His Big Secret
An MM Contemporary Mpreg Romance
Austin Bates
Contents
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1. Timothy
2. Inteus
3. Timothy
4. Inteus
5. Timothy
6. Inteus
7. Timothy
8. Inteus
9. Timothy
10. Inteus
11. Timothy
12. Inteus
13. Timothy
14. Inteus
15. Timothy
16. Inteus
17. Timothy
18. Inteus
19. Timothy
20. Inteus
21. Timothy
22. Inteus
Epilogue - Timothy
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1
Timothy
“Hey, everyone! It’s me, your sassy buddy, Timothy, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first thing in the morning!” I was always a morning person and could hop out of bed ready to go. I realized that wasn’t true for the majority of my audience, so I tried to insert a hint of world-weariness into my otherwise cheerful exclamation.
With the camera directed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I gave my video blog fans a quick lesson on how to be fabulous right out of bed. They needed no makeup and only a quick brush through the hair. Attitude was 90 percent of the battle, and I had that extra flush in my cheeks from my omega heat.
I posted a selfie of my head still on the pillow when waking up. I underlined it with a caption that read, “Killer morning style! #wakeupfab.”
In seconds, my fans chimed in with their appreciation for the look and my quick personal beauty lessons. A few posted their own morning shots, and I laughed out loud when Stavros from Greece, one of my most dedicated followers, posted his own selfie. Captioned, “I’ve been saving this,” the photo revealed puffy lower eyelids and atrocious hair.
I pointed the camera at my face and clicked the record button. “Hey, Stavros from Greece, rough night out there? Bet you’re not the only one.”
Stavros delivered a quick series of typed responses. “Night in hell. Thanks for showing us real beauty. Going out. Surface stuff this evening. Concealer tube at my side!”
Before I gained some notoriety as a male fashion video blogger, I was a failed novelist. Fortunately, you’ve probably never seen my work. I wrote the never-ending saga of two nerdy gay teachers, alpha and omega, fighting for love in the blandest, most conservative suburban school district imaginable. After that manuscript landed with a resounding thud, I tried out an epic tale of gorgeous drag queens kicked to the curb for late rent. They had to work for their money and fall in love at the same time.
In the nick of time, my fantastic friends rode in on white horses to save me from the soul-sucking world of labor in office cubicles. My workout partner Henrik leaned in close while I struggled with the pec fly machine. “You’re always put together. Teach others to do that. Handy hints and the whole nine yards.”
I grunted and glanced furtively around the gym when the weights clanked as my last rep failed. “Yeah? Me? Video shots for the world to see?”
I dialed up three other omega besties on the phone and asked for their educated opinions. They all chimed in on Henrik’s side. With the help of a few top-notch apps and a handheld video cam, I was live online three days later.
My first two posts were the work of a rank amateur. I struggled to sound conversational and had way too much camera shake. If you dig deep on my site, you can still see the deer-caught-in-the-headlights Timothy. “And you pat it on here. Then you brush, and—oh, for Chrissake, where’s the off button?”
Fortunately, angels were watching. An established online personality grabbed the second post out of obscurity and shared it with his fans. Before long, I was the talk of the online gay fashion world. “A for effort. Execution is a solid B-.” I clung to that assessment as I plowed the information from each new lesson learned into making a better blog.
It didn’t take long for hard cash to roll in. The income from the blog was enough to live comfortably, but it didn’t make me rich. A third-floor walkup apartment in Springfield, Massachusetts, is not how a wealthy man lives.
I clicked off the video camera while I finished up my routine of moisturizing, shaving, trimming, and applying my trademark five minutes of man-makeup. Returning to my fans, I mugged into the camera. “Big day!”
Seconds later, Stavros jumped in. “Does that mean shopping? Don’t forget to show us what you buy.”
I held my hand up to my mouth and snickered. “Bigger than that! Unfortunately, lovelies, I can’t let the cat out of the bag. It’s goodbye until later this evening. Fingers crossed out there for me. Details soon! Meanwhile, remember it’s all up to you! Individual and independent means incredible!”
I’d positioned the camera so that none of my fans picked up on the fact that I woke up in a rented bedroom in a stranger’s home outside the hamlet of Harbor, Maine. I’d traveled two states north to pursue my life dream. I wanted a baby.
It was possible to do it all the old-fashioned way, but I was an omega that failed miserably too many times while looking for the alpha of my dreams. At least three different prospects smelled right during my heat, but they were crushing bores and overbearing on dates. One night, after sharing a few drinks with one of my best friends, Celia, I suddenly burst into tears.
She reached out with her perfectly manicured fingers and placed a hand on my cheek. “Sweet Timothy. What the hell?”
I snuffled miserably while trying to regain my composure. “I want a baby. I’m getting fucking old. Is it too late?”
