Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 (14 page)
Read Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 Online
Authors: Nick Spalding
From the spherical black device beams of light erupt, bathing the room in fake starlight.
‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ I hear Jamie say under his breath.
Free Willy is still being sexually molested, but now the assault is being conducted in the icy depths of space.
The other couples deposit themselves on the floor. We reluctantly follow suit.
Trisha starts to speak, her words punctuated by the aquatic sex crime going on in the background.
‘Welcome once again all of you.’
Beeeeeeoooooowwww.
‘I’m pleased to see you all back, along with some lovely new faces.’
Beeeeeeooooowww booo.
‘In this evening’s class we’re going to concentrate on labour breathing.’
Ikky ikky ikky beeeeeoooowwwwww.
‘Then we’ll move on to discuss post labour pain management.’
Beooow beooow beooow boooooooooooo beeooowww.
‘Any questions so far?’
Jamie raises a hand.
‘Yes Jamie?’
‘Any chance we could lose the whales and the stars? I can’t decide whether I should be beaming down to the planet or trying to fuck a humpback.’
That put the both of us in Trisha’s bad books for the rest of the evening.
She did turn off the whales, but insisted the stars stayed on.
What got me was that the others in attendance didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at this strangeness. They obviously felt that it was a perfectly normal part of preparing to give birth. Unless they were all Star Trek fans who worked at Seaworld I failed to see how this could be the case.
We willingly take part in the breathing exercises to show we aren’t complete outsiders.
Jamie is told to help me keep a rhythm by talking calmly and holding my hand, squeezing it in time with my breaths while I puff and blow like a malfunctioning steam engine.
Next to us are Lolly and Brian.
Brian has one hand on his wife’s back, the other on her upper thigh. He keeps squeezing her leg every time she breathes out in a manner that sounds almost orgasmic. It’s quite nauseating.
‘And now, please change places,’ Trisha tells us.
‘Excuse me?’ Jamie says.
‘You need to change places Mr Newman.’ Trisha’s disgust at his dislike of her whale music has pushed him into surname territory. ‘You need to know what your wife is going to experience as much as she does.’
Jamie stands up and puts his hands on his hips. ‘Do I? I mean,
really
?’
‘Indeed.’
I decide to join in the lively discussion. ‘Er… I kinda think Jamie’s right here, Trish.’
For the first time, Trisha looks properly displeased with us.
Her narrow face gets even narrower. ‘Please Mr and Mrs Newman, I am a trained professional. These techniques will help you a great deal through the pregnancy, but only if you allow them to.’
‘Alright, alright,’ Jamie says and flaps his hands. He pulls me up and takes my place on the mat, grumbling to himself.
‘Now then gentlemen and lady,’ Trisha says, her soothing tone returning. ‘Please repeat what your wives were doing. Deep, rhythmic breathing while your spouse helps you.’
Jamie reluctantly starts the exercise, while I try very hard not to laugh as I grip his hand and watch his face turn purple.
‘And faster gentlemen and lady please,’ Trisha bids them. The three men and one lesbian all speed up their breathing rate.
The room now sounds like it’s been invaded by a crowd of horny walruses. I wasn’t prepared for how much aquatic mammal life you encounter during an antenatal class.
‘Faster please!’ Trisha commands again.
Now Jamie is really going for it. It feels like an air of competition has filled the room: Who can breathe the loudest, fastest and hardest? Typical boy (and apparently lesbian) behaviour.
I grip on to my husband’s hand for dear life as he takes it up another notch.
The collective grunting has reached a crescendo when Jamie, having built up enough air pressure in his body to float a hot air balloon, emits a loud, sharp fart that cuts across the grunting like a knife through butter.
…or should that be cheese?
Immediately he stops the exercise and goes crimson.
I try so, so
very
hard not to burst out laughing.
In my efforts not to further compound Jamie’s embarrassment I slam one hand over my mouth to stop a bray of laughter escaping.
Usually that would be the end of it, but I’m over thirty weeks pregnant and my body is no longer entirely under my control. This goes double for my bladder.
In short, I pee my pants.
Not a lot, mind you. We’re not talking
‘Oh Christ, I’ve wet myself,’ I tell Jamie under my breath. Unfortunately the whole room has gone silent in response to Jamie’s bottom trumpet and the statement carries to everyone.
