Making a Baby

I was pretty messed up when I got back from Viet Nam. I never got in the paddies like grunts and army but, as the loadmaster aboard an Air Force C-130 Hercules, I took out a lot of dead and wounded in my cargo bay. It really screws your head on sideways to see firsthand the damage war takes on all aspects of a human being: soul and body. I got out in late 1967, bounced around from job to job for a few years, and finally ended up using my GI Bill at Cabrillo Junior College in Aptos, a small town nestled along the northern edge of Monterey Bay between Monterey and San Francisco. I don't know if it would be considered the southern edge of Northern California or the northern border of Central California, but it was in the middle of the redwoods... which made it a tonic for my broken soul.

I found an apartment a few miles off campus. All of the tenants were students at Cabrillo, and the landlord and his wife were both adjunct professors at nearby UC Santa Cruz, a bus ride and two transfers away. The building itself was small and Spartan, six units, of which one was occupied by the landlord. Two of the tenants were like me, vets going to school on the GI Bill; we got along well from the beginning. The last units were occupied by four young women ranging in age from 18 to 24. We got to know them in the weeks before school started; we partied a little, smoked some weed and, by the first day of school, the three of us guys had slept with each of the four women. Got to remember- it was the 60's... free love, birth control pills, and burning bras on national television. We had our own little commune.

Even though my first class wasn't until 9, we all walked to the campus together and got there by 7:30. We would all have coffee and a donut in the Student Union, chat for a while, then all but I would run off to class. I always stayed around for another cup of coffee and to finish homework or read the paper until my class. Some of us got together for lunch sometimes, but usually we wouldn't see each other again until late afternoon. This went on for all of first semester

At the beginning of second semester, after the first day or two of classes, a new woman started hanging around with us. A little older, maybe mid to late 20's, Slim athletic build, shoulder length strawberry blonde, hazel eyes, Crest smile, tall but nicely put together. She wasn't what you would call eye candy but we all noticed her from the first time she sat down across from us at our usual booth. She sat by herself but kept looking over at us, her body language saying that she'd like to see what we were about. Finally, after the third day, Linda, the 24 year old, introduced herself, and told me to scoot over so the newcomer could join us. By the time the other six left, she was part of us if that's what she wanted, and that's what she seemed to want.

The two of us were left behind for an hour. We flirted a little but her wedding band was obvious. Small chit chat, ever so slight southern drawl, maybe moved from North Carolina or Georgia as a kid. Typical first conversation: me Mike, her Alexi, what classes was she taking, which was I taking, had English Comp together! Favorite bands, favorite movies, then it was time for class. Saw each other in Comp, then I watched her get into an old VW van with the man I assumed was her husband. Linda and Paul, the jarhead, came over to my place that night and we talked about what a fox the new girl was. Paul was all for getting into her panties but Linda had already noticed the ring and said she was off limits. The way she said it was for the benefit of both of us. We drank a lot of wine, smoked up the better part of a lid, Paul went home, Linda spent the night in my bed, and we screwed until we both fell asleep- or passed out, not really sure which.

About a week later the clan, as usual, was talking in the Student Union before class. Somehow the conversation turned to names. I guess that's because two of us that had Lit classes had just picked up part of a lecture about when words became standardized in their spelling.

"Even Shakespeare couldn't figure out how his name should be spelled: he first spelled it 'Shakspert' or something like that," Paul piped in.

"Hoss" Linda laughed, "can you spell Fiji?"

"F-I-J-I" I replied, wondering where the trick was in the question.

"F-E-E-G-E-E, according to Moby Dick," she smiled.

"So! You're reading Melville," I quipped, "so I guess we should all be impressed."

She made a mocking bow and laughed. "Can't spell Eskimo, either," she added, "and I did a double-take the first time I saw how he spelled it. E-S-Q-U-A-M-O-U-X"

"So Mike," asked David, "How do you spell FISH?"

"P-H-Y-E-A-U-X," interrupted Andrea. We all laughed at that.

Alexi looked across the table at me. "Why do the guys call you Mike but the women call you Hoss?" The conversation more or less stopped at that moment. The guys sort of mentally started twiddling their thumbs and the women smiled and laughed out loud. For a second or two, each in turn got a wistful far off look, a thousand yard stare, in their eyes.

