Kwame

Happy Friday from Kwame and I! Hope you enjoy!

Kwame

By

Brimmingbelly04

Image By

Fulleclipsehex

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a damn sec!” Kwame cut the doctor off, for sure he'd heard her wrong. “How many did you count?!”

“Four,” she repeated. “You're pregnant with quadruplets, Mr. Coleman.”

The doctor was used to having to repeat herself during pregnancy announcements. Usually when she did, she did so with a big, happy smile, but she got the sense the news she'd just delivered hadn't been too well received so this time, she refrained.

While Kwame hadn't experienced any morning sickness, he'd already known he was pregnant, thanks to the belly he'd sprouted. He hit the gym every day, watched what he ate, and was active at work, so there was only one other reason to explain its sudden appearance.

Actually, not one, but four. Shit… His “extracurricular activities” had never caught up with him in the past, but now that they had? Fuck!

Kwame closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How far along am I?” He asked as he opened them, exhaled and leaned in over the growing gut he hadn't been the only one to notice.

Devonte, his club's manager, had noticed it too, and he wasn't happy about it. Rightfully so though, because twenty-eight year old Kwame was one of his best and most popular dancers. His club was known for having the hottest dancers, so he needed Kwame to be (and stay) in tip-top shape from head to toe.

“Eight weeks, which is…”

“Too far along to terminate,” the hunky stripper finished for the doctor.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, offering him a small smile she knew wouldn't help, but was all she had.

“Yeah, me too…” he sighed as he leaned back against the inclined bed and closed his eyes.

***

Kwame spent the next few days in a fog with zero visibility. Male pregnancy was still very rare. One involving multiples, even more so, so he couldn't even begin to fathom his “luck” or really, lack thereof.

Being a father wasn't on his agenda, at least not anytime soon. Being a single father of four, who stripped for a living, most definitely wasn't, so Kwame didn't even have to think what he was going to do with the babies. Putting them up for adoption was the best (and only) option for him and them.

Being a stripper wasn't for everyone. It also wasn't a profession many people respected, but Kwame actually enjoyed it. He liked showing the big and beefy body he'd worked hard to build off, but what he really liked about his job was the dancing… Kwame loved dancing (with or without clothes on) so much that he'd created a TikTok account he posted on regularly, featuring him dancing to the latest music and choreography.

He had enough followers and online views that he made some (not a lot) money from his posts, most of which he used to purchase materials to create “outfits” he wore when he stripped. But now that he was pregnant? Very pregnant, at that…

Kwame knew his nights of dancing were coming to an end, probably for good. Because of how rare his condition was, he had no clue as to whether or not guys would wanna see a huge preggo dance for them, but knew for sure they wouldn't want to after, when he was left with a saggy, flabby belly and an engorged chest.

The twenty-eight year old quickly became depressed. Dancing was literally his life but soon, he was going to have to find a new profession. Not just yet, but soon.

In whatever time he had till then, Kwame made the most of his nights…

Even though his days remained shrouded in fog, come evening, when most people were sitting down to dinner with their family, he headed for the club, where it was still game on. By the time he hit the main stage, after pumping up all of his many muscles that were still cut and visible, and saturating his chocolate brown skin with baby oil, to make it shine under his spotlight, he was ready to take on the metaphorical game's final boss.

The four nights following confirmation of his pregnancy, Kwame danced his heart out and his ass off. Now that he knew for sure he was (very) pregnant and therefore every night, he was a little bigger than the last, the twenty-eight year old still hit every beat on point, and stripped all the way down to nothing but his tube socks (so he'd have somewhere to put his tips,) when the right time came.

Every night, right before stepping onto the main stage, he couldn't help but feel a little more embarrassed and less sure, but he kept telling himself he was worrying too much… Kwame kept telling himself that he was obviously too much in his head, because (growing) belly or not, everyone still seemed to be loving his routines.

Well, almost everyone…

***

Evidently, Devonte had a problem with them, or at least thought he did. After Kwame had showered and gotten dressed in his street clothes, he summoned him to his office, located at the back of the club.

“You pregnant, ain't you?” The light-skinned, corn-rowed club manager asked Kwame, following what the stripper now assumed had been his “last dance,” on the main stage, anyway.

If he played his cards right, Kwame hoped he'd be able to convince Devonte to keep him around a little longer, because not only did he really love his job, he needed the money…

He opened his mouth to respond, but initially, no words came out. When they didn't, Kwame lowered his gaze from the other man's and silently nodded as his now downcast eyes fixated beyond his pecs and on to his new belly.

