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Midlife, Part 1
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Summary: Tom is in his mid-forties. Comfortably married in suburbia with his wife, office job, and his 2.5 kids getting ready for college, Jim finds himself immersed in an affair with a fit young biogeneticist. Jim has no idea why he's gaining so much weight, and his wife has started making remarks about it. Little does he know, his secret boyfriend is not only experimenting on him but breeding him. Worse, Jim can apparently get pregnant additional times while already pregnant, and end up carrying multiple babies of different gestational ages. Its only a matter of time before his secret affair comes to light. That, in addition to other things.
-
Tom could count his gray hairs.
There were seven.
Not bad, considering the fact that he was pushing forty-four.
He was a slim man, but not by any means fit. Decades of blue-collar monotony, on top of being a father to two occasionally-rebellious high schoolers and a husband to his part-time-realtor wife Penny, he wasn’t striving to win any marathons. He was content. Comfortable. He had a mundane life, a cushy retirement fund, his kids were only a few years off from college, and he was looking forward to his golden years of Caribbean cruises, backyard barbeques, international excursions, and sometimes just sitting back in the recliner with a drink and the sports section of the evening paper.
And then there was Ian.
Ian was the most interesting person Tom had ever met. At thirty-one, Ian was fit, wealthy, a great dresser, spoke seven languages, played tennis for fun and chess competitively, had four different science degrees, was completing his doctorate in biochemistry, was a part-time instructor at the local university, was charming, funny, impressively witty, and did this all while running the family pastry shop.
The description was so loaded and arbitrary that it sounded ludicrous. Ridiculous. Tom found himself chuckling just at the thought.
And Ian was fucking Tom. Fucking him good, and frequently. Giving Tom the best sex he’d had in years—ever, really. Ian was perfection personified, and Tom was absolutely infatuated. Losing himself.
And somehow Tom managed to balance the affair with his mundane life. “Late nights at the office,” meant that he would be sprawled across Ian’s couch in just his tie. “Weekend golfing,” was code for him getting pounded into Ian’s ridiculously comfortable luxury mattress.
Penny remained contently oblivious. The kids couldn’t care less about what Tom got up to. Life was good. Perfect, actual. Tom’s only real problem was the constant fear that one day Ian would wise up and find someone fitter. Smarter. Single.
Younger.
But that day wasn’t today, so Tom tried not to dwell on it. He worked his way through several client files, his eyes continuously darting to the clock, waiting for the day to be over, so he could get to “working late” again. He tried not to do it more than two nights a week, but Penny hadn’t caught on to a thing. In fact, she seemed happier. Probably because Tom was so happy. So really, this affair worked out for everyone.
The clock struck five and Tom heard a bell ringing in his head, like he was a school kid, and the last period of the day had finally ended. Tom immediately closed the files and turned off his computer. More gingerly, he began to pack some paperwork into his briefcase. Trying not to look as ecstatic as he felt, he stood and pulled on his blazer, buttoning it closed. His hand lingered briefly on his stomach.
His gut had been bothering him lately, but he had ridden it off as another one of those things that just happens for no reason as one ages. He had picked up some over the counter indigestion medicine from the corner store and figured he’d get by.
Tom threw the occasional wave or nod to different colleagues as he headed out. He liked to consider himself a quiet guy at the office. The less often people remembered his name, the less likely they were to solicit him for extra work and favors.
He got down to the parking garage and sunk gratefully into his 10-year-old sedan. With that, he took a deep breath, as he always did, and headed off to see Ian.
-
“How’s the nausea been?” Ian asked in bed after they finished that evening.
Tom sat up and pulled on his glasses. “Erratic,” he mused allowed. “Most days, I’m completely fine. But then, out of nowhere, I’ll smell something, or for no reason at all, I’ll just get sick. Then feel fine again.” Tom lightly shook his head. “Some weird bug. But I think it’s letting up.”
“That’s good,” said Ian, watching him closely, stroking Tom’s side, allowing his perfect hand to crawl up Tom’s stomach. Ian was always so attentive. Lately, even moreso than usual. Idly Ian continued to stroke Tom’s stomach which had been tender lately, probably from all the violent upheaval. “Is Penny worried?”
Tom hated talking about his wife but didn’t want to make this into an argument. “She tells me to stay home from work, but it’s pointless. I feel fine outside of the incidents.”
“Mmm…” Ian hummed. His free hand pulled some of his dark hair out of his eyes. Ian had striking blue eyes. “I think you’re getting soft.”
“What?” said Tom, raising a brow.
“As in, you’ve put on a little weight.”
“Have I?” said Tom. He hadn’t noticed. Typically, he didn’t monitor his weight. It had never been an issue, always just—stagnant.
“I like it,” said Ian, pulling him close. Tom leaned into him.
“Yeah?” said Tom, amused and rather dubious. He couldn’t have gained enough weight for it to be noticeable. “Are you messing with me?”
“I’m being completely serious.”
“I call bullshit.”
“Suit yourself.” Ian offered a sly smile.
-
When Tom got home that evening, he wondered if his button-down shirt wasn’t fitting him as loosely as it usually did. And he wondered if his trousers weren’t a little snug at the waist. He was certain that Ian was just messing with him, but something compelled Tom to get on the scale.
Five pounds. He’d had a five pound gain. Tom was surprised more than anything else. Considering the episodes of vomiting, and the fact that his diet had remained largely the same, he would have thought he’d have lost some weight, not gained. Guess he wasn’t lying, Tom thought, bemused.
-
Tom Duval was not the perfect subject for this experiment.
He was too old, he was out of shape, he had a wife and kids for godssakes. In addition to that, he would probably ruin this whole thing by having a momentous freak-out.
