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I never thought I would see Hannah again. Our breakup last winter was ugly, emotional and final; for a month or so I had hope for some sort of closure but it never came. She either blocked my number or changed hers, and my texts went unanswered. I suddenly couldn’t see her on Facebook or Instagram. Her friends and family unfriended me and didn’t respond when I asked if she was okay. I wondered what horrible things she had told them about me. There were nasty words I wish I could take back– but Hannah had said her fair share of nasty words too, things I fumed over when I couldn’t sleep. But as winter turned to spring, then summer, I became resigned to the idea that I’d never speak to Hannah again. So when I ran into her, hundreds of miles from home, I wasn’t prepared.
I was on a work trip. Three nights in a charmless chain hotel in Raleigh, North Carolina, three days in offices doing the same tech demonstration and sales pitch again and again. I’d thought about Hannah when I was told I’d be coming to Raleigh: that’s where her parents lived and we’d spent a week down there last spring, before things got bad. I worried that I’d bump into them and face some very awkward small talk, but it didn’t happen. On my last day, I was exhausted and hungry after my presentation and couldn’t resist looking up Pete’s Pit, the hole-in-the-wall BBQ place Hannah and her family had taken me to.
It was her voice first. I’d placed my order and was standing in the corner of the tiny, pickup-only restaurant, scrolling through my phone, when I heard it. A sweet, husky voice, with just a trace of a Southern accent, that registered as familiar somewhere between “brisket” and “cornbread.” I looked up and my heart almost stopped. Hannah has slightly curly, dark-red hair that I’d recognize anywhere, and that’s what my eyes landed on. From there, I registered her pale skin and the green eyes behind her glasses. What are the odds? I thought. What are the odds she’d be here visiting at the same time I am?
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. That was the sweet round face I’d held and kissed, and last seen hissing obscenities at me. That was the soft neck I’d gotten in trouble for leaving a hickey on before we came down to Raleigh last year. That was her ample chest, looking even fuller and more tempting than I remembered, a fair amount of cleavage showing under a tight tank top. And then things got strange. Where I expected her soft, chubby tummy there was something massive and round, stretching the purple top to its limit. I was already processing the shock of seeing my ex out in the wild, and now this?
She was pregnant. Very, very pregnant. Pregnant enough that I counted the months in my head. We broke up in December, and now it was July… oh shit. Oh SHIT. All this mental processing took just a few moments. Hannah had finished her order, and now she was turning, coming over to wait at the pickup window… where I stood, eyes wide, staring. I couldn’t hide in the tiny restaurant. I couldn’t run; the exit was behind her. All I could do was wait in slow-motion dread as she approached, a pronounced waddle in her step, and finally looked up and had the same realization I’d had. I watched her expression, too, become oh shit.
“Alex?” she asked, hurt in her voice. Like I’d stalked her all the way down here and followed her to this BBQ place. All I could do was shrug, a deer in the headlights.
“Hey.” I offered a weak smile. I watched her try to tug her zip-up sweatshirt over her tank top, but there was no hiding that belly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Fair question.
“I’m here for work,” I said, trying not to stare at her stomach. I was caught off-guard, almost giggly with shock. She blinked at me, anger rising in her, and I couldn’t blame her. This had to look like an ambush.
“You don’t travel for work,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
“I got a new job,” I told her. A better job than the one I’d had when we were together. I’d changed a lot of things in the last few months. “I’m here for a couple days giving presentations. You’re visiting your family?”
It looked like she didn’t believe me. “I moved back in with them,” she said. There was a pause. Neither of us wanted to be the one to bring it up. I thought for a moment that we’d just leave it at that, pretend that she wasn’t hugely pregnant, make a little chitchat, and head our separate ways. It wouldn’t be any weirder than this whole thing already was.
Hannah sighed and walked over, leaning against the wall beside me. Maybe to get away from my stare. Maybe to take the load off her back. I’d gone a little weak in the legs, and I couldn’t imagine how she felt. The question on my lips– is it mine?– seemed unnecessary, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Luckily she spoke first.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to do it on my own,” she started. “You said some really terrible things to me. We broke up for a reason, and I didn’t want you bahis firmaları around anymore.”
“So this is my fault?” I asked.