Even though he was far from the front of the house, he still heard “Toot It Up,” the new single by Pardison Fontaine, featuring Cardi B, playing. That meant that his friend, Antoine, another customer-favorite dancer, was performing.

Nice and as good of a friend as he was, Antoine was a terrible dancer in the literal sense… He was one of very few Black men who had no rhythm, whatsoever, but he had two saving graces, but it was hard to say which was “first and foremost…”

The dark-skinned twenty-four year old was stupidly good looking in the face and body. Had he left well-enough alone, he still would've had “body-ody-ody-ody-ody” for absolute days, but then he went and got his ass “done,” taking his backside into an entirely different stratosphere, after filling it to an almost ridiculous degree with God knows what.

But anyway…

Kwame nodded as he continued to look down at his middle, which looked even bigger now that he was sitting, and it was crammed into his favorite, previously form-fitting t-shirt, which unsurprisingly, was already proving itself to not be up to the (additional) strain.

“Busted…” he sighed.

“How…” the club manager started to ask.

“Too far.”

“Be more specific,” Devonte requested as he leaned back in his chair. “Please…” he added in the form of a sigh as he closed his eyes.

“Almost nine weeks.”

Immediately, his eyes shot open, and his body shot forward. “That's only just over two months!”

Kwame nodded. “But still too far along to do anything about it, thanks to our…”

“How many and by whom?” Devonte abruptly cut him off.

The strip club owner was all for getting political, but now wasn't one of those times. At least not yet…

“Four. And the other baby-daddy..?” Kwame grunted. “A customer. And no, I haven't seen him since.”

Devonte rolled his eyes. Dancers weren't supposed to get with customers for reasons just like this, but obviously they still did.

“I'm sorry, K, but I'm gonna have to let you go,” he shook his head.

“‘Cause I got with a customer after hours?! That's…”

“No. If I fired you for that, I'd have to fire everyone! I'm letting you go ‘cause you're pregnant.”

“No one's complained, have they?”

“No,” Devonte replied. “But…”

“Come on, D…” Kwame pleaded. “I need this job! Let's just see how things go, OK? See how people react when I really start to show,” he nodded.

“You already are showing!”

“I said, really,” he emphasized. “If they're not into it, you can take me off the main stage or fire me then. Sound good?”

Devonte sat back and thought about it. No, it didn't sound good, but there was nothing either of them could do about the pregnancy and no one had complained about Kwame's performances yet, so…

“Alright, fine,” he agreed. “But if I do end up letting you go, I don't want any trouble, got it? No suing me for firing you ‘cause you pregnant. Stupid pregnant…” he finished with a roll of his eyes.

“Deal,” Kwame nodded. “And who knows?” He smirked as he stood. “Maybe you’ll end up keepin’ me ‘round till the end? Maybe this pregnancy will make me an even bigger draw than I already am?” He shrugged as he turned to leave. “See ya tomorrow night.”

Devonte grunted as he watched him go. He doubted Kwame's pregnancy was going to make him a bigger draw, other than in the literal sense, but time would tell.

***

Expecting quadruplets, it didn't take long for Kwame to really start to show. Not even into his second trimester, his belly began to notably bloat up and out. As soon as it was obvious he was pregnant, customers started to talk but much to Devonte’s surprise and relief, none of them complained.

The club manager couldn't say he was a fan of pregnancy, but he also couldn't say Kwame didn't still look good with a belly. He just hoped (at the time) that it didn't end up getting too big, but knew it probably would.

Even with a growing belly, the twenty-eight year old still filled the seats around the main stage. Much to the stripper's own surprise, he was suddenly making more tips. Not a ton more, but there was definitely a difference in his nightly take home.

It was still too soon to tell, but maybe Kwame had been right about his pregnancy being a draw for him and the club? He sure hoped so…

At the same time, he wasn't a fan of his expanding middle. More and bigger tips were always appreciated, but at what cost? Unfortunately, he had no control over his belly, so he focused on the parts he did... Kwame amped up his time and effort at the gym to make sure he kept himself pumped and toned (while he still could, because eventually, probably sooner than he was going to like, he knew he was going to have to adjust his workouts and start taking it easier.)

But in the meantime, thanks to all the pregnancy hormones (and the weight he was gaining,) he was able to add more muscle relatively quickly and easily. Initially, his muscular gains helped offset the gains he was experiencing at his middle, but that wasn't the case for long…

Fortunately, that wasn't a problem either. The more Kwame grew, the more his audiences did as well. On particularly busy nights, Devonte let him dance not only longer than everyone else, but two more times, an honor the twenty-eight year old had only received a few times before getting knocked up.

