Message-ID: <25963asstr$967007417@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: VBwrites@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Subject: {ASSM} Suburban Folk Tales: He's Expecting(Mast, humil) Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2000 01:10:17 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman Suburban Folk Tales: He's Expecting (c)August 2000 by Virago Blue **** Margaret is the proud mother of a nine-year-old boy and a six-year-old daughter. Margaret and her husband, Doug, are also expecting another child in three months. Like many stay-at-home mothers, Margaret feels taken for granted and generally shunted to the side all too often. Over the years her frustration has gradually increased. This is Margaret's story, the second installment of my secret assignment, told to me from her bedside. ~ Natasha Rabalais **** "Brittany, put that back," Margaret said to her daughter, now clutching the box of cereal with a pout. "You never buy this kind. This is my favorite," Brittany whined. "Listen to Mom, you moron," Brittany's older brother, Steven said, smacking the back of his little sister's head. "Owww," Brittany wailed, swinging at Steven. "Stop it, both of you!" Margaret winced at the ache in her back. Steven laughed at his sister, pushing her flailing arms away. Brittany fell back, toppling the display of cereal boxes. Both children snapped to attention, eyeing their mother. A few more boxes, perched on top of each other, toppled to the floor, punctuating the embarrassed silence of the trio. Margaret closed her eyes for a moment, and counted to ten. Backwards. Very slowly. "See what you did, moron?" Steven accused. Brittany burst into tears and hid behind her mother. Margaret took another deep breath, reaching a hand behind her to touch her daughter's head. "Both of you, start picking that up. Now." Margaret pulled Brittany from behind her and nudged the child toward the scattered pile of cereal boxes. "And Steven, not another word from you." Margaret glared at her son, massaging the pain in her lower back. Normally Margaret liked to grocery shop alone. Lately her patience had been running short and bringing children to the grocery store, especially after a long day at school, was avoided as much as possible. Today, however, she had no choice. Doug had to work late and they needed a few things. Margaret bent over, reaching for some of the boxes. "Don't worry about putting them back the way the store had them. Just stack them up on the side. The kids, now silent and just as embarrassed, did as she said. Margaret stopped, resting her hands on her knees. This pregnancy wasn't as easy as her others, maybe because she was running around too much. She really needed to rest more often. "Oooh," Margaret quietly breathed out. A sudden stab of pain flared deep in her belly. She reached out to steady herself against a shelf. "Mom? Are you okay?" Steven asked. "I'm okay, just need to take another bathroom break. Do you think I could leave you two alone for one minute?" Margaret looked over at her son. He looked concerned. "Is the baby kicking again?" Brittany asked, her eyes wide. "Yeah, honey. I think so," Margaret answered, biting back the urge to cry. "Mom, you don't look so good. You're kinda white," Steven said. "I'll be right back, okay?" Margaret hobbled away. "I won't be long." She looked over her shoulder at her two young children, worry for them and her third making her panic. "I'll just be over here if you need me, the ladies room is back this way. Just yell if anyone tries to grab you or anything . . . " Margaret smiled wanly and pushed through the door of the ladies room. Once inside she was able to confirm what she feared the most: she was spotting. She washed her hands and reached in her purse for her cell phone, punching in the emergency number for her doctor. *** Doug came blustering through the doors of the labor and delivery department, searching frantically for his wife. He ran down the hall and commandeered the nearest nurse. "My wife, Margaret Champagne, was just brought in -- where is she?" "This way, Mr. Champagne." Doug followed the nurse into one of the rooms. His eyes fell on his wife. "Honey? What happened?" Doug stepped farther into the room, trying to read the expression on his wife's face. "The baby?" "The baby is fine. We had a little scare, that's all." "More than a scare, Mr. Champagne," Dr. Matheson stepped into the room behind Doug. "Your wife is restricted to bed rest for the duration of her pregnancy. She has placenta previa, a condition where the placenta is covering the opening to the cervix. In time, as her uterus grows, the placenta may actually grow out of the way. Until then, she has strict orders to stay off her feet and in bed. The nurse is preparing some reading material for you to take home." Doug looked from the doctor to his wife. "Are you going to be all right?" Margaret reached for her husband's hand, "I'm going to be all right. We just need to make some changes immediately." "Don't worry about a