Bliss Warrior

DESPERATE AT 30 WEEKS - AN EXCERPT FROM MY MISERABLE, LONELY, LESBIAN PREGNANCY

Written by Miss Bliss on May 21, 2008 – 10:25 am -

Dearest Readers, I introduced you to my marvelously funny and talented friend, Andrea Askowitz, in my blog, Sharing the Same Sperm: A Love Story. This month Cleis Press is releasing her hysterical and poignant memoir, My Miserable, Lonely, Lesbian Pregnancy, and I am proud to share an excerpt of her book with you.
XOXOXOXOXO
BLISS WARRIOR
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Desperate at 30 Weeks
An Excerpt from My Miserable, Lonely, Lesbian Pregnancy (Cleis Press)
by Andrea Askowitz

I was thirty weeks pregnant, which is seven and a half months. I was big when I got this new, yet vaguely familiar feeling. I got pregnant alone, using an anonymous sperm donor and had spent the first 7 and a half months of my pregnancy feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t have a partner. I didn’t have anyone to have sex with either, but I was too depressed to care.

WEEK 30, DAY 2

“I’m finding it difficult to get laid,” I say.

Ravi, my friend who has had more sex than anyone I know, says, “Oh, you’re back.”

I say, “I’m back more than ever.”

“Plenty of people would want to have sex with you,” he says, “especially when you’re pregnant.”

“Who?”

WEEK 30, DAY 3

My downstairs neighbor at work, who’s a professional photographer, asks me to pose for a book he’s doing on pregnant women. He shows me his pictures, which are stunning and unique, just bellies mostly.
He and his assistant set up lights in my office. He is confident as he snaps my picture. He tells me how to stand or turn. He talks about how beautiful pregnant women are, how beautiful I am. I take off my clothes.

I have known him for more than a year and always thought he was a friendly guy. He is very good-looking: black with light skin and big dark eyes and long eyelashes. He has a straight nose and full lips with perfect white teeth. His head is shaved, which makes him look more like a boy than a man. He is only 26.
He chats a little but never stops shooting. I tell him pregnancy is hard. He nods. I start to think he’s sexy.

“Who takes care of you?” he says.

“I do.”

“Who rubs you down?”

“No one.”

He puts his camera down and says, “Don’t be shy to call me.”

I go home and call Ravi. “I’m going to have sex,” I say.

“With who?”

“The photographer man at my office.”

“Uh, you’re a lesbian.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have sex with a man. What should I make him for dinner?”

Ravi suggests pasta primavera. “And don’t forget to play the CD.”

Several months ago, when Ravi was Internet dating, he gave me his secret weapon in case I ever needed to use it. “This CD is too potent to name,” he said. “By the fifth song it’s guaranteed to get anybody to take his clothes off.”

WEEK 30, DAY 4

I call the photographer, and he comes over. He brings oil and lotion, for different parts of the body. He seems to know massage.

We eat dinner. I don’t think he likes the primavera. He is quiet. I think maybe he’s nervous. I ask him if he has a girlfriend or a boyfriend.

He says he only dates women, but that he’s single. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I’m focused on work.”

“But don’t you want love and sex?”

“I have two girls who give me head whenever I want.”

“Do you go down on them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They just do it for me to keep me out of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“You know.”

“No.”
After dinner he wants to get right to the massage. “What should I wear?” I say.

He says, “Nothing. I’ve already seen you naked.”

True, but now I’m nervous to be alone with him. I can hear my neighbors talking, so I think if he gets psycho, I’ll scream, and they’ll come in.

I put the CD on low, put on boxers and a tank top, and lie down on my side on the bed. My belly is too big to lie face down. He starts with my back, under my shirt. His touch is firm and strong. He uses lavender oil, one scent I love, even while pregnant. I am relaxing. I take off my shirt and he massages my arms, my neck, and my belly really gently. My baby is happy.

He spends a lot of time on my belly, making circles with his warm hands. I watch his hands; they are confident. His fingers are big and lean and pretty. He has very little hair on his latte-colored arms.

His circles get wider and then he runs his hands over my breasts. I am startled. My breath quickens.

I say, “That’s nice.”

He doesn’t say anything but does it again: He circles my belly and then touches my breast slowly and deliberately. One and then the other. I look at his face and find no reaction. He is staring at something on the wall. I say, “What are you thinking about?”

“Work,” he says.

“You’re thinking about work?”

“I have lots to do.”

Portishead is playing on the CD. Slow, rhythmic bass. “Is this sexy to you?” I ask.

“Do I want to have sex with you?”

“Well, that’s not what I asked, but do you?” I am breathing heavier now. I can’t help myself.

“Only if you really want me to.”

“No, I don’t,” I say. I don’t want to. This guy’s creepy. “But we could do other things.”

“Like what?” I look him up and down. His shoulders are broad, like a swimmer’s. His muscles show through his tight, white T-shirt. I look to see if he has a bulge in his jeans, but I can’t tell. He is barefoot.

“Well, why don’t you take your shirt off?”

“No, this is for you,” he says.

He then spends 45 minutes massaging my feet and legs. He takes several minutes with my toes and works his way, very slowly, over my ankles and calves. He rubs my knees and thighs and presses hard against my hip and then my butt. His hands are inside my boxers making circles on my butt the way he did my belly, and I am breathing heavy. I take off my boxers.

He lowers me onto my back, spreads my legs open and slowly kneads the inside of my thighs with both hands. He is rubbing and squeezing the soft flesh just below my groin. I arch up to receive him, but he moves his hands down. I raise my hips and he strokes me. I hear myself moan and this embarrasses me.
When he moves away I arch my back and he returns. I move my hips up and down. I am begging. Finally, he puts his fingers inside me and I move back and forth on his agile fingers. I am getting the most full-body massage I’ve ever gotten.

I ask again, “Now do you think this is sexy?”

“It’s pretty,” he says. “Your kitty is pretty.”

When the CD ends, he says, “Okay, I gotta go.” He leaves quickly.

I lie there awake, alone, thinking about being touched by anyone, even a strange black man who doesn’t want me. I take out my Pocket Rocket, which I keep in the drawer of my night table in case of emergencies, and, surrounded by the scent of lavender, make myself come before falling asleep.
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READY TO READ MORE? CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE MY MISERABLE, LONELY, LESBIAN PREGNANCY.
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WANT TO MEET ANDREA ASKOWITZ AND GET A SIGNED COPY OF HER BOOK? CLICK HERE TO SEE WHEN ANDREA WILL BE VISITING YOUR HOMETOWN.
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IF YOU ARE IN LOS ANGELES, JOIN ME AND ANDREA ON THURSDAY, MAY 29TH AT 8PM, WHEN THE MISERY LOVES COMPANY WORLD TOUR PRESENTS READINGS FROM ANDREA AND THESE QUIRKY, HILARIOUS, AND POIGNANT STORYTELLERS: JOHN FUGELSANG, SUSAN ISAACS, MAGGIE ROWE and TERRIE SILVERMAN, plus special guest dancer Michael Arbizo.

CLICK HERE for tickets. Under Upcoming Shows, click MISERY LOVES COMPANY. Hurry, only 99 seats. It will sell out fast!

ALL ATTENDEES WILL RECEIVE A FREE, SIGNED COPY OF MY MISERABLE, LONELY, LESBIAN PREGNANCY. SO GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE AND COME LAUGH! ***********************************************************************************************

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