Leave the dance floor, unless there IS someone you know here...

Well, this is awkward. You’re standing alone while every man on the dance floor seems to have at least one girl resting her head on his chest. Can you grab just any girl for a romantic moment? You think that would feel wrong, somehow, in a way that fucking a stranger to club tunes doesn’t.

You start walking off the dance floor, when you see her: Sarah, waving at you and accompanied by Chloe and Rachel, who are both very pregnant with your babies. The girls have broken through the now gently swaying crowd surrounding the dance floor. Rachel holds her bump with both hands, waddling on the pavement. Her meter reads 99%. Chloe almost walks normally, confidently leaning back a bit to counter the weight of her belly, her hands swinging at her sides. Sarah is between them, holding onto their arms. You see that Sarah’s belly is much smaller but not exactly flat, as she still has loose skin sagging on the front of her tummy after giving birth. You greet them with a genuine smile; it’s good to see them again.

Chloe and Rachel walk up on either side of you, putting their arms around your shoulders and resting their pregnant bumps against your own skinny body. You reach your hands around their waists to feel the heat of your growing children inside the girls. Not your first, but your first that you chose to make.

“Hey babies,” Rachel giggles, talking to their own bellies, “meet daddy!”

Sarah rests her arms on her friend’s shoulders. Huddled together, you sway back and forth with the girls.

You realize, with no small amount of lust, that Sarah has painted a list on her deflated belly, titled “womb sign ups”. There are a bunch of guys’ signatures on her belly, and at the top someone has already written in “Eric” as number one on the list. Sarah grins when she sees you staring.

“Yeah, I went ahead and signed you up. You owe me one for not being at my birth-party, Eric. It went fine, thanks for asking babe,” Sarah explains, and you can't help but laugh.

Looking down at Chloe’s belly, you see that Chloe or one of her friends has painted a building with smokestacks, and a baby sliding down a ramp poking out of the building. A baby factory, the paint already running as streams of milk slide down it from Chloe's swollen tits.

Rachel has a simple depiction of a fetus with a smiley face on her belly. She looks to be in a much better mood than when you first met her, as though her heavy bump energizes her where you would otherwise expect it to tax her thin body. The music is soft enough that you can hear each other talk on the dance floor without needing to scream. Chloe asks you:

“So, Eric, there are a lot of girls here. Feeling scared?” Yesterday you’d have been looking for any way to avoid a question like that. Not anymore.

“Yeah, I’m terrified, actually. But that’s okay. Because even though girls scare me, I still love them,” you confess.

“That’s... actually really sweet to hear, Eric,” Chloe says, “I’m happy for you.”

You think for a moment, breathing in, listening to the sweet music, touching two bellies pregnant with your children. Everything seems so wonderful. You hope the girls can't tell you're about to start tearing up. But you have to say this:

“I’ve never felt more worried and afraid in my life than I felt today, but at the same time, it was like I recovered a piece of myself I didn’t know I was missing. Like I’d been living my whole life in agony, and for the first time, it stopped hurting.” You’re so glad that you took a chance by coming here.

“That’s exactly how I felt the first time I had a new life growing inside me,” Chloe smiles.