**
Melissa began to get upset, since she was not getting pregnant, and we had been trying for four years. She had noticed herself that her super fertile time, when she was ovulating, was for some reason often mid-week. When it was Wednesday-Thursday-Friday, she would attack me when I arrived, exhausted, late on Friday, and we’d make wild love. The woman was an animal, but on those nights I couldn’t cum in her mouth, or in her ass, or squirt on her boobs or even her face; no, I had to cum exclusively in her pussy, and as deep inside her as my cock permitted.
Wisconsin is surprisingly advanced considering what dumb-ass people it has within its borders. Senator Ron Johnson, anyone? He was elected, too! It turns out it was easy to get myself tested, to see how talented my little swimmers were. They were not that talented. I wasn’t sterile, but the Doctor warned me it would take a while, and a little luck, to get my wife pregnant. He told me, in so many polysyllabic words, that we’d have to fuck like bunny rabbits every chance we got to get Melissa pregnant.
I did all the right things: I joined a gym in Wisconsin and exercised, I took fenugreek supplements, and vitamin D, and I ate lots of foods rich in anti-oxidants. I couldn’t quit smoking, because I had never smoked in the first place. I wish I had been a smoker — that way I could have quit smoking and felt all virtuous. Finally, I took Ashwaganda supplements, even if I had no idea what the f**k Ashwaganda actually was. It comes from India, and judging by the population of India, Indian men have no problems with fertility!
Around the middle of the third year of this @#$%^&*! commuting, I had an interesting Facetime call, on Tuesday evening, with my sexy wife Melissa. She was topless, as she usually was at that point when we spoke, but also, she was with Brandy. She was calling from our bedroom. Brandy was also topless! There was a cacophony of giggling coming across the microwaves from Indiana. The girls were clearly drunk, or stoned, or both, or high on some other drug.
Before you ask, yes, I got to see Brandy’s boobs, and yes, they are quite nice, and yes, obviously they are sexy, and yes, I was very glad to be recording the Facetime call! The call was coming along nicely before I detected a man’s voice in the background. I asked about it, and my somewhat the worse for wear wife explained it was from Brandy’s new boyfriend Sam, and Melissa was there to chaperone.
Melissa turned the phone so I could meet the new boyfriend, and as she did, it glided by a mirror, and I noticed that both women were not just topless, they were both wearing panties, amid nothing else. Nothing at all. I wasn’t sure about it, since it happened so quickly, but I confirmed it a bit later that night, when I reviewed the recording of the call. Sam was fully dressed, but still, I found it disturbing: my wife being nearly naked in a room with two other people, one of them being a guy, and me stuck in Wisconsin where the state drink was milk!
In the following months, when it came to discussing what on God’s Green Earth happened that one time I had a FaceTime call with Melissa when she was almost naked, along with Brandy, and with Sam standing to the side, Melissa did her best impression of a littleneck clam. I let it go. Melissa had doubtless been as high as a kite, and reliving her youth. We continued our exhausting life style, with me commuting and then Melissa attacking me when I arrived, trying to get me to knock her up. I was consuming all the Ashwaganda my poor body could handle.
There was another episode, however, and it was a bit more troubling. Melissa and Brandy were at a party one Saturday night when I was sick with the flu and couldn’t make the long drive home. We still called, via Facetime, even if the party was noisy as hell! As we talked, there was a guy I didn’t know, hanging all over Melissa, and one time, while my drunken wife was telling me how much she missed me and loved me, the drunk guy hanging all over her (I later learned his name was Jim) began pawing at Melissa’s left boob, right in front of our FaceTime call.
Jim slipped his hand under Melissa’s top, and since she wasn’t wearing a bra, he was directly fondling her boob, while Melissa pretended not to notice, and giggled through the phone to me. There was a pause, then Melissa said, “Just a minute honey; hold on,” and a minute later Melissa was back, and she was now topless! Right at the party, where many of our friends could see her and could see her naked boobs! Then Jim had his mouth on one of Melissa’s nipples, and she told him to stop, playfully slapping his head away from her boob.
“Turn the phone so I can see others at the party,” I said, and giggling, Melissa did just that. Around a quarter of the women at the party were topless, and some — including Brandy, who of course was there — were wearing only their panties. I sighed, and Melissa and I continued to talk, and I heard her say some more things like, “Stop. No! Those stay on, Jim!”
Upon questioning, I learned Jim was removing Melissa’s Daisy Dukes she had worn to the party (Melissa has good legs and looks dynamite in Daisy Dukes), but she managed, only through admonitions, with some forceful slapping, to keep her panties on. Brandy grabbed the phone from her, and gave me a very drunk, “Hi, Mark! Want to see my boobs?”
“They’re lovely. Is that cum splashed on them?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. Oops! Sorry, I forgot!” Brandy replied.
“Keep Melissa faithful to me, will you? She’s had a lot to drink,” I said.
“Boy, has she! You know, I think cum should be the State Drink of Indiana, instead of water, don’t you?” Brandy said slurring her words just a bit.
Melissa came back on, having wrested the phone from Brandy, and she was drunk and happy, and showed me her whole body. “How do you like my new black lace panties?” she asked.
“Did Brandy help to pick them out?” Melissa can never make a clothing decision without a consult, and she sure as the dickens didn’t ask me!
“Uh … yeah, I think so. Honey, I don’t feel so good, I think I’m going to heave, and …”
“Go heave in the toilet, Melissa,” I said. “See you next weekend, okay?”
“Uh.. yeah.. gotta go. Brandy, where’s the f**king toilet?!” she yelled, as we ended the call.
**
Eight weeks later when I showed up one seemingly random Friday night I wasn’t attacked as usual by a sexually starved sexpot. Instead the lights were low, candles were on the table, and chilled French champagne was sitting on the table, waiting to be opened. Usually Melissa has a Scotch on the rocks waiting for my arrival, but this night was different.
“Honey, you did it! You sure took your time about it, but you finally did it! You knocked me up! Look at the pregnancy test sticks! Oh baby, I’m so happy! I made your favorite meal, too. I hope you’re hungry. You’re my hero!” Melissa said. She was clearly beside herself with joy. She’s not that strong, but she gave me a bone crushing hug.
Around seven to eight months later, Melissa gave us both, and the world, a tiny baby girl. She was the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. I was totally smitten. Now I haven’t mentioned it yet, but Melissa is a blue eyed, blond haired, sexpot (and yes, even as a new Mom I considered her to be a sexpot), and as she nursed little Hazel, Hazel’s eyes gradually changed from newborn blue to their true color, which was a lovely chestnut brown.