Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

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Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

was mixed in with the sorrow of mourning my lover. I was sad about her leaving, but I couldn't help being more than a little pissed that I was going to be without a lover during this magical time of legitimate wantonness. Then I quickly did the math and told myself to calm down. The timing was actually a good. It usually takes me about three/four months to come to grips with a breakup. And everyone knows the first trimester is filled with morning sickness and anxiety and a lot of waiting to see if the pregnancy will last. There wouldn't be any lightning bolts sparked in my underwear for at least another three months. There was no reason to think I was going to miss out on the harlot trimester. I gathered my courage and took to the business of mourning my relationship and adjusting to the trauma of nausea and vomiting and whatever surprises were to come in those first twelve or thirteen weeks.

I suffered those first three months with unflagging courage. I knew the upheaval was only to last about ninety days. The second trimester was the one to look forward to. It was then that I would glow, then that my pheromones were to waft seductive through the air and catch women unawares. I was assured that all panties would feel the heat of that fervent desire for my flesh, and that I was to be open to it. Hormonally speaking, there was no way to avoid this. The rapture would take me over. Like the Holy Spirit in a Pentecostal Baptist church on Good Friday. I would be helpless in the face of my own ecstasy. All I had to do was to get through the first trimester. My stoicism would be rewarded in the fourth, fifth and sixth month of hosting another life inside my body. I waited patiently. And got new batteries for my sex toys. And bought new lube. And I tried my best to mourn my ex quickly. I didn't want to find myself in the throes of passion, limbs wrapped around some smart, sexy, feminist, lesbian getting a flashback that would reduce me to sobbing, Why did she leave me? Or, Wasn't I good enough to make her stay? I wanted to be prepared, open to take full advantage of this hurricane of erotica that was to come. I wanted