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Because what happens when I no longer have that deep voice soothing me, making me laugh and cry all at once? What happens if I have a bouncy baby boy in my lap who looks just like him, toothless with sparkling blue eyes? There’s an end game to all this … and unfortunately, Mace might not be in the family picture.
Chapter 10
Mace
I strain while raising the bar above my head. Fuck, this shit is heavy! But my biceps flex, the air whoofs my chest, and then it’s done. Full extension. Maximum volume, and then the release. Bang! The bar slams down once again, clanking onto the weight machine.
Because shit, I’m not gonna let this disease kill me. I’m not gonna go down like some fucking pansy, wasted away and feeble. I’m going to face it head-on, grappling with the monster by the horns. I’m gonna live to see not just my children, but my grandchildren. So yeah. I work out like a gladiator, hitting the gym twice a day and pushing my body to the limits. Sweat pours down my brow as I grip the bar once more, ready to do some real damage.
Suddenly, a soft female form materializes beside me.
“Hey,” says Melissa. “You ready to do some sit-ups together?”
I smile at her.
“Anything for you, sweetheart. Just give me five more minutes with this beast.”
And she nods before turning to head towards the mat area. I watch ravenously as that big butt bumps and grinds underneath the tight spandex, her breasts barely held in by the tiny sports bar.
Because this is my fertile woman. She started as my doctor, but we became something more than physician and patient. After that dirty prostate exam, I couldn’t get enough. I had to have her. So Melissa and I started dating like a real couple, and even more incredible, we’ve been trying to conceive. Who would’ve thunk? Mace Jackson, asshole extraordinaire, now trying to have a baby with a stand-up woman, and not some floozy.
Frankly, it’s surprised me more than anyone because I’m not a guy who does relationships. I’m the guy who waltzes in, fucks the prettiest girl in the room, and then waltzes out while my cum is still dripping from her holes. Rancid? Hell yeah. But it’s been my MO for forty years now, and frankly, it suits me just fine. I get a new flavor of the week every week, and at this point, there are so many notches on my bed that I’ve stopped counting.
But with Melissa, it’s different. She’s special. Smart as a whip, with a sassy mouth and a filthy body. She’s a helluva lot smarter than me, that’s for sure. I’ve caught her reading shit like The Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg Business, not to mention general interest mags like The New Yorker and Time. Me, by comparison? I haven’t read anything for four years, and that includes the menu at my favorite restaurant.
So yeah, Mel is different. She’s incredibly intelligent as well as stunningly beautiful, and I’m lucky that she wants to have my babies. Plus, I’m reminded of her smarts and wit all the time. Take last week for example. The girl perched on my lap as we perused the paper together, she the Features section and me the Comics. So sue me. I still dig Charlie Brown and Snoopy for laughs.
“Oh you,” she says when I snort at one of Linus’s antics. “What’s so funny?”
“He’s just such a dumb kid,” I chuckle again, my eyes eating up the pictures. “He never gets it, you know? And the poor guy has Lucy as a big sister too.”
Mel turns to look at me, that curvy body dressed only in my oversized t-shirt. Her butt’s pressed up against my cock and I stiffen involuntarily as her pussy lips squash up against my hardness. But the female just giggles, nudging my hand.
“Move a little to the left,” she purrs. “You’re blocking the article I’m reading.”
My eyes skim lazily to her side of the paper before flying open, impressed.
“Wow, you’re reading about the heroin epidemic in the Northeast?” I ask. “That’s heavy shit for a Sunday morning.”
Her lips turn down in a slight frown.
“I know, but I feel like I have to,” she admits slowly. “I’m a doctor and public health is part of my business,” she says. “I guess sometimes I feel guilty because there are so many things I could be doing to better the world, but I’m not doing any of it.”
I’m dumbstruck.
“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’re the kindest, sweetest person I know. You’re a urologist, literally trying to help people get over a dozen different diseases.”
She blushes but then sighs before turning to me once again.
“I know, but it’s just that we have so much more than anyone else, you know? We don’t realize how easy it is to get cutting-edge medical care in the United States. For example, Rwanda has no health system at all. Did you know that? It’s not that they missing palliative care, or access to the latest AIDS drugs. It’s that there is no health care system available to its citizens at all. Full stop. So what do I do?”
