Pregnant at the Pool

There was a smell of chlorine. Altogether musty and antiseptic, it gave a strange depth to the quiet air. Blue ripples of light, reflected off the water of the serene pool, danced along the tiled windowless walls, giving the whole space a strange, almost meditative quality, helped further by the quietness. It was seven in the evening, and the pool was quiet. Then in stepped Tom, and he smiled.

Tom had learned the rhythms of the place the way other men learned train timetables, and he knew that the after-work crowd thinned out by half six, leaving the water to the serious and the strange. He counted himself among the former, though he suspected the distinction mattered only to him. Length after length of front crawl, every Tuesday and Thursday, and on Sundays if the week had been particularly unkind. It was the only exercise he had ever managed to keep, mostly because it was the only exercise that didn't feel like punishment. No grunting, sweating men and women overtaken by vanity and making love to their own reflection as they worked out. Just the cold tiles and the quiet of the place, and the line of blue between one wall and the next.

He knew the regulars well enough, despite his limited contact with them. There was the old boy in the frankly unsightly speedos who swam a stately breaststroke with his head held high out of the water. He would grunt with every movement, had a tendency to sing in the shower and would chat up anyone who so much as shared a glance. There was too the woman who did lengths of butterfly whose husband had left her. Tom didn't know this for sure, or even if she had a husband in the first place, but he couldn't imagine anyone choosing to swim butterfly unless they were going through some serious personal turmoil. Lastly, there were the two friends in the slow lane, their swimming being more a suggestion than anything else, as they drifted up and down the lanes, conducting an audit of everyone that came and went. Tom slotted in amongst these oddballs, putting his goggles on and turning the world off. For forty minutes twice a week his life was reduced to breathing on every third stroke. At least, that was his intention.

The sparseness of the pool, coupled with Tom's more than a little obsessive eye, meant that he noticed someone new on this occasion at the pool, in the way one notices anything new in a familiar room, that being both immediately and while pretending not to. With each tilt of his head above the water for air, he caught sight of a figure walking from the showers to the poolside. She took a rather deliberate walk, with one hand trailing the rail, Tom needing a couple more tilts above the waterline to see why. She was pregnant, her frilly navy swimsuit, better suited to a beach than a community pool, stretched over a belly that led the rest of her by some distance. She was somewhere in her thirties, he guessed, with honey blonde hair pinned up in a knot that was already losing the battle with the humidity. She surveyed the pool like all newbies did, holding an expression one has when trying to read a sign in another language.

Tom pushed off the wall and gave his attention back to the blue line beneath him, or at least he tried to. On his next length he spotted the woman again. She was at one end of the slow lane, descending into the water one considered step at a time. The length after that he spied her, chin up, going at a slow breaststroke at a pace that would have been respectable if she were swimming through caramel. He suppressed a smile he had under the water. It was rude to make fun. Everyone had to start somewhere, including himself.

He finished his lengths and hung on the wall in the deep end, pulling his goggles up onto his forehead and letting his heart settle. The pool had emptied further while he wasn't looking. The old man had gone, as had the butterfly woman, and the auditors were wading towards the steps mid-sentence. That left him, the lifeguard checking his phone and certainly not the pool, and the new swimmer, who arrived at the wall beside his lane rope with a small triumphant exhale.

"Four," she announced, to nobody in particular. Or possibly to him.

"Four?"

"Lengths. Four lengths," she said, resting her arms along the edge and catching her breath. "I feel it's important to note a personal best."

"Noted," Tom said. "Do you want that certified? I think the juniors' club give certificates for that length."

She smiled, the euphoria of her achievement obviously blunting any annoyance at such teasing.

"Actually, do you think they could? My midwife will want the evidence of my increased physical activity, and so far she's been a bit sceptical of just taking my word for it." She tipped her head back against the tiles and closed her eyes for a moment. Up close she was younger than her careful walk had suggested, with a scattering of freckles across her nose and that particular glow that Tom had always assumed was a myth invented purely to make pregnant women feel better about their situation. "God, everyone makes swimming sound so easy. Weightless, they said. Like floating, they said."

"They do?"

"They do. The Internet. My mother. Every leaflet in the surgery waiting room. Apparently, it's the perfect exercise for my particular condition," she said, patting the top of her bump where it crested the water as if it were a small island. "Nobody mentioned that the perfect exercise would also be exercise."

