Mind Caviar

Edith Bennett Bellamy has been writing elegantly prolix transgender erotica for the past five years. Her works appeared sporadically on various TG web sites until last May, when she opened Pink Gladiolas, her own site, which hosts all of her stories and also features current reviews of high-end TG and erotica sites. Edith lives in the Far North and may be contacted at ebellamy@pinkgladiolas.com

Pink Gladiolas
by Edith Bennett Bellamy

Click here to read Chapter 1 
Click here to read Chapter 2
Click here to read Chapter 3
Click here to read Chapter 4
Click here to read Chapter 5
Click here to read Chapter 6
Click here to read Chapter 7


We stay locked together in one another's arms until the wet spot grows cold. When Calvin detaches himself, his detumescing cock slithers out of me like a fish one wants to hold onto but can't, releasing a fresh trickle of warm fluid, thinner now and no longer stimulating, but nonetheless welcome, for it tells me I was gloriously overfilled, that his seed must be insinuating its way in up through my cervix, my womb and up and up into my tubes.

Welcome? Gloriously overfilled? Am I insane? I push Calvin aside and leap out of bed. With my hand cupping myself to keep the fluids from running down the inside of my thighs, I dash into the bathroom.

"O Damn, Calvin, we forgot the condoms!" I cry, frantically trying to figure out how to use a bidet. "Jesus!" I think. "I could be knocked up this very moment, right out of the box, so to speak!" I fiddle madly with the taps: a jet of cold water hits me in the face. I finally get the temperature right, and turn it down, so it's like a little burbling fountain about eight inches high, then I straddle the thing and lower myself over it, splaying my lips apart with one hand until the fountain's inside me and the rim takes my weight. My thighs fit the concavities on either side of the bowl and keep me spread open: now I finally understand why bidets are designed like that. I perch on this porcelain saddle, trying to flush myself completely clean of sperm, of which I must take a radically different view from now on, while Calvin stands sheepishly in the doorway. "Jeez, Geoff, don't be mad at me. We both forgot all about a condom," he whines.

"I know, I know!" I reply from my gurgling throne. "We were too Goddamn eager to see if it worked. Well, now that we know it does, I hope it doesn't, if you know what I mean. I'm not certain I could deal with a baby right off, what with all the other adjustments I'm going to have to make. Deal with a baby? What the hell am I thinking, Calvin? The whole concept's bizarre! How long should I sit on this thing, anyway?" I ask. "I should be cleaned out by now, don't you think?"

"How would I know," Calvin replies. "I never even saw one of those things until we checked in here last night. I thought it was a drinking fountain for midgets. But look, Geoff..... Wait a sec..... Can't I please call you something else now? How can I keep calling you Geoff, now that you're a woman and especially now that I've fucked you?"

"How about Genevieve, then? Just call me Gennie," I say. "I've always liked the name."

* * * * * 

Dr. Blake finally addresses me. "OK, Gennie, listen. It's almost over. In a moment you'll feel a little sting down here, then some burning, and then I'm going to make an episiotomy incision so baby's head will come out without tearing you. Then I'll stitch you up all nice and tight so you'll be good as new and your husband will never know the difference. OK?"

I can't see I exactly have any choice in the matter, so I rapidly nod my head. I feel the prick of the needle in my tender lips, then the spreading burn of the Xylocaine. I watch in breathless horror as Dr. Blake inserts one blade of a long, straight scissors under my lips, to the right, and watch the scissors close down, making a two-inch incision at four-thirty o'clock, right through both sets of lips and deep into my splayed-out vaginal wall. I don't feel the actual cut, but I hear the metallic snick of the blades coming together and see the incision instantly gape in a wide 'V,' exposing a bigger expanse of wet blonde hair inside me, which rapidly becomes reddened with bright arterial blood. I stare in stark and wide-eyed disbelief at what has just been done to my tenderest tissues.

"Now push, Gennie, just as soon as you feel your next contraction coming on, and you'll be over the worst," Dr. Blake says. With my eyes scrunched shut and teeth tightly clenched, I nod assent. "It's coming, it's coming again," I moan. "Push, Gennie, push hard now!" Dr. Blake commands.

So I push with all my might, my eyes now wide open again, my gaze riveted on the mirror. I see a baby's head smoothly pop out of my vagina, like some sort of grotesque magician's trick. What I see has to be impossible, but there it is, a baby's head, face down, between my legs! It's blonde-haired, with dusky pink skin and it's covered with blotches of blood and greenish-white vernix. Dr. Blake supports its chin with two fingers.

* * * * *


Copyright © 2001 Edith Bellamy. All rights reserved. 



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