***

When Kwame hit six and a half months, it looked like he was about to pop out a big set of twins. It was a good thing he'd gone extra hard at the gym because if he hadn't, moving the way he still managed to onstage wouldn't have been possible. Customers probably wouldn't have cared by then, but it was good nonetheless, because they were talking…

On nights Kwame danced, the club was more crowded than ever. Devonte knew why… People thought Kwame was going to give birth soon. They thought so because of how big he'd already gotten and because months prior, when he finally agreed that Kwame was right, he'd forbidden the dancer from telling customers when he was due and how many he was having.

High order male pregnancies were exceedingly rare, so everyone just assumed Kwame was having twins (soon) and therefore, their time was running out. As a result, the tips they tossed at him or stuffed in his g-string (the latter of which was now always accompanied by belly rubs and gropes,) really started to soar.

Kwame had no choice but to take it down several notches at the gym. He still went frequently, but no longer every day and no longer worked out as long. Everyday, dancing and working out got to be more difficult, but he still kept at both. At least he'd gotten over his embarrassment. Well, most of it…

Now, if and when he felt so, it was because his burgeoning belly and bloating pecs kept him from dancing too hard, too fast, or to the best of his (previous) ability. Increasingly, the twenty-eight year old struggled to keep up with the beat of the song he'd specifically chosen to perform to, in hopes of avoiding just that!

Even though it was obvious no one but him seemed to care, he still did. To Kwame's credit, two or three times a night, depending on the demand (which usually equated to three,) he put on the best show he presently could.

Speaking of “shows,” the requests he got for private dances and/or “after hours” performances, were off the charts. Prior to getting pregnant, Kwame had given more than his fair share of lap dances in one of the club's private rooms and had obviously entertained customers after hours. He knew he could've charged at least triple what he had for the former, and/or could've taken any customer he wanted to home (and charged them for the pleasure too,) but following multiple times onstage, always putting in his best effort, impressively “fit” he still was, he was always too exhausted.

***

By seven and a half months, extra popular as he'd become and great as the tips were, the fertile stripper was ready to throw in the g-string. As much as he loved dancing, doing so multiple times a night, multiple nights a week, was getting to be too much.

So one evening, Kwame headed to the club early and sat down with Devonte to let him know it was going to be his last night. Needless to say, his announcement wasn't well received.

Devonte had gone from thinking he had to fire the twenty-eight year old because he'd gotten pregnant, to relying on him more than ever for the very same reason! Club business was booming thanks to Kwame, and Devonte wanted to keep it that way as long as he could. He was willing to do whatever he needed to to keep the preggo dancing.

“Whatever you want or need,” he nodded. Anything you can think of, you name it and it's yours,” he promised.

Kwame sighed as he sat back in his chair, noting how its arms pressed hard against the sides of his belly. Due to his overall beefy stature, his abnormally large belly was quite wide, filling the “ample” space afforded by his powerful ribcage and sturdy hips. All that to say it didn't stick out as much as it would've on someone who was more slender, but it still stuck out a lot and couldn't be contained by his XXXL t-shirt, which looked like it'd been painted on.

Where to even begin? He wondered as he sighed again.

Might as well start from the bottom…

“My feet are swollen all the time now, but especially after I dance,” he informed.

“I'll have someone rub them for you, before and after each dance,” Devonte nodded as he took notes.

He was being serious. The continued success of his business relied on it.

“And making my outfits,” Kwame continued “That's getting hard and they're not fitting right ‘cause I can't take proper measurements.”

“I'll ask Antoine to help. He knows a thing or two about…” Devonte paused for a second. “Awkward measurements.”

“OK,” the twenty-eight year old nodded. “But getting here and home is challenging now too.”

“I'll pay for your rides. XL's both ways. Anything else you need me to take care of, ‘cause I will…”

Kwame nodded again. “The future.”

“What about it?”

He sighed. “I'm worried ‘bout what's gonna happen after I have the babies… If you're still gonna let me dance? Hell, I'm worried if guys are even gonna wanna see me dance anymore?” He sighed again.

“Yeah, I've been worried ‘bout that too,” Devonte admitted.

“Obviously, I'm gonna take some time to hopefully get back in shape…”

“It might not take as long as you think,” he shook his head.

Kwame grunted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah… It'll probably take longer!”

“I don't think so. Aside from your belly and your pecs, you're in the best shape I've ever seen you.”

“You think?”

Devonte nodded. “And big as you've gotten, you don't have any stretch marks,” he noted.

Kwame rolled up his shirt, fully exposing his belly. “That's ‘cause I'm goin’ through a bottle of cocoa butter a day!”