Yet Ian had a soft spot for the old man. He went forward with the experiment even though he knew he was risking ten years of work and funding.
Tom was healthy. He had low risk of most hereditary diseases, his blood and nutritional levels were fine, he had no predispositions of mental illness, he was happy, relaxed, easy-going, he had a low-stress life, and honestly, the glasses were charming.
Tom would probably hate him for this. But Ian still decided to risk it. And he feared he was beginning to quite like Tom. More than he should have. Enough to covertly impregnate Tom with his baby.
It was the first experiment of its kind in that it was actually successful—so far, at least. It had worked. Tom was pregnant. Now all that was left was to wait and monitor, ensure that everything proceeded smoothly, prolong is as much as possible, hope it was viable. Healthy.
Regardless, this whole thing was groundbreaking. Ian had succeeded at something most scientists wouldn’t even entertain as a concept. Ian had gotten a man pregnant. Pregnant enough that he was beginning to show.
Tom was beginning to show and it was cute, the gentle pulling of his shirts, his amused dismissal, and stupid “dadbod” jokes as he lightly patted the small belly.
He had no idea what was going on, what he was actually in for. That the experiment was working better than expected and Tom was carrying a healthy baby. That he was in a predicament out of his control, and Tom would have to see it through, one way or another.
That evening, Ian fondly watched as Tom unlatched his belt. Tom released an appreciative groan. “Don’t tell me,” muttered Tom at catching Ian’s stare. “I’m getting fat.”
“I like it,” said Ian.
-
“Maybe you should just stick with a salad tonight, darling.”
It was one of the many discreet remarks Penny had made recently about Tom’s weight gain. He swore, he wasn’t eating any more than usual, but the weight was just piling on. He supposed he was just at that age where his metabolism was giving up on him.
“Sure,” said Tom, even as his stomach growled. His sizeable stomach. His button-down work shirts had gotten increasingly tight in the past couple of weeks. That morning he had noticed his shirt actually pulling apart, exposing skin between the buttons. They were uncomfortably tight and he was past the point of needing new ones, though it was still hard to accept it. Tom had never been overweight in his life and this was sort of new for him.
Sid finished setting the table. Penny opened the fridge, and Tom gazed longingly at the beers, but Penny pulled out a pitcher of water. She poured Tom a glass.
“Dad on a diet?” said Kim indifferently as she plopped down in a chair, not taking her eyes off her cell phone.
“He’s getting fat,” Sid snickered.
Kim finally detached her eyes from her phone to give Tom a once-over, the twitch of her lip indicative the morbid pleasure she got from his suffering—anyone’s suffering, really.
“Hey, that’s enough,” Tom chided lightly. “Spare your old man any further humiliation.”
Sid just snorted as he grabbed himself a soda out of the fridge.
“Grab me one, Sid,” said Kim.
Sid, of course, ignored her. Huffing, Kim got up.
Penny just smiled as she brought the hot pot of food to the table and set it down on a kitchen towel folded there. It was nothing spectacular, though Penny had never been anything more than mediocre in terms of her culinary creations. But for some reason, the sight of the cheesy gooey grease-shining macaroni made Tom’s hunger surge.
“Maybe just a taste,” he said weakly.
As Tom started loading his plate, Penny twisted her lips but said nothing.
-
It was a little strange, to Tom, that all the weight gain seemed to go straight to his gut. He looked as though he had a few beers every afternoon, then guzzled several more with dinner. The truth was that Tom had never been much of a drinker. Nowadays, people were doubtful of that.
It was yet another office birthday party, this time for Steve in accounting. Tom was happily digging in to his slice of chocolate-fudge cake when his boss, Ricktor, glanced at him and chuckled.
“Slow it down, Tom. Save some for the birthday boy.”
“Ha, ha,” said Tom flatly but good-naturedly. Evidently everyone was starting to notice his weight-gain. The round mound was bulging visibly in even his newer, looser, shirts. But then it was hard to hide something that was developing more dimension. His shirt laid vertical, whereas his stomach was developing a horizontal curve of depth. The shirt followed the curve, laying against a belly that looked rather blatant on his otherwise slim form.
“How’s the wife doing?” Ricktor asked.
“Doing well. Overdoing some things.” Tom lightly patted his gut.
“That good, huh? You still haven’t had me over for dinner.”
“You know I don’t like to share.”
“Clearly,” Ricktor responded, and they both chuckled. “Keep up the good work, Tom,” he said, as he moved on to mingle with other employees.
Tom lightly shook his head, still absently smiling. He finished his cake, and couldn’t resist an offering of a second slice. Then he mingled a little, wished Steve a happy birthday, and went back to his office.
Tom sat down behind his desk. His stomach gurgled, and he was shot a glance by newguy, who was shadowing Tom, and had all but moved in. Tom could never seem to remember his name.
“Need anything sir?” said newguy, who was presently hunched over a small table and a pile of folders. The kid looked like he could be Sid’s age.
“No,” said Tom quickly. “No, just…continue to review those files.
Newguy nodded and fervidly got back to work.
Tom sighed, absently rubbing his gut. It felt uncomfortably bloated, and he had been suffering a lot of indigestion lately. When the uneasy feeling wouldn’t seem to pass, Tom got up and went to the bathroom.
He locked himself in a stall, but he didn’t have to actually go or anything. There was tension and heaviness, and he wasn’t sure if this was ordinary with belly weight, or if he should have been concerned. Tom unbuttoned his shirt, and absently rubbed the mound some more.
His nipples felt good against the cool office air. They had gotten somewhat bigger and darker, which was another source of concern. Tom sighed heavily as he leaned on the stall wall, allowing his body to relax.
It was probably past time for a medical check-up, and for him to start taking his diet seriously.
