This is a work of fiction.
A thirsty and dry pregnant wife neglected by her husband meets a opportunistic technician. He was supposed to service her air con, unfortunately he ended up servicing more than the faulty compressor.
My husband and I hava been trying for a child for 3 years and the journey to parenthood is one that is fraught with disappointment and anger.
The slew of tests we have to go through, the vitamins, the checkup, the injection. Then came the relentless trying during my ovulation period.
Sex is supposed to be enjoyable for both of us but after repeated failures of getting my egg fertilised, the joy and excitement of intercourse slowly turned to something that felt was done out of routine or necessity.
It didn’t help that my husband isn’t someone that is adventurous in the bedroom. Anyway, we finally got what we wished for on our 38th attempt.
My 38th menstrual cycle did not arrive and after a quick test, it confirmed what we have been hoping for the past 3 years.
We got it.
I got pregnant.
We were over the moon of course but the euphoria and joy of a pregnancy slowly became one fraught with caution.
It was not easy for me to get pregnant so my husband was paranoid about losing it if I did something stupid or dangerous.
He thinks everything I do is stupid and dangerous.
Taking the train is dangerous. Joining the lunch crowd to queue for my food in Raffles place is dangerous.
Taking the lift with too many people is dangerous.
While I was heartened with the amount of care and concern that he was showing me, I could not accept the fact that he thought I was so vulnerable and weak.
We quarrelled when he wanted me to take a break from work and concentrate on taking care of myself. He got my parents on his side and soon I was getting bombarded on all sides to take a break from work.
After 5 years of working and strutting in heels and body hugging dress in a corporate office, suddenly everything is dangerous.
Thankfully my boss is a mother herself and she was pretty understanding about my situation.
At 30, I’m still considered a young mother especially in Singapore’s context.
I took a year off from work to concentrate on my journey to motherhood.
As if the changes to my body and hormones were not enough to rile me, my husband refused to have sex with me.
“we should be careful not to hurt the baby dear. “ He said.
I rolled my eyes to high heavens and told him that even the doctor said it’s fine to continue having intercourse.
“but I’m worried about hurting you and the baby, we tried so hard for one and I really don’t want to do anything that will jeopardise the pregnancy.” He did his usual hug onto me from behind while stroking my arms pose while kissing me on my neck.
I leaned back to kiss him and I wished I could tell him how much I wanted him but I don’t want to sound like I’m begging.
It’s definitely nothing to do with my looks or figure.
I am fucking hot I think, please pardon me for tooting my own horn.
I have multiple suitors the moment I hit puberty. I have talent scouts approaching me along the road including one that owns a social escort company.
A Japanese client once offered me to be his mistress.
With a pageant title under my belt when I was in university, I was pretty sure looks had nothing to do with my husband’s lack of initiative.
If I didn’t know my geeky nerd husband like the back of my hand, I would think he was cheating on me on the outside but he was not.
He’s a geek.
Not wanting to bruise my ego with begging my husband for sex, I ended up masturbating myself 3-4 times a week.
I can’t help it.
I needed the release.
What else could I have done?
I can’t possibly pay for a massage at some sleazy parlour that I know provide extra services and ask them to do it for me can I ?
The masturbation satisfied my need for an orgasm but it did not quench my thirst for a satisfying ending. It’s been a while since I had that.
Just when I thought I was destined to live out the rest of my pregnancy dry, something happened.
Something I never expected.
I mean as a woman, I have dreamt and thought of quick dirty session with hunks, Korean superstars, or maybe that cute barista who makes my coffee.
I never expected something to happen when I had to call in an aircon technician.
A foreign worker.
Someone of a different race.
Someone whose life could not be more different from the life I lead.
I’m that hot babe strutting down Raffles place in $200 dresses and $300 dollar heels, while he’s that sweaty technician from across the causeway.
Nothing could ever happen.
Or so I thought.
Authored by Juliette
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