“I'll pay for that too.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I can afford cocoa butter… It's food that's really gettin’...”

“Here!” Devonte cut in as he hurriedly pulled out his wallet. “Take this,” he said as he stood and handed over one of his credit cards. “Put your food and whatever else you want on there,” he nodded as he sat back down.

Kwame looked from the card now in hand, back down to his belly and then at Devonte again. “You really want me to keep comin’ in, huh?”

“I do,” the club manager emphatically nodded.

The twenty-eight year old smirked. “Guess I was right?”

Devonte nodded some more. “You were. So..?”

“One more week,” Kwame offered as he started rolling his shirt back down as far as it went. “Then we'll go from there, OK?”

Devonte had hoped that everything he'd offered would entice the younger man to keep dancing till he went into labor, but one more week was better than just one more night, so he agreed.

“OK!”

***

Devonte once again lucked out: one more week became two.

Everyone, oftentimes Kwame himself, was surprised he kept coming into the club on almost a nightly basis. Dancing wasn't getting any easier and he'd had to cut back on and at the gym even more, but with all the offers and concessions Devonte had made, overall, things were a little easier and more bearable.

And the tips… They just kept on growing, right along with Kwame and the quads.

Per his manager's request, the dancer continued to keep how many he was having and when they were due a secret, but it was obvious to everyone by then, that it was more than twins. Slower and tamer as his performances had gotten, every time Kwame hit the stage, the packed (no matter what night it was) club went wild.

In both of their wildest dreams, neither Devonte or Kwame had imagined the latter's pregnancy ending up such a huge hit.

Now, when the twenty-eight year old wasn't dancing, he was waddling. Personally, he hated that but a lot of the guys who came to see him, found that just as hot as his choreographed moves. No one but Kwame and his more jealous fellow dancers, wanted his pregnancy to end but of course, it was eventually going to.

In the meantime, his big-bootied friend helped him take some somewhat more accurate measurements of himself. They weren't entirely accurate as again, Kwame and the quads just kept growing, even as their time together neared its end.

Unlike some of the other dancers, Antoine wasn't jealous of his friend, because he had plenty of fans himself, thanks to his huge rear-end. But then one day, after measuring Kwame again before they worked together to make his newest and biggest, skimpy outfit, the augmented dancer realized he suddenly had some rather serious competition when it came to who had the biggest booty at the club…

This didn't make him happy, but he still didn't begrudge Kwame for his additional development. Well, not entirely…

“I thought we was friends, K?” He said as he readied Kwame's sewing machine to make the preggo's newest g-string he'd designed to discreetly incorporate snaps, which would make it a little easier for him to get into, and a lot easier to get off.

“We are,” Kwame replied, focusing on the long and thick needle in his right hand as he held the matching blue, pleather harness he was working on in his left atop his belly, just in front of the bloated pecs it would (hopefully) support while simultaneously highlighting.

“Well then quit encroachin’ on my territory!” Antoine huffed as he started to sew. “That ass of yours is gettin’ too damn big, boy!” He only half jokingly complained.

“Who you tellin’?!” Kwame huffed right back.

“You know how much I had to pay for mine and how bad it hurt to get it?!”

“You've only told me and everyone else who'd listen, ten or so times…”

“Boy…”

“If it makes you feel any better, I sure as shit ain't mean for it to!”

Antoine chuckled. “It does. A little… Is it true you haven't taken her for a spin?” He asked.

“Her who?”

“Your big, fat, pregnant ass, that's who!”

Kwame laughed and shook his head. “All I do is shake her.”

“And drive all the guys crazy in the process!”

“Isn't that the point of what we do?” He laughed some more as the thick needle suddenly broke through the pleather, causing his pecs to bobble.

“Yes and no,” Antoine replied over the hum of the sewing machine. “You're supposed to take advantage of their craziness too! Why you think I made my ass so big?!”

Kwame huffed. “Well I never intended to make my belly or ass as big as they are now!”

“Fair ‘nough,” his friend nodded. “But why not have some fun with ‘em while you can, since unlike my ass, they won't be around forever… I mean literally…” he laughed. “My ass gon’ be around six feet under, long after the rest of me is gone!”

“You're morbid…” the preggo shuddered as he imagined two large blobs of silicone just laying amongst a pile of “dust” in a coffin.

“I'm honest!” Antoine corrected him. “Now answer my question!”

“I'm not using them, because look what happened to me the last time I used what I had!” Kwame said, carefully gesturing around and at himself with his right, needle-holding hand.