thing, hon. I'll take care of everything," Doug said, leaning over to kiss his wife on the forehead. That's what worried Margaret the most. *** "Honey, where do you keep the laundry detergent?" Doug yelled from two rooms over. Margaret took a deep breath, "By the washing machine," she yelled back. "Do you have anything for stains?" "In the cabinet." "What?" Margaret sighed. If she didn't answer maybe he'd come to her to ask. She didn't have the energy to yell across the house. Doug came into the room, just as she predicted. "What happened?" Margaret asked, not sure if she wanted an answer. "Oh, Steven blew up the blender. Don't worry. I already called the painter to fix the ceiling. The drapes might be a problem. Chocolate must leave a bad stain." "Chocolate? Drapes? Wait a minute . . ." Margaret began, struggling to sit up. "Calm down, hon. I've got it under control." "You're making something chocolate for breakfast?" "Protein shake," Doug said matter-of-factly. "Chocolate espresso ice cream, raw eggs, a couple of bananas -- good for the kids." "Not the espresso ice cream with caffeine?" Margaret asked warily. "The one in the freezer? Doug paused. "Oh, a little caffeine won't hurt them." "Them? Did you let Brittany have chocolate?" "Sure. Why not?" "Doug, she's allergic to chocolate. Go find her. Quick!" Doug jogged from the room, calling for his daughter. Margaret held her breath, listening for sounds of retching. "Brittany -- sweethea --- oh, no." Margaret nodded, knowing what he found. Doug scooped Brittany up in his arms. "Daddy's sorry, sweetheart. I forgot chocolate made you throw up." Doug ran a bath in the master bath, stripping Brittany's soaked clothes from her. Brittany sniffled a few times before losing the rest of her breakfast on the ivory-colored carpet. Doug peeked his head into the bedroom. "Don't worry honey. I've got it under control. I'll call the carpet cleaning service. They'll probably know what to do with the sofa, too." Margaret cringed, "The drapes?" She wasn't sure she wanted an answer. Custom made drapes were very expensive. "Oh. Those. Well, I put them in the washer but the stains are still there. I'll wash them again and see what happens." "You washed the drapes?" Margaret gasped. "Don't worry. A little ironing and they'll perk right up." Margaret turned over in bed slowly and focused on a spot on the far wall. She then closed her eyes and started counting to ten. Backwards. Very slowly. *** The first two weeks of her confinement dragged by at a snail's pace. If she thought it would speed up after reaching the third trimester, she was horribly wrong. Margaret's days were spent reading the same magazines, catalogs and books, searching the rumpled sheets for the remote control and focusing on yet another dreary soap opera. Emotions were running high and she couldn't help but scream out her frustration every now and again. It helped that no one was around to hear her. At 3:30 in the afternoon the kids arrived home from school. She would lay in bed and listen to them argue, fight and generally make a lot of commotion in the kitchen before venturing back to her bedroom for help with homework. Steven needed a haircut and Brittany appeared to have developed a severe aversion to matching clothes. Margaret could only stare at her daughter's purple leggings, old Reeboks and the orange and black tank top left over from a Halloween costume two years ago. "Brittany, sweetheart, did you wear that to school today?" Her daughter's wide blue eyes smiled brightly up at Margaret. "Daddy said I could and he told me to kick anyone in the ass that said it didn't match." Margaret gasped, "Brittany! . . . you, didn't, did you?" Brittany shook her head. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. Margaret and the kids spent the next hour in her bed doing homework. Margaret felt at peace for once, despite the little irregularities that had been cropping up lately. Doug had a lot on his plate, she decided, and she wasn't going to let it bother her. Doug was late tonight. Margaret usually never worried too much when he didn't come home before 7:00 p.m., it was just the nature of his job. He worked as a salesman for an oilfield supply company and every now and then a meeting would run late. Seldom did a client need to be entertained but it still never bothered her when he called to tell her he was having dinner out. Much. Circumstances were a little different at the moment. Sure, he could still go out to dinner with a client but she expected him to waive the trip to the bar afterwards. Margaret sat brooding. She looked at the bedside clock again. 