Joyce and Ben coaching Bernie through delivery

The nurse draped a gown over Gary and helped him into a pair of gloves. "Baby is almost here," she told him.

Joyce was in a chair to one side, a little back from the action. Her top was unsnapped to nurse her own infant, who had arrived two weeks ago. The little blanket-wrapped bundle was steadily feeding from her breast. Gary already knew the routine. Nurse, burp, diaper change, nap. A little cradle was set up beside Joyce's chair for the next nap, and a couple of fresh burp cloths were ready at hand.

"You're doing great," Joyce called to Bernie. "It won't be long."

Joyce's adult daughter Naomi Bernice was squatting, leaning into a birthing chair with her knees spread and her arms gripping the backrest. Her face was damp and flushed from the exertion of pushing. Her broad golden buttocks were prominently presented under the tail of her lightweight hospital top.

Her cousin Ben was close by, helping steady her, while the hospital midwife was on a low rolling stool, watching her progress from close up.

Another contraction gripped Bernie. She grimaced and groaned.

"Crowning," the midwife said. She watched carefully, then waited for Bernie's breathing to even out. "Did you want the mirror again?"

Bernie held out her hand. The midwife gave her the hand mirror. She pushed up with the other hand and held the mirror between her legs for a time, looking intently. She sighed, nodded, and handed the mirror back.

Gary was absorbed in every moment, just like he had been for Joyce's own delivery, where he had been there but Ben had not. This time he saw more and promised himself to remember. Joyce's birthing had been a blur, with Gary her only attendant since Bernie had been too close to her own date. This time he could watch more and tell himself, remember this, remember THIS.

He remembered the birth, and Bernie's big smile, cuddling the cleaned, weighed, and wrapped infant with the birthing chair leaned back in a comfortable reclining position. "In the pink," the nurse had said after recording baby's healthy Apgar scores.

But somewhere after that things had gotten hazy and the next thing he remembered was Joyce kissing him awake like he was Cinderella. "Bernie and baby are moving to postpartum. They need this room," she told him.

And then it was the three, no, the four of them, himself, Ben, Joyce, and Joyce's baby in a little bucket cradle carseat on the hospital cafeteria table, eating and talking. Mostly Joyce was talking. He and Ben were still tired.

It had been a big change in Gary's life since that fateful day when "the four of them" had been Joyce, Bernie, Ben and himself. It had crept up on him, what it meant when Bernie and then Joyce had discovered their pregnancies, and had decided to keep them. But for the last three months, Gary had basically been living full-time at Joyce and Bernie's nudist household, driving them back and forth for appointments, cooking, cleaning, running errands, frequently masturbating in the living room along with Joyce and Bernie, sometimes helping hold a vibrator at the right angle, sharing Bernie's bed most nights but sometimes Joyce's, watching their baby bumps getting bigger and firmer until it was time, first for Joyce, then for Bernie to deliver.