Hyper-Fertile

In fact, I know I did.

You stare over at a young man, minding his own business, sipping the last of a cup of

tea while he reads the paper quietly to himself.

He's perched at a high top inside a cozy cafe, past the rush of the morning work crowd, lit

by the morning sun through a large picture window nearby.

The first hint of discomfort or alert registers across his frittering eyebrow before he can

be seen shifting in his seat and gently placing a hand down on his abdomen beneath the table.

The color of his face changes and sweat begins to form, quickly darkening his shirt around

the pits and presumably down his crotch.

You can smell his musk wafting across the room.

His eyes are wide now, darting across the room, and his hand is gripping his abdomen

uncomfortably.

The noise of the room is changing to a gurgling, a rumble, a series of sickening splats and

liquidy turbulence from within his gut, intermingles with a low moan escaping his lips.

...