She laughed. “Yeah, isn’t it?” she rested her hand on her belly for emphasis. I tried not to gawk, but it was hard to believe it was real. It looked like a pillow stuffed up her shirt. And funnily enough, I knew what Hannah looked like with a pillow stuffed up her shirt.
Hannah and I were together for a little over two years, and halfway through that first year she discovered my thing for pregnancy. She thought it was weird at first, then it became the subject of little jokes. She’d point out pregnant women in public and ask if I thought they were cute. Then once, when we were fooling around and my mind was wandering a little, she took a deep breath and puffed out her stomach and asked if I was interested now. And I was. Immediately at attention. When Hannah pushed her tummy out she could pass for four or five months. Seeing the effect she could have on me, she came around on my fetish, and she’d bust out that trick when she really wanted to turn me on.
On our first anniversary, she took things to the next level. She’d asked if there was something special she could do for me in bed and I demurred. I’d kept from asking for that belly trick too often, not wanting her to think I only found her sexy when she looked pregnant. When I came over to her apartment and found her wearing a loose dress with a pillow stuffed underneath, I hadn’t expected it. She looked so pleased with herself for the surprise she’d given me, an expression on her face that asked, “so, I did it right?” The pillow was uneven but it did the trick. I was kissing her before she could get a sentence out, one hand on her stomach, imagining that it was tight warm flesh instead of fluffy stuffing.
Soon we were in bed making out, my hands tracing her curves from the fake belly up to her breasts. “I wondered if I should stuff my bra too,” she laughed. “To make it more realistic.”
“Mmm, they’re big enough,” I smiled, giving one a squeeze. I got harder and harder with each kiss, each touch. She reached down and grasped me through my pants.
“You really do like this, huh?” she asked, patting her pillow-bump. I smiled back, a little embarrassed.
“Yeah. You look amazing.” I kissed her neck. I was excited by the way she looked, and even more excited that she would do something like this for me.
“What is it about pregnancy?” she asked, still gently massaging me. “I’m still not sure I get it.”
I groaned and grasped her breast harder, looking at her stomach between kisses. “I don’t know. The way it looks just gets me excited…” I undid my belt buckle and zipper, needing her touch. Hannah eased my pants down and grasped my bulge through my underwear. “And seeing you like this, it makes me think… I did this to you… I put a baby in you, you’re growing all big and round with my baby…” I babbled.
Hannah smiled, getting the idea. She sat up beside me in bed, playing with me as she rubbed her bump. “Yeah, you left your mark on me, didn’t you? You put a baby in me?” I nodded frantically, touching the pillow with her. “You bred me,” she added, her voice dropping a register, and I almost exploded.
“I need to fuck you,” I breathed, lifting my butt up and tugging off my boxers. My cock pointed straight up, red and angry and throbbing. Hannah smirked, pleased with herself, as she maneuvered out of bed. I watched, fascinated, as she struggled to get herself up with the fake belly in the way. She stood, pulled up her dress, and showed me the tank top she wore to keep the pillow in place.
“Dress on or off?” she asked.
“Off,” I responded. She pulled the dress over her head and stood before me in her white tank top, which showed off her loose braless cleavage and hard nipples, and my favorite red panties. She wiggled the fake belly in my face.
“You bred me. You made me look like this,” she teased. I found I was thrusting my hips already, raring to go. “You remember how we made this baby?”
“I do,” I said, reaching down and jerking myself to the sight of her. “Can we reenact it?”
Hannah moved to take her panties off and found it was difficult with the fake bump in the way. The pillow got squished as she bent over. We laughed at the shape it took when she’d finally shimmied her underwear off, then worked together to make it round again. “Sorry, baby,” she said to her stomach, patting it.
“Come on,” I said, beckoning her over. “I need you. I can’t take it.” With that, Hannah had finally teased me enough, and she climbed on top. I shivered as she planted her thick thighs on either side of me, then leaned forward, pressing her fake tummy into my stomach.
“Happy anniversary, baby,” she whispered, then slipped me in. I groaned and grabbed her hips, stabbing upwards, burying myself inside her as she straightened up. I was in heaven, staring up at her, her pillow bump looking even bigger kaçak iddaa and rounder from below. She sighed with pleasure, putting her hands over mine on her hips and beginning to rock. Her pussy was hot and wet; it seemed she’d really enjoyed teasing me. She rode me expertly, keeping a slow, steady rhythm, massaging my shaft up and down as carefully as if she was using her hand.