"Yes, they do keep that quiet, don't they? Must be buried in the small print of those leaflets of yours."

"Well they should be more forthcoming with that information, hm? Sets the wrong expectation."

The woman took her gaze to him properly then. Her hazel eyes that matched her hair took a quick and rather frank appraisal that Tom felt activate him somewhere beneath the waterline.

"You looked very committed over there. Up and down, up and down. Like a man being paid by the length," she said.

"I wish, I'm here twice a week. Still, a membership's cheaper than therapy, even if they aren't paying me."

"Is it better than therapy? Asking for a friend."

"Couldn't tell you, but I'll sleep well tonight. Imagine you will as well, considering your... incredible achievement."

She laughed, and the sound bounced off the water and the high glass roof, bigger than she seemed to expect, and she pressed her lips together as if to catch it. The lifeguard glanced up, established that nobody was drowning, and returned to his phone.

"I'm Grace, by the way," she said.

"Tom."

"Well, Tom, I'll be honest with you, since you witnessed my four lengths and we clearly have no secrets." She leaned in a fraction, conspiratorial. "I'm not really here for the swimming."

"No?"

"No. The swimming is just a formality. I'm here for the spa."

She nodded towards the frosted glass doors at the far end of the pool hall, beyond which lay the part of the leisure centre that appeared in all the photographs on the website. Tom had been through those doors exactly twice since starting, and both times with a long-gone girlfriend whose idea it had been. He recalled warm stones and calming music, a jacuzzi, and a row of absurd padded loungers arranged beneath a skylight, the whole thing lit like a shrine to doing absolutely nothing. "If you check the fine print, a swim also nets you access to the spa. I do my lengths, and then I get to go and bathe down like a Roman empress."

"Can you use much in there, considering, y'know?" Tom asked, looking down at the artificial island between them.

"God, you sound just like my mother." She shifted her grip on the wall and grimaced faintly, adjusting her weight in the water. "It's fine, regardless of what those leaflets say. Did you in fact know that the Scandis spend so much time in the sauna they might as well give birth next to the hot rocks? I'm sure a few minutes warming up after a cold swim isn't doing any harm."

"Fair enough, you'd know best. Just don't tell the leaflet that."

Grace smiled at him again, slower this time, and Tom became aware that he had been hanging on this wall considerably longer than his usual break required, and that he had no intention of moving. Water lapped between them in the space where one of them should have spoken, yet there was only the serene sound of the now very quiet pool. Tom looked at her. She was pretty. Not in the polished way of the women on the leisure centre's posters, but in a warm, lived-in way, all freckles and flushed cheeks and that ridiculous collapsing knot of hair, and the roundness of her only seemed to concentrate it. As if someone had drawn a woman and bolded her outline.

"I tell you what though, I do feel a lot better. Especially my back. Maybe they do all have a point," she said at last, pushing back from the wall. "Right, this empress is going to do two more lengths, and then she has an appointment with the spa."

"Two more, so six total? That's a fifty percent increase on your personal best. On the same night, no less."

"I know you're young but do try to contain yourself," Grace said, Tom unsure if she gave him a wink or if water had dripped into her eye.

She turned, then paused and looked back at him over her shoulder. "A pleasure to make a friend, and better still one that isn't some old loon in a speedo. See you next Tuesday, if you want to witness me break another record?"

"I'll be here. Always am," Tom said with a smile.

With that, Grace set off down the slow lane at her stately, glacial pace. Her head was up, her belly proud, and she was entirely unbothered. Tom watched her go and understood, with the clarity that only ever arrives in the pool, that his Tuesdays had just become that bit more interesting.

*

Visits to the pool acquired a new routine after Tom's encounter with Grace. He would arrive at seven to the familiar assault of chlorine that hit his sinuses like a friendly pat on the back, warm and chemical and somehow faintly 'green'. It clung to the place the way incense clung to a church. It was in the air, in the tiles, in the changing village with its puddled floors and its banging lockers, and it followed him home in his skin no matter how long he stood under the shower, so that by now his whole week smelled faintly of Tuesdays. He had stopped minding. In truth, he had started to associate it with her.

Grace was always there before him. He would come out of the changing village and find her already off and away in the slow lane. That messy bun and freckled face would already be making steady progress down the pool. It made something move in his chest. Separate from the sensation of the sudden temperature change when he plunged in.

