Being Pregnant Made Me Very Horny

Everything about pregnancy is one big evil prank. Food smells and tastes like a cat’s ass, yet indulging in said ass is the only way to stop the vomit — the taste of which never fully leaves your throat the entire nine months. Your tits grow to gargantuan porn-star proportions, but then they get all veiny and your nipples turn dark and weird and start oozing.

But perhaps the evilest of all prego pranks for me was the libido. From conception to birth, I was transformed into a 15-year-old boy standing under a pyramid of pantyless cheerleaders. Any way my subconscious could incorporate sex into dreams was fair game. Animals humping. Coworkers during meetings. Horrible things, like tailpipes of cars and coffee cups and Swiss cheese became innuendo. Every average dream turned into a cheap porn. Sometimes even including the musical underscore.

I guess that’s how I ended up in this position: Like a dog, my fetus swinging in a fleshy ball below me, my head arched under in intense focus. Trying. Not. To. Piss. All. Over. The. Bed.

Lordy. This position was not going to work. No. I pulled quickly away.

My Feisty Pregnant Libido

Like a good couple — lonnnnng before I realized he had *sperm* that could make me get so *fat* — back in the day when we were younger and sexier and insaner, we filled out one of those “sexual interest surveys.” I.e. “I’ve never,” “I’d never” and “Oh, I’d never thought of that, let’s go.” So-called “water sports” fell under the first two categories for my dear hubby (then the hot younger guy I was fucking). So I figured his overstuffed wife blasting a urine stream across the bed — even if by accident or in ecstasy — wasn’t going to help my cause of feeding my feisty pregnant libido.

But how else could we do this? It was like a freaking puzzle. You would think that because sex is the reason we got in this place to begin with, it might not be so foreign and awkward. You would think.

The Day I lost My Vagina

I was now six months along and I felt nearly as wide as tall. According to doctors and all of the Web sites of the universe, pregnant ladies can’t lie on their backs OR THEIR BABIES WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH INSTANTLY. (Which is actually what every prenatal Web site says about everything.) Up until a few days ago, we had resorted to the side position, facing each other, my top leg over his. It worked delightfully. Until. Yes, until the day I lost my vagina.

It happened in the shower. I was loofahing away when I looked down and…. wha? Where? I tried to move my belly bulge, but unlike a fatty f.u.p.a., my frontal pouch was solid as a rock, and completely immobile. I could not just swat it out of the way to find my bits. It was a huge boulder, and it had been rolled in front of my cave.

The Position Issue

After that fateful day, the side-facing position would not work; I couldn’t tilt my hips to the proper degree to keep things “connected.” After penile flop after penile flop, we resigned. Trying desperately to pull from that sexual interest survey, my brain frantically scanned positions for something doable. No upside down wheelbarrows. No hammerhead windmill dumptrucks. Hmm. I flipped him over and planted my massive body on top of him. Perfect.

Nope.

With the baby clamoring up my ribcage, I started sweating and panting and wheezing.

“Am I hurting you?” I asked him, noticing his red face and winced forehead.

“No,” he smiled back, unconvincingly.

Chafing. Smearing. Smashing.

That’s when I noticed my belly ball, rubbing with every thrust, across his stomach. Chafing. Smearing. Smashing. I was smothering him with my massive uterus, and with every move, twisting his little happy trail hairs into teeeeeny tiny little knots. And then, the baby — who had now apparently wiggled her way very lowwwww in my belly — gave a good kick. Hubby felt it, and we both looked at each other in awkward confusion. Like, is this even legal? Is this somehow child abuse?

That’s how I ended up ass up in doggie style, with his man member just POKING AND POKING AND POKING my bladder, which had managed to fill up by now because it had been all of three minutes, and that is two minutes longer than I usually can go. POKE. POKE. POKE. And nope.

The insane pregnant bitch who possessed me several months ago started to whimper, on the brink of tears and frustration. Patient and smart (read: trying to avoid The Inevitable Breakdown and release of hormonal atom bomb) husband kindly laid me down and hugged me from behind. La, la, la, he probably said loving things. But all I saw was a light bulb.

“THIS IS IT!”

My belly was facing the other direction, so if the baby kicked, it wouldn’t knock out his nut sack. No flesh chafing. No (visible to him) boobie leakage. The good ol’ spoon — the favorite sexual position of my teenage years, when I was too awkward to look the guy in the face — would be my saving grace. I all but forced him into me and was so delighted that I orgasmed in about 9 seconds. Before he had a chance. And… holy mother of shitballs, what was that? My orgasm crept up my spine and turned into a paralyzing uterine cramp. Apparently common during pregnancy.

“Ackkkk!” I pushed him away and began crying. A different atom bomb had exploded. And I vowed to be content with pathetic porno dreams about tail pipes and pudding cups for the next three months.

When you were pregnant did your horny come out?

This was an anonymous guest post by “The Little Mama.” Would you like to see your story grace the pages of Toy With Me? Click here to find out how you can submit your story.

Possibly related goodness:

1. Having Sex While Being Pregnant