“But anyone you wanted would go home with you!”

“So?” He shrugged, making his pecs bobble again beneath his strained wife beater. “That's nothing new for me, or for you!” He pointed out.

“Not that I want to, but I can't go home with anyone, and I don't need to, ‘cause I got a man already!”

“You got a husband!”

“That's a man! But if I didn't have one, and I was you..? Shoot…” Antoine grunted as he shook his head. “I'd be poppin’ and boppin’ my pregnant bussy all over the damn place, while I still could!”

“Good to know,” Kwame rolled his eyes.

“I'm not sayin’ you weren't popular before, but you got a lot of new fans now, K…” Antoine pointed out.

“I know.”

“And you want a husband someday, don't you..?”

“Yeah, someday,” Kwame nodded.

“Well you got yo’ pick at this moment… You got guys literally linin’ up to see you, while in the family way, so fuck what anyone says ‘bout guys who come to strip clubs!” Antoine scoffed.

The overly fertile stripper scoffed right back. “A guy who came to a strip club did this to me, and where is he now?”

“Fair ‘nough,” his friend said again, this time in a notably more conciliatory tone. “But you know I can vouch… It might take a lil’ fishin’, but there's some winners to be found out there…”

“Noted.”

“How’s the harness comin’ along?” Antoine asked as he added another snap to the other side of the g-string's pouch, which he'd made extra large to accommodate the growth Kwame's balls had experienced as well.

“It looks good, I just hope it fits and holds together till it's time to take it off.”

“No need to take it off. It shows off everything already.”

That it did. Or would, so long as it fit when Kwame put it on later that evening…

“Still…” Antoine continued. “We might wanna use real leather going forward. It's stronger,” he noted.

“It's also more expensive,” Kwame pointed out.

“You can afford it!”

“Never said I couldn't,” he shook his head. “But I'm lucky if I get to wear these things once. Spending more on ‘em would just be wasteful.”

“You might get another wear outta them,” Antoine disagreed. “Probably not soon, but maybe someday?”

“And when pray tell, is someday?”

“The next time you get pregnant!”

The twenty-eight year old laughed long and loud. “If and when I get pregnant again, it's not gonna be till if and when I'm actually ready, at which point, I probably won't be strippin’ anymore. And…” he added. “It most definitely won't be this pregnant!” He shook his head. “This was a fluke!”

“Well it worked out for you,” Antoine pointed out.

“I lucked out.”

“If I was you, I wouldn't worry ‘bout tryin’ to get back in shape after… I'd be tryin’ to get pregnant again!”

Kwame grunted. “Why don't you and your man try? I'll gladly hand over my preggo crown.”

“Maybe we will?” Antoine shrugged. “Except if I got pregnant, my ass wouldn't look so big,” he realized with a frown.

“You probably wouldn't end up having quads. Almost no one does. Lucky me…”

***

After Antoine left, there was still a good deal of time before Kwame had to head for the club. He considered going to the gym to get a good pump, but then thought about how tired that would make him. Being eight months pregnant with four big babies, was no joke!

Someone less fit definitely wouldn't have been able to deal anymore because he hardly could! Instead of going to the gym, the twenty-eight year old settled on a nice, slow waddle around the ‘hood, slow being the keyword.

When he wasn't onstage, pretty much every move Kwame now made was slow. He officially had another month to go before he reached forty weeks, but according to his doctor, the babies could come at any time now.

Physically, he would've been fine with that. Preferred it, in fact, because as of two days ago, his doctor had estimated that each of the quadruplets already weighed 9 lbs, meaning Kwame was carrying nearly 40 lbs of baby alone, which was pretty fucking insane when he thought about it…

What was even more insane was to think that in another month, given their rate or growth (especially as of late,) each baby would probably end up over 11 lbs! Kwame could only imagine how big his belly, pecs and ass would all be by then.

Everyone else would undoubtedly love the results. Him, not so much, aside from all the money he'd make in the meantime. Money the twenty-eight year old needed since after giving birth, he was going to be out of work for awhile. How long remained to be determined…

As a stripper, Kwame was as used to being naked (or nearly so) as he was being clothed. That being said, he knew there was a time and place for such so before heading out, he went to his room and put on something that provided a little more coverage than the wife beater and short shorts he’d been wearing while Antoine was over.

Once he was better attired for his waddle, the twenty-eight year old popped his ear buds in, threw on a cap, eased his swollen feet into a pair of slides, and headed out.

Also thanks to his profession, Kwame was well-accustomed to people looking at him. Even when he was fully clothed, people often stared at him because of his muscular build and handsome face, but now..?

