Woodward Rugby

This is my submission to the GaySpiralStories Secret Santa 2021 event. I got the two tags "cum inflation" and "male pregnancy", selected by another writer, randomly assigned to me.

I arrived back at the hotel at half-past eight. Dealing with customer complaints in person, or at all, is never fun, but Daleen Mechanical had to be one of the worst. It’s that fucker Andrew Daleen who just tries to get as many extras out of it as possible, probably to please the old man. Screwed me around for hours so I would make some additional calibration on machines not even made by us. I would have done it anyway if he had just asked right away. After all I had nowhere else to be until the flight back to Austin the next morning.

Fuck I was pissed, and I had worked myself up about it in the rental on the way back to the hotel, so when I entered the shitty lobby of the shitty hotel everything looked shitty to me. And I’d lost my appetite. There was a rowdy noise coming from the “Irish” pub next to the lobby, a desperate attempt of the owner to get some locals spending cash. I considered just head upstairs, take a hot shower or bath, whatever was in the bathroom, and have an early night to just forget about Daleen Mechanical, have a big breakfast early, and get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. This loud ruckus could probably be heard from my room though, so I decided to have a pint and some bar food before going to bed.

The small pub, clearly a remodeling job squeezed into the ugly building, was filled with about 20 exuberant men celebrating something. They all looked to be in their early twenties, all of them muscular and taller than me, and most of them wearing the same black and yellow tracksuit. They were all drinking beer, chatting loudly, and making the small pub hot and humid. I almost turned around right there, but the condition that led me there in the first place hadn’t changed so I pressed on. On my way over to the bar I noticed damp hair on some of the guys, as if they had just showered, and the scent of industrial soap. The kind you pour in wall-mounted dispensers. I managed to glance at the emblem on the tracksuits long enough to read “Woodward Rugby - 1987”.

It felt like I had to navigate through a huddle to get to the bar disk. Everyone was just too overjoyed and absorbed talking to each other. The upshot was that nobody cared when I started to elbow my way forward. Finally I managed to squeeze in between two walking punching bags that had their backs against each other. The barman was busy pouring ale, but gave me a nod that I was next.

“What hot food you have?”
“Only scotch eggs left, I’m afraid. It’s been busy all day,” he shouted back.
“Two of those then, and a lager.” Again he nodded and handed the ale to a patron blocked from my view. Someone was leaving and the wall of a man who had been talking to him turned to face me. On top of the muscular body was a kind face with rosy cheeks and pitch black, unkempt hair.
“Hey, I’m Cody.”
“Alex.” I raised the glass the barman just handed me and we both had a sip. “So what’s the occasion?”
“We just obliterated Bulldogs West. It really began at the second scrum.” and then Cody proceeded to basically retell the entire match for me. We weren’t even through the first half when my eggs arrived. By this point a few more teammates had joined us and added to the retelling of the match. The fatigue I felt from the horrible day vanished, as I was surrounded by hot, happy rugby players. While Cody was kind of cute, one of the guys who had joined us was an absolute looker. Slim, yet athletic with wide shoulders, dirt blonde hair, blue-grey eyes, and pouty lips. My eyes kept darting between him and whoever was talking at the moment.

I had a few pints more and managed to get to the end of the retelling of the match when I thought about the flight and decided to settle the bill and go to my room. Instead of a hot bath/shower it probably needed a cold one, because I had gotten quite hard in the middle of such a meat stack. But when I opened my wallet and pulled out my MasterCard another card came out with it, the lifetime membership card of the “Gay Club”. It was a birthday gift from Danny, and at that moment I questioned what on earth had gone through my mind when I put it in my wallet. Or rather, why I hadn’t removed it once Danny had left. It’s a silly joke in Austin, but in a rural small town it’s like asking for trouble.

“What team are you playing for?” Cody asked me, still standing next to me and looking right at the gay club card in my hand. I was facing the bar, so none of the others had seen the card yet, but they were standing just behind me, listening. The barman saw my wallet and walked over to the other side of the bar to get the card reader.
“Oh, this card? No, that’s a joke I got as a gift.”
“No, it isn’t. You’ve been oogling down Jason since you saw first him”.

He moved in closer, though barely possible in the cramped room. So close I would have to crane my neck to see his face. I kept watching the barman struggling with the card reader at the charger, as if that was somehow more important for me to focus on. Anything to avoid confronting this massive beast of a man. I could clearly smell the industrial locker room soap, and beneath that, a hint of the rest of the locker room. Only a minute more and I would have paid and been out of here. I just needed another minute without trouble. I could shout at the barman to put it on the room instead, save the minute and leave within seconds. But only if Cody would let me. It’s not like I could get out of his grip, a rugby full back, if he didn’t want me to leave. If I somehow managed it wasn’t like I was going to outrun an entire rugby team. That would be ludicrous. Why did it take so long to get the card reader? That was when I felt his massive hand grabbing my crotch, quickly locating my hard dick, and giving it a squeeze.

