The Surrogate Ch. 16

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Since then, Nancy has been a surrogate four more times. Each pregnancy, as they say, was different, but each was the same. “How can that be,” you ask? Well, here are some examples.

The next one, initiated a few months after we delivered Danny and Martha’s daughter, was perfectly smooth for the first three weeks. Hell, I wondered if she was even pregnant or if it had been a false positive.

And then pukefest struck.

When she was pregnant with Danny and Martha’s baby, my first full pregnancy with her, her morning sickness had been so minor as to be negligible. She threw up a little when she got up for the first month, and that was it. By the time she had rinsed her mouth out, I had breakfast going and her appetite was just fine.

This time, once it started, it wasn’t “morning sickness.” It was morning sickness, mid-morning sickness, noon sickness, afternoon sickness, before-dinner sickness, after-dinner sickness, bedtime sickness, and twice-a-night sickness. She lived on her knees in front of the toilet bowl. As much as possible I would be there with her, rubbing her back and holding her hair out of the way. But I did have classes so sometimes I’d get home and she’d be pissed off. I guess she didn’t like to puke alone. She finally had a break from the sickness in her eighth month.

The delivery for that one was a nightmare too. She woke me at a little after seven and said it was time. By then I was, if not “experienced,” at least not a newbie. We gathered up her kit, just an overnight bag, a small hanging bag with some clothes, and her pillow. We were still at the contractions-ever-10-minutes stage when we arrived.

And the damn baby wouldn’t come. LuAnn and Steve, this couple, had opted for Dr. Jim’s “full experience,” and she was huge with one of those faux babies and she already needed nursing pads for the nursing bra she wore. The hormones had her milk flowing and all Dr. Jim had to do was give her a shot of Pitocin, a synthetic Oxytocin, to get her labor started. We switched partners, Steve with Nancy for the labor and delivery of his son, and me with LuAnn to support her through labor and delivery so she could experience giving birth to her son.

This was another first for me. Oh, we had met but we weren’t even what you’d call friends. We met at the clinic and after that had lunch at the local Denny’s, but that was it. So it was a little strange to be watching as Dr. Jim lifted her gown, showing me the most amazingly hairy pussy I had ever seen. I had been with a few women in my life and, honestly, I never got the whole smooth thing. But this was truly amazing. She was one of those natural blondes, although I’m sure the blonde on her head was enhanced, with that pale tan public hair that is thick and curly. In her case, it ran from her pubic mound, that beautiful Mound of Venus that is the gateway to her sex, all the way up to her protruding belly button. She didn’t have a triangle, a delta of pubic hair, she had a diamond with the top point about an inch above her navel and the sides spreading to the hollows inside her hip joints. Well, now that I think of it, she had an hourglass because from the place where her legs forked that mass of hair spread again, well down the inside of her thighs.

Dr. Jim left then to check on Nancy, leaving me with the lovely LuAnn. And just like Nancy, she was truly beautiful as she struggled with her labor. I realized, and I don’t really know why it took so long, that EVERY woman is at her absolute best as she strains to bring new life into the world. I gently washed beads of sweat from her forehead with a cool washcloth and then wiped her nose where it ran.

“You are beautiful,” I said, smiling down at her and trying not to groan at the pressure she was putting on my hand as a contraction hit. She was doing that whistle/breathing thing she had learned in her Lamaze class and the urge to kiss her as her lips pursed and blew was almost uncontrollable.

“Yeah,” she kind of cried when the Lamaze breathing stopped, “I’m a fucking peach.”

I laughed and wiped her forehead again and this time I did kiss her, a light kiss on the lips.

“I mean it,” I said and brushed my fingertips lightly across her face, gently touching her eyelids and forehead, helping, I thought, her to relax, “You are beautiful. You are the essence of woman right now and gorgeous.”

She managed a smile.

“Thank you, Sweetheart,” she said, relaxing and smiling as I brushed sweat-damp hair from her forehead and cheeks.

