance to talk to him and we could, oh, I don’t know…”

“Braid each other’s hair?”

“Ugh,” Eric said, rolling his eyes. “Never. Maybe, anyway, can you go over and ask?”

“Sure,” Owen said. It would be good, he felt, for his dad to have someone to talk to. It would be good for Tal for that matter. As Owen had found himself slipping into the role of caretaker, he’d been researching mpreggos a bit, and one thing that came up again and again is that many mpreggos felt isolated in their condition. Hopefully, this would help put an end to that. His father really did need a friend.

Half hiding behind a bush, Eric watched from the porch as Owen walked over to the neighbor’s house and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, the door opened and Eric could see Owen gesturing toward the house, making an arc in front of his own belly, then nodding. As soon as the door to the neighbor’s house closed, he looked over at Eric and gave a thumbs up. Eric clapped and squealed.

The first meet for the two very mpreggo men had been arranged for the next afternoon, and the ever more maternal Eric had felt compelled to make a nice little lunch for them– with Owen’s help, of course. Eric watched, a little enviously, as Owen reached up to get a canister of flour down from the high shelf. “Houses just aren’t made for mpreggos,” Eric said, one hand on his belly, as Owen placed the items on the counter.

“They actually are now,” Owen said. “I just saw a thing on it. Instead of Feng Shui, they’re calling it Feng Preg. One of the big design principles is that nothing should be out of hobbit-sized people.”

‘Haha!” Eric said. Owen liked to tease him about his height, and it had bothered him once, but much to his surprise he was starting to like being so small and so soft and so pretty in the face. It even made him feel kind of special to be so helpless these days. “You should be a comedian.”

“You need anything else?”

“I don’t think so, but stay close just in case?”

Singing softly to himself, Eric looked down at the recipe on his smart pad and then started to sift the flour. He felt a little kick and smiled down at his little ones. “That’s right,” he said. “Mommy is going to be sending some delicious baked yummies your way.”

Tal arrived, blushing and looking quite embarrassed. The kitchen smelled of butter and blueberries, a stack of freshly baked scones on the table. Owen took Tal’s slender arm and helped him lower himself into one of the cushioned chairs that surrounded the kitchen table. Though he blushed even more deeply, clearly ashamed that he needed another boy’s help after being an athlete not that long ago. Still, he was grateful. “Thanks,” he said, his voice soft, feminine.

Eric brought a China tea kettle and cups, and then it was his turn to have Owen help him sit. Owen excused himself, and the mpreggos sat, hands crossed on their bellies, each one nervously trying to think of how to start the conversation. “Please,” Eric finally said. “Have a scone. I made them myself.”

“Thanks,” Tal said, picking up one of the scones. Eric helped himself to a scone as well, and each of them took a nibble. “Yum,” Tal said, his pretty eyes going wide as he took another bite. “I was starving.”

“I’m always starving,” Eric admitted.

“Tell me about it,” Tal said. Once more, the room went silent as they nibbled, trying to think of what to say.

“You watch the game last night?” Eric asked.

“Nah. You?”

“Nah. I don’t even know why I asked.” He looked around the room. Tal looked around the room. “Nice kitchen,” Tal said.

“Thanks.”

More silence.

Eric picked up the tea pot and started to pour a cup for Tal, who shook his head. “I’m trying to stay off caffeine. Because, you know.” He looked down at his belly.

“Don’t worry,” Eric said, smiling. “It’s ginger tea. No caffeine. Perfectly good for our babies.”

“Oh, fine.” Tal said, then he smiled. “We sound like a couple of hens.”

They both laughed. “So, should we just go ahead and talk about the whole baby situation?”

“Let’s.”

They gabbed on about what it had been like when they each had found out and what it was like to be “expecting.” Then, the conversation seemed to flow naturally into the dress Hugh Jackman wore to the Golden Globes– and the fact he had his own golden globes now– the latest split between Jlo and Ben Affleck– why do they keep getting back together?– and the latest fashions for mpreggos. “I really like overalls,” Eric said. “They’re cute.”

“I would wear more dresses,” Tal said. “They help me stay cool, but my dad is already disgusted with me, and my sister is giving me hell. I just don’t want the hassles.”

Owen, who had been in the living room watching the new Godzilla movie, was surprised as he heard the soft, giggling voice coming towards him. Tal and Eric soon emerged in the doorway, holding hands. “We’re going to take a walk,” Tal said.

“More like a waddle,” Eric chimed in.

