The Horny Sea Horse VI – Jarred’s To-Do List
I’m pregnant again! This is Jarred, by the way. Five months into this surrogacy gestation, and already curvy with that pregnancy fat and modest bump! In picking parents for whom I’d carry a child, I went for the largest couple I could find; I may not have full control over it, but I’d very much like for this to be my largest pregnancy. Annie and I are both extremely happy (or, horny) to have a pregnant body around for a few months that we can both play with; the silicone bellies can go back into the closet for the time being.
I’ll be 43 years old in three months, and while there’s no real biological clock to speak of in the realm of men’s fake uteri, there is the unavoidable fact that we have less energy as we age. And I want as much energy during pregnancy as I can possibly muster…you know, for sex stuff.
I’ve also been rather jealous the past couple years of some of what Annie experienced in her last pregnancy. Not the triplet thing!! I saw enough of a multiples pregnancy, and as insanely hot as full-term with triplets BBW Annie was, her experience getting that huge was not one I particularly care to replicate. No, it’s more of the social aspects she managed to put a bit of time into last pregnancy. Namely, her prenatal yoga and prenatal swimming classes. In my case, though, I plan to do both things while my body can handle them, as I don’t wish to fall on my face attempting simple yoga postures or require scissors to get out of my swimsuit (see Annie’s second solo journal: that shit actually happened to her!).
There are a handful of other experiences, too, that I’ll allow to stay surprises until their chapters come to pass throughout the journal. I’ll be going in roughly chronological order through this pregnancy, with the individual chapters focused on particular experiences. I hope you like reading about my adventures even 1% as much as I liked having them; I’m guessing that 1% could still get you off pretty thoroughly…
5 1/2 Months: The Expecting Expo
A pregnancy-themed event takes place at our county’s convention center each year, with the clever name “The Expecting Expo.” My first two pregnancies, male gestation was still new enough to turn some heads, and I didn’t feel like enduring the kind of scrutiny this sort of event might put me through. In my third pregnancy, I believe the timing was off, and I didn’t feel like attending the expo well before I was showing. This time, though, Expecting Expo falls perfectly 5 1/2 months into my pregnancy, just when I’m very apparently showing and can still move around a convention center with relatively few fatigue breaks or worries that my bump may knock any display cases over. I was fucking in, as this had definitely been on my wish list of maternity activities.
I’ve got a tight, pre-pregnancy red top on with no bra. It should show off my tits and belly pretty well, just as my short jeans will show off my ass. I’d hate for anyone here to think I wasn’t at least a little bit slutty. The convention center is more or less packed to capacity with people who are almost all pregnant. 80% women, 20% men, if I had to guess. All shapes and sizes one could imagine. Based on outfits, some people are there with the most chaste of motivations, while others are definitely cruising for some dick and/or pussy. Just about every motivation in between these two poles is represented here, too.
As kırıkkale escort a surrogate, much of what’s on display at the expo isn’t particularly relevant to me. Strollers, cribs, video baby monitors: the latest in everything I’m not going to need. Finally, deep into the Maternity Wear section, some ornate black lingerie catches my eye. It’s a one-piece, fabric smooth from crotch up to an inch or two below the breasts, where things got lacy as fuck as well as nipple-revealing. The woman running the stall sees my interest. “You might not need this yet,” she tells me with a smile toward my modest bump, “but this piece could be a lifesaver later in your pregnancy.”
Turns out, the less ornate bottom half of the lingerie functions somewhat like a belly band, or another piece of shapewear. It would lift your belly up and out of the way of your crotch, allowing for some far easier fucking/sucking/what have you. There was a wide panel at the crotch through which genitals could easily be accessed. She’s right that I didn’t need it now, but goddamn would it have been helpful for some of Annie and my past pregnancies’ sexual escapades.
I pick one up for use in the next few months, excited to have heavily pregnant sex with a little less encumbrance (if/when that’s what we desire…). I briefly consider it as a masturbatory aid, too, but realize that if I have the energy to squeeze myself into a piece of lingerie before jacking it, I probably have the energy to hold my gut out of the way with my hand instead and more simply.
Also in the Maternity Wear area, I happen upon a small fashion show. Honestly, I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe a lot of what I see. Lots of primary colors: yellow seems to be particularly in vogue this season. There are plenty of dresses with parts of them missing, especially belly areas, unsurprisingly. Jumpsuits are hot right now, too, apparently. Overall, it’s a little less sexy than mildly interesting, much as every non-maternity fashion show I’ve ever caught a glimpse of has been. Anyway, it’s a very good excuse to stare unembarrassedly at some bellies, and it’s nice to sit down for a few minutes.
Speaking of staring at bellies, everybody here is staring at everyone else all the time. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that that’s just what happens here; we’re all both sporting bumps and interested in them, so why the hell shouldn’t we all both show off and get as many eye-fulls as we can in one harmless afternoon? On a number of occasions throughout the day, I’ve made eye contact with a preggo when trying to just give them a good ole eye-fuck.
This tends to lead to a brief conversation about how far along we are/which pregnancy this is for us/general pregnancy talk, which in turn tends to draw in another preggo or two to the conversation. Most times, we’ve all bared our bellies and are touching up a storm in short order. I come to refer to these experiences internally as “vanilla belly orgies,” and they are blessedly common. So many different shapes, sizes, and textures on display, and all so very ripe for the touching! It’s a nice little piece of heaven, here.
I find myself in the Arts she is most definitely interested in the pregnant form, to put it mildly. Her pregnancy is just a week behind mine, and she loves comparing notes on where we are physically each week.