‘Are… are you both well?’ Trisha asks hesitantly.
Oh yes Trisha. We’re just
peachy
, thank you. My husband’s about to follow through and I already have. This evening is right up there with our wedding night.
‘I think we’ll be going now,’ I say in a bland voice.
‘Oh really?’ Trisha sounds downcast. ‘But we haven’t got to the chanting yet.’
‘Another time perhaps.’
I help Jamie to his feet. He’s being uncharacteristically silent, which probably isn’t the worst thing in the world right now.
Steering him with one arm, I waddle in the direction of the door.
‘No worry Laura!’ Lolly pipes up. ‘I piss myself too the other day!’ She snorts with laughter and points at Brian. ‘And he fart in front of my father at wedding!’
I know she’s trying to make us feel better, but surprisingly enough, it’s not working.
With as much speed as a woman in her third trimester can summon, I propel my mortified husband out into the corridor and bustle towards the main entrance. I don’t risk a look back, just in case Trisha is following us with a couple of adult nappies and half the continent of
That night I had a dream I was giving birth to a dolphin in a Chinese restaurant. I woke up drenched in sweat, with a pounding heart.
If that’s what private antenatal classes do to you, then I’d rather go without, thank you.
I’m going – alone - to one of the free classes run at the health centre this week.
It’ll be boring, run of the mill and packed with mothers-to-be, but at least I won’t have to worry about incontinence or space whales from another dimension.
Love you and miss you, Mum.
Your incredulous daughter, Laura.
xxx
Sunday 10 November
Like Salt n Pepa once requested in song, let’s talk about sex.
More specifically, sex with a pregnant woman.
Oh my.
It goes through stages.
During the first few weeks of the pregnancy I was more likely to have sex with the entire Australian women’s volleyball team than I was with my wife.
I couldn’t really blame her though. In that period of time, when she wasn’t peeing in the bathroom she was throwing up in it, and when she wasn’t doing either of those she was fast asleep. Slipping her a length would have been virtually impossible.
The one occasion she gamely tried to give me a blow job it ended with her head in the toilet bowl and me nursing a freshly squeezed penis.
I resigned myself to a few months of healthy masturbation.
It wasn’t too bad all things considered, especially because Laura knew full well what I was doing and condoned it. There’s something decidedly appealing about being given permission by your other half to wank yourself into insensibility on a regular basis.
Then, as Laura went into the second trimester things changed for the better.
With the nausea and fatigue subsiding she suddenly perked up and turned into what I can only describe accurately as a total fuck monster.
Even in the first fledgling weeks of our relationship (when I wasn’t poisoning her with bad chicken and she wasn’t dumping me for her ex) Laura was never this rampant.
The pregnancy hormones may have made her more emotional than a thirteen year old One Direction fan, but they also gave her sex drive a kick up the arse that I was barely able to cope with.
After about a week my cock looked like battered salami.
She looked adorable at that stage, though. The growing bump adding to what I consider to be the best curves in the world.
Plus, I had the bonus that for the first time in our relationship Laura preferred it on her knees doggie style, because it was the most comfortable position for her.
Woo hoo!
Then we entered the third trimester and things understandably started going downhill again.
I’m not all that good at reading the minds of women, but even I can appreciate that swollen breasts, piles, a bad back and a massive belly aren’t exactly conducive to sexual arousal.
I resigned myself to once again beating it like Michael Jackson – this time with some fresh wank bank material from our recent second trimester exploits.
Colour me every shade of surprised then, when last night Laura turns to me on the couch in the middle of a particularly dull episode of Four Weddings and puts her hand over my sleeping penis.
‘Baby, I’m horny,’ she says into my ear in a husky voice.
What’s this?
Little Jamie wonders, stirring from his malaise.
Laura squeezes him gently, waking him further.
Blimey, and there I was thinking I’d have to settle for you ringing my neck tonight after Laura has gone to bed. Now it looks like I may get to fulfil my true purpose in life. Wahaay!
‘Are you?’ I reply, incredulous.
‘Yeah. Have been all day. I have no idea why.’
‘But what about… you know… that.’ I point at the enormous dome sat in front of her.
‘That’s just fine where it is,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘I want your cock in me, baby.’