“Oh, you’re bad,” Tal said, and the two put their foreheads together and giggled. With their smooth, young, feminine faces and the way they were acting, it was hard for Owen to even imagine these two had been the Eric and Tal he remembered. “Maybe I should come?’ He said, thinking maybe they would need someone to protect them. He worried these days when his father went anywhere.

“No boys allowed,” Tal said. “Mpreggos only!”

It was a cool, crisp day with big, billowing clouds floating majestically across the sky, casting blue shadows across the ground as they floated above. The two chatted amiable about this and that until a tall, bare-chested man glistening with sweat came jogging around the corner ahead of them.

“Oh,” Eric said.

“My,” Tal continued.

“God,” they sighed together, enjoying the sight of his bulging shoulders, his hard, muscular chest and turtle shell abs. Eric drank in the sight of the men from the corner of his eyes, not wanting to be too obvious, as did Tal. The man ran closer and closer, and they swooned over his granite chin, his green eyes. Then, he looked at them and smiled, nodded. As he ran past, they both turned to get a look at his back, his hard, powerful looking ass.

“He could plow my field anytime,” Eric sighed.

“Right now would be nice,” Tal said. “I am so wet.”

The raw, masculine swell of the man had trailed behind him, and the two felt almost dizzy as they drank it in. Eric looked around to make sure there was no one around them to hear, then leaned in and said, ‘It’s weird having a vagina, right?”

“Well, yes,” Tal said, “and at the same time still having a cock, such as it is.”

“I get double horny sometimes,” Eric said. ‘It’s the craziest thing.”

“Oh, I know. Do I ever know,” Tal said.

They walked some more. Another pair of mpreggos walked past and they exchanged nods and pretty smiles. “I love your outfit,” Eric said.

The other mpreggo, who wore a loose-fitting summer dress, smiled. “Thanks so much. I like yours, too.”

Once they’d passed, Tal said, “I want to try on a dress.”

“We should go shopping!” Eric said, excited. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Epilogue

Ricci and Dr. Hammond strode onto the patio that ran along the sparkling, sapphire waters of the pool arm in arm. “Oh, hi,” Ricci said, smiling brightly and making little fingertip waves as they passed other couples they knew. Dr. Hammond had a tight lipped smile on his face, and he radiated pride to have the pretty little preggo at his side. Ricci had a face and the radiant, dewy skin of an 18 year old girl, and it made Hammond feel great to have such a young, pretty looking partner.

Once they’d made their entrance, Hammond peeled off to go and join a circle of men, while Ricci found Tal, who was cuddling with his boyfriend under the cabana. “Ricci!” Tal squealed, and they two hugged and kissed each other on the cheek. Tal’s boyfriend also gave Ricci a hug and a kiss, then went off to hang with the guys. “That dress is so cute,” Ricci said, looking over Tal’s floral summer dress. “I guess your father doesn’t have much to say about it these days.”

“He has more dresses than I do,” Tal said. “Every day another package comes from Glamazon.”

The two of them looked toward Tal’s father, who was dog paddling in the pool. He had a pretty, freckled face and didn’t look a day over 16. The bright pink straps of his bikini top were bright against his small, tan round shoulders. “How’s he holding up?”

“Good. Better,” Tal said. ‘He doesn’t cry all the time now. I’ve even seen him smile. The other day we decided to watch The Avengers, and he admitted he found Captain America totally hunky, so I think he’s coming around to accepting his new life.”

“You mom?”

“Well, she found another guy. I can’t blame her. They’re working it out.”

Just then, a blood curdling scream like a B-Movie actress from the 1950s filled the air.

Eric and Tal looked to see Tal’s dad, who went by Misty now, swimming frantically across the pool, trying to catch up with his wayward top before it got sucked into the filtration system.

He lunged for it, but it was too late, and the little scrap of pink got sucked away. Mouth hanging open, eyes wide, Misty crossed her arms over his breasts and squeaked, “help!”

“Come on over,” Owen said, hurrying to the side of the pool. “Come on.”

Misty made her way over to Owen, who whispered something to him. Then, he helped Misty out of the pool, pulling him close so everyone wouldn’t see the man’s perky little breasts. Misty looked up at Owen, his eyes soft and, well, misty with gratitude and admiration. Owen pulled the mpreggo close.

“Hmmmmnnnn,” Eric thought, watching the scene play out. It sure looked like there were sparks flying between the two of them. He and the Doc. Tal and his new guy. Maybe Owen and Misty.

“You know,” he said to Tal. “When this all started, I thought there were winners and losers. Those of us who got the virus were losers. Those who didn’t, winners. I don’t think so anymore. You know what I think now?”

“Dazzle me.”

“I think we’re all winners.”

 The End