Synopsis: Another story in my male pregnancy theme, and unlike Candice and her Pregnant Husband, this is written completely by me in my usual style.

When junior accountant Ben is brought into a meeting with the Chief Executive, he is apprehensive that he might in trouble of some sort. But he never dreamed the kind of trouble he would shortly be in! Enjoy.

“Hello, Ben. Thanks for coming in to see us.”

I smiled nervously back, wondering why Rachel Brown, the Chief Executive of the company where I worked, had asked to speak with me. I’d been a junior accountant in the company for six months. I’d seen her in meetings a few times and she’d always made a point of talking to me, even, I felt, taking a personal interest in me. Today, she had Michael Stevens, a solicitor, with her, who had made me sign another non-disclosure agreement.

“No problem,” I nervously smile. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Ben, but I’m going to tell you some highly confidential information, which is why Michael has got you to sign the non-disclosure agreement. My opinion of you is that you know how to keep a secret, but breathe one word of what I’m about to tell you outside this room and that agreement will allow you to be sued for every penny you own, and I, personally, will cut off your balls. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Firstly, I’m planning to retire in about one year’s time.”

I guessed she was in her mid-fifties, so it wouldn’t be completely unexpected. “I’m sorry you’re leaving us. You’re well respected in the company. I – and I know a lot of other staff – will be very sorry to lose you. What do you plan to do in retirement?” It was intended as a little social chat until we got around to the main business, whatever that was. Just an innocent enquiry, for I was certain she would have some plans. So I was flabbergasted when she responded with rather too much detail.

“I’m planning to start a family,” she said, “and yes, I can see you doing the arithmetic, I am past the menopause. But I had my eggs frozen several years ago, with this particular plan in mind.”

“So you’ll be using a surrogate?” I was guessing here, totally out of my field.

She grinned at me, a grin she frequently used to disarm people. “Certainly I’ll be using someone else to carry my baby, but Michael has warned me of the legal dangers of using a surrogate.”

She could see I hadn’t a clue about that particular subject so she explained. “The law, as it currently stands in the UK, is that the surrogate has all parental rights over the child, regardless of the wishes of the biological parents.”

I nodded. “I can see that would be a risk, unless you can come to some agreement beforehand.”

“It doesn’t matter about any legal agreement, the surrogate still has all parental rights.”

I wished we could get down to business, away from this tricky personal stuff, but I had to ask the question. “Presumably you have a plan for overcoming that?”

Her grin was even wider, this time. Many people in the company called it her crocodile smile. “Absolutely. I will marry the person who is to carry the child.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were engaged to anyone. When are you getting married?”

“I’m not certain of the exact date. I haven’t told him yet.”

Just like her to have not yet informed her planned husband that she was going to marry him. Then the implication of what she had said connected inside my brain. “Hang on, you said you haven’t told HIM of the date. But you said just now you were going to marry the woman who was going to carry your child.”

“I actually said ‘person’ rather than ‘woman’. It appears it is now possible for an artificial womb to be implanted into a male, and he will carry the child, or children.”

“Really! I didn’t know that. That’s fascinating, and an incredible development for female equality. How long has it been going on for?”

“It’s still at implementation stage so it hasn’t been announced, yet. But I know the head consultant involved and I can get in at the beginning.”

I thought for a second. “But why go through all that when you can simply marry the surrogate who’s going to bear your baby?”

“Because the law here is still very unclear. In a normal married pregnancy, the husband and wife are the biological parents of the child, and the rights have been long established and embodied into law, even if the marriage breaks up. But in this case, with the biological parents and a third person involved, no one knows how a court case would come out.

“So you’re planning that the man you hope to marry, but haven’t yet told, will have surgery to allow him to carry your babies. Is he aware of that?”

Another crocodile smile, just before the bite. “That’s why I asked you to come and see me.”

Gulp! I opened my mouth and closed it again. Finally I said, “Hardly the most romantic of proposals, but no thanks.”

I suspected I was going to be immediately fired; instead the crocodile smile got a little wider. “Obviously, it will be financially lucrative. Very lucrative.”

“But it’s experimental surgery. I might well die before I can receive it, never mind enjoy it.”

“The surgery is not at all experimental. Implanting an artificial organ is totally routine. You will need hormone injections which will make your body behave in a different way, but you’ll be under constant medical supervision.”