He would do his several dozen lengths. She would do her six, then eight, and then, one triumphant evening, her ten. Afterwards they would meet at the shallow end as if by accident. It fooled nobody. Especially not after Tom had 'saved' Grace from the advances of the old man in the speedos a couple of weeks prior. Now even the lifeguard had given up his phone and taken to watching them with the interest of a man following a telenovela he claimed not to care about.

They talked about everything and nothing. Her back. His job. The changing seasons, and her ongoing pregnancy. The water slapped softly at the overflow grilles while they talked, and the light came down through the high glass roof and broke into a pale wobbling dance on the bottom of the pool. On top of it all was the smell of chlorine, and something else. Grace's perfume still clung to her body, a sign of how much they had physically moved closer together as they chatted. Tom found he could not recall a single one of those conversations without it coming to his mind, experienced as raw sense, all abstract and difficult to put into words.

For her part, Grace had begun to organise her week around the pool with a devotion she was careful not to consciously pay attention to, lest she come to some unwanted conclusions. Her house was quiet, as it always was. Her husband Richard called on Sundays and Wednesdays from whichever glass tower around the world that currently hosted him. Frankfurt. Singapore. Maybe Dubai. The locations changed but the calls didn't. He asked after the bump, but never asked after her.

Her mother said she had married a provider, as though they were an endangered species, and Grace supposed it was true, in the sense that he provided the house and the car and the private scans. He provided silence too, in quantities no reasonable woman could complain about, but Grace never thought of herself as 'reasonable'. So, she swam. Or rather she did her little token lengths, and then she lay in the warm rooms behind the frosted glass like an empress in exile, steeped in the light of the setting sun that poured in through the skylights. And twice a week she talked to a young man in waist high water, who looked at her the way she had almost forgotten. It was as if her heart now beat differently on Tuesdays, only for her and the water to know, and water told no secrets.

It was on one of those beautiful Tuesdays, some five weeks in, that Tom finally said something to break this wonderful dream. Grace had hauled herself up to hang beside him after a personal best of twelve, flushed and pleased with herself, wet strands escaping the knot of her hair and pasting themselves to her neck, and as she gripped the edge the light caught her left hand.

"You know," Tom said, "I feel I should mention, you shouldn't swim wearing a ring. Especially one as nice as that."

Grace looked at her own hand as though it belonged to someone else, turning it slightly so the diamond threw a small mean sparkle at her.

"This? Yes, well spotted. Took you over a month to let me know that?"

"In my defence, you're usually underwater."

"I'm never underwater. I have the head-up technique of a woman protecting her blow-dry."

She flexed her fingers, considering the ring with an expression Tom couldn't quite read. "His name is Richard. He's in Singapore, I think. It's got an airport, wherever he is."

"Ah," Tom said, and then, needing to fill the emerging awkward silence, "And Richard doesn't swim?"

"Richard doesn't swim. Richard provides." She didn't like the way the word sat in her mouth. "He's back for the birth, in theory. He'll fly in, look at the baby, approve it, and fly out. Like an inspection."

"That sounds lonely," Tom said before he realised he ought not to.

Grace was quiet for a moment. The pool hall hummed around them, cool water undulating as it lapped and fell into the overflow drains, and somewhere there was a locker door banging as it swung open on worn hinges. She looked at him with those hazel eyes, and Tom saw something new in them. Something altogether sad yet beautiful. A moment of true intimacy that felt to Tom like the floor had gone from under his feet and he had slipped into the embrace of the water.

"It should be," she said. "Or, it was, for a while. Then I found that the trick to dealing with a big empty house is to stop sitting there waiting for it to fill up. Instead, you start doing things for yourself. Like swimming. Or spa evenings. Or, making friends with young men at the pool," the corner of her mouth curled. "I should feel worse about that last one than I do. I keep waiting for the shame to turn up, but it's like Richard. Somewhere else."

"No shame seeking connection, is there?" Tom said, now trusting his words. "If it doesn't come to you, you have to find it. The real shame would be denying that kindness to yourself."

Grace looked at him. Here was this young man, standing in the waist high water, hair all soaked and foppish, shirtless, and wearing a set of frankly far too tight swimming shorts, making her feel the most seen she had been in months. Maybe years at this point. She wanted to laugh at the sight of it, this profound moment at the shallow end.