“No, the card is real all right. Wanna celebrate upstairs?”

I don’t remember answering. I mean, I know I did, and I know the general gist of it, but I can’t remember the words or the delivery or anything. I can only remember Jason placing a big kiss on my mouth while somewhere in the distance I hear Cody repeating “we’re in room 205”. Everything was wrapped in cotton as we left the pub and walked through the lobby to the stairs, me, Jason, Cody, and two more. Three more? I must have had an emotional overload from fearing being tackled by a homophobic rugby team to anticipating being tackled by an anything but rugby team. Add to that the creeping excitement of doing something wrong.

Jason had been wearing a black sweatshirt with the yellow Woodward Rugby seal, not the shiny black and yellow track tops most of them had on, but once the lobby was out of view, walking up the stairs, he pulled it off in one smooth movement, revealing his toned body. The movement had made me look back at him and as he looked up his eyes met mine. He winked and smiled. I looked away and felt my ears turning hot. I was surprised I didn’t come right there. Our small group went down the corridor and I fumbled my way into my hotel room. Pretty roomy for me, but it quickly became crowded as the men filed in. Two I hadn’t spoken to were already passionately kissing.

Cody spun me around and started to undo my belt buckle. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked. There was a small voice of doubt whispering phrases such as “flight tomorrow” and “utterly irresponsible behavior”, but the rest of me was sloshing with hormones, primed to go along with whatever was about to happen. “Hey, Cody. Mind if I go first?” Jason asked. Cody hesitated for a second and then stepped aside. “Go for it!” he said, and slapped Jason on the back.

The bare-chested Jason continued where Cody had started and pulled down my dockers and breifs so I could step out of them. Then he kissed me again, pushed me on my back on the bed, and lowered the front of his track pants and boxers. His dick wasn’t very thick, but it was long with a big head. It resembled a plum in size, shape, and color. I should have said something. I’ve never been a fan of hookup culture, always preferred dating over things like grindr, or worse, clubs. Yet here I was on my back, without pants, about to have unprotected sex with a man I knew nothing about. “You good?” he asked me, as if he could see my thoughts, but this was just all too exciting. His dick was glistening in precum, so I knew it wasn’t just a sympathy fuck. “Go for it,” I echoed Cody and smiled at him. He smiled back that wonderful smile.

I was shaken by two of the other guys throwing themselves on the bed next to me, passionately kissing and groping each other. My focus was immediately pulled back to Jason as he grabbed both my legs and carefully started to insert his dick. Then slowly fucking me while keeping my legs up in the air. At first we kept eye contact, but as we were getting into it he closed his eyes and my eyes started to wander all over his upper body, tracing the outlines of his muscles. He kept changing how he held my legs, making it feel like we kept fucking at different positions. Fast and faster, until he was like a rabbit. I’ve never had something like this before. When he finally came he lifted my legs even higher, cumming deep inside of me.

He was barely outside of me when I felt someone kissing my neck. One of the guys to my right had started to fondle me as well. Apparently he was done with the other guy and started to push me into the little spoon position. I let him. After a bit of grinding he was soon entering me too. I could feel his dick was way thicker than Jason’s, but not as long. He wasn’t as energetic either, just slowly fucking me from behind while hugging me.

My phone screeched its morning alarm only a few hours after the last Woodward Rugby team player had left the room. Way too few hours, and the flight was too short to get much of a nap on. I was sore all over my body and felt queasy. I imagined this was what it felt like to be one of those tackling dummies in football. I wondered if they have that in Rugby also. They probably don’t fuck it for hours though. As for the queasiness I probably hadn’t slept more than two hours, was probably dehydrated, and the room stunk like a locker room. Locker room, traces of industrial soap, and cum. I’d never done or seen any fucking in locker rooms, though perhaps my life had been naively shielded from what other people where doing. I couldn’t wait to get back to that.

As I moved to get out of bed there was a drawn out gurgling sound from my belly, and I could feel my guts vibrate. My hand went there almost as a reflex, but instead of feeling my usual abs I felt a distended belly. I quickly got up and walked to the mirror by the closet. I didn’t normally have washboard abs, that takes way too much food discipline, but I had been proud to manage a flat belly all through college and up until now. Or up until yesterday, because in the reflection I saw what looked like a taut beer gut. Another rumble almost made me trip, and I sat down on the bed. I could only think of one explanation, and one that I didn’t really want recognize. That I got so much cum shot up my intestines that night that it blew up my guts like a balloon. That was of course impossible. A guy only jizzes a teaspoon or so, and I hadn’t been fucked by more than at most eight guys.