I Escort watched, fascinated, as a bulge moved across her belly. I couldn’t resist touching it and wondered if it was an arm or a leg that I felt moving under my hand.

At that point, her contractions were about four minutes apart according to the clock placed conspicuously on the wall.

As the next contraction hit her head came off of the pillow and I supported it with my right hand while she did her best to crush the fingers on my left. “That’s right, Beautiful,” I said, “do the work your body is meant to do.”

“When this is over,” she kind of hiss/yelled between that whistle/breathing, “I’m going to come to your house and have Nancy hold you down while I shove a softball up your ass so you can see how fucking beautiful this is.”

I laughed and kissed her, a snot-slick kiss this time, while she breathed and squeezed on my hand.

She relaxed and smiled when the contraction passed.

“Yep,” she said, her breathing back to normal and relaxing as I wiped her face, “a softball. Maybe with some nails sticking out.”

She giggled and suddenly her eyes got big.

“David,” she gasped, “tell Dr. Jim I HAVE to push.”

“Will you be okay?” I asked.

“GO!” she screamed.

I was chuckling as I left, heading for the other delivery room. Nancy was in bed, Steve holding her hand and washing her face. Dr. Jim wasn’t there.

Steve stood quickly. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, a little breathless, “Where’s Dr. Jim. LuAnn says it’s time to push.”

“Check the OFFFFICCCCCCE,” Nancy said, her voice rising as a contraction hit.

I blew her a kiss and went to the office.

Dr. Jim was playing a fucking solitaire game on his computer.

“LuAnn says she needs to push,” I said, feeling a little silly since he was so calm.

“Well, all righty then,” he said and I flashed to Charlotte’s husband Trey from Sex in the City who would say that.

We walked, well, ambled, Dr. Jim refused to hurry, and found LuAnn doing a half sit-up and her Lamaze breathing.

“All right, relax,” he announced, entering the room, “I’m here.”

I went to the bed and took LuAnn’s hand. She promptly went back to her project of crushing the bones of my fingers.

Dr. Jim watched and when she finally relaxed he gently pushed her back and then lifted the hospital gown, laid it up on the big rise of her belly, and patted the inside of her thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs. I watched, fascinated, and saw her cervix right there.

Nancy could prolapse pretty much at will, and playing with her uterus and cervix was a regular part of our foreplay. But this was different. Most obviously, that amazing mass of hair made a furry frame. Her cervix was right there as delivery neared, but I had always heard the term “10 centimeters” as sort of the “standard” for dilation ready for delivery. Since my 7th-grade math taught me that 10 centimeters would be 100 millimeters, and I had smoked my share of 100-millimeter cigarettes, I had a pretty good feel for what size that was. And I could see she wasn’t there yet.

Dr. Jim agreed.

“What about something for the pain then?” she asked and then started her Lamaze breathing as another contraction took her.

“A Tylenol?” he asked.

She managed a chuckle around her grimace, squeezing my hand as she breathed.

The contraction passed and she said, “Get out, sadist.”

He grinned and moved to the bed and ran his finger across her belly, right where the roundness met the smaller globe of her mons.

“You know,” he said, “there is a school of thought that a caesarian scar is sexy.”

I don’t know if he was joking, but LuAnn looked at him speculatively. “You could do that here?” she asked and it looked to me like she was serious.

He laughed.

“I could, but I won’t,” he said. “You’re going to have a nice set of stretch marks and if you want the scar, a good plastics guy can fix you up. Now I’ve got to go check up on your baby.”

And he was gone.

She was between contractions and smiled at me.

“Is he right?” she asked, “Do you think a caesarian section scar is sexy.”

I laughed.

“Honestly?” I asked.

“NO, asshole, lie to me,” she said, giggling and then grimacing with another contraction.

I held her hand, well, I allowed her to crush my hand, until the contraction passed.

