Impregnating My FTM Neighbor

Reid was forty-two, and the summer after the funeral had taught him the particular quiet of a house built for two and occupied by one. His wife had died suddenly in April—an aneurysm, the emergency doctor had said, nothing anyone could have caught in time—and the widower still sometimes reached for a second mug before his hand remembered. There had been no child. The family line he had counted on simply stopped with him, and the knowledge sat in his chest like a stone.

Petra lived on the other side of the hedge. She was twenty-six, a graphic designer who freelanced from a bright back room and kept her own hours. She was his neighbor, not his kin by blood or by law, and that distinction was the only reason he could imagine asking her anything at all. For two years she had been on testosterone. Reid had watched the ordinary evidence of it: her voice settling lower over the fence, a coarser edge to her jaw, the way her shirts hung across a chest she no longer wanted. She had told him, without drama, that top surgery and a hysterectomy were already on the calendar. She was eager. She wanted the final transition done before another winter, wanted to step fully into the man she had chosen to be.

They had become careful friends in the months since the death. On a warm Tuesday they met at the curb with the bins, and Reid heard himself speak before fear could edit him.

"I'm going to say something you may hate," he said. His hands were empty and shaking. "I'm forty-two. She's gone. There is no one to come after me. Your surgery is close, and once they do the hysterectomy you won't be able to carry. I want to ask, before it's too late, whether you would let me impregnate you. So you can still carry and birth a baby. To perpetuate your family, while your body can still do it. If you want a child at all. You can tell me no. I will live with no."

Petra set her bin down. The late light caught the faint shadow along her jaw. Her gray eyes did not flinch.

"I've thought about it," she said. "About you. I didn't know how to hand that to a widower who still looks wrecked when the mail comes."

Something tense and mutual rose between them and held. Reid did not touch her. Petra did not look away. He went inside and lay awake. Across the hedge her kitchen light stayed on, the way it did when she sorted the folders for her surgeons and counted the weeks left.

They did not rush the yes. Over the next weeks they took long walks after dusk and talked until the streetlights buzzed. Flirtation came in sideways at first—Petra's mouth when she described what testosterone had not taken from her, Reid's honesty about how long it had been since he had been wanted. On another evening she sat on his kitchen counter and let him stand between her knees without quite closing the distance. They talked about clinic dates, about how wet she got when she imagined his weight on her. Petra described, flushed and laughing, the way she fingered herself after their walks and came thinking of being filled. Reid told her he had stroked his cock in the shower with her voice in his head and had not been ashamed of it. The tension lived in small things: her knee against his thigh, his thumb at her wrist, the way both of them went quiet when the word pregnant hung in the room.

One night on his back steps she said it plain.

"I still love being penetrated," she said. "I know what I'm choosing. I want a real cock inside me one last time as a fertile woman, before the hysterectomy. Not a toy. Not a maybe. You."

Reid's breath went uneven. "You're sure."

"I'm sure. I'm twenty-six, I'm sober, and I want it. I want you to breed me if my body will take it. I've never had anyone inside me. You'll be the first. I want that to be you."

They shared wine on a Friday, one glass each, and stopped there. Petra laughed when he checked her face. "I'm not drunk," she said. "I'm clear. I want to remember every second. Do you?"

"I'm clear," Reid said. "One glass. Wide awake. I want you. Only if you still want me when I touch you."

"Then touch me."

They moved to his couch. He kissed her slowly, and she opened her mouth and pulled him closer, eager, making a small sound against his tongue. His hands found the small breasts under her shirt—softer than he had expected, still full enough to fit his palms, nipples already tight. He pushed her shirt up and bent to mouth one, sucking until she arched and cursed softly, pleasure plain in the roll of her hips. She dragged his wrist down and pressed his fingers into the heat between her thighs. Her panties were soaked. Her pussy was slick and swollen, still wet the moment he slipped under the cotton and stroked her. Two fingers slicked through her folds, spreading that wetness, tapping her clit until her thighs shook. She was eager, not hesitant, grinding on his hand and holding his gaze.

"God," she whispered, hips lifting. "More. I've wanted your hand there."

He circled her clit, gentle, then firmer when she chased it. She was dripping. When he eased one finger against her entrance she clenched, virgin-tight, and still pushed onto him with a broken gasp of pleasure.

"Deflower me," she begged. "Tonight. In your bed. I consent. I want your cock to open me and come in me. Please, Reid. Don't make me wait until morning."

"I want that," he said, voice rough. "I want to be inside you. Say it once more so I know."

"I want you to deflower me tonight," Petra said. "Eager. Awake. Yes."

He carried that yes up the stairs with her hand in his. In the bedroom he undressed her without hurry, kissing the small breasts, sucking each nipple until she writhed and her pussy left a wet mark on his thigh. Petra lay back on his sheets, legs open, chest rising fast. She reached for his cock, thick and hard, and guided the head to her soaked entrance.

"Slow," she said. "But do it. I want this. I'm consenting. Fill me."

"I want to be the one who opens you," Reid said. "Tell me if it stops being good."

"It won't. Go."

He pressed in. She was virgin-tight, a fierce clutch around the head of his cock, and the first inch drew a sharp gasp that melted, almost at once, into a moan of pleasure. Heat wrapped him. She was soaked, the slide messy and tight, her inner muscles fluttering as she breathed through the stretch and then chased it. He held there, sucking her left nipple, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing firm circles while her body learned him. The room smelled like clean sheets and her arousal. Petra's heels dug into the mattress. She pulled him deeper with her hands on his ass.

"More," she panted. "I can take you. Don't stop rubbing me."

