Came home early. Four months pregnant. Faint spell at work. Pushed bedroom door. Shock. Boyfriend on all fours, pounding some slut on our bed. Gasped. They spun. Fled to parents’ place. Night there. Morning: coward note. ‘Leaving with her. Not worthy.’ Buried pain. Back to routine.
Six months now. Twins. Belly huge, like overdue. Sick leave. Bored. Sad. Betrayal looped in my head. Sunny park nearby. Sat on bench. Book ignored. Spotted him. Sixties. Gray hair. Soft face. Stared lightly. Not creepy. Minutes ticked. Left.
The Awakening
Evening alone. TV. His face flashed. Bed. Tears for fatherless girls. Slept heavy.
Next afternoon. Same bench. He waited. Read failed. Black thoughts crashed. Quiet sobs into hands. He approached. Sat soft. ‘What’s wrong?’
Spilled it all. Infidelity. Pregnancy. Loneliness. He listened. Philosophy pep talk. Widow tales. ‘You look like my late wife.’ Hours vanished.
‘Too late. Coffee at mine? Talk more.’ Jean. No fear. Followed.
The Secret
Couch. Coffee steaming. Sob escaped. Hand on mine. Silence thick. Eyes locked. Solitude shared. Leaned. Lips met. Hungry.
He grabbed my tits. Squeezed hard. Fire exploded. Lifted sweatshirt. Hand on round belly. Stripped frantic. Bra loose, cups down. Stretch-marked jugs out, fat brown nipples hard. His pants off. Old cock rigid, veiny.
Gripped it soft. ‘Slow, tender.’ Panties ditched. Naked hug. Pure warmth. Head pushed down. Knelt. Cock at lips. Submissive rush. ‘Could be my dad. Turns me on!’ Belly grazed his thighs.
Heart raced. Forbidden spark. Pregnant slut awakening. Revenge brewing. Ex forgotten. This old stranger? Mine now.