"Thank you, Tom," she said, and she smiled at him then, properly this time, and pushed off the wall for one last length, leaving Tom by the wall, heart pounding and stomach all turning, but not yet knowing why.

*

The following week was one of unsettled weather. The change in season had brought rain and sun in equal measure, and often within the same hour. It arrived mid-swim, a proper spring downpour drumming on the glass roof high above. Tom always disliked the change from the cosy dark tones of his evening swim to something warm and golden as the light lingered, and now the heavy pelting of the roof only added to this transitional discomfort. The sentiment might not have wholly been his own either. It was especially quiet today. The old man was nowhere to be seen, or heard. The butterfly woman must have had her epiphany and departed as well. The pool had thinned to nothing, and even the lifeguard looked ready to clock off early. Not Tom though, or Grace.

Grace finished her lengths, all fourteen of them. She arrived at the wall, breathing hard and her cheeks all pink. She joined Tom, who had finished his set and looked ready to turn in like the others had. He looked at her, realising that she was waiting for him to say something. To 'see' her again like he had the other week. He liked that look, that wanting gaze. He had quietly accepted his feelings for Grace, finally after all this time, but still refused to connect what that might mean, both for her and himself, and Richard. Subconsciously, all he wanted to do was follow his curiosity, and see what wonderful place it could lead to. This desire of course, was matched only by his fear of misreading the situation and altogether making a fool of himself, casting him into the cadre of pariahs that made up the rest of the swimmers here.

"That's another personal best, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," she remarked, face full of a childish pride that wouldn't be out of place on a woman a decade her junior. "Well Tommy, this one has completed her daily labours, and will depart to the spa."

She lingered on her words, and tipped her head towards the frosted doors at the far end, beyond which the soft lighting lived. Come on man, take the hint, she thought. He hadn't. He was after all, still a young man, with more than a little bit to learn about the fairer sex.

"It has come to my attention, Tom," she went on, taking a more direct approach, "that in your three years of membership you have used the spa only twice, which frankly is a scandal. I also notice, that the pool is now empty, and that you have nowhere in particular to be, much as you might try and paint having a life that exists outside of your jammers and goggles. This empress requests an escort, and you would be honoured to accept."

"Is that how Roman empresses talked?"

"It's how this one talks. Now are you coming or not?"

He was coming. Of course he was coming, with such permission given to him, regardless how much her jibe at his lack of social life stung. They climbed out at the steps, Grace taking them one at a time with her hand on the rail and waving off her companion's offer of support with a look. They padded together down the poolside, leaving two sets of wet footprints on the tiles, one widely spaced and confident, the other smaller and slightly duck-footed, and pushed through the frosted glass doors into another world.

The spa suite was everything the website promised, much to the surprise of anyone who attended. The chlorine gave way at the threshold to the smell of eucalyptus and warm stone, a soft herbal heat that pleasantly landed on the skin like a blanket. The lighting was low and soft and so warm that it took the alerting edge Tom always felt after a swim right out of him, replaced with a deep sense of comfort. The jacuzzi dominated the circular space, and off it like spokes on a wheel went the sauna, steam room, and a collection of sun loungers placed directly beneath a large skylight. Presently, the natural light pouring in was grey and diffuse, though Tom imagined that it was quite a sensation to lie there with the sun pouring in. The term 'lounger' did the seats no justice, as these were vast padded things, wide as small beds, upholstered in some soft beige fabric, built for facilitating a laziness that ordinary furniture could not conceive of. Rain streamed down the skylight above them, silver against the black, and the whole empty suite hummed with the earnest tones of New Age music. Undeniably cheesy, but no less enjoyable in a place like this.

"You see," Grace said softly, beside him. Her arm was almost touching his. "Worth a few lengths of anyone's time."

"Fourteen, in your case," Tom said. "I counted."

"I know you did. Stupid as it sounds, you don't know how much it means to me that you do."

They turned to face one another. No one was here. Not the lifeguard, not the old man, and especially not Grace's husband. Only the two of them, gazing deep into one another's eyes, saying everything they ever needed. Grace tilted her head, pursing her lips, and the two embraced. Tom was gentle as he kissed her, placing his hands at the back of her head, fingers resting on her soft hair that was still pinned up in that messy bun. He softened his lips, leaving delicate touches on Grace that both softened her heart and ran sparks up her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forearms on his broad shoulders, while Tom took hold of her waist.