Now, they might notice his good looks and big and plentiful muscles, but neither were the initial attention grabbers they'd once been. Obviously, that honor now belonged to his belly, pecs and ass, but most notably, of course, his belly, which shifted somewhat from side to side with each heavy step he took as his pecs bounced about atop it.

Not even half a block from his building, Kwame was already starting to sweat and handsome as it was, his face showed signs of discomfort. Any and everyone he slowly passed stopped whatever they were doing and watched the massively muscular preggo go by.

It was a good thing Kwame was used to getting a lot of attention because otherwise, the amount he now received would've made his waddle that much more uncomfortable.

Two blocks from his building, he turned and started heading back. Less than a year ago, bulky (with muscle) as his body had been, the twenty-eight year old could've run two miles without breaking a sweat. By the time he got back to his apartment, he was sweating so much, it looked like he'd run a marathon (in the perspiration department, anyway.)

He was also damp thanks to another recent development… Over the course of the last week, Kwame's bloated pecs and bigger, thicker nipples had taken to leaking either while he was active, or shortly thereafter.

He'd started lactating twice while performing and both times, the guys in the crowd had gone even more wild. Unlike them though, the stripper wasn't particularly fond of his new, inadvertently acquired “party trick…”

Not only did he need to take a shower now, he'd also probably have to between dances at the club, and then again before he Ubered home. Before taking his second shower of the day, Kwame stopped in the kitchen for some water.

After turning to the side, he leaned forward and over into the fridge to grab two bottles. As he did, he found himself wincing as his belly suddenly cramped.

Kwame was careful as he slowly righted himself. Once he was fully standing and some of the strain had been taken off his abs, he expected the pain to subside, but it remained.

Actually, it got worse. Not terribly so, but worse nonetheless, causing Kwame to groan as it gradually spread to the other side of the belly he was now clutching with his free hand.

The twenty-eight year old had cramped up plenty of times, usually during an intense workout or when he hadn't warmed up enough before dancing. This cramp felt different though and for a moment, Kwame couldn't figure out why?

But then the reason suddenly hit him. It felt different because it was different… This wasn't any “regular” old cramp, this was a contraction.

His first.

***

For a few moments after realizing that, Kwame panicked. As much as he wanted to have the babies sooner rather than later, he didn't want to have them now!

Thankfully, he remembered that his doctor had told him during his last visit, that he could expect to start having contractions in the coming days/weeks, and when he did, that didn't necessarily mean he was in labor. To be sure he wasn't, it was important to track and time the, so once he'd regained a bit more of his wits, Kwame raised his hand and took note of the time on his watch.

While his first contraction only lasted

thirty or so seconds, the twenty-eight year old spent the next thirty minutes in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, anxiously awaiting the next. When another didn't occur, he finally headed for the bathroom to shower.

As he stepped under the lukewarm water, Kwame thought about calling Devonte, but then decided to wait. If he had another contraction before it was time to head in, then he probably would, but not yet.

Following his “quick” shower, after putting on a fresh beater but the same short shorts he'd been wearing before his (outside) waddle, the still anxious dancer headed back to the kitchen, where he'd left his water bottles on the counter. He downed both of them, then returned to the fridge, this time in search of something (else) to eat (again) because of course, he was hungry…

But instead of ravenously devouring basically any and everything that came within close proximity of his mouth, hungry as Kwame was, due to his anxiety, he just pecked at what he'd selected.

Why? Because now that he'd had his first contraction, pretty much all he could think about was when he was going to have his next?

Maybe he did need to call Devonte? Even if he didn't have another one today/tonight, now that contractions were all he could think about, Kwame didn't know how he was going to get through his performances that night?

The tips, he decided.

The tips he was sure to earn would do the trick. They'd make him smile and move his body in ways that were increasingly difficult, right?

Yes, he silently assured himself. The tips would do the trick.

***

Kwame was quiet during the ride to the club. The driver kept looking back at him, eyes honing in on his belly in the mirror. For a change, the huge orb was actually fully covered, “hidden” under a sweatshirt that could easily double as a picnic blanket; it was so big, and was still almost uncomfortably snug.

While he hadn’t had another contraction, Kwame was still anxious. Still hungry too… Maybe he’d order some chicken wings once he got to the club?

As he lumbered in through the back door, with his backpack slung over his broad, right shoulder, the dancer forced a smile. He tried to look normal and untroubled but honestly didn't think he managed.

As it turned out, he hadn't. As soon as the club manager saw him, he frowned.

“You OK, K? What’s wrong?” Devonte asked.