"You'll have to ask them," I replied.

Linda put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "'Cause he rides well in my saddle," she said with a leer and more than a bit of naughtiness in her voice. She leaned over and whispered something of obvious lechery in Alexi's ear; all five of the women laughed wickedly.

"Really?" Alexi responded, still smiling but with an unfamiliar rakishness seeping into her voice. She had not taken her eyes off me.

Andrea, the cute 18 year old salaciously replied, "Oh my God yes!" I had taken her virginity the Friday before school started and she'd been a regular in my bed ever since. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her voice fell to a honey sweet whisper. "Every fucking word, every fucking inch," she sighed.

There was a reason that one, and every once in a great while two, of the four would be in my bed almost every night. I am, as they say in gentile crowds, well endowed. At a biker titty bar they would say I was hung like a fucking horse.

About that time everyone felt they had to leave for class so the conversation pretty much stopped at Andrea. Alexi lowered her eyes and blushed. "I should've figured it out myself," she whispered, "so I'm sorry you got embarrassed." She got up and left.

Every guy I've ever met wishes he had a big cock, but I've got to tell you: having one presents problems of its own. I mean, it beats the alternatives but, in many ways, it's like women with enormous breasts: fun to look at, erotic to consider, but can be a real burden in everyday life. When I'm sexually aroused, my erection easily swells up to 2 inches above my navel, and it's 8 inches thick at the base. Fortunately it shrinks down to about 5 or 6 inches otherwise, but even then it's hard to hide, and the thickness is always there. Even men gawk at me in the gym as my member sort of unrolls like a fire hose out of my briefs. It is incredibly embarrassing if I get aroused in public; in spite of wearing the tightest bikini briefs I can tolerate to keep it contained, it will either slip down my thigh or slide behind my belt and up my shirt. Either way, it can't be hidden at that point. While I don't faint or even get light-headed, I've heard that some well hung men actually do when their cock engorges with blood.

She didn't show up on Monday until everyone else had left for class. "You goin' to be around here for lunch?" she asked.

I nodded.

"My husband is goin' to be lecturin' a class here in a few hours. We're goin' out for lunch after."

She waited. It wasn't really a question or an invite so I wasn't sure what to say. "Wanna come along? He's buyin'."

I still wasn't sure where this was going. "OK," I said, but she noticed the momentary hesitation in my reply.

"Look, you an' him look almost like brothers so I wanted him to meet you." It seemed a really lame reason to me, but it was no less curious than the invite itself.

She got emphatic. "I'm not kiddin' Mike, you two gotta have some common relative someplace along the line."

"OK," I said again, "lunch. We eating here?"

"Nah, pro'ly the Broken Egg. He really likes it there. We'll take you there, then back to your place."

We chatted a little more but she was distracted so the conversation seemed disjointed and unengaged. She was having a hard time keeping eye contact with me; something was up and I was going to join them just to satisfy my curiosity.

She was standing next to the VW van parked at the curb. She waived when she saw me. "Over here, Mike!" she called. Her husband was in the driver's seat looking at the foot traffic crossing over the parking lot toward the waiting cars and bicycles.

She opened the passenger door for me, opened up the side door behind, kissed her husband on the cheek, and took a place behind him on the long bench seat.

"Jerry, this is Mike," she said with a silly pretend formality, "Mike, this is my husband Jerry."

We shook hands, he let up the clutch, and we started toward Santa Cruz.

"So Alexi tells me you gave a lecture today at Cabrillo," I said, trying to start some small talk. "How'd it go?"

"Good I guess," he replied nonchalantly, "basically just read part of my dissertation on Icelandic sagas." He knew his subject well. I nodded occasionally as he discussed learning the Nordic alphabet and grammar, the finer points of some of the writers, and the saga of some Nordic Viking king who died during the Battle of Hastings.

And Alexi was right about us looking like brothers; I would have at least thought cousins. He was maybe eight years older than me, maybe around 30, but could have easily passed off as relatives.

We pulled into the parking lot off Cooper and paraded into the legendary omelet house. After we had ordered and the waiter had brought our coffee, Jerry got down to business.

"Lexi is right. You and I could be brothers."

"Kind of uncanny, I'd say."

He smiled and she giggled. "Here's why we wanted to talk to you, Mike, but before we start, we need for you to promise that nothing goes out of here."

