Dunno why, but this idea has driven me crazy for awhile, and now I felt I wanted to share it here. Let me know how it turns out D: its prolly gonna be crap anyway.

CHECKUP.

They'd been friends forever, nearly. Though it was really mostly college that they picked up on the idea, they kept in contact despite vast distance, time discrepancies, and relationship issues.  Whilst she got married and vaulted her career skyward; he pretty much stayed in one spot, and kept to his job at the video rental store. A job that, nowadays, was little more than a curio to an era of magnetic tape markets and hollywood-churned gore-fests for the ever-hungry, ever eager masses.

When the time came to start a family for herself, she knew who to ask. Like hell she would let her fantastic, athletic, ROTC-honed and combat-capable body go to waste! And despite repeated badgering, her hubby still found the idea too eerie for himself. Though, he suppoted her in her new endeavor.

He jumped at the call, when the time came and she asked him to do it. it was soemthign he had wanted to do anyway, and even doing it cheaper than the other Surrogates on the market, he'd still get more than enough money to finish paying off his trailer, maybe sell that for a small home.  He had few needs, it was enough for him.

Now he was at his checkup. The Klein Process, so called due to the apparatus curling into the intestines like a klein bottle so as to draw in nourishment for the offspring within, allowed females with uteral damage or problems to conceive offspring. Of course it wasn't too long before someone suggested teh idea was tried on males. Sure, population rates skyrocketed during the clinical trials as people were eager to put the tech into the refined marketplace, and ever more couples eager to try something new tried their hand at conception; but by then things like WORLD HUNGERtm and the like were cured with the invention of nanomachine technology (sure, the food so replicated was bland. But it was FREE and as infinite as matter restructured from garbage).

He lay there now on the table, feeling the cold silicate gel slathered across his round belly. He was quite the hairy brute, so the matted hair appeared darker as the gel was slathered about. There was no other way to describe him; one couldn't call this a beer gut. True, it was firm, but it had this vitality about it that said it bore life. It was full. Massive. Packed to the brim. Nearly about to pop. Looking ready to explode. It was large enough that the only real way to describe it (out of earshot, the damned process fucked with his hormones so it didn't take much to make him pissy) was with colorful similie's regarding ludicrous sporting equipment or metaphors regarding the postal code. It towered a good foot and a half over his body, a good portion of it the Klein womb itself protecting the fetus from threats without and within: it even had filters so that one could be a five-pack-a-day-smoker and cause no more trouble to the fetus growing within than a mild case of teh sniffles (not that that sort of thing mattered much anymore. Tobacco was passe'! REAL men smoked digital cigarettes nowadays. The Marlboro man of the future wore a space-suit and smoked electrical cigarettes plugged directly into the forearms of his suit.).

She looked on at him anxiously. Not out of any sort of amoury, though she did rather love how pregnancy seemed to suit him. Even now he lay there, seeming to radiate a bhuddistic calm, resisting the impulse to place his hands on his own gravid belly; her own fingers itching, needing, burning and needing, to place themselves about his taut frame. She only seen him sinc his last appointment, but she could swear his belly was nowhere near the size of a medicine ball at this point.

The medico gave her two cents, recommending a few vitamin treatments and nano-machine injection systems, then deposited his surrogate income into his neural net account via a series of blinks and the like channeled to an Augmented Reality system. He did his best not to gasp at the sheer amount: Despite what he offerd to pay for his friend, she did her best to ensure he had a little bit extra for his trouble.

Soon though, an odd topic arose after all was said and done.

It was her that brought it up.

"I know it'll be easy, coming from me....But....I want you to stay at my place tonight." She said, firmly. She was used to having her way. Matrimony or no, she was determined to thrill herself to the pleasure of a gravid, pregnant male in her bedroom. Though breakage of her vow to her ideal mate was not on her mind, satiating her greedy lust and desire was. This was something that she had brought up with to her paramour before, and the act was agreed upon by both parties.

All except for the third party, of course. He sat there at the resturant table, in mid bite, cheeks crammed full of food, stubble stubbornly about his cheeks and jaw. He hated how pregnancy almost made him seem more effeminite, so as to ensure no one could confuse him for a pregnant chick one could simply approach for a luck rub, he purposely grew enough stubble so no one could confuse him for an off-the-shelf nano-gender job. "It would be awkawrd..." he said, rubbing his bloated, hoodie clad stomach, swallowing the last of his udon. "Some of us are still trapped in the twenty-first century you know."

(more to come. I definetely wanna throw in some smut, somewhere. Let me know what you think.