Positive

The world reels as I stare at the positive sign on the pregnancy test. I'm a man. Underneath this thin layer of skin. I'm a man. Not Reagan. Not a woman. You should be having a dick underneath this, not a womb capable of having a child.

And yet the test didn't lie. And the whole world seems to be growing darker as you realize that you are stuck.

Few months later, you are on the patio, watering the flowers as I stare at my old house. I finally got the courage to them to say that I'm sorry for their loss. It's difficult to tell them the truth. After all, it'd feel like a cruel joke. Who'd believe that their son had turned into their neighbor's wife? Their pregnant wife? I heft my growing stomach getting rounder by the passing day.

I go onto my own social media and messaged few of my friends to ensure that they know I'm alive and well. I pretend I ran off to another state and invent out some crazy story of how I got there. They don't believe jack shit about it but is glad that I'm alive. I guess they might just tell my parents, but it's going to be difficult to tell the truth regardless.

John was quite happy and comes home every day. He doesn't fuck me every day now, but he does ask me to blow me every now and then, sucking on my tits. Occasionally I get that weird mood swing and hormonal imbalance. But overall, life isn't so bad.

It's quite simple, really. There had been a pile of birth pills that Reagan takes when John's home. I wasn't Reagan. I had no idea, and he's been fucking me straight for a week, and never gotten a vecectemy in his entire life.

It'll be a few more months, but you think you are getting a hang in life.