Mama said knock you up

You know I try to keep things here at the Cotillion clean, wholesome, and nonthreatening. I'm sure you've noticed.

However, there is a subject that needs to be broached, as badly as any subject has ever needed broachin', maybe just the broachiest subject of the day. I need to discuss breasts.

The whole thing started yesterday when I was walkin' down the hall at work with Balulah. Balulah is several months pregnant, and just barely beginning to have a pooched belly. As we held a completely adult and mature conversation (I believe it was about "accidental" anal sex), she executed a little shoulder-shakin' dance move to illustrate a point. Then she got this look of shock, awe, a little amusement, and a little disgust on her face, and clapped an arm over her boobs.

Now, in her previous non-pregnant life, Balulah sported an A cup. But, by the Udders of Grayskull, as the baby in her belly grows, so apparently do her sweater silly putty eggs. Her patented shoulder-shakin' move, which has never caused the least stir, was now settin' things in motion, things which had previously not been large enough to be set into any serious motion. But now Balulah's got a brand new fun bag. Well, two of 'em. She seemed as totally surprised as anyone else that she now had somethin' to shake, and when the shock wore off, we both laughed like drunken schoolgirls and hoped that the security cameras hadn't recorded any of that.

Well, it's got me to thinkin'. Frankly, I'm totally jealous of the whole "grow your bazongas without surgery" thing, and I want in. I don't want a boob job -- I have an aversion to the idea of someone, even a nice surgeon with steady hands, slicing my nipples off so they can stuff implants through the former aereola. Just gaining weight won't do the job, as tits seem to ramp up ever so much better in anticipation of a baby that they can feed. So it's gotta be pregnancy-induced breast enhancement.

And here's the rub: Jim can't really assist me with the pregnancy issue. We wisely decided about 14 years ago that children weren't a good idea for us, and he went and had the doc block any further traffic from the seamonkey factory. Could you put these flowers in a vas deferens? Snip snip. Shootin' wonderful blanks. (Will I get a call from Jim when he reads this?)

So, I'm here to solicit the help of all you spunky monkeys out there. I'm takin' applications for a suitable male, or males if I'm really lucky, to assist me in my quest for pregnant honkers, gallon milk jugs, mama hindenburgs. And by "suitable" I mean willing and able to knock me up. For my part, I will provide plenty of alcohol, blindfolds, and duct tape to make the experience more survivable for you. Ssssshhhhhh...it'll be okay, honey, once the lights are out.

Please be aware that once the child we conceive is actually born, it will be promptly deposited on your doorstep, and I will be changing my phone number so you can no longer find me.

Me and my bigguns.