He sank in by careful inches, missionary, his weight braced so he could watch her face. Her small breasts softened against his chest when he lowered himself, and he lifted enough to get his mouth on the other nipple, sucking hard while his thumb stayed steady on her clit. When he was seated to the hilt she laughed once, wrecked and happy, and clenched around him. Reid began to thrust, slow then deeper, the wet sound of her pussy obscene in the quiet room. Petra came first, sudden and shaking, crying out as her cunt fluttered around him, nails in his shoulders, pleasure with no performance in it. The pulse of it dragged him over. He thrust deep and stayed there, groaning, and flooded her with his seed—thick pulses, as deep as he could reach, breeding her while she held him inside and whispered yes, yes, stay in me.

They rested, sticky and grinning, his come leaking when he eased out and her fingers pushing it back in with a look of concentrated want.

Later, when he was hard again, Petra climbed over him and turned. Reverse cowgirl. She reached back, lined his cock up, and sank down in one greedy slide, already opened, already dripping with the first load. She rode him hard. Her ass slapped his hips. She moaned loudly, no restraint, one hand braced on his thigh and the other between her legs, working her clit while she bounced.

"Breed me again," she gasped. "I want another load. I want it deep. Watch me take it."

Reid gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her, burying himself on every stroke. The sight of his cock vanishing into her, of her small breasts shifting, of come and slick shining on him, undid what patience he had left. He came with a rough shout, pumping a second flood into her fertile body, holding her down on his cock until every spurt was spent inside her. Petra moaned through it, grinding, and came again with his seed filling her, loud enough that he was glad the windows were shut.

She stayed seated on him, breathing hard, and looked over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, satisfied, certain.

"Give me another baby in the coming weeks," she said. "Not just this one, if this takes. I want a second. I want you to keep coming in me until I'm pregnant twice over, before I go under the knife. I consent to all of it. I want the babies, and I want your cock while I can still carry them."

"Yes," Reid said. "As many times as you ask. You're sure."

"I'm sure. Eager. Do it."

He did. Through the weeks that followed he bred her whenever she climbed into his bed and asked, sober and explicit every time, until the tests turned positive and her body began the work. She carried, gave birth, and—still eager, still certain—asked him to put a second baby in her before the surgeries. He did that too. Only after both births did the surgeons' dates arrive. She went through with the top surgery and the bottom surgery she had planned, the hysterectomy folded in once the carrying was done. Recovery was long, and she faced it with the same eagerness she had brought to everything else. She chose the name Nathaniel and asked the world to use it. He came back at twenty-eight with a surgically constructed penis the doctors had built to function, broader through the shoulders, voice settled, and a grin that belonged entirely to the man he had become. Reid learned the new name in his mouth and found it fit.

One evening Nathaniel brought someone to Reid's door.

"This is Delphine," he said. "She's twenty-nine. She's my girlfriend. She's a lesbian, and she knows exactly what I'm about to ask, because we talked it through for a month."

Delphine had dark hair, a calm mouth, and the posture of a woman who did not get backed into corners. She met Reid's eyes. "I'm awake, I'm sober, and I'm choosing this," she said. "I want you to impregnate me. I want a baby with this household. I want to be bred by you while Nathaniel is with us. If you want that too, say so. If you don't, we leave and stay friends."

Reid looked at both of them. Want moved through him, complicated and clean. "I want it," he said. "I consent. I want to come in you, Delphine, if that's what you're asking."

"It is," she said, and smiled.

That night the three of them filled his bed. Delphine stripped without shyness and lay back, thighs open, her pussy already wet from Nathaniel's mouth. Reid sank into her in a long, thick thrust and she groaned, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him deeper. "Breed me," she said. "I want your come. Harder. I'm saying yes."

Nathaniel knelt behind Reid. His constructed cock was warm, firm, real in the hand and real where it pressed. He slicked Reid's ass with lube, worked him open with careful fingers, and waited.

"You want my cock in your ass?" Nathaniel asked.

"Yes," Reid said, breathless, still buried in Delphine. "Fuck me. I want it. I'm saying yes."

Nathaniel pushed in. The stretch was intense, a deep burn that broke into pleasure as Reid's body yielded. Nathaniel fucked his ass in steady strokes while Reid thrust into Delphine, the rhythm stacking until Reid could barely tell which sensation owned him. Delphine came with a sharp cry, cunt gripping him, and the clench plus Nathaniel's cock driving into his ass tore Reid's orgasm loose. He flooded her, pumping seed in heavy spurts, breeding her while Nathaniel groaned and kept fucking him through it, the surgically made cock throbbing as Nathaniel came in his ass. They collapsed in a sweating knot, laughing. They did it again the next night, harder, and the night after that, until the pattern was theirs.

The three adults moved in together before the next summer, into the house that had been too quiet. Nathaniel, fully transitioned, a working penis heavy between his thighs, raised the two children he had carried, and the household held that as their shared family. On the nights that belonged to the adults, the children were not home.

He offered his ass to Reid the way he offered anything he wanted: clearly. Lube, a look over his shoulder, his voice low. "I'm sober, I'm awake, and I want you in my ass." Reid always wanted it too. He sank into that tight heat and fucked him in long strokes while Delphine watched from the chair, thighs spread, fingers circling her clit, moaning at the sight of them. Reid's hand found Nathaniel's cock—warm, constructed, working—and stroked it until Nathaniel spilled over his fist. After, or before, Reid fucked Delphine until she shook, and when she asked to be bred again he came deep inside her, her yes spoken against his mouth.

They were happy in a plain, daily way that surprised all three of them. No one was guessing. On a night thick with the smell of sex, Nathaniel still full of him, Delphine breathless and smiling, Nathaniel turned his head.

"Stay in me—will you breed her again while I watch, and then let me keep you?"