I sipped my coffee.

"Nothing," she added. Her face was sober.

I nodded. "Whatever you tell me stays here," I replied, tapping my skull with my index finger.

They looked at each other furtively, quickly, as if each were trying to figure out who was going to start the story.

Alexi took the lead. "We been married for 'most six years now an' tryin' to get pregnant, but it never happens, so we both got ourselfs checked." She took his hand in both of hers.

"Seems my tadpoles don't like swimming..." Jerry gibed. His face looked chiseled, stiff, his thin smile seemingly frozen in place.

"... but seems that I can be a fertile Myrtle."

"We'd like, actually she'd like and I'm OK with, you to get her pregnant."

Both watched for my reaction as if they were watching a piano fall from a tall building and anticipating when it would hit the ground. I set my cup down on the table. Test tube babies were still almost a decade away so their plight was real and seemingly insurmountable. If you didn't want to adopt, there were no alternatives. In spite of their sober sincerity and obvious consternation, the lecherous part of my mind almost made me laugh. Mmmmm, I thought... let me see if I got this right Jerry, you are asking me if I want to ravage your beautiful wife's body a few times a day for a few days, just to make sure she's knocked up... almost laughed, but didn't.

"I'm s'posed to ovulate this comin' Monday..."

"... and I'll be defending my dissertation most of the week that week..."

The good twin side of my libido kicked in, finally. "Can I ask a few questions first?"

The tension left both of them. "Sure," they replied in harmony.

Of course I knew all along I would be happy to fuck Alexi; they probably knew it, too. Testosterone left no doubt. I mean, how often is one man invited by another to impregnate his beautiful wife? We talked about the limits, where, when we would meet, and what my responsibility would be if she got pregnant.

"None," he replied. "That's why she picked you. We look so much alike that no one we know would question who the father is." She nodded in agreement. "We've been looking for more than a year now..."

The limits were especially important to them. Once we had copulated during her fertile period, we would never see each other again unless she didn't get pregnant. They would never contact me except on two occasions: when she found out she was pregnant, and after the baby was born. In both cases I would find out through a personal ad in the San Jose Mercury. The first would be exactly two months hence and would say only, "It worked"; the last would be exactly 12 months from today and would say "Daddy! M" or "F" and the date of birth.

They would rent a bungalow at the Redwood Inn in Aptos for Monday through Thursday. He would drop her off at 6 in the morning and would pick her up at checkout time, 12:00. For their privacy and, to a certain extent my own, I volunteered to find my own way there. I knew the place; it was only a mile or so from my apartment.

Andrea and Linda both spent the night with me that night. My imagination went wild, and stayed that way all week end.

On that Monday I walked from my place to the Redwood Inn and got there a few minutes after 6. Alexi was standing in front of one of the little cottages with a key in hand, opening the door. The VW van was already gone. She was sans bra in a white jersey top and pale blue short cotton skirt. She looked a little tense as we crossed the threshold, her before me.

Her hazel eyes met mine. "You know, Mike, I never tol' Jerry about the 'hoss' part," she said with a quick smile as she turned around to face me. I took the key from her hand and set it on the small dinette table behind us.

I laughed.

She continued, "I never slept with any man but Jerry, an' he's not real big." She laughed again after she thought about what she had just said. "I guess... have nothin' t' compare it to, I guess." It was a more relaxed laugh.

I touched her cheek. She quivered slightly, like she was cold. Her arms prickled with gooseflesh and her nipples stiffened. "Tell me what you want me to do, Alexi" I whispered softly in her ear.

"Give me a baby," she cooed, and we began kissing, tenderly, softly at first. I let my fingers roam up and down her spine. Soon they were wandering under the thin jersey, onto her bare skin.

Her kisses became more punctuated, more emphatic. A hand slid under her dress, under her panties, to caress her firm ass cheeks. The other came to the front and pinched her left nipple, then right, then kneaded the firm flesh until each nipple was taut. With a vixen's smile she pulled away from me for a moment, stepped out of her shoes, pulled the top over her head, and dropped her dress and panties to the floor.