“Honestly,” I said, “I have no opinion on a scar like that but Escort Bayan here’s what I do know.”

I brushed my fingertips across her belly where stretch marks showed dramatically.

“The soft little pot you’ll have after we get this baby out of you, with its soft skin and deep stretch marks, is sexy.”

She started to reply but I touched her lips with my fingertip.

“The stretch marks here,” and I brushed my fingers across the tops of her breasts, “and here,” I brushed my fingers across that soft area where arm met body and she had put on a roll of soft fat and added stretch marks, “drive me wild.”

I stopped her reply with my finger again.

“Your breasts will fall after you breastfeed, and your nipples will never be the same, and they will be much sexier than when you were 18 and perky,” I said, and that drew a giggle from her.

“If you’re lucky,” I said, “and smart,” I added, “you won’t drive yourself nuts trying to get back to a 24-inch waist because this,” and I gave the roll of softness at her waist a jiggle, “is gorgeous.”

This time she caught my hand when I went to shush her.

“Marry me,” she said.

I laughed and said, “I’m taken.”

LuAnn’s labor went on for another four hours before Dr. Jim finally told her to push. She tore a bit, the first time I had ever seen that happen. As Dr. Jim stitched her up, smiling and asking if she’d like him to take another couple of stitches, he explained that it was rare for that to happen but with some women with small vaginas, well, things only stretch so far.

She giggled at that, a bit woozy after the light injection of Deladud he had given her, and said, “I always was tight. Steve likes it so go ahead and take an extra stitch or two.”

About that time, Steve came in with their healthy baby. He was the picture of the proud papa as he handed the baby to LuAnn. I watched as the little critter latched on and then left the room to tend to Nancy. I never saw either of them again.

The second one, well, second with me, her ninth pregnancy, went smoothly. She was happy and horny for nine months. By then I had graduated and I was working as a junior planner with a city planning agency (never mind which city). I could handle much of the work from home. With the internet and all, much research can be handled with a laptop at McDonald’s and we had a very good internet connection. So when Nancy would come into the little home office a couple of times a day as I sat with a dozen tabs open on my screen, I was happy to accommodate her. I liked it when she would take me into her mouth as I worked on a report or a plan or a grant application. There was something wonderfully naughty about that.

Her delivery went smoothly too. This time the couple was Marcus and Sheila, her a tiny barely legal blonde, him a big Black man probably twice her age. They had wanted to do the “full process.” I never understood why she couldn’t get pregnant, but she couldn’t so the faux baby and hormones substituted. Unlike many small women who look mishappen as delivery day approaches, Sheila remained slender with only the beachball-sized baby bump showing she was “pregnant.”

Her delivery went smoothly as well. They had been receiving regular updates from Dr. Jim and the faux baby was as close to exactly the same size as the bun in my wife’s oven as could be estimated. She did the Lamaze breathing thing, refused any drugs, walked with me, showed no modesty at all when I gave her an enema, and when it was time to push, grunted, strained, and on the third push the faux baby slid out.

“Whew,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, “that was fun. I think I’ll keep that.” she finished, pointing at the faux baby.

Marcus came in then, their little girl lost in his arms, the smile on his face only describable as “ear-to-ear,” and handed the baby to Sheila, shook my hand, and sat down and cried.

I smiled and left to tend to Nancy who was smiling and horny.

The third was the pregnancy of rage. It was like as soon as the embryo implanted she got pissed off and something about it kept her mad. When we made love it was like she was raping me, and we made love pretty much every night. I’m not complaining. It was different, being on the bottom. Not necessarily better, but different, and I enjoyed every time she took me like that.

Looking back, part of the reason she was mad was that it was what they call a “bad” pregnancy. It was one of those cases, later Bayan Escort I called it the “Murphy’s Law Pregnancy.” If it could go wrong, it did. The morning sickness never went away. It wasn’t as bad as some, but it was relentless, Hell, the day before she delivered she was on her knees that morning, worshipping at the porcelain altar.