Still (apparently, awkwardly) smiling, Kwame nodded. “I’m fine. “Just a lil’ tired,” he replied.

He was tired, but that wasn’t the reason he was so… whatever he was. He thought again about telling Devonte about the contraction, but the other man spoke before he got the chance.

“Well then go get changed and then rest up. It's another big night tonight!” He smiled and nodded as he moved closer. “We’re sold out again, even after I upped the cover charge by $10 a pop!” He grinned as he reached out and gave his biggest, most popular dancer’s belly a gentle series of pats right above his protruding navel.

“That’s awesome,” Kwame said, smile quavering as he suddenly felt a little nauseous.

“Hell yeah, it is! Now tell me what I can do for you? Want me to send Antoine back to help you get changed?”

“I should be good. He sewed some snaps into my…”

“I’ll send Noah back to rub your feet.”

“Please,” Kwame nodded. “I’d really appreciate…”

“And food…” Devonte continued, thinking he was helping, because he intended to, but in reality, he was making his most popular performer more anxious. “I know you're hungry!” He smirked and chuckled. “What's it gonna be tonight?” He asked, batting his brows.

“Some wings sound good,” Kwame forced himself to nod again because hungry as he truly was, the thought and mention of food, just made him feel more nauseous.

“A foot rub and some wings, comin’ right up!” The club manager winked before turning and hurrying off.

***

At that moment, Kwame considered “hurrying” back home. Regardless of any situation he'd been in in the past, he'd never been as anxious and unsure about performing as he was now.

He'd had a contraction. One, a while ago mow. So what?

So, he was still perseverating on it, that's what… All Kwame could do as he headed for the dressing room, moving even slower than he had been while entering the club, was hope that the wings and massage would help.

Devonte brought him a dozen, piping hot wings just as he was finishing getting into the “outfit” he and Antoine had created (and yes, the snaps helped.) Once he was “dressed,” Kwame sat down (to the side) at the small table where Devonte had left the wings, and just stared at them.

For being a male strip joint, the club had an awesome kitchen, so like always, the wings looked and smelled amazing. Pregnant or not, Kwame was a (now literally) huge fan of wings, but this time, he had to force himself to bring the first to his mouth and then to keep chewing and swallowing. Not eating with his “usual,” the twenty-eight year old was only working on his second when Noah came in and promptly crouched down in front of him.

The nineteen year old had massaged the club's top performer's swollen feet many times by then. From what Kwame knew of him, Noah seemed to be a genuinely nice kid, who'd yet to become jaded by his good looks or the (extra) attention that earned him in his new “profession.” Hopefully for his sake, that would remain the case.

Not once had he complained, and still didn't as he took Kwame's swollen left foot in hand. The twenty-eight year old let out a guttural groan as the newer dancer started to rub. He hated feet, his own included, especially now that they were so swollen.

Under previously “normal” circumstances, (not that there'd been anything wrong with them,) Kwame didn't even like for his lower appendages to be looked at… The thought of having them touched had been enough to make him cringe, but obviously, things had changed…

While he still couldn't say he enjoyed having his feet massaged, he could at least admit he now needed them to be (repeatedly) if he had any hope of making it through two or three dances in one night.

“Not much longer till the big day, huh?” Noah asked as he applied more pressure to the ball of Kwame's foot, causing him to grunt.

“Not much.”

“You ready..?”

“For the pregnancy to be over? Yes. To give birth four times?” He grunted again. “Not exactly…”

Noah sighed. “I wanna get pregnant someday.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded as he smiled up at Kwame. “I think it'd be cool.”

“It's…” the twenty-eight year old paused as he considered how to respond without scaring Noah off. He reasoned he needed to be judicious, seeing as his pregnancy wasn't close to being “the norm.” “It's definitely been an experience,” he finished.

“Would you do it again?” Noah asked.

“Not if I can help it!” Kwame shook his head. “At least not till I decide whether or not I actually want kids.”

“Even if you don't, would you get pregnant again?”

“No!” He reiterated.

“I heard how popular you were before, but now…” Noah shook his head and sighed in what sounded like envy. “Now, guys come here just to see you, ‘cause you…”

“A blimp?” Kwame finished for him.

“Stupid pregnant.”

“That too…”

“The chances of that happenin’ again are pretty slim, but…”

“I ain't gonna lie,” he shook his head again. “Gettin’ this pregnant ended up bein’ an unexpected financial blessing, but it came at a cost.”

“Nothin’ you can't pay back though. You don't have even a single stretch mark!” Noah noted staring at the giant belly in front of him as he switched feet. “I'd do it again,” he nodded. “Or at least try.”

