Eight for Eight - Part 2 (Patreon)

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Levi barely registered what he was doing as he left the clinic. His mind remained stuck in the moment the doctor showed him the eight shapes growing in his belly. He was so lost that his focus went from staring at the ultrasound screen to standing outside in the parking lot with his hands on his bulging middle, unaware of what had happened in between.

The sound of the automatic door closing behind him and the cold breeze hitting his face gave him a sense of location amid his confusion, and his heart pounded hard, as if working overtime to remind himself that he was alive and not in a dream.

He stood there for a moment, holding his middle and feeling the faint stickiness of the ultrasound gel along his lower stomach beneath his shirt. He came from walking unconsciously to the exit to standing there, becoming too aware of the situation. Eight babies. Two months along. Twelve pounds heavier, most of it gathered around his middle. The words echoed in his head, cutting through him over and over as he processed the news.

“MOM! LOOK!” The voice of a kid came, finally snapping Levi out of his trance. “That man is having a baby just like you,” the kid added, making Levi turn his head.

The boy was about 5 years old, walking with his mom into the clinic, and tugging at her dress to get her attention over Levi. The woman had a heavily pregnant belly; she was certainly due with a child and likely coming for her last checkup before birth. She blushed at her son’s words, looking harshly at him and asking him to lower his voice.

“I’m sorry about that. He’s excited about having a little brother, and now he thinks everybody with a little belly is pregnant,” she explained kindly, gesturing at her middle.

Levi blushed, moving his hands off his middle to act casual. “It’s okay, ma’am. I—I’m bulking, and… it seems like everything is going to my abdomen. I’m cutting off sweets and carbs for a while from now on,” he answered with a shaky voice, evidently nervous but trying his best to remain calm. “And… congratulations on the new baby.”

“Thanks so much. It’s my third, and I promise it never gets easier. Oh, and please. The belly looks lovely on you. You should keep it. Also, women love a big man with a bit of a belly, you know. I have my own at home,” she said, winking at him. “Anyways, have a lovely day. I hope I’ll make it to the appointment before this baby decides to come out,” she added and walked inside as her son waved goodbye at Levi, making him smile.

Levi responded with a kind wave of his hand, absentmindedly moving his free hand to his middle as if imagining his own kids at that age. He couldn’t help it. He suddenly felt a paternal—or maternal—feeling washing over him. However, as he walked to his car, Levi replayed the boy’s reaction in his mind, realizing he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth for much longer. He dropped into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and pondering his options.

His hands stayed over his middle for a while before he turned the engine on. It felt different now that he knew the truth. It was firmer, fuller, and undeniable. He wasn’t imagining it, and there was no way to escape it. “Fuck,” he whispered, realizing he was screwed. The word came out again, louder this time. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Each curse brought out the frustration and confusion flooding his mind. The pregnancy wasn’t the only issue now, but the boy and his mom had triggered something in him, something he would rather not admit: he cared for the babies.

He started the car and drove away, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his abdomen, drawing aimless circles over the curve. He didn’t even notice it when he lifted the hem and moved his palm over the hairy surface, enjoying his own touch. His thoughts were still in the clinic, watching the eight babies and hearing the boy’s voice announcing that he was pregnant. He chuckled at these memories, realizing the boy had been wrong because Levi was not pregnant with one baby like that woman; there were eight.

When Levi finally noticed what his hand was doing—absently rubbing his belly like it might comfort him—he froze. He blushed and glanced around as if someone could see through the windows. Ridiculous. He was alone. He sighed heavily and moved his hand back to the wheel, focusing on getting home safely.

When he reached his building, he parked, locked the car twice, and took the elevator up without daring to glance at the mirrored walls. Inside his apartment, he shut the door and locked it—once, then again. His phone buzzed with calls, messages, and reminders, but he ignored them all. Whatever that life had been, it felt like it belonged to someone else now that he knew what was happening to him.

He went straight to his bedroom, stripping off his clothes piece by piece until only his jockstrap remained. The air felt cold on his skin. When he turned toward the mirror, he sighed deeply in disbelief. The man staring back was still strong, broad, and masculine—but not the same. His chiseled abs were no longer there. Instead, his abdomen curved forward into a small but undeniable hill that broke the familiar flatness.

He approached slowly, brushing his fingertips over his lower belly. The skin gave slightly under his touch, and even the hair over it felt different. He tried to suck in, but the roundness stayed. “Fuck,” he whispered again as his hand mapped the new shape of his body.

He wandered around the apartment like that for a few hours. He poured water into a glass and forgot to drink it. Opened the fridge and stared blankly at the neat rows of prepped meals, each labeled with its exact calories and macros, all part of a life that now seemed laughably irrelevant. He closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, looking down at his rounded abdomen. It wasn’t huge, but he already felt the additional pull its weight brought.

