Saturday, 23 August 2025

Bet’s a Bet

 

I used to be Alex. Average guy, twenty-five, unlucky with women, and best friends with Brian since forever. We’d drink, trash-talk during video games, and joke about how pathetic our love lives were. If you told me back then that in less than a year I’d be pregnant with his kid, I’d have laughed in your face.

But then came that stupid bet.

We were on his couch, beer bottles on the table, game controllers in hand. He beat me so bad I couldn’t even blame lag. “Bet’s a bet, man,” he said with that cocky grin. “Open MorphX.

I groaned. “That app? What do you want me to do, give myself cat ears?”
“Nah,” he said, eyes glittering. “Full swap. Girl mode.”

I thought he was kidding. But the second he grabbed my phone and tapped confirm, my whole body buzzed like I was plugged into an outlet. My chest swelled, nipples pushing against my shirt until I gasped. My waist cinched, my hips spread, my voice cracked high when I swore at him. I stumbled into the bathroom and froze.

A girl stared back at me. Soft skin, full lips, long hair, breasts straining against my T-shirt. I touched my face, my chest, my thighs. My hands shook. “No way,” I whispered.

Behind me, Brian coughed. “Holy… wow.” His eyes glued themselves to my chest.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I hissed, crossing my arms, which only made my boobs push together.
“Not my fault you’re hot,” he muttered, ears red.

That was the start. It should’ve been a joke. A temporary thing. But I felt different in that body. The curves, the softness, the warmth between my thighs whenever Brian looked at me too long. I was still Alex inside, but my body? It wanted things.

A week later, his hand brushed my thigh and I didn’t move away. We kissed. Hesitant at first, then hungry. He pulled back, breathless. “You sure?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I whispered, “but yeah.”

That first time was terrifying. His hand slid under my shirt, over my new breasts, and I moaned so loud it shocked both of us.
“Alex,” he whispered, “you okay?”
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.

When he finally pushed inside me, I almost screamed. The stretch, the fullness, the wet heat — I’d never felt anything like it. My body clenched, my nails dug into his back, and every thrust had me moaning like my brain had disconnected. I thought, I can’t believe I’m loving this. I’m not supposed to like this. I’m his best friend. I’m a guy. But holy hell, don’t stop.

Afterward, panting and ruined, I lay there staring at the ceiling. “Holy shit… I liked that way too much.”
Brian laughed softly, kissed my forehead. “Guess we’re doing it again.”

And we did. Again and again. Nights blurred together — sneaking into each other’s rooms, tangled sheets, me craving the way he filled me, craving the way I felt as a woman.

Then came the night we screwed up.

We were already half-drunk, kissing, desperate. Brian groaned, “Shit—Lena, we’re out of condoms.” (Yeah, by then I was calling myself Lena. Somehow it fit.)

I hesitated. My body was begging, my brain screaming warnings. “Just… pull out,” I whispered.

He looked at me like I’d given him the keys to heaven. “You sure?”
“No,” I admitted, grinding against him. “But I need you.”

The sex was insane. Raw, bare, every nerve on fire. He thrust into me and I nearly screamed. “Oh my god, it’s so much better without—Brian—don’t stop—”

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, even as I kept gasping, “Just don’t finish inside.” Every thrust had me moaning, shaking, body betraying me.

Then it happened. He tensed, groaned my name, and I felt it — hot, thick, flooding into me. My eyes flew open. “Brian! You didn’t!”
“I tried,” he panted.
“You tried?!” I shoved at him weakly, still trembling from my orgasm. “Congratulations, you just deposited your sperm like it’s direct deposit.”

We laughed it off. He swore it was a one-off. Then my period ghosted me.

Two weeks later, I was in the bathroom, clutching a positive test, mascara streaked down my cheeks.
Brian knelt in front of me, hand trembling on my stomach.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
He stared, then said, “So… pull-out’s officially a scam.”
I smacked him with the test.

Now I’m 24 weeks in. Belly round, tight, and impossible to hide. The baby kicks constantly — sometimes so hard I yelp mid-sentence. Brian loves it. He presses his ear to my bump, murmuring to the baby, kissing my stretched skin.

Me? I crack jokes to stay sane. “You realize I went from being your wingman to waddling like a penguin because of your kid, right?”
He kisses my stomach. “Best upgrade ever.”
“You knocked up your best friend because you couldn’t pull out.”
He grins. “Worth it.”

Sex hasn’t slowed either. If anything, pregnancy hormones made me worse. One night I whispered, embarrassed, “Brian, I think I’m hornier pregnant than I ever was as a guy.”
“Not complaining,” he muttered, already pulling me onto his lap.
When the baby kicked during sex once, I gasped, “Oh my god, our kid knows you’re in here!”
He groaned. “Don’t say that.”
“We’re a threesome now.”

And tonight? Tonight’s the big one. Dinner with his family. First impressions, 24 weeks pregnant.

I stood in front of the mirror, tugging my floral top down over my belly, slipping on earrings. My hand rested under the bump automatically. I took a selfie, smirking at the absurdity of it all. This is me. Lena. Pregnant. About to meet his mom. Formerly Alex.

Brian leaned against the doorframe. “Damn, you look amazing.”
“Yeah, until your mom figures out her son’s best friend couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
He laughed. “We’ll leave that part out.”
I sighed. “Don’t you dare tell her the pull-out story.”
“I might. Depends how dinner goes.”
I smacked his chest. “I’ll tell her you came inside me like you were making a down payment.”

He wrapped his arms around my bump, kissed my neck. “You ready?”
“No. But at least I look cute while your mom judges me.”

And as we stepped out the door, he whispered with that damn grin:
“Bet’s a bet.”


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Bet’s a Bet

  I used to be Alex. Average guy, twenty-five, unlucky with women, and best friends with Brian since forever. We’d drink, trash-talk during ...