“Women still die during childbirth. It’s a dangerous part of their lives.”

“But with the amount of medical attention you’ll receive, you’ll be safer than most women giving birth.”

“Why me? We’ve barely met. You don’t know me and yet you want to marry me and have children together?”

“Actually, I’ve taken significant interest in you ever since you first entered the building for an interview. I was just going off for a meeting and noticed you standing at reception. I thought you were the prettiest boy I had ever seen. I decided straightaway that you were going to father my babies. You weren’t the best candidate for the junior accountant job, but I made certain you got it, all the same.”

I was hurt over being called a pretty boy, even though it was probably true. Many people suspected me of being gay because of my ‘prettiness’. But suddenly, something else made sense. “I was sent for a full medical check-up, which apparently no one else had ever been given. That was you, wasn’t it? Having me assessed as your laboratory rat?”

“You won’t be a rat, Ben. You’ll be their most precious patient. I’ll make certain of that.”

“I just can’t believe what you’ve asking me to do. Talk me through how you see this proceeding.”

“When you agree to go ahead, a womb will be designed for you and grown using your stem cells. We will get married. It will be a small event without fuss, but afterwards, we will be husband and wife. There now follows a step you may not be happy with, but it is essential.”

“Oh!” I affected surprise. “Only one?”

“You will need to identify as a woman and take a new name – perhaps Benjamina? This means that when we go to our new home, people will be told that you are my wife, rather than my husband. This is necessary because we don’t want to get the kind of publicity that a pregnant man would attract.”

I nod. “I can see the logic. But while you may think my face pretty, I don’t have a female figure.”

“At the same time as you have the womb implanted, you will have a few surgical procedures to give you a more feminine appearance. As soon as the team are satisfied that you’re ready, IVF will be commenced and the foetuses injected into your womb. Then, nine months later, our babies will be delivered by Caesarean section.”

“You said ‘babies’ not ‘baby’,” I pointed out.

“It’s quite normal with IVF to have multiple births. Your womb will accommodate that.”

“And after the baby or babies are born?”

“I’ve bought a large home in Norfolk, somewhere I want to bring up our children. It’s being prepared for them.

“And for me, also?”

“Of course. It’s not far from the maternity hospital you’ll be using so you’ll need to stay there until you’ve given birth to all of our children.”

“All of our children? How many are you planning to have?”

“At least half a dozen. We’ll see how we go.” Another crocodile smile. “Oh, and just to let you know the financial inducement: it’s half a million pounds when you become pregnant with the first baby or babies, with half a million pounds for each living baby subsequently born.”

That deserved another gulp. This was serious money, enough to set me up for the rest of my life. “And you would be paying for all the children’s care?”

“Of course. After you have delivered the six babies, you’ll be free to do whatever you wish; I’ll give you a divorce if you wish. That will be your choice. Obviously, you’ll have parental access to the children but I will have control of them. So what do you say?”

“I need more information and time to think about this. I need to speak with the surgeon.”

***

It was actually the surgeon, Greg Turner, more than anyone who convinced me to go ahead. “There are always risks to surgery,” he said, “just as when you walk down a pavement, some drunken driver may mount the pavement and kill you. However, in surgery, most risks are due to carelessness and I can assure you that there will be no carelessness in my theatre. We will do a lot of exploratory tests before the operation so we’ll know exactly what we’re doing, and the artificial womb will already have been grown from your stem cells under surgical conditions and we will be 100% satisfied with it before we implant it.

“The implant itself is no more serious than hundreds of similar implants, and then we come onto the pregnancy itself. Yes there are a number of things which can go wrong with pregnancy but we will be keeping a very close eye on you, and you will get the very best of care. I don’t believe your pregnancy will be substantially more risky than any pregnant female with multiple babies. But what you will be doing is providing a quantum leap in the options for many pregnant women who are at risk of losing their babies and/or their lives, and I believe that is worth fighting for. This will be the ultimate leveller in male and female equality. Yes there is a small risk, but I don’t believe it’s substantial. I’d ask you to go ahead, and if that makes you wealthy, then good luck to you.”

“Which hospital do you work from?”

“It’s in UAE – obviously a private one.”

“UAE? You don’t mean University of somewhere or other. You mean United Arab Emirates?”

“I’m afraid the British Medical Association won’t sanction this work. UAE will.”

“So it is risky?”