She mentions that I’m only the third kırıkkale escort bayan man she’s seen in her class, and the first that had stayed for more than a session or two. Talking to her following classes, it eventually becomes so commonplace for her to have a hand on my bare belly for our entire conversation that she stops asking and just automatically rests a palm on my bump each time we begin to speak. I fucking love it.
In the middle of my 7th month, I let her know that it’d probably be just a few more weeks before I had to pack it in, as I can feel myself getting less flexible and therefore less capable of the yoga practice. She seems very disappointed at first, then happiness enters her eyes again as she asks if I might be currently available for something of a “private session.” I am indeed free, and stick around with the instructor until the rest of the class has left. She closes and locks the windowless door behind them. I allow myself to start getting excited.
She tells me that at our present sizes, nude yoga is actually easiest. Fewer constraints or something I guess, I’m not really sure; I am very distracted during her explanation by the impending prospect of our nudity. She is truly impressive unclothed. Not that she wasn’t pretty damned hot in her yoga sports bra/leggings combo, but now that I can see her perky-yet-milky tits and delicately groomed pubic hair, her cute-gravid tear drop of a stomach becomes even hotter in the context of the rest of her bare body. With only the one student to instruct, she maneuvers my body into position not with her words but with her hands. I couldn’t be happier.
First, she guides me into the Warrior I pose: left knee bent in front of me, right leg stretched to balance as far behind me as possible, arms straight up towards the ceiling, back arched and pushing the bump forward. The instructor slowly strokes the arches and angles she’s shaped my body into, lingering particularly with one hand tracing my back and the other tracing my bump. She also rubs her bare bump into different parts of my nude body at just about every opportunity that arises, and I feel myself get hard.
As she rubs down my back and belly, the belly hand briefly lingers before taking the plunge into crotch territory. She strokes me slowly, solidifying what I had already thought was a pretty decent boner. Letting go of my dick, she somehow positions herself facing away from me with our genitals aligned perfectly. Oh, the wonders of a yoga-trained body! Her flexibility is incomprehensible to me, but as she backs up her pelvis so as to envelop my cock in her pussy, I don’t really care about exactly how she’s doing it. I just care that it feels fucking fantastic.
She seems to know exactly how far to push me before we change positions, as I’m just on the edge of orgasm when she starts to reposition me. Next comes the Bridge pose, which has my feet flat on the floor, knees bent above them, shoulders and arms on the floor with arms stretching toward feet, and pelvis and belly areas sticking straight up on the strength of the planted feet and shoulders. (It’s tough to describe, look it up.)
Basically, my knees, erect cock, and protruding belly are the highest points my body is making. The instructor carefully straddles my pelvic region, proceeding to very carefully squat her way down onto my dick. Her leg muscles are incredibly strong. She’s escort kırıkkale able to squat down to perfectly take all of me inside her, then pull herself back up, entirely off of me. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Up I’m standing on just my left leg, my right foot against my left inner thigh, hands in a posture of prayer out in front of me. It takes all of my balance and concentration to stay upright, especially given my pregnancy’s change to my center of gravity. I almost fall over as soon as she takes her hands off me, but I’m able to maintain my standing position.
She kneels in front of me, taking me into her mouth. It feels amazing, as having your dick in a mouth usually does, but I have to maintain my attention on staying standing on the one leg. Distracted by the non-sexual exertion, I enjoy the blowjob on a different level than usual, as background to the increasingly intense physical effort. As I finally and powerfully cum in her mouth, I have to lower my other leg, not trusting myself to convulse in orgasm and maintain my balance. Top ten orgasm of my life, easily. I love this goddamned instructor.
6 Months: Nude Modeling
Something about Annie’s meditation practice and the time she’d take just to sit in reverence of her pregnant body had rubbed off on me. I wanted a similar experience, but I’ve always been terrible at meditation, finding it incredibly frustrating as my mind wanders uncontrollably. I came up with another way to reverently commune with my body, though: I’ve signed-up to be a nude model. I go at 6 months along, very much showing and curvy all over, but not yet unwieldy or weighed-down looking.
This, I think, is probably the time of the pregnancy I’d most like to revel in. The studio has mirrored walls, so I don’t have to move anything but my eyes if I want to see the students’ work or different angles of my own self. I stand with my right leg and knee bent and a bit in front of me, hands cradled under my bump. A pose that shows everything but will allow me to remain motionless for 60 minutes, the teacher and I had decided.
All it takes is the dozen or so students in the class to start studying my form intensely for me to start to be very, very aware of the amazingness of my body. Feeling the heaviness of my belly in my cradled arms is amazing, especially as the bump continues to weigh on my arm muscles more and more throughout the hour. The sensation makes my dick twitch, and I briefly worry that an erection is going to fuck up the sameness of my posture the artists are all counting on to do accurate work. I finally come to the conclusion of “fuck it,” as the experience is clearly going to turn me on at some points, and I just can’t do anything about my dick’s behavior in this situation.
Looking at the various sculptures, sketches, and paintings the students are creating based on my form, I come to appreciate tiny details of my body I wouldn’t otherwise ever have had reason to think about. The curves at the bottom of my tits are extremely similar in shape to the curve at the bottom of my belly, like my tits are two miniature pregnant bellies just above the real thing. This thought, like so many to come, does not help my boner situation. The gradual protrusion of my belly from just below my tits to below my navel is so gradual that the students all seem to struggle to capture it properly.
I’m so delicately curved, art can’t capture my glory (getting harder down there, again…). The marks on my belly from my three previous pregnancies are carefully portrayed by the sketch artists, seeming less like a random assortment of stretches and blemishes than a precise network of lines and circles that must be captured perfectly. Body positivity way the fuck up!