“You the second person today to tell me I should purposely get pregnant again,” Kwame said.

“Maybe we’re onto somethin’?” The nineteen year old shrugged. “Havin' one or two would probably be a cake walk after this!” He nodded at Kwame's belly.

***

A few minutes later, Noah gently set Kwame's right foot back on the floor. “Feel a little better?” He asked.

The older dancer smiled and nodded, even though he and his feet all felt pretty much the same: still swollen and achy, and anxious.

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it,” the twenty-eight year old said. “Mind helpin’ me up?” He asked as he held out his hands. “Gotta start oilin’ up. Gotta make sure this belly's poppin’ under the stage lights,” he chuckled at his own expense.

“You don't need to oil up to make it look like that!” Noah laughed once Kwame was standing. “I can give you a hand if you want?” He offered.

“You just rubbed my feet, dude…”

“Again, but so?”

“So I'd say you've done enough!” Kwame smirked.

Noah shrugged. “I don't mind.”

The older dancer shrugged back. “Then who am I to stop you?” He asked as he turned, grabbed the two closest bottles of baby oil and handed one over.

The club had a plentiful supply… There was a bottle sitting on pretty much every flat surface in the dressing room to ensure that pregnant or not, every dancer’s bulges were nice and shiny while they performed.

Noah went behind Kwame and started working on his shoulders and back. Kwame popped the top on his bottle, aimed it into his right palm, and got to work on his left arm. He was glad he'd accepted Noah's help because now more than ever, he had a lot of surface area to oil up.

Kwame was working on his right arm when all of a sudden, once again without warning, his belly tightened again. Of course now, just when he was starting to get into the mindset to perform, he'd have another contraction…

“Oh, wow!” Noah said as having finished oiling his shoulders, back and legs, he stepped back in front of the fecund dancer. “Babies are active!” He noted as he looked down at Kwame's middle, mistaking its clenching for fetal movement, though to his credit, there was some of that too.

Now that Noah could see his face, Kwame quickly fixed it. Not only did he not want to scare the kid, he didn't want him to start asking any questions.

“Guess they're gettin’ excited about performin’ tonight too, huh?” The nineteen year old asked as he quickly squirted more baby oil into his right palm and then placed it against the now extra tight surface of Kwame's belly.

“Guess they are,” Kwame nodded as he discreetly checked the time on his watch.

This contraction was longer than the last, and stronger too. He had to really focus on his breathing and his facial expressions as he not so patiently waited for it to end.

By the time it did, Noah (who worked quickly) had finished oiling his belly, making it look bigger and more bulging than ever.

“You look great, man!” He complimented.

Kwame let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah? You think so?”

Noah nodded. “Everyone's gonna go nuts!”

“They better, ‘cause…” Kwame laughed again. “Don't know how many more…” he paused to suck in some more air. “Dances I got left in me,” he shook his head.

Noah eyed him suspiciously as now finished with it, he set his bottle or baby oil down and then grabbed his phone. “Well in that case, come here…” he said as he extended his left hand.

Kwame groaned. “Come where? I really need to sit for a sec… I'm gonna have to go out for my first dance in…”

“This'll be quick, I promise,” Noah said as he slowly and gently dragged the gravid dancer towards the back of the dressing room.

In the corner, was a professional backdrop, in front of which Devonte’s dancers got a turn, usually when they were first brought on, or if there was an upcoming promotion, event or holiday the manager wanted to highlight on social media.

Surprisingly, Devonte hadn't had Kwame pose once in front of the backdrop during his pregnancy. His rise in popularity had solely been by word of mouth.

“Picture time!” Noah announced in a sing-song tone as he guided Kwame into place.

“I dunno, man…” Kwame shook his head as he looked down and out at himself. Of course, his nipples chose that moment to start to leak. “I…”

“You look great!” Noah nodded as he stepped back.

“I'm leaking,” the twenty-eight year old groaned.

“That's hot!” The nineteen year old nodded as he raised and aimed his phone. “Ready..?”

No, Kwame was not ready. Not ready for the impromptu photo shoot, or to go out and dance after, but what other option did he have now?

If he didn't go out and perform tonight, Devonte would be furious. Any good graces Kwame had built up would be gone in a second. Even if he got back in better shape than before being pregnant, Devonte probably wouldn't let him dance ever again, so…

“Ready,” he nodded anyway, placing his right hand on the side of his belly as he gave Noah his best “sultry” stare.

“One sec…” the nineteen year old said as he took a couple steps back to better frame the fecund dancer. “There!” He grinned as he found a better shot. “Now say, cheese!”