“Ha!”

I surprised myself at actually laughing out loud. I had been fucked by eight guys! What the fuck had I done! This wasn’t who I was. What would I do if I met them during breakfast? Pretend like nothing had happened? I was standing up and sitting down again, unsure what to do. I looked at the phone again. I should definitely take a shower, then just check out and leave. I wasn’t hungry for breakfast, and looking down I saw no reason why I would need to eat anything today.

I couldn’t button my shirt. The belly made the fabric strain too much that I just wore the shirt unbuttoned over my T-shirt. If anything it highlighted my belly even more. I was feeling crap and just couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. I wasn’t going to come back here, so screw appearances. Fuck Daleen Mechanical. I probably wouldn’t see anyone I knew on the plane or airports either. Straight from here to my house in anonymity. I kept hearing rumbles from my stomach all the drive to the rental company, and I could feel a sweat breaking out. Perhaps this wasn’t at all what I thought it was. Perhaps one of the scotch eggs were bad. That’s when I felt the unmistakable relaxing of the jaw. At least I had plenty of time and road to safely stop and get out of the vehicle before I vomited into the ditch. I instantly felt much better. I got to the rental place no problems, got to the airport in good time, and bought a big bottle of water at exorbitant price to rehydrate. Still got an annoying belly though, but I hoped it would be gone by evening.

Day three was when I was really getting worried. I hadn’t been feeling sick since that first day, and at least I imagined the swelling had gone down, but when I woke up that third morning it was even worse than the first day. I was sweating and was nauseous, and spent the entire morning unsuccessfully trying to induce another vomit by dry heaving over the toilet bowl. Ultimately it just slowly went away and I drove to work an hour late. I didn’t really want to make a medical thing out of it all though. Just imagine that conversation.

“So, tell me when it started?”
“It started when I let a rugby team train me like a cored out grapefruit on a school camping trip.”

No. I decided I would tough it out. That lasted a full week with on and off nausea until the cramps started, and I scheduled a doctor’s appointment. To say I omitted some of the symptom history when talking to him was an understatement. I just said I had woken up one day with a distended belly and had suffered from the effects for almost two weeks now. There was a lot of “hmm”, some gentle poking, and a visit to the phlebotomist for whatever array of tests the doctor needed. Three different vials of blood drawn.

Fortunately the following two days were uneventful. I now somehow considered a day where I just woke up with a big belly and had no other symptoms a good day. The doctor called me at work and wondered if I could come in later that day.

“What was the result of the tests?”
“We need to check a few more things. How soon can you be here?”
“I’m… It doesn’t sound good.”
“We are leaning towards it being benign, but… Can you come right away?”
“Sure, I guess.”

I was anxious and confused the entire trip there, and I wasn’t reassured by the welcoming committee at the hospital. There was a nurse just inside the main entrance waiting for me. That in itself was concerning. She showed me the way to one of the generic exam rooms, where she asked me to wait for the doctor. Fifteen minutes later I was just about to go looking for someone in case they had forgotten me when he showed up. After some quick questions about how I felt today he asked med to sit down on the gurney.

“Could you lift your shirt?” he asked and I of course complied. He put on his stethoscope and put the cold, flat part on the tip of my belly. I was almost about to ask him if he was joking. It was such a cliché with a “doctor” putting the stethoscope against anything to diagnose it. Anything that wasn’t heart or lungs that is.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” the doctor started, very hesitant, “but the bloodwork and this examination all point to the same conclusion. You are pregnant.”

I was still waiting for the punchline.

“This is obviously a medical first, so there is a whole list of examinations we would like to perform, starting with fMRI, which is booked an hour from now, and a gynecological exam after that. There is some more bloodwork we want to do as well.”
“Pregnant.” The punchline wasn’t a comedic one. I was shocked. “But…”
“We will figure this out together.” He was patting my arm in support.
“What about abortion?” I shuddered to think about nine months living like this.
“There will have to be a surgery at some point, unless your journal is incomplete you don’t have a birth canal, but since this is Texas it can’t be anytime soon.”

I just stared into the cream yellow wall of the examination room trying to comprehend it all. In all the chaotic thoughts of “Freak!” and pregnancy and the unavoidable humiliation of having to describe to the doctors how it actually went down I kept having flashes of Jason’s smile. God, I hope he is the father.