They drew closer together, and Grace's bump caught Tom off guard. Firm, yet with a strange softness all its own, it pressed against his torso from underneath her swimsuit. Keen to liberate his partner from her cold, damp prison of stylish nylon and spandex, Tom slid a hand across the open back of her swimsuit, and lifted the frills off her shoulders. He expected it to slip off, but it was more stubborn than he expected, and so required a bit of encouragement to come off. Grace smiled, and drew back from Tom, giving him a hand to disrobe her, unfamiliar as he might be with swimsuits that sat on unfamiliarly shaped female bodies. Shimmying her hands as if she were to dance for him, she slid her suit down off her breasts and belly, finally dropping to the floor between her feet.

There Grace stood, her perfect feminine form brought to witness. The curving outline of her heaving breasts met her beautiful bump and generous hips, all lit up by her smiling freckled face. And she was smiling, as she saw what the sight of her body did to Tom. His jaw had almost dropped, and his own swimwear, which left very little to the imagination at the best of times, bulged and upwelled as if Tom would burst right through it with the strength of his desire. She put her hands back on him. She wanted nothing more than to drink in this desire he so plainly had for her. To feel that desire close to her, for that desire to slip in and fill her from the inside.

She removed Tom's shorts, with much better finesse than he had attempted with her swimsuit. His manhood was grateful to be free, and it throbbed and pulsed in gratitude to her. She kissed him again, and took his cock in her hand, stroking it slowly and realising that this too was less familiar to her than she had expected. Tom's hands found her in response, as one cupped a heavy breast and gently massaged around a pert, darkened, nipple. It felt good. It was both arousing, yet put her at ease. A small act of care that dispelled any doubts at what she was doing. She had found the connection she had been seeking.

They moved to the sun loungers, Grace wasting no time to lay down while Tom still stood above her. She got one good look at his lean, athletic physique, all toned from untold lengths of swimming, before he knelt down, bringing his face parallel to her hips. She gasped, her body filling with anticipation at what he planned to do to her. It was her favourite, and something she had deeply missed since becoming pregnant, causing Richard to become suddenly uninterested at the act. Grace reclined further down the lounger, and brought her legs up and apart as much as she could, as Tom moved his face between her legs. He kissed her inner thigh as he brought himself to her lower lips. She was warm, and almost shining with the glistening wetness of her arousal. Tom could still smell her perfume, among the other primal arousing scents of her that only drew him closer in.

His forehead rested on her bump as he wrapped his lips around her. His tongue danced across her labia and clit, drawing delightful shapes and bringing out a feeling that leapt all across Grace's skin. She moaned, deep and cathartic, at the sensation of being touched by another after so long. Her legs curled inward, soles of her feet coming to rest on Tom's defined back muscles as he diligently worked on her. Grace's moans became louder as the sensation built in her, a pulsating wave that was radiating from between her legs. It spread out across her body, and before realising, her fingers were drawing lines all across herself. She found her breasts, taking them in her hands and massaging them, attempting to emulate the feeling Tom gave to her earlier. Her nipples were a deep red and all engorged with arousal. They radiated a deeply enjoyable sensation with every heartbeat, that was only climbing as Grace drew closer to climax. Massaging turned to squeezing, and eventually tugging as she sharply approached a feeling of overwhelming pleasure. Her legs were closing around Tom, and had begun shaking, toes spreading out and trying to grip onto his back. His face was full of her. Slick, warm, and completely irresistible. His tongue circled her rich little clitoris, all full and emerged from its place of hiding, ready to receive the pleasure it so desperately craved.

Grace's voice was echoing off the walls when she finally came. Cries of ecstasy bounced around the spa as her legs shook and her whole body rhythmically contracted, almost lifting her off the bed. Tom took hold of her hips as she climaxed, keeping his face on her and giving her more. It took her up and over the edge, activating her body in a way not felt in a very long time. A way that left her still craving and wanting. Thankfully, she had a partner who was all too willing and eager to do so.

"More. Tom, I need more. Come up, I want you in me," Grace said, her voice equal parts desperate and demanding.