“At thirty-three? Oh, please, hon. My mom was forty-two, and she popped the baby out like a champ.”
Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I said, “Forty-two? Holy fuck. I can’t wait that long. In my fifties with a teenager?” I shuddered at the thought.
“Why’s an alpha necessary for you?”
My eyes opened wide. I couldn’t believe that I had to explain the mechanics of omega men who could have babies and the alpha men who made them pregnant. I knew that Celia had been around more blocks than me.
Gamely, I played along. “See, there’s this time of the month called the heat, and…”
Celia rolled her eyes. “What the fuck? I’m not a blooming idiot. I was talking about OBU. Have you heard of it?”
I ran the letters forward and backward in my head. Usually, I was good with acronyms. My brain was a sponge for all sorts of random information. “Nope. Can’t say I have.”
“It’s a clinic for omega men up in Maine.”
“And OBU? What’s that stand for?”
Celia scratched her head. “Omega Births Unlimited, I think.”
I reached up and raked my fingers through my hair and carefully folded the wavy locks over to the opposite side of my head. “I’m clueless about that. You say it’s someplace up in Maine?”
“It was in a magazine I picked up the other day at the dentist. Fucking horrible what you have to do when you’re scared of a drill in your mouth. It’s artificial insemination—AI—pregnancy with science. They help omegas have
babies. They help them if they’ve failed the natural way or they want to be a single father.”
My jaw dropped. My sister had a baby after they mixed the mommy and daddy parts together before launching them back inside with a modified pea shooter. I honestly never heard that omegas could do the same thing. “Damn! Why didn’t I ever hear of that?”
“It’s still experimental. They mostly keep it on the hush-hush ‘cause some people think it’s an attack on Mother Nature. It’s not dangerous—at least the article said so—and they’ve made quite a few babies now.”
Any time I thought seriously about being pregnant, my hand went down to my belly and rubbed in a slow circle. “You think I should try it? I’d be raising the little bambino solo.”
“We both know what an awesome father you’d be, and you’ve got so many friends to help. Give it a chance, hon. What’s to lose?”
“Thousands and thousands of dollars and my adorable fit and trim figure.”
For the next three months, I couldn’t get the conversation with Celia out of my mind. Finally, while sitting at a red light drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I decided to give the clinic a call. I had long conversations with three of their in-house counselors. With each conversation, I grew more and more excited. I nibbled my cuticles to the bone. The sound of a newborn baby’s cries echoed in my ears as I drifted off to sleep at night.
OBU sat on the outskirts of the charming coastal village Harbor, Maine. It was over a five-hour drive from Springfield. The procedure didn’t require an overnight stay at the clinic, but the counselors advised finding nearby accommodations both the night before and the night after. According to the online checklists for new clients, stress was an enemy of successful conception.
After hunting down a rented room on the outskirts of Harbor, I found myself spending the night in a two-story renovated colonial with a charming couple and their twelve-year-old daughter, Sarah.
Her mom, Naomi, said that I might only see the father in passing, but she was available for any needs that might pop up. “Also, yell if I need to find Sarah something to do. She’ll talk your ear off. She likes meeting our guests.”
Today was the day for my visit to the OBU clinic. After I finished up my blogging and last-minute primping prep for the day, I dug into a large bowl of fresh fruit, a smaller bowl of oatmeal, and one hard-boiled egg graciously provided by my hosts. During my heat, I was always ravenous and needed to load up on healthy foods to avoid a serious carbohydrate bloat. Sarah sat across from me at the kitchen table and ate cold cereal.
“Do people like all those pictures of you? You know—push that little like button. Only a few of my friends like what I post when my family goes somewhere.”
I turned the question around. “Would you like what you post if the pictures came from somebody else?”
“Sometimes.”
I nodded. “Here’s my secret. Only post what you know you’d like. If you’d ignore it, other people will, too.”
Sarah nodded and changed the subject. “You look like a rock star to me, but mom said you don’t sing.”
I reached up and self-consciously raked my fingers through my expertly colored hair—mostly blond with a silvery edge that sparkled under the right light. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Oh, yeah. I like to look at you, but I don’t want to stare. That’s impolite. At first, I thought you might do people’s hair, but mom says you write stuff and put pictures on the computer.”
I mustered the most authentic smile possible at that hour of the morning. “I help people look their best.”
“Would you help me? Do you know makeup? Mom lets me wear a little. Can you help with that?”
I pointed at Sarah and said, “You know what? I’ve got a special meeting today, and I have to concentrate on it, but afterward, when I’m back here tonight, let’s talk about this.” I gestured with my hand drawing a circle in the air around my face. “I’ll give you pointers. We’ll have fun, and I don’t leave until tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, cool!” Sarah popped up from the table. “I’ve got to get ready for school, but that’s so cool. I’ll make Jenny jealous. That’s cool, too.”