Then, he sat on the couch, scrolling through messages without really seeing them: his agent asking about the shoot, his trainer checking in, and some friends asking if he was up to attending a party. He muted them all. Now and then, he caught himself looking at his abdomen as if it might vanish if he looked away long enough. A stubborn part of him had the brilliant idea to try doing push-ups to relax, but nausea hit him so hard he had to drop to his knees, gripping his belly with both hands until the room steadied again.

Once he felt well enough, he thought a long shower would help him calm his nerves. He took the jockstrap off and stood beneath the spray, letting the water reach and roll down his chest and over the faint swell of his middle, tracing through the hair that lined it before dripping away. He gently rubbed soap across his belly, feeling the firm weight beneath his hand as the hot water loosened the tension in his body.

Despite his confusion and messed-up mind, he couldn’t help but reach below and give his balls a playful shake, as if reminding himself that everything was still there. He winced at the sensation, noticing his cock and balls were tender for an unknown reason. He gripped his cock and firmly stroked it, making him moan softly as it immediately reacted with a violent stir that felt fantastic. His cock lengthened in his hand as his other hand moved to his belly, helping his body relax even more despite the burden it carried.

The shower was fantastic, but when the water shut off, he stepped outside and wiped the mirror clear, sighing when he saw his problem was still there. He saw the undeniable curve that no routine, diet, or workout would take away. He pressed his towel against it and marveled again at how firm it was. He sighed and went to his bedroom, not bothering to get dressed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, unable to stop touching his belly. “I’m a man,” he whispered. “I’m a man, and I’m pregnant. With eight,” he said, partly in disbelief and partly in awe. He hated that something deep inside him was enjoying it so far, no matter how crazy it felt.

He let out a shaky breath and lay back, looking at the ceiling as if trying to find an answer to his predicament. And in that position, he slowly fell asleep.

That night, Levi dreamed he was standing in front of his mirror again. The room was dark, but his reflection was outstandingly bright. His reflection shifted, and he saw his abdomen begin to swell, inch by inch, with a force impossible to stop. He could feel his skin stretching with a faint creak like leather drawn too tight. He gasped as the pressure increased deep inside him. His belly pressed outward with an impossible weight as his breathing shortened. His reflection’s chest heaved, and sweat ran down his hairy torso.

The belly expanded further, rounding out so much that the surface smoothed, shining bright like polished glass, and so heavy that he had to arch his back to support its weight. He got closer to the mirror, raising his trembling hands to meet his middle and spreading his fingers as if trying to contain it. The taut skin beneath his hands was hot, and a low groan escaped his lips as the globe pushed farther outward. His arms strained to cradle it, but the mass grew heavier and indescribably fuller.

He gasped for air as the pressure climbed past pain, when his belly grew so much it pushed against the mirror. The enormous weight seemed to consume him, filling his vision, until he thought his skin would tear apart—then everything shattered into light as a thunderous scream came out of his throat.

He woke to his heart hammering, sweat slicking his chest and neck, and the sheets tangled around his legs. For a breathless moment, the echo of that impossible fullness still throbbed in his body before fading into the dark. He sat up, gasping, and touched his belly to confirm it wasn’t that huge. He stayed like that for a while, struggling to catch his breath and calm down, convincing himself it had only been a dream and there was no way for his belly to get that huge even when carrying octuplets.

*

The days passed, and the sickness hit hard. Mornings were the worst. Levi would wake up and run for the bathroom before he could think. Coffee became undrinkable, and the smell alone turned his stomach. Even his protein shakes made him gag. Crackers and toast became the only options for breakfast, with sugar-free black tea. He hated the taste, but the sole idea of a juice or anything else made him sick.

Still, Levi tried to keep up appearances. He still went to the gym despite his rounded belly showing through all his shirts and tank tops. His trainer frowned as Levi struggled through sets he used to perform effortlessly. He had to take prolonged breaks every other minute to catch his breath and absentmindedly rub his round belly. Halfway through, he went pale and had to stop, holding his belly with both hands.

“You good?” the trainer asked, carefully watching him.

“Yeah. I didn’t sleep well,” Levi lied—or didn’t tell the whole truth. His voice sounded strained as his hand pressed against the ache below his ribs, and he tried to breathe through it.

“Maybe we should stop here and… you go see a doctor or something,” the trainer said, and Levi nodded, already heading for the locker room.

He lifted his tank top, and the undercurve of his belly was more visible under the bright lights ahead. It looked like he’d been overindulging for days, but the firmness beneath his touch said otherwise. His chest had started to ache too, oddly tender and getting worse every day. He tested the sensitivity in the shower, both fascinated and unsettled. The sensation was strange because the skin felt tighter, the tissue beneath softer and more sensitive, and almost electric when the hot water streamed over it.

He put on several layers of clothes after the shower, even though the weather grew hot. Hoodies over shirts, shirts tucked low, sweatpants instead of jeans. It made him sweat, but at least it hid the changes from casual eyes—only a big. The fabric stretched in places it never used to, pressing against his chest and belly no matter what. He caught himself tugging at hems, pulling his hoodie lower, and adjusting sleeves as if he could camouflage what was happening. It was his new normal: struggling to hide the unhidable.

