It pissed me off that one of Paul’s friends spilled the beans of my being pregnant to the school newspaper. I should have told Paul to keep it to himself. But he was so happy to find out he would be a dad. I couldn’t blame him for sharing it. Still, people who knew of my previous lifestyle would talk.
I would not deny my past if Paul found out, but I thought my life before him had been mine. If he asked me, I would not deny it. But Paul never did. So why rock the boat telling him? As I said previously, children need a stable household and parents devoted to one another. Since Paul and I were making a family, what was the point of dredging up the past and creating a problem when there wasn’t one?
The rest of my summer was spent working as a restaurant hostess and coping with my morning sickness. After a month, the nautiousness went away, and things got worse. Oh, not my health nor the baby’s either. No. Something more insidious. I was constantly horny. Yes, the dreaded 2nd-trimester nymphomania. Some of us women get it, and some get it with a vengeance. Guess which class I was in. Yeah, the latter kind.
Poor Paul. I fucked his brains out in the morning and as soon as I got home from work in the evenings. I woke him up in the middle of the night a few times before he laid down the law. He had to get some sleep if he was to do his job during the day. I gave in and settled for twice a day. That wasn’t enough.
Especially when Paul got himself promoted and had assignments that had him work all hours of the day. I would often go to work or come home hornier than hell. I managed to stay chaste until classes started again at the university. Then it got harder to cope.
All my old ‘contacts’ were there, and I would run into them. They were interested in hooking up again while I was hornier than hell. If possible, Paul would meet me at the parking lot with our van and tend to my needs to hold me off. But there were days that I was tested. I mean tested to my limit.
Paul had to travel out of town to interview a couple for one of his stories around Halloween. That meant two days of no sex, just as I needed it. It didn’t help that Jerry and two of his gangbang buddies saw me outside one of my classes. It was the ultimate test as I felt my juices running, and my body was screaming. ‘I need you to get me laid. I need some cock.’ But I just said hello and rushed off before the boys talked me into going away with them for an afternoon of airtight bliss.
When Paul returned, we had a talk where I explained my predicament. To his credit, my hubby rose to the occasion. I mean, he was young and healthy, and I was the best piece of ass at the University of Florida Gainesville. Who would pass up a minx like me wanting to fuck his brains out?
I sought help from my OBGYN, who said she understood but that what was going on with my sex drive was expected. Not normal, as I was way off the chart in constant arousal. Just expected. To her, I was just a case. But I was the one who woke up horny and stayed that way until the end of the night. Assuming it ended with a good fuck.
Which leads us to another aspect of this strange situation. Paul wanted to make love. Slow and methodical love stuff. I, on the other hand, needed a good fucking. You heard me. A good dicking. A romp. A pounding. I didn’t want love or cuddling or any of that when I was horny. And I could tell that Paul was either not available or not up to the task.
Ever hear of ‘Madona Syndrome?’ or the ‘Madonna Whore Complex’ by Sigmund Freud? The theory is that men are sexually attracted to the pre-mother female partner but have issues with her sexually once she is pregnant or after she gives birth. In our case, Paul was attracted to me, but he could only make love gently and lovingly. Gone was the guy that fucked my brains out up until he got me knocked up.
After a few weeks of this, I had enough. Paula needed to get fucked, and Paul was not delivering. The tension built, and I became annoyed with him. The arousal fueled the anger, and everything eventually came to a head.
Paul had to leave early that day and did not wake me. By the time I woke, it was too late to rub one out, and by the time I got to my first class, I was randy as hell. After that class, I had another, so the torture continued. Now some of you, both men and women, will do your moral judgment thing to what follows. But as they say, ‘walk a mile in my shoes.’
I wasn’t sure when Frank had lunch during the fall semester of 1985. So I took a chance and walked to where his office was located. Lucky for me, he was still there.
“Paula!” he said, standing to walk around his desk. “That’s a pleasant surprise.”
I was showing by then and pointed to my baby bump.
“Wow! You’re pregnant!”
“You’re a genius Frank,” I retorted as I shut and locked the door.
Frank was a bit surprised as I eyed him as if he was a piece of meat at the butcher shop, and I was hungry. Which I was – only cock hungry.
“Frank, I need your help.”
“Sure, anything. Is something wrong with your pregnancy? Are you and Paul still together?”
I sighed as I tried to get the nerve to explain. But there was no going back now.
“Frank, shut up and listen,” I cut in.
Poor Frank did just that as he stared at me in amazement.
“I’m fucken horny as hell all the time, and all Paul wants to do, when he is there, is to make love like I’m some delicate flower.”
“Ah!” he said as if in a lecture. “Madona Syndrome.”
“I know what it is!” I almost yelled, surprising him. “It’s me Paula. I have your psych book memorized. Page 125, bottom. Madona fuckin Syndrom Frank. I….”
I was losing it, and Frank was standing there glaring at me, waiting for me to spell it out. I almost got mad at him as I had with Paul. Were these men dense? What did a woman have to do to get a good shaging? Go to England?
“Do I have to spell it out, Frank? I need a good fuck, not to be cuddled. And Paul is not delivering.”
“I see,” he replied and looked at his calendar. “Can you get him to come to my office for a consultation?”
“Frank! You’re not getting it, are you?” I cut in. “I need a fuck. Today. Now. Get your dick out.”
“Christ, Paula!”
“Religion talk is not helping Frank,” I said as I lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down. “I need a good hard fuck. Please!”
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, giving me one last chance to back out.
I spread my legs, letting him see my neatly trimmed and wet vulva.
“Does that answer your question?”
“OK,” Frank acquiesced and lowered his zipper.
I must have been quite the sight for him to take in. Even pregnant, I still had my figure, and my spread legs have been known to attract men and raise their cocks. When his thick manhood was brought out, I reached for it.
“I missed this dick,” I heard myself say as if in a trance. “Now get it in me and fuck me, Frank. I really need a good pounding. Don’t worry about me being preggers. I can handle it.”
His reply was to get between my legs as I pulled his pulsing manhood toward my wet entrance.
“I’m wet as hell,” I let him know. “Just put it in.”