“I’ve explained the risks which I believe are low. But there are significant ethical issues here which may take years to resolve. Neither I, nor your sponsor, accept those issues. So we’re doing the implant and fertilisation in UAE, provided you agree to proceed. We will then return to the UK and use a small private maternity hospital adjacent to where Rachel has bought her home.”

It was an enticing offer and after a lot of thought, I accepted the deal.

***

And it went pretty well as Rachel had outlined it. I was given several exacting medical examinations. Then, they took stem cells from me to grow the womb, and a month later, Rachel and I got married in a small ceremony. A few relatives and friends attended, all of whom thought that I had lost my mind, even if I was her toy boy.

And, yes, we had sex. Rachel had told me there was no obligation but felt we should consummate our relationship at least once, and I’m a bloke. Rachel was attractive, even if she was middle-aged, and we slept together in her London flat for the period between our marriage and my leaving for UAE. Actually, we fucked like rabbits, and both enjoyed it.

I departed for UAE a week later, knowing that I’d be there until I was impregnated with the foetuses which were being cultured from Rachel’s eggs and my sperm: at least one month and probably longer. But that wasn’t the only surgery I was going to have. I was having surgery to make me look, and sound, like a woman. Breasts, and hip enhancement as well as laser treatment to remove body hair and to increase the pitch of my thyroid. My testicles and penis were tucked, so they didn’t create unsightly bulges, although the latter could still be made to pop out for when I got back to Rachel, or as she feely accepted, when we stopped sleeping together. The surgery was all done within days of my arriving, and went by without incident, but then I had continual hormone injections, interspersed with feminisation lessons.

Finally, in just over one month, everything had gone smoothly, and I was impregnated by an injection of foetuses into my new womb. Afterwards, I felt exactly the same as before, although I had to remain in UAE for a few days, just to make certain that everything was well. Then I was flying home to my wife.

***

When I arrived at Heathrow wearing a pink tracksuit I’d purchased in Abu Dhabi, with my A-cup breasts gently declaring I was female, Rachel was there to meet me. I had short blonde hair cut in a not dissimilar style to Rachel’s and wore ear studs in my newly pierced ears.

“I’m pregnant,” I gasped in my now feminine voice, as I ran up to her and hugged her. “I’m going to have a baby – or babies, although they’re not certain how many, as yet. Isn’t that fantastic?”

Several people standing nearby grinned and one or two offered their congratulations, but none of them realised just how fantastic the accomplishment was. Apart from Rachel, that is, who looked at me and gave me the most genuine smile I’d ever seen on her.

“Benjie, it’s brilliant,” she said, using the name by which I would now be called. “I’ve booked a meal in one of the semi-decent restaurants here, and I have something for you. Come on.” She hooked her arm through mine and we walked to the restaurant. Once we had sat down and she had a glass of wine and I, a glass of fizzy water, she handed me a small box. Inside was a matching necklace and earrings, and in the bottom was a cheque for £500,000!

“Oh my God, Rachel. What a beautiful necklace. And those earrings are beautiful. Oh, and the cheque is nice as well. Now it seems money for old rope, just to become pregnant, but it certainly didn’t feel that way when I flew out there. Still, I guess the worst is yet to come. I’m not certain how many babies will be born but they’ve implanted four foetuses. With normal multiple pregnancies, they would normally reduce that to twins after it was clear that more than two were developing. However, Greg says that with my tailor-designed womb, there should be no need to do that, that it will expand to easily cope with multiple births, and that they can also manage my hormones more readily than with conventional motherhood. He says I’m a healthy person…(“I almost said man”) …and much stronger than most pregnant women. I’m not certain how I feel about that. On the one hand, I don’t want to lose any of our babies which are growing inside me; on the other, do I have such confidence in Greg’s words that I trust him absolutely with my life?”

“You already have trusted Greg with your life,” Rachel said. “I feel exactly the same as you but it has to be your choice in the end.”

“He felt that me being so much stronger than the average pregnant woman gave me a big advantage. Incidentally, he says that if I go ahead with the quadruplets, he is confident that, with my womb, I can probably go almost to full term. In turn, that would mean my final weight gain could be enormous. The babies alone could weigh around 15 kg. My total weight gain could be well over 25kg!

