My Husband Is Pregnant

[A short story to satisfy my personal guilty pleasure]

[Cheerful on the surface but actually rebellious, gloomy, twisted, and lovesick: a bottom who becomes a top vs. a cool, beautiful, untouchable top who becomes a bottom, and is intersex]

My husband is pregnant.

I... I did it.

It all started with one impulsive decision after I got drunk. Now I'm consumed with regret.

But it seems he has come to hate me completely.

*

My lover is tall and handsome, with fair skin and a cool, aloof air. His beautiful, clear eyes are like polished amber, so transparent they reflect nothing at all.

How can anyone in the world be so beautiful?

I fell for him the first moment I saw him, and I couldn't help myself.

Two years secretly in love, two years pursuing him, two years dating, one year married.

Like a foolish moth, I threw myself at my god, destroying myself in the process. Even battered and bruised, I couldn't bear to leave.

I thought his aloofness meant he wasn't good with words. I thought I had warmed his heart. I thought agreeing to marry me meant he must like me, at least a little... until the night of our third wedding anniversary, when my god, who had always been so cold and distant toward me, smiled as he embraced the cheerful young man beside him.

So my god could smile after all.

Just not at me.

I had never realized so clearly that I was a clown.

The red rose I had treasured in my heart seemed to rot in an instant, turning into a cheap, revolting smear of mosquito blood.

If that's how it is, then I don't want to hold back anymore.

My husband probably has no idea how long I've been coveting him. Every time he falls asleep, I lie beside him, looking at his perfectly sculpted body, consumed by desire and vile, dark thoughts.

I want to fuck him.

So badly.

I've never felt pleasure during sex. Every time, in the dead of night, I faced away from my straight-laced lover and endured it in misery.

I don't like being the bottom, and I'm not suited to it.

I endured it for him for three whole years.

But now, I don't want to endure it anymore.

For a red rose, I could gladly suffer. But now that the rose has rotted, all I want is to fuck him until he's dead, so he won't have the time to think about that bastard anymore.

After a night of drinking that I had planned for a long time, I knocked my lover, weak and unsteady, to the ground. As his face grew paler and paler, I stared at the moisture on my fingertips, my mind completely blank.

*

Important note: There was no cheating. It's a misunderstanding. The person he was embracing is a blood relative!!!

Theme: Men need to learn to speak up.