He stopped by the grocery store on his way home, holding the bags high and close to use them like shields in front of his body. He couldn’t help but check his reflection in every passing window, biting his lips at the sight of the roundness beneath his clothes and the slight forward tilt of his stance to balance it. He couldn’t ignore the truth, but he always looked away quickly, pretending not to have seen anything at all.

*

Despite his growing self-consciousness, Levi tried to keep one last commitment—a brand shoot he’d booked months earlier. The studio lights felt too bright, and the mirrors everywhere reminded him that he was in no shape to model any clothes. He was 10 weeks pregnant, weighing 195 pounds. The fitted shirts hugged his body too tightly around his middle, and the trousers pinched at the waist. When he stepped in front of the camera, he saw the crew exchange glances, and he couldn’t blame them.

“Is he okay?” one stylist whispered. “He looks kind of bloated.”

“I said I’m fine,” Levi snapped before he could stop himself. His voice was more defensive than he meant. He forced a smile for the next few frames, but every click of the camera made him feel worse. When it ended, he texted his agent from the hallway: “Cancel the next few shoots. Health reasons.”

That night, he sat naked on the couch, with a half-melted tub of ice cream resting on his belly. He scrolled through social media, reading every rumor about him. His name trended beside words like “washed up” and “unrecognizable.” He let out a low, bitter laugh, reading them aloud to hear the absurdity in his own voice. “Sick… burnout… rehab. They have no idea,” he said, taking in another spoonful. “No idea,” he whispered.

*

His belly continued growing, and the challenges worsened by the day. His back hurt by mid-morning, his hips ached when he climbed stairs, and he had entered the territory where none of his clothes fit him properly. His old jeans refused to button. He tried sweatpants and found some relief as the soft waistbands sat low on his hips. Even so, the swell was obvious, pushing forward every time he breathed.

He went shopping for bigger clothes when he was 3 months pregnant, weighing 200 pounds—most of it on his belly. The lights were too bright, the aisles too narrow, and the mirrors weren’t kind to him. He wore his thickest hoodie despite the heat and kept his eyes down. Each step made his belly shift with its subtle gravity, and he could feel everybody’s eyes on him. Everything drew attention to him. Even the act of bending to pick a size made his shirt ride up, exposing his lower belly. He yanked the fabric back down, blushing fiercely.

In the changing room, he closed the curtain tight and leaned against the wall for a moment, steadying his breath. He removed the hoodie and stood before the mirror. The sweatpants slid up his legs easily, hugging the growing thickness of his thighs before stretching over his hips. He turned sideways, chuckling at how the pants drew attention to the size of his ass, now rounder, fuller, and pressing out behind him.

He tugged at the shirt he’d brought, but even that stretched taut across his midsection, and the front hem rose slightly when he lifted his arms. He sighed, staring at himself—at the impossible roundness of his belly, how the soft pants strained over him like a second skin, and how every movement made the fabric shift over his body.

“Half-hidden’s better than nothing,” he said, but even that felt like a lie.

That night, he dreamed again. The world around him opened into a vast chamber glowing with soft white light. He saw endless rows of bassinets stretched into the horizon, each one holding a tiny, wriggling baby calling out for him. The sound grew louder until it hurt his ears. He felt his chest vibrating as an odd pressure rose within. He tried to move from one bassinet to another, reaching out with trembling hands to gather two, then three, then more babies, but his hands could never hold enough.

The ground shook beneath him, and he realized his body was changing again. His belly pushed outward, swelling beneath his shirt until it strained with immense weight. The fabric stretched and finally tore as his abdomen expanded, swinging slightly as he bent to reach another crying child. He felt the pull on his spine as the weight dragged him forward. His breathing shortened, and his chest rose and fell as if even the air had thickened with the sound of the crying.

He panicked, whispering, “I’m here, I’m here.” But the babies’ cries only grew louder.

His belly swelled further, hard and full, as more babies grew inside him, pressing in all directions for space. His chest ached, and his whole frame trembled under the burden. Tears blurred his vision, and his arms shook as he tried to gather every child near him, but they slipped away, replaced by more, endless and demanding. His chest suddenly expanded, rapidly and intensely, inflating before his eyes and making him lose his balance. His nipples throbbed, and rivers of milk exploded from them, making the babies cry louder, but he couldn’t do anything at this point. It was too overwhelming.

Levi woke with his heart pounding hard, one hand on his belly, the other over his chest. He rubbed both areas until the pounding in his chest slowed. The dream remained vividly in his mind, making his arms feel full already. He didn’t know if he could survive the pregnancy, but he had no other option but to surrender and let his body expand in all directions.

...

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PS: This story is based on woodywood101's post on tumblr, featuring Levi Conely, and he also provided the pic included in this post! It's a great concept and I couldn't help it. ENJOY!