Her skin broke out.

Nancy is one of those women blessed with very smooth skin. One time, watching an episode of Big Bang Theory, Amy asked Penny if she “even had pores.” I reached across and brushed Nancy’s cheek and asked that same question making her giggle and preen a little.

Now, her face was broken out. Her cheeks and chin had pimples like a pubescent teenager. But it didn’t stop there. She developed pimples in her gluteal cleft, her ass crack, so thick they looked like a diaper rash. But this was a rash that no amount of Clearasil could clear up. And they itched badly enough that I needed to keep Desitin on it as well. It was like everywhere skin touched skin she broke out meaning I had to tend to her armpits, the bottom of her boobs, her labia and the tops of her thighs, and her neck where hair irritated skin.

Her nose ran constantly, her salivary glands seemed to be in overdrive and if she wasn’t careful she would drool, and for the first time her bladder control was iffy making her wear a maxi pad, something she hated.

At least the delivery went well.

I wondered if the ages of the new parents had anything to do with Nancy’s body’s reaction. Vince, the perfectly Italian 50-something fat guy who made it impossible to not think of his namesake from that television sitcom Mike and Molly, and Brenda, his 50-something wife had decided quite late in life it was time to have kids, the first time for both. I suppose it’s silly, but I wonder.

Anyway, Brenda was one of those thick Italian women who had entered menopause and, in her case, became a fat cell magnet. She was thick, with no waist, heavy hips, a big belly although still firm, not the belly apron of a truly fat woman, and big breasts that had filled nicely as the pregnancy hormones took hold. I guessed her at a 46FF bra and her breasts, saggy anyway, fell off to the sides of her body as she laid back, dealing with labor.

She was one of those women with coarse black hair and extremely heavy body hair. She was untouched by steel since the pregnancy started, and she would giggle as I traced the line of thick hair that connected her belly button to the thatch between her legs. She held rather than crushed my hand and when the time came to push she bore down once and the baby slid out easily.

She yelled suddenly, but by then I knew what to do so I started massaging her uterus, working the cramp out.

The fourth was what they call a “difficult” pregnancy. Nancy was 45 by then. I was the Deputy Director of the agency, the youngest ever, I’m good at what I do, so I could be pretty flexible in my hours and I needed them. All of her pregnancies since I knew her were considered “geriatric” pregnancies since she was over 35. And this one was a problem from the start.

Dr. Jim put her on very light duty, talking about things like fetal heartbeats, blood pressure, and things like that, and told her if things didn’t get better it would be bed rest. So for 8 months, I took care of her. I would cook breakfast and feed her in bed. I’d pack a lunch and leave it in the little cooler by the bed. Dinner would usually be takeout, carefully fed to her bite by bite, with a napkin to her lips after each one. I gave her sponge baths.

Then, as she entered the ninth month, Dr. Jim declared everything was okay with the baby and she was at me like a hormonal teenager. We fucked, what we were doing couldn’t really be called making love, like hormonal teenagers for two weeks. I made it to the office for a couple of hours a day and then back to her. She went into labor two weeks early and we barely made it to the clinic before the kid almost fell out.

Dr. Jim wanted her to retire after that and, as she was moving up on 50 and I was pushing 30, I told her it was probably a good idea. For a half year, she rented her tits out as a wet nurse, something she enjoyed and, candidly, I did too. It kept her milk flowing.

We were both surprised when Dr. Jim called last month. Nancy’s second baby’s parents had recommended her to their niece and Dr. Jim said he’d try if Nancy wanted to.

We’ve been eating healthy and Nancy’s been doing her vitamins and, more importantly, hormones, getting ready. She’s been a bit of a pill to live with for the past six months as menopause was setting in. But she still has a period every three months or so, so Dr. Jim says he thinks it will work.

I hope so.

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