10:19 p.m. The kids had long since gone to bed. She would give Doug ten more minutes before paging him and reading him the riot act. Three minutes passed when the ringing of the phone startled Margaret from her thoughts. She picked up the receiver and answered with a short "Yes?" "Margie, honey," Doug began, "I'm sorry, babe. I forgot to call. I'm over here with a couple of clients --" "-- where's here?" Margaret asked. "Huh? Oh. We're at that new place that just opened over on Chestnut and the freeway." "Hooters?" Margaret asked. Doug laughed, "Yeah, that's the name of the place. I should be home shortly. Be ready for me, okay?" Margaret hung up the phone, seething with anger and a little jealousy. "Be ready for him?" Margaret repeated Doug's words from moments ago. "Oh, I'll be ready for you." Margaret lay awake for another ten minutes or so, trying vainly to tamp down the roiling stabs of jealousy. She envisioned her husband, happy as a clam, perched between the perky breasts of one of those waitresses. Or maybe two of the waitresses. Margaret sneered at the way they wore their uniforms, purposely thrusting out those young perky tits as an extra incentive to make tips. Doug was probably getting an eyeful, only to come home to a heavyweight wife who slummed the last few weeks away in bed while breeding their child. At first she let the jealousy give way to self-pity. Then she reconsidered. She was, after all, making tremendous sacrifices and risking her life and freedom to give Doug the life long joy of another child. She patted her swollen belly protectively. Maybe Doug needs to get just a little taste of what this was all like. How many times had he said to her, "Oh honey, if I could be pregnant, I would. In a minute." He would smile, pat her on the belly and sigh. "I would do it in a minute." Well, medical science hadn't found a way to make that possible but with a little ingenuity and some duct tape, maybe Margaret could make him understand just a little. She rolled to her side and drifted off to sleep. Margaret stirred in her sleep. Warm hands hurriedly pulled her satin pajama top open. Through her sleepy stupor, she acknowledged the cool caress of cold air on her breasts. Without opening her eyes she touched her breast. Her nipple was hard. She struggled through the fog of a deep sleep and the gentle bouncing of their bed. "Doug?" Margaret murmured into the night. "Uh, uh, uh . . ." her husband answered from beside her. Margaret frowned and turned toward the sound and was met eye to eye with Doug's stiff penis. His hand was stroking up and down the shaft, the head disappearing in his palm with each stroke. He was kneeling beside her, his pumping hand thumping against her naked and jiggling breast. He was drunk, she thought, after watching him masturbate for at least five more minutes. She wiggled a little out of his way and let him continue. Margaret had to wonder if he was sleep-masturbating, if there was such a thing, because he never once opened his eyes or said a word. All he kept saying over and over was "Uh, uh, uh." She peered closely at her husband's body. Something was out of place. She leaned closer, trying to make out a spot right below his waistline, right above the bushy hair of his crotch. Finally, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, she made out the orange and white oval-shaped sticker from Hooters. Margaret leaned away from Doug, her eyes narrowed in outrage. She continued to watch her husband masturbate, now convinced he was drunk because he always came within six minutes of first stroke. "Yeah, baby. That's right. Stick out your tongue and lick those tits..." Doug whispered. Margaret was shocked. Doug never talked dirty. Not that she didn't want him to, he just never did it. "Doug?" "Uh, uh, uh, . . . oh, yeah. I'm going to come all over your tits," Doug exclaimed with a groan. White streams of semen splurted from his penis, all over Margaret's exposed breasts. Another deposit of come shot across one cheek. Her hair got the third jet. Margaret leaned over and turned on the lamp. The brilliant flash of light jolted Doug from his fantasy. She could only stare at her husband as he held his wilted cock in front of her face. She wiped a dribble of semen from her chin. "Did you have a good time?" Margaret asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If it's not too much of a problem, could you bring me a towel?" Doug scrambled from their bed, limping into the connecting bathroom. His eyes were wide and his hand still held his penis. Seconds later he appeared standing next to Margaret and began to wipe at the gooey gobs of semen on her face and chest. "I mean, far be it from me to deny you a good time, Doug. Lord knows I could go for a good fuck, even a quick hand job." Margaret took the towel from Doug's hands and pulled it through her hair. "Honey --" "No. Don't say it. There's no reason for you to be punished because I can't have sex. But there is one thing I have to wonder about . . . " Margaret turned back to her husband and reached for the sticker on his lower abdomen. With a quick flash of her wrist she ripped the adhesive backed advertisement from his skin. "Shit!" Doug exclaimed, grabbing at his belly. "This?" Margaret held up the sticker. "Just how did a sticker from Hooter's get below your belt?" Doug's mouth moved but nothing came out. "No, on second thought, I don't want to know. Go to bed, Doug. We'll take care of this tomorrow." Margaret lay awake a good while