Midlife, Part 9 (Patreon)

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Summary: Tom is in his mid-forties. Comfortably married in suburbia  with his wife, office job, and his 2.5 kids getting ready for college, Tom finds himself immersed in an affair with a fit young biogeneticist. Tom has no idea why he's gaining so much weight, and his wife has started making remarks about it. Little does he know, his secret boyfriend is not only experimenting on him but breeding him. Worse, Tom can apparently get pregnant additional times while already pregnant, and end up carrying multiple babies of different gestational ages. Its only a matter of time before his secret affair comes to light. That, in addition to other things. Contains: Male: pregnancy, breast expansion, belly expansion, butt expansion, stuffing, weight gain.

Previous Chapter 

-

Myra was a chubby baby, yes, but she still seemed so extraordinarily small. Ten pounds, but small compared to the hell she had put him through.

It had been a couple days, but Tom was still exhausted. He felt completely run down, and could hardly motivate himself to move. He didn’t think the fatigue was going away anytime soon. The hospital bills were adding up. He had to get moving. Move on.

And yet he was still pregnant, still huge and packed. This all seemed like some sick joke. How could it even be possible?

He was still carrying younger fetuses. Superfetation. What the hell had Ian done to him?

Penny had had divorce papers delivered straight to the hospital not a day after the birth. It was so prompt, it made Tom wonder if they had already been drafted up. He wouldn’t have been surprised. She had given him so many second chances already. He had turned up at their home inexplicably pregnant, and she had done nothing but hold his hand and support him throughout it. Then, to thank her, he had continued to cheat. He had cheated on her even while he was in labor. He had gotten himself knocked up with — with even more babies. He had pushed Penelope to her limits, then beyond them. Her compassion was relentless so he used her as a doormat.

Now he was paying the price. She had tried to fix things so many times. She had extended so many invitations to save their marriage, to work things out, even when she was better off without him. Why had he taken her for granted?

Accompanying the divorce papers was a simple note from Penny. She warned him to not attempt to come home. This made Tom crumble.

He made disoriented phone calls, when the baby wasn’t wailing. He would go online on his phone, trying to figure out his living situation going forward. He would speak to real estate agents between episodes of sobs. Trying to figure out something. Anything. This wasn’t him. He didn’t cry like this. He tried to blame the hormones. But he also blamed himself. He had truly fucked everything up.

Sometimes he would look at his belly and was reminded that more babies were coming. Many more. It was absolutely terrifying. He had never been so overwhelmed in his life. He didn’t even think it was possible for someone to be this overwhelmed.

In moments of weakness, he would call Penny. He felt completely helpless and alone, and would leave her long, rambling voicemail messages, begging for another chance. He knew that if she was by his side, everything would be okay. Anything would be better than this loneliness and isolation, compounded with the sensation of being trapped in his own body. Different gestational ages? Did that mean this pregnancy would go on and on (and on)?

Once or twice, he thought about reaching out to his parents, but they were in their eighties and retired. He was a fucking middle-aged man, and this was the sort of problem his kids should be coming to him for. Not that he would ever wish this on any of his kids. He hoped they would stay abstinent indefinitely. Because suddenly he, a man in his mid-forties, was actually considering going to his elderly parents with a newborn baby and unwanted pregnancy, and his life was a joke, it had to be, because in no universe could this vaguely pass as normal.

Tom finally found a place. It was odd to lease an apartment online. It felt sticky and scammy, but he had no other options. He had no one to help him. He had told Ian to fuck off forever. No friends, no family. Tom had deliberately isolated himself as his condition advanced. Not that he had ever been one for socializing. He didn’t keep up with cousins or distant relatives. He didn’t have friends, just the occasional colleague he might do lunch with over paperwork.

It was a start, he told himself. Now, at least, he had somewhere to go. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. He continued to lie to himself.

-

The apartment was run down and dingy, the wallpaper was peeled back and yellowing, and the floor, aged linoleum. The place came furnished, but everything looked garage sale-grade in quality. For what he was paying, Tom would have expected something nice, clean, and updated. But this is what happened when you rented apartments with a day’s notice and with so much desperation as to not see the place first. He sniffed, but refused to allow himself to cry again. He was a grown man for godsakes. Even if he didn’t necessarily look like one at the moment.

He just had to get back to normal, or establish a new normal. Some sort of routine. That was difficult with the baby crying at all hours, and even when she was silent, he couldn’t sleep. He was too anxious and preoccupied. In too much panic over his condition, over his wife, over Kim and Sid, this apartment, his job — there is just so much uncertainty. So he couldn’t sleep, he just anguished.

And wouldn’t he have to give birth again? When? How many times? He didn’t have to think about that now, did he? He’d booked an appointment with a physician — a real one, with no conflicts of interest or devious plans. Someone who wasn’t manipulating and using him. He would go and get answers; get this all fixed.

The baby was fussy. It had been years since he’d had to take care of a newborn, and even back then, his involvement had been intermittent. Penny had always been the primary caretaker. He hardly remembered his kids as babies at all.

Then there was nursing. He hadn’t exactly done any planning for when this new baby arrived; he had left that to Ian in some parts and Penny in others. He had managed to be uninvolved enough with his own condition that he now had no fucking clue what to do. He had no cribs, bottles, or formula. He hadn’t even had a place to stay. So nursing was a necessity, until he got the chance to order supplies. And even then, he wasn’t sure how to prepare a bottle. He hardly had the energy to get off the couch. But he’d figure it out, despite that he was in desperate need of help. He was just too exhausted and emotional to function properly. But even if he did call some sort of childcare professional and have them come to his rundown little apartment, the place was small. He would have no privacy, only shame as he was gawked at, unable to explain his condition, unable to hide it. He didn’t think he could handle it.