Tom complied, wordlessly bringing himself up, demonstrating the strength in his chest and arms as he pressed against the sun lounger. As thrilling as it was to eat Grace out, he was wanting more too. He was rock hard for her, and there was only one thing for that. Standing at the edge of the lounger, he once again took hold of Grace's hips, this time to guide her down and towards him. Grace didn't love being completely on her back as she slid down from her reclined position further up, but this was quickly remedied by a button that brought the top half of the lounger up, integrated directly into the side of its deeply cushioned body. Their eyes met again briefly, all joy and desire wrapped up into a single look.

Tom took his eyes down Grace's body. Her breasts spilled down her, while her bump dominated Tom's view. Her navel had expanded and protruded slightly from the smooth curve of her belly, and her legs were up again, feet dangling off the edge of the lounger, inviting him back between them, and subtly hinting at what she wanted him to do with them. He placed his hands on her legs, sliding them down her soft thighs until meeting her hips. With a commanding, yet gentle motion, he pulled her closer as he slid himself between her legs. The pressure of him entering her was immediately felt, and Grace inhaled sharply at the response. It had been a while since anything of such substance had been in her, and she had dearly missed the feeling.

Grace watched as Tom began moving in her. How he kept his eagerness in check as he slowly thrusted in and out. She savoured the sensation of his thick member sliding through her, but a young man wasn't chosen because he was tender. He was chosen, among other things, to see what that lean, athletic body could do. She began to thrust in response to Tom's movements, first matching his speed, and then picking up the pace, encouraging him to do the same. Tom got the hint, and a filthy grin came across Grace's face. She moaned, deeper and more primal than before. Her head tilted back, crown almost pressing into the body of the lounger as she thrusted her hips in time with Tom.

"Fuck Tom! Harder! Faster!" she said, lust spilling from her lips in equal measure to her words.

Tom, ever diligent to his partner, complied, letting loose and breaking into a gallop as he slammed into her again and again. Untold sessions of sculpting his body in the water were paying dividends. Each stroke into and out of her was bliss, and he could keep up the pace as long as he wanted.

Grace's breasts were thumping along with the rest of her, dark sensitive nipples being thrown in all directions. Grace felt hot blood pump through them, and then another feeling. The arousal, the letting go of it all, brought beads of white milk to form. Her arousal made visual alongside the sharp flushing at her neckline. She was struggling to keep up with Tom, though this became irrelevant in all the right ways as he finally drew her legs onto his shoulders, lifting her hips into the air as he did so.

Grace yelped in delight as Tom went at her harder and faster than before. Her body arched like a bow, back pressing into the lounger as Tom hit her in all the right ways. She could feel all of him, the intense and exquisite pressure pressing against her insides at all angles. She cried out, voice all moans and breath, as her breasts heaved with each thrust. The sight of it only drove Tom on, increasing his pace and taking an ever firmer grasp of her thighs.

Grace felt the familiar tightening of the coil in her, as each of Tom's thrusts brought her closer to the edge. Her lower half in the air and completely surrendered to Tom, she felt her pelvic muscles involuntarily contract around him.

"Oh fuck, keep going, don't stop! I'm coming!"

Her breathing quickened, and all of a sudden the release crashed down over her. She screamed as she came, her fingers digging into the fabric of the lounger, looking to hold onto anything as the storm of sensation raged through her body and across her skin. Her muscles squeezing as much of him into her as she could, Tom lasted little longer as she orgasmed around him, exploding inside her and filling her tight self with his seed, deep breathy groans as he convulsed and twitched.

For a moment the two were motionless, Tom still holding Grace deep in her. He was leaning back while he stood, catching his breath, before gently letting her lower half down onto the sun lounger. The evening sun had broken through, and was now spilling down the skylight. Though weakened in its setting state, the light brought a pleasant heat which both Tom and Grace silently appreciated. After another moment, their eyes met again. In them was no shame, no regret. Only that unspoken connection that was so prized, occupying the silent space between them both.

"So, how do you find the spa?" Grace asked, breaking the silence, "Worth a bit of punishment in the pool, hm?"

"I suppose it has its charms, if you're in the right company," Tom said, chuckling slightly.

"Well you better make the most of that company, young man, because I think her membership expires in a few months."

"I'll be here. Every Tuesday and Thursday."

"So will I."

END

Thank you for reading. This is one of my Expecting Attentions stories. All about pregnant women and their absent husbands, and the younger men who tend to notice them. If you give me a follow, Literotica will let you know when the next one appears, thx