After a few moments she threatened to pitch forward: keeping her balance was always a challenge and usually she leaned down so we could be face to face. But with the pillow in the way that wasn’t really possible, so I grasped her sides and helped her stay upright. Before long my hands found my way to her breasts, grasping and squeezing as Hannah threw her head back. Groping her made me even harder inside her, feeling her soft breasts, watching them bounce with her movement. I yanked down the neck of her tank top and scooped out first one, then the other. She watched my enthusiasm with a smug smile.
I kept groping and squeezing, mashing her pale breasts together, first covering her sweet pink nipples with my fingers then letting them go so I could stare at them. The way they rested above her fake belly really did something to me. We grunted and groaned and strained together, and soon Hannah’s hair was frizzy and sweat dripped down her forehead.
“Are you close?” she asked. “I kinda want to take this off.” I felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t imagined how hot it must be.
“Just another minute,” I smiled, moving my hands down to the pillow. “I want to finish like this. Looking at you.” I realized I was out of breath.
“Okay, hold on tight,” she panted, rocking faster. We’d been together long enough that she knew how to press my buttons, send me over the edge. I groaned and grunted, thrusting up into her, my hands falling to my sides as I watched her ride. That pillow belly pistoned up and down and her breasts jiggled with every thrust. Sweat ran down her neck, into her cleavage. I was getting close, the pleasure edging towards unbearable, my balls tightening, but I wanted it to last. Hannah knew I was holding back, so she drew out her new secret weapon.
“Mmmm, I can’t believe you bred me,” she moaned, her accent coming through. “You gave me a baby, I’m having your baby…” She knew I was reaching the point of no return, and she loved it. I grunted a warning as the pleasure rose and rose, and I slammed my cock up into her, grabbing her hips for leverage. She kept riding as I exploded, drawing my orgasm out, giving me a show with her heaving breasts and belly. When I finally spurted my last spurt and went limp beneath her, she gingerly climbed off and kissed my cheek. I got my last glimpse of her “pregnant” body before she stripped off the sweaty tank top and let the pillow fall to the floor. Naked, she smiled back at me as she went to the bathroom to clean up.
When she returned, cuddling up next to me, our hot sweaty bodies recovering, I rolled her over and spooned her, kissing her neck and resting my hands on her soft tummy. “Thank you,” I groaned into her ear.
“You’re welcome,” she breathed. “Now, what did you get me?” We laughed together, feeling safe and warm, and I knew I wanted this for real.
So nearly two years later, that afternoon with the fake bump was one of the things that flashed through my mind when I spotted Hannah, actually pregnant Hannah, at Pete’s Pit. Present-day Hannah looked tired, bags under her eyes, hair frizzy, and it seemed like the last thing she wanted to do today was have this conversation with me.
“I can’t believe you kept this a secret,” I said, looking down at her bump. It hung low and heavy, where the pillow had stuck straight out. I didn’t have the math exactly worked out but she had to be ready to pop.
“I didn’t want to involve you in this,” she said. “You don’t have to be responsible, and I don’t have to have you around.”
“This is nuts, Hannah,” I said, trying to keep calm. “This isn’t how this works.”
She glared. “Just leave it alone, Alex. Pretend you didn’t see me.”
I laughed. “Oh yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go home to New York and pretend I didn’t see my ex-girlfriend, what, nine months pregnant with my baby?” We’d been hissing at each other, under our breaths, but people were still looking. Hannah blushed, something I’d always found irresistibly cute. Just like the accent that came through when she was angry or excited– and was out in full force now. Could I still be attracted to her despite all this? It appeared so.
“People can hear us,” she said. “What a fucking mess.” She tapped her foot impatiently, ready to run off without her dinner. They called my number and I quickly collected my bag, worried she’d disappear when my back was turned.
“Then come with me. Back to my hotel,” I tell her. “We can talk about this.”
She shook her head. “I’m bringing back dinner for my family.”
“Then afterwards,” I say. “Come on, Hannah, please.”