Decidedly, it took some time before he regained any semblance of composure.

-

A couple of weeks later, Tom was perched in the deepening indent on his couch, cupping the side of his belly with one hand as the other tapped against the keypad of the laptop sitting on the stand beside him.

He was working from home, only part-time now. It was all that he could handle. It was miraculous that his job was so accommodating, not forcing him to come in even when he couldn’t specifically explain what was wrong with him, health-wise. “Part time” wasn’t even a thing at his company, but after he’d called in a few favors, management agreed to make it work. He was valued by his company, and so they took measures to retain him. As appreciative as Tom was for all the accommodation, he was frustrated that he couldn’t qualify for an actual paid leave. There was no precedent. It wasn’t as though “male pregnancy leave” was associated with any labor laws or had a section in the corporate handbook. And he wasn’t going to go public with his condition, not unless hell froze over and heaven went up in flames.

Tom didn’t like going out these days. He tried to be a ghost, but a productive one. Even though there was very little that he could handle in one day, he tried not to laze around or get lost in his thoughts, because when he did, things only went downhill.

God, he was exhausted.

Tom wrenched his gaze away from his laptop. He needed a breather. Shoving his glasses aside, he rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe that Myra hadn’t woken from her nap yet. Four hours had to be some sort of record.

He sighed and leaned back, but then some tension started up in his midsection.

Tom’s face contorted as his belly shuddered, causing him to lean forward in discomfort, his globe of a mound pressing hard into his spread thighs. Heat surged to his face, his backside tensing. His breasts ached, and his belly heaved, as he groaned out and clutched what he could reach of it, “No, no, no…” It wasn’t quite painful. It took him all the way to the cusp.

Then things settled down. The pressure subsided as his belly stopped bobbing with forceful contractions. Tom breathed heavily, wiping some sweat off his brow. More braxton hicks. Everything was okay. It was too soon, anyway. It couldn’t happen again, not now. He already had Myra to deal with.

In the wake of the episode, he slumped back against the cushions, his state of exhaustion having doubled just from the bout of muscle spasms. His insides were constantly lurching, babies shoving and prodding at his flesh. He still couldn’t believe how he could be so packed. He was practically disfigured.

There was a hard banging on the door. Instantly, the baby started to wail in the next room. Tom cursed under his breath and tried to get his feet beneath him, willing himself to move even though his body didn’t want to. He gripped the arm of the couch and the table in front of him, groaning and straining, rocking as he attempted to rise. It took three tries, but soon he was on his feet, gasping and grimacing, as he clutched at the wall and a nearby shelf.

His belly was massive. Bigger than a beach ball. Wider than the rest of him. He could hardly balance it, and when he did, he was grunting from the sheer exertion. It was like some boulder, constantly lurching and twitching with movement. It would jump and quake, causing him to whine out. Most of his time was spent parked on the couch or sprawled in bed rubbing at the throbbing mass of life attached to him, willing the babies to calm down.

He couldn’t believe that his body had been able to produce this. That he had made all this. These babies. God, it was like he was in some sci-fi horror flick. How could he, one middle-aged man, grow so many children?

Tom hobbled to the door, pausing frequently just to catch his breath. This simple trip was taking forever, all the while the banging intensifying. “Hold on!” he wheezed, sweat pouring down his forehead. He was struggling not to topple. Precious cargo, and all that. Lots of cargo.

He swore, it took him five minutes to progress the five feet to the door, Myra wailing all the while in the background. Her cries made him want to cry. He gripped the knob for support, and still couldn’t believe how far his belly spanned out. It shivered and he whined, clutching the side of it. Finally, he unlocked the door, turned the knob, and pulled it open.

Kim flinched at the sight of him. She actually flinched. Fidgeting beside her was Sid, looking ambivalent as usual. Tom just managed to catch sight of Penny’s sedan speeding away. She wanted nothing to do with him but wouldn’t deprive him of seeing his kids.

Sometimes Tom wondered why he even made the effort. It was just so fucking hard.

“Kids,” Tom managed with a tremoring smile. “W-welcome.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had a choice,” Kim seethed, brushing past him a bit roughly.

Tom closed his eyes, gathering what mental fortitude he had left. When he opened them, Sid was still lingering on the doorstep.

“Are you okay…dad?” Sid said, seeming daunted by Tom’s throbbing midsection. It gave a particularly strong jerk, causing Tom to groan and Sid to stumble.

“Peachy,” Tom managed. He arduously stepped aside. “Come on in.”

As Sid walked in, Tom closed the door, then he managed to slowly turn around. Kim had flopped down sullenly on the couch, and Sid was awkwardly standing, looking around as though he was afraid of catching something.

Tom’s back was killing him, and he was developing a headache. The baby was positively screaming.

“Will you shut that thing up?” Kim snapped.

Tom would have said something like, “Don’t talk about your baby sister like that!” had he the energy, or had he felt like he had any authority left to scold her.

“Just gonna…just going to check on her,” he managed faintly, all but staggering towards the bedroom.

This was his life now. Thanks to Ian, this was his life.

Everything would be fine.

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