So, he wants to develop my strength even further and he’s given me an inflatable pregnancy bump. I’m to start with 5 litres of water inside, which is, of course, 5 kg. I’m to carry that around all day, but I can take it off at night. I have to add 500ml of water each week until I reach a total weight gain of 20 kg, which is the typical weight gain of women with twins. Then I can start reducing the water each week until it’s empty. Before we leave the restaurant, let’s go to the toilets and we can pour in the first five litres of water.

“But we don’t have to decide yet about whether I’m going to carry the four babies to full term. Indeed, we could simply continue and only abort if there’s a problem. Of course, if I did give birth to all four babies, It would only take another two to complete my part of the contract.”

“Your commitment was for a minimum of six babies,” Rachel agreed, “but I’d like you to go on much further than that.”

I grinned. “Do you really want more than six? You may find that caring for babies is rather more difficult than you expect.”

“Don’t be stupid. I can afford to hire a few nannies. They’ll do all the work. I will just be the mother who dotes on them.”

“Why do you want so many children?” I’d asked the question before and never got a satisfactory answer.

“I’ve always been a successful businesswoman. I started up my company with a simple idea that I turned into a hundred million pound business. But at the back of my mind, I’ve always told myself that someday I would have ten kids. Now, I’m in a position to fulfil that dream.”

“Ten kids. You’ve never mentioned that number before.”

She grinned. “I didn’t want to scare you too much. But yes, ten children is my ambition. I’d been exploring possibilities for achieving that for years. Greg Turner’s work excited me and then you walked into the office and I knew I was going to achieve my dream at last.”

We ate a nice meal, and then, after filling my pregnancy belly with 5 litres of water, we got on the road for Norfolk, almost three hours’ drive.

“It’s working out all right, isn’t it,” Rachel said after she’d negotiated the traffic around Heathrow and we were on the motorway.

“Yes, it is. I wasn’t certain how the sex thing would develop, but it’s gone fine, so far.”

“Don’t tell me you were more worried about the sex than about becoming a pregnant man?”

“I guess the male pregnancy thing is so weird that I just put it out of my mind. But getting married to a woman thirty five years’ older is… unusual.” I didn’t tell her about the serious ribbing I’d had from my colleagues at work about our marriage, often tinged with jealousy that I was a toy boy and clearly going to make money out of the deal. If only they knew what I’d really contracted for!

“How has your cock stood up to everything in the UAE?”

“OK. We’ll have to try it out when we get to Norfolk.” I’d had some serious transformation work to make me look feminine, and they’d tucked my testicles and cock into my groin, but they’d done my cock so that it could be let out to have sex. “Do you now have staff working at the house?”

“I have a live-in cook and a housekeeper, so far. They’ll basically look after us, and of course, they have been told that you are my wife, Benjie, carrying our babies. Later on, we’ll get a live-in nurse to help you, and she’ll be in on the whole project. The house was previously a cottage hospital, but it’s been long disused and empty for years. The private wing with its maternity wing where Greg is consultant, was built a short walk away.”

“So plenty of room for lots of babies and growing children?”

“Exactly. And well away from reporters and others who might take too much interest in a woman pregnant with quads. That transformation is marvellous, by the way. I’d never know that you were male.”

“I’m just a little worried that the hormone treatments is taking away my masculinity. That I’ll stop wanting to have sex.”

“We’ll try everything out when we get home. But the hormone treatments are only while you’re pregnant. When you’ve given birth, you stop the hormones and everything will revert to normal. In the meantime, if the hormones do reduce your desire to shoot semen into every female, it’s probably not a bad thing and it should remove the frustration that every male experiences if he can’t do that. What I’m really saying is that maybe you’ll become a happy pregnant woman rather than a frustrated male.”

“But in the meantime, let’s go at it like hell.”

Rachel smiles. “Yes. Let’s.”

***

So we did for a few weeks. The hormone treatment may have reduced my libido but it certainly hadn’t eliminated it and we continued to have lots of fun in the bedroom. But gradually, the consequences of pregnancy made themselves obvious and with the extra weight I was carrying, they appeared very quickly. For women generally, there are few obvious changes during the first trimester, or 13 weeks, whereas for me, the pregnancy belly made it over 10 kg, the kind of weight that some women only gain just before giving birth.