“Shh, our secret, okay?”
Sarah nodded in agreement. “Okay.”
“Now, come and give Uncle Timothy a hug before you head off to school.”
As I finished up my last bite of breakfast, my cell phone rang. It was a call from OBU. The woman on the phone introduced herself as Mary Wensley, receptionist for the clinic.
Mary’s voice crackled through the phone, and she sounded like a warm, friendly grandmother. “Am I speaking to Timothy?”
“Yes, that’s me.” I instantly jumped to conclusions about the call. “Please don’t tell me we’re canceling. Waiting’s been hell. I’ve dreamed about having a baby since I was a kid, over twenty years ago. I want to be one of those smiling faces on the brochure.” I held a hand behind my back and crossed my fingers while I waited for the response.
“Oh, this isn’t about cancellation at all. Don’t worry your sweet head about that. Rhonda asked that I call and give you a heads-up about your arrival. The protesters are out on the road this morning. They don’t appreciate the work we do for men like you.”
“Protesters? Like with signs? I hope not violent.” I hated guns and anything that could destroy beautiful things in the blink of an eye.
“No, not violent like you’re thinking. They might occasionally toss an egg or a rotten piece of fruit, but no protesters have ever injured anybody here. We play it safe, too. That’s why I’m calling. We’ll have staff out to escort you to the clinic’s entrance.”
“Where do I meet them?” I tried to tamp down the rising nerves. Stress is an enemy to successful conception.
“Please park in our regular secured lot. You’ll see that on the map we sent. Then wait until our staff members approach. I hope you received the activation card for the parking lot’s lock. We have your license plate number, and you’ll have no problem recognizing the men meeting you as clinic staff.”
“Yep, I got the card.” I shivered, but I didn’t want to sound scared over the phone. “Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to meet you, Mary.”
It wasn’t an ideal situation, but, as usual, I saw opportunity poking its head up in the middle of adversity. My online fans didn’t know what I was doing at my afternoon meeting, but if it all worked, they would eventually hear about my pregnancy. The protesters would add more drama to my posts. I readied my cameras to document the events and provide sweet selfies.
Sarah’s mother caught me by the front door just before I left the house. She said, “I overheard you talking about the protesters. I hope it doesn’t upset you if I speak my mind. I just wanted to say I don’t think you need to worry about anything.”
“Thanks for that. Do they yell and scream? I’ve only seen stuff like that on TV.”
“They’re mainly annoying, and most of them don’t have anything better to do. We love the clinic here in Harbor. It’s provided a significant boost to the local economy. One couple even opened a new restaurant downtown after they had their baby.”
“I’m not worried. I’ll tell myself it’s the red carpet at the Oscars, and I’ll flash the crowd wicked poses from my arsenal of looks that can kill.”
2
Inteus
Approximately thirty people including two babies in strollers greeted me as I arrived for work. They flanked either side of the front walk of OBU, my growing clinic dedicated to assisting omegas who desperately wanted to be fathers. Using the latest artificial insemination procedures, we were in the business of making their dreams come true. Unfortunately, our efforts upset a small group of people who insisted that we were fighting against nature. They insisted that all babies deserved two parents. Our efforts to help childless omegas have babies whether partnered or not was an abomination, a disruption to the natural order of a child with two parents. They conveniently ignored our efforts to bring
the couples together as a family when possible. The usual suspects were present along with some new faces. I smiled and said, “Good morning, Keith. Hey, Lydia. How’s the little one, Howard?”
None of them were in the mood for friendly chit-chat. My charming smiles elicited catcalls and shouts of “Evil!” and “Shame on you!”
Scowling, Keith leaned in toward the sidewalk yelling, “Shut it down, now!” Most of the protesters made a show out of the fact that they were parents. Some even brought their young children along, but I knew that Keith was a childless omega.
I focused my gaze beyond the crowd on the plate-glass windows surrounding the entrance to the clinic. Five members of my staff stood behind the glass staring out with anxious expressions on their faces. I tried to reassure them with my confident, steady strides forward.
I was only three steps from reaching the end of the shouting and jeering gauntlet when I saw an arm rearing back in my peripheral vision. Someone was winding up to throw something. At the last minute, I ducked, and a rotten cabbage whizzed past my head. My nose wrinkled at the stench of the decaying vegetable as it soared through the air.
When I heard Keith shout, “Ow! Fuck!” I grinned to myself. He was a deserving, if unintended, target of the stinky cannonball.
Mary Wensley, the OBU receptionist, held the door for me as I stepped inside. As usual, her face exuded a warm and friendly glow. I offered a massive hug in greeting. She was approaching retirement age, but I hoped she would stay on for a few extra years. Staff and clients alike loved Mary.
His Big Secret: An MM Contemporary Mpreg Romance Page 1
