The Birth

Here's how it all started.

Let me set the scene for you.

Me and the wife in the bedroom. Going at it hammer and tongs. The bed's squeaking louder than Mickey Mouse in a makeup testing lab and the headboard's beating off the wall like, well, me in the shower that morning as it happens. In reality I'm actually trying to drown out her bleating instructions at me every two seconds. “Do it harder”, “Take the mask off” and “Is it in yet?” and so forth.

Anyhoo, finally get there. I reach the so called nirvana and cum. One of those blink and you'll miss it orgasms if truth be told, but that's one of the drawbacks to being forced into regimental sex by your child-hungry wife all the time.

I knew something was wrong immediately. At first I thought I'd maybe slipped one out accidentally and shit the bed (been there, done that, got the dry cleaning bill to prove it) Rather than ask the ball and chain to rummage around like last time, I had a fumble about below myself. My fingers touched on something warm and round. Yup, definitely a shit, I thought. How wrong I was.

I don't know if I was more shocked or horrified when I pulled out that egg from between the sheets. Just a run of the mill egg. No different to the peely-wally battery hen ones from down the shops. Could I have just laid it? No, it was impossible. But the burning feeling round my ring told me otherwise. This alien object had definitely come from within.

I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I racked my brain for hours trying to figure out how this could have happened. Had I accidentally rammed a hard boiled egg up my arse and somehow forgotten all about it? Surely not. I wouldn't have had the time any ways. What with me staring at a blank screen every day for hours on end, ahem, I mean working hard on my new screenplay, I barely had time to scratch my own bollocks never mind anything else. No, the only possible and plausible conclusion had to be - I'd given birth.