longer, infuriated that her husband could actually sleep after what just happened. She planned her revenge carefully. *** Doug made Margaret breakfast in bed. Not that breakfast in bed was unusual during this time. She took all her meals in bed. This time, though, Doug forgot about the bowl of cereal and granola bar and actually made blueberry muffins and french toast. Margaret was impressed but she didn't want to let on. Doug needed to squirm. "What would you like to read today, honey? I'll go down to the news stand and get as many magazines as you want. A book, maybe? How about a movie? I'll go rent a few movies --" "It would be nice to have something else to read besides the Sears catalog. Did you realize they sell twenty-one varieties of all-in-one girdles?" "I didn't know that," Doug replied. Margaret moved the breakfast tray to the side. She pulled the sheet and blanket off of her and stroked her huge belly. She leaned back and closed her eyes. "This hasn't been easy, Doug. I want to do things with you, go places, just have a normal life. I know it won't be much longer -- " "Honey," Doug began, "if I could be pregnant for you, I would. In a heartbeat." "Would you really, Doug?" "Yes." Margaret sighed. "Do we have any watermelon?" "Huh? You've never craved that before." "I know." Doug left the room, eyeing his wife strangely. Margaret waited until he had left before opening her nightstand drawer. Before Steven left for school this morning she asked him to bring her a role of duct tape and a pair of scissors. He readily complied, curious as to what his mother was up to. "Just wait and see," Margaret told him. Doug returned cradling a small, round watermelon in one hand. He carried a bowl and knife in the other. "Let me get a towel," he said, placing the watermelon next to Margaret. "There's no need." Margaret tested the weight of the watermelon in her hands. It was small, one of the round, seedless varieties. It might have weighed three pounds but it would still serve her purpose. "Come here, Doug." Margaret patted the side of the bed. "Take off your shirt." Doug pulled off his t-shirt as he closed the distance between them. "What?" "Hold this right about . . . there." Doug, puzzled by his wife's calm demeanor after last night, but not wishing to test her patience, held the watermelon in front of his belly, just at his waist line. Margaret ripped a piece of tape loose from the role of duct tape and began to wind it around the watermelon. "Now, turn around," she asserted. Doug complied. "What are you doing?" Margaret continued to wind the duct tape around Doug's naked body, securing the watermelon beneath a web of silver tape. She ignored his questions until she was finished securing the watermelon tightly to his belly. She put the near-empty roll of tape on the bed and sat back. "There. I know this is not like really being pregnant but you might get a little feel of it." Margaret smiled sweetly up at her husband's shocked expression. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" Margaret's smile turned acidic. "Well, you could return to Hooter's and find a new roommate, or," Margaret lifted her chin, "you could attempt to understand what I'm going through right now." "But this is humiliating." "And so was last night. You weren't with "me" last night, Doug. I don't want to know if you cheated or what all you did while out drinking with your friends." "Clients." "Whatever. If you don't want me to question what happened last night, you would do this for me for a little while." Margaret smiled. "Oh, and your clothes won't fit right so you'll have to wear some of those old elastic-waist shorts you saved from those days when you were a little bit heftier." "Heftier?" Doug put his hands on his hips. Margaret laughed. "I think an old t-shirt would fit over your new passenger. Of course, you'll have to call in sick or something. I do have a slight aversion to embarrassing the family with your newfound fetish." Margaret produced a few polaroid snapshots from beneath her pillow. "The kids took these pictures for me this morning. As you can see," Margaret handed the photographs one by one to Doug, "the house is in deplorable condition. I could call a maid service but they only had one opening for today. I didn't think you wanted company today so I thought you could handle it. It's not so bad, the bending over part -- and by the looks of all those newspapers, cups, popcorn and styrofoam peanuts on the carpet -- you'll be doing a lot of bending over today. Just lift with your legs, not your back. Try not to lean forward too much, or, well, you'll see. Oh! I made this little list for you to do today." Margaret handed two pages of neatly printed lettering on notebook paper. "It's not as bad as it looks. Really. But you did promise to wallpaper the baby's room weeks ago. Well," Margaret smoothed a hand over her belly, "time is running out." Margaret sat back in bed. She smugly smiled up at Doug. "What a cute expectant father . . . " -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+