She was partially the woman I'd remembered. She was also a curiously familiar stranger, a person you know you've met before; a person you can't quite place. Her new form was endearing, but also somewhat foreign. She now punctuated her sentences with filler words and phrases, the coded banter of the youthful. When she finished with a complete thought, right before moving to the next, she used one of six trusty phrases: like, you know, um, totally, awesome, cool.
The effect was a bit aggravating at first, but it really wasn't that difficult to brush aside and ignore. Now I had a sweet young thing of my own, and I was quite eager to explore all the perks it provided me.
Any fears I might have about her response to this process had proved to be entirely baseless. My wife was quite enthusiastic and eager to be sexually intimate, smiling broadly, seemingly overjoyed at the transformation. I went right to work, and she followed my every move like the perfect dancing partner.
Not sure whether to go fast, or to go slow, I began with a half-measure instead, my purpose and pace deliberate. We undressed in front of each other silently, as we had multiple times before, but things were far more different now. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She couldn't take her eyes off of me.
I've never told my wife about the impregnation fantasies. We made a decision, years ago, to be childless by choice. The persistent thoughts I've just described used to crop up periodically in the middle of our lovemaking, and I admit that they really freaked me out at first. But I found that with time it was better if I let go and let it happen. If it turned me on, it couldn't be all bad, could it?
Today, on top of her, thrusting away as I had many times before, my thoughts went to even odder places. I imagined myself performing a kind of brave, imperative, crucial biological duty. In the middle of this waking reverie, I could perfectly visualize her stomach swelling with the passage of time, her breasts increasing dramatically in size. Reaching this desired state was somehow my responsibility, my grail to discover. I'd always had these thoughts before, sure, but now the intensity of these fantasies had been amplified a hundred times more than ever before.
In her prior, fify-year-old form, she wasn't very far away from menopause. The window of opportunity for us to have a kid had long since passed. Now, the clock had been completely reset. She could give birth to a child at the peak time of her fertility. The desire to procreate, to further the race, to be fruitful and multiply surely was powerful. Now that she looked so much younger, intoxicatingly inviting, my fantasies came fast and furious. They proceeded at a clip that I'd never experienced ever before.
