I am heavy with child. My breasts are swollen with milk, my abdomen fully distended. I slump on the wicker chair feeling my baby prod my stomach. My man marvels at how I push myself to the utter limits of my endurance to birth my miracle. Sure, he treasures me, and cherishes me, every single pounding heartbeat and sublime kiss. He lays his head in my lap like a child, acting all shy on me. I ask him if we can go upstairs -- and fuck.We find our way upstairs to a pink bedroom with a wedding cake bed bristling with nests of soft cuddly toys, a snow-white cot, a mottled rocking horse with a dun mane. Oh, and the cradle, all bedecked in pink. As soon as I fell pregnant, I instinctively knew my baby would be a girl. You see we do enjoy this perfect love, a love that's all-consuming, unselfish, respectful. I am happy at last. He is all I want in a man: passionate, caring, considerate.My eyes mist with tears. I take his hand and wrap my fingers tightly round his palm, and hold him to my sw
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