Just a few more weeks and I was up by 20 kg, the kind of weight of a suitcase you can put in the hold of an airplane. That is seriously heavy, but still I was gaining weight, despite reducing my extra ballast by on a weekly basis. Then, it got to the point that, rather than my bulge being attached to me, I was attached to the bulge. I had the mattress of our bed modified with a huge hole made for my belly, so I could lie face down with my belly resting in the hole. I also had a trolley which I could push before me, resting my belly on it. And still I grew and got heavier, and my bump bigger and bigger.

For the final week, I was so heavy, I simply couldn’t move, and had to lie in a modified bed all day. I became simply a general supply system for my bump. Then, I was being put under aesthetic and my babies were being delivered.

***

My babies were beautiful: three girls and one boy. They were all of good, healthy weights, unlike many multiple births which normally arrive early. But afterwards, my body was still huge, with an enormous flabby belly covered in stretch marks and veins. My breasts turned into milk machines trying to cope with the demands of four babies, although I couldn’t supply all their needs and they received supplements as I turned from being a general supply system for my bump, into a dairy for my babies to feed.

One month later, I was starting to get back into some shape, even if it was still huge. But I had two nannies to care for my babies, so I wasn’t tied to them like so many mothers. All the same, I was still a milk supply system, with frequent milkings throughout the day. I’d begun to take exercise to try to get my body back to normality, and was quite pleased with the progress I was making when in one of the regular checkups I continued to get from Greg Turner, he told me he had good news.

However, his definition of good and mine were not that consistent. “I have taken advice from the BMA and they see no reason why the next IVF should not take place in the UK. So there’ll be no need to go to the UAE to commence your next pregnancy. We can do it right here.”

I was aghast. “My next pregnancy! But I haven’t yet recovered from my first.”

“But everything went very well. Your babies were the healthiest sextuplets born in the UK ever, average birth weight of 3.1kg, and they are all growing superbly. Time for your next pregnancy.”

“It’s not time,” I protested. “I need some space to get used to motherhood.”

“Look at it like falling off a horse. Get back on it, straightaway, or you’ll never get back on it again.”

That made me think. I’d been looking forward to coming off the hormones which were still keeping up my milk production and damping down my ability to get an erection of my rarely seen cock. Once I was back to sex as a male, would I really again consent to virtually becoming a woman, and a very highly pregnant one, all over again?

I chatted with Rachel about it, but of course, she was right behind Geoff’s plan. “Of course you must become pregnant again. Another batch of wonderful babies – your babies and mine – and of course, another wodge of money for you.”

But again, it was Geoff who convinced me. “I want to make an announcement about the male womb in a couple of months’ time. If I can tell the world that the recipient has not only given birth to four healthy babies, but is again pregnant then it will give a respectability to the procedure that no amount of smooth talk could. Please, for all those women pregnant but who, for various medical reasons, cannot give birth, become pregnant again.”

“You make such a convincing argument. I presume you’re planning to implant another four foetuses.”

He bowed his head in an apologetic gesture. “I’m really pleased at how well you coped with your multiple pregnancy, and the artificial womb was great. I’d like to implant more, this time. I’d say at least six?”

“Six! It was bad enough last time with four growing inside me. I couldn’t take six.”

“You see, Ben, I think what we will demonstrate that my new womb will better cope with large multiple births than a natural womb. And that the male, being generally stronger, could become the person who could share with his wife large multiple births. But it all needs to be proven before we go down that line. You, Ben, hold the key to that medical, and sexual, revolution.”

I nodded. “I guess that if six babies were born, it would also mean I’ve completed Rachel’s shopping list for babies. OK, go ahead.”

So, while still providing enough milk to supply a diary, I became pregnant again.

Greg came into the milking parlour to give me the good news. “Wonderful news. You’re pregnant again. Another multiple birth.”

“How many?”

“It looks like seven at the moment, but we’ll see how everything goes.”

“Seven! But we agreed to go with six.”

“No. I actually said at least six. Anyway, seven is a lucky number and the press would love that.”

“I’m just being used as a press spectacle, aren’t I?”

“The press will never know your identity, so you’re not going to be a spectacle. But there’s no doubt this news is going to revolutionise pregnancy and you are an incredibly important part in bringing that to life. But your own life is very important to me. Fingers crossed that in nine months’ time, you may have eleven children.”

I had been about to scream at him until he said those words. I was going to be carrying another seven babies and it was the most exciting thought I, or any man before, had ever had. I was the Ultimate Leveller.