She kaçak bahis stood still, pretending she didn’t hear me, checking her ticket number and looking to the window. She was trying her hardest to appear calm and collected but I could see how upset she was. I was frustrated with her– beyond frustrated, pissed, shocked– but I still loved her, and I wanted her to be okay, and I wanted to talk to her.
“Leave me alone,” she said, the tiniest crack in her voice. They called the next number and she shuffled as fast as she could to the pickup window. I tried to stop her as she went to the door with her family-size carryout bag.
“I leave in the morning,” I told her. “I don’t know if you blocked me, but my number is still the same. I’m at the Hilton by the airport. Room 413.” She said nothing as she pushed past me and left the restaurant.
I took my barbecue back to the hotel, stopping on the way to pick up a six-pack. My head was spinning; I didn’t know what to do. I could have found Hannah’s parents’ house, but showing up there felt like a bad idea. I was the asshole who abandoned their pregnant daughter. Calling someone, like my mom or a friend, and sharing the bizarre news might have made things more overwhelming and complicated. I wondered if I should change my 9:15 AM flight. I realized I was pacing around the hotel room, and made myself stop and take a breath.
First things first, I needed food. I sat at the little desk and ate my ribs and cornbread, washing them down with two beers. I was too distracted to really enjoy it, but I felt calmer with my stomach full. I texted the room number to Hannah, just in case. Then I finished packing. Getting all my stuff in the right place helped settle my mind. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror– still in my work clothes, my hair curling from the humidity, sweat stains under my arms. So I took a long shower, brushed my teeth and trimmed my beard.
I came out in a towel and checked my phone: of course, no response. It had been two hours since I’d run into Hannah, and the sun was going down. I laid on the bed, trying to decide what to wear– should I be comfortable? Dress nice for her? Was I going to try to win her back? Just look for closure? The shower felt good but my mind was still racing, and I knew another thing that could slow it, at least momentarily.
I’d done my fair share of jerking off on this trip, but this time I didn’t need to look up any porn. I laid back, threw off the towel and thought of Hannah. I felt a little guilty, being turned on by her in the middle of this mess, but I couldn’t help it. My old fantasy had come to life. I closed my eyes and saw Hannah with a big pendulous belly and swollen breasts, and imagined what she looked like naked. I heard her teasing me when she’d worn the fake bump. You bred me, you gave me a baby, I’m having your baby… it didn’t take long for me to finish. I still felt guilty but my head was clearer. I cleaned myself up, put on some jeans and a t-shirt, and opened another beer.
By ten, I had given up hope. I’d spent hours perking up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, checking my phone every few minutes, but the nervous anticipation had died down. I finished five of the beers, saving the last just in case, and felt warm and swimmy. I prepared to wake up at 6:30, fly home with a headache, and live for the rest of my life knowing I had a kid out there whose mother wanted nothing to do with me. I’d be a good guy, I told myself. I’d reach out and offer child support. It occurred to me that I didn’t even know if Hannah was keeping the baby. There was so much I didn’t know, and might never know. I was pulling off my jeans when there was a knock at the door.
My heart skipped. All those hours to prepare, and I didn’t know what I was going to say. I got my pants back on and went to the door. I could see that red hair through the peephole.
I took a breath and opened the door and there she was. Like me, Hannah had showered and changed clothes. Her dark floral-print maternity dress was more conservative than the cleavage-showing tank top. Her frizzy hair was washed and pulled back. She had put on some makeup. She didn’t quite look dressed for a date, but she was stunningly beautiful, and for a moment I could only stare.
“You gonna invite me in?” Her tone was calmer than in the last exchange we’d had, but maybe sadder. Resigned. I stepped aside to make way.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. I gestured into the room. “Uh, sit down wherever.” I hated how formal I sounded, how distant. But I just didn’t know how to act.
“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Hannah said. While she was in there I gathered the empty beer bottles and tossed them in the trash, but I couldn’t resist opening the last one. I was going to need it. I sat on the bed, pretending my heart wasn’t racing. The toilet flushed and a moment later Hannah came out.
Her movements were slow and deliberate. She set her purse down, went to the ugly green armchair in the corner, and lowered herself down with a grunt. I inspected the label on my bottle, not wanting to stare at her. She planted her feet on the ground, leaned forward, and began.
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