My imagination had not done justice to what I saw standing in front of me. Her skin was very pale, an almost alabaster pink, and her blush filled her face and neck down to the cleavage of her nearly perfect tits. They arched gently down from her shoulders and curved up from beneath, capped at the peak with light pink nipples. They were not especially big but were firm and flushed with her rising passion. Her hips flared out softly from her waist, to her tapered thighs, and down each muscled calf. The delightful slit between her legs was shaved clean; the lips began to moisten and swell even as I watched.

She stepped back up to me and undid the buttons of my shirt. I pulled it off my shoulders. She unbuckled my pants and kind of gasped, a quick little intake of air, when she saw my swollen manhood pushing against my navel. It happens every time.

"Oh m'God!" she sighed as my pants fell to the floor, "Linda wasn't lyin'" She began to stroke it. I slid my thumbs under the elastic and let them fall to the floor. Clear fluid secreted out of the single massive lip at the tip of the bulbous head. "You really are as big as a hoss."

I carried her into the bedroom, passionately kissing her all the while. I laid her on top of the comforter, kicking my sandals off as I walked.

I stood for a moment at the end of the bed, looking with unbridled lust at her body and the beautiful pink petals, now moist with her dew, luring me like the Sirens lured the ancient sailors. She had propped herself up on her elbows and was intently staring at my cock. It stared right back. "I don't know if I can fit all that in me," she said with a little hint of fear in her voice.

I've tried to address this fear with other women in the past, but usually it doesn't matter because every woman I've ever bedded has taken every inch, and never complained. It's all in the foreplay. So I just kneeled on the edge of the bed, parted her legs at the knees, and began kissing the inside of her thighs, moving ever upwards to the soft pink swell of her pussy.

"What're you doing?" she moaned softly as I parted her cunt lips with my tongue. Her head collapsed onto the pillow. Her hands were on the back of my head and her hips were pushing upward, crushing my mouth onto her soft moist flesh. "Oh my sweet God!" she purred, "Jerry never done anything like this to me." I was teasing her clit with my tongue when she first came. Then it was all animal sounds. Crying, mewling, growling. It took her a little by surprise and seemed to go on for a long time. I continued to eat her pussy while her legs quaked and she gulped for breath in quick little moans and sighs. "Ahh, don't stop," she kept gasping, "I'm on fire, I'm goin' t' cum baby, Oh God Jerry never did this you bastard don't stop I'm cummin' oh my God I'm cummin'" I slid a finger, then a second, and finally a third, all searching for the little spot inside her that would drive her body wild. Her hips rose up off the mattress and her body stiffened as the voltage of her orgasm swept through her, bolt after bolt.

My mouth moved up her body to consume her breasts and nipples, her neck, and finally our lips and tongues began a lurid duel. The head of my cock started parting the slick opening to her well lubricated pussy.

Here's a fact: babies come out of the same hole, and my cock is nowhere near the size of a newborn. But, at childbirth, there are hormones that cause things to physically change, allowing a woman to accommodate birth. Foreplay, especially cunnilingus, causes similar physical changes. Without extensive foreplay, sex with me would be painful so I guess you could say that having a big cock has turned me into a much more empathetic, accommodating lover.

But that doesn't change a universal fact: women are never ready to take me into their body once my cockhead has parted their engorged lips and the thick, veiny shaft begins its penetration. As their pussy lips stretch and wrap around the thick helmet, they grimace. As the head begins to slide into the moist flesh, their mouth forms an "O" and their eyes open wide; the grimace changes to a look of near shock. Then the helmet slides over the G spot; that's when their eyes shut tight and primal lust takes over. By the time I'm completely inside, after the first several thrusts, pyres of passion consume all reason; their hips have already started gyrating to the orgiastic rhythms of sex and their body is quivering with uninhibited sensuality. Alexi was no different.

We stayed in the missionary position for quite some time. But let's be honest: time and the acts of sex become relative to each other. We started with slow, sensual love-making. I bit her nipples and took a firm breast into my mouth completely. Our moans and sounds came from deep within the animal parts of our brain; they were primal. As I began a downward thrust deep into her womb, she would cry out quickly and meet my thrust with an upward tilt of her hips. Her legs were wrapped around my thighs, the firm muscles pushing me deeper into her body. Her fingers, wrapped around my neck, wandered aimlessly across my shoulders and arms as our tongues teased and tortured each other. My thrusts became harder and faster as I felt the tingle of an orgasm move its way from my cock to my brain.