Archive of Our Own

You know how it goes. You need to stop by Wal*mart just to pick up some Goldfish crackers, a pair of Crocs, and a Colt LE6920 Carbine Semi-Auto Rifle. You know, normal stuff. You figure you’d be in there like ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops if there’s a long line. Next thing you know you’re getting your ass pounded in the one of the display tents in the Sports and Outdoors section.

That’s what happened to me. I told England to keep it in his pants until we got home, but NOOOOO! Like the name of the biggest size of Coldstone ice cream, he’s just GOTTA HAVE IT! Wal*mart is the place for rolling back prices. ROLL BACK PRICES ROLLIN’! But England seems to think it’s the place for rolling down pants instead.

“Oh God, yessss …” he moaned above me. He had me pinned to the floor and was giving it to me good from behind. “Christ … you’re so fucking tight … nnm …”

I was on my knees and elbows. That was the best way to see my iPhone during this. “Uh huh,” I said. I was texting. Texting while dicking. (Less dangerous than texting while driving.)

“And you … wanted …” England was panting in between his words. “… to wait … until we were home …”

“Shh,” I said. “I’m gonna accidentally type what you’re saying.” Oh my gosh, you ever do that? Someone’s talking to you while you’re typing or writing and then you put what they say? So annoying!

“Mmm …” said England, still pounding my ass. “Then tell whoever you’re texting that you’re getting the fuck of your life … that your arse is just eating up my cock … that you can’t get enough … your body wracked with pleasure … your own cock dribbling onto the floor from—“

England went on and on, but I tuned him out so I could continue texting.

‘LOL who do u think has the smallest penus i bet it’s china am i right? ?’ I texted.

‘No, I think it’s probably North Korea. All this nuclear missile business is clearly compensating for something,’ was the reply.

‘LOL buuuuurn dude! So true omg im gonna tell him that next time i see him. but all the weapons in the world dont make up for it!!!! By the way i just bought a semi automatic rifle at walmart today :) ‘

‘Don’t you think you have enough weapons already?’

‘u can never have enough. 2nd amendment bitch!!! By the way who do u think has the biggest penus?’

‘I don’t know. Who?’

‘LOLOLOL why r u asking me!!! Like iv fucked all the countries lol plz’

‘I don’t know your personal business. You’ve shared some stories about you and England though that I would have been perfectly happy not knowing about.’

‘hahaha oh yeah him. he always wants to fuck me it gets so annoying. Its like damn give it a rest am i right!!! sometimes he does me so many times in 1 night i can barely poop the next day!!!! It hurts my butt. God getting all that seemen out the next morning is the worst to! i hate that I told him to were a condom but he says no cuz it doesnt feel as good. Hes even rough for oral but thats what ice cream is for!!! Sooths a sore throat thats why England brings ice cream with him a lot for that reason. Doesnt work good for lube though i learned that the hard way i got so cold i lost my boner and also it hurt like hell when he put it in.’

‘That was too much information, America. I’m actually disturbed now. I’m going to go now.’

‘ok bye obama!!! Say hi to michelle for me!!!!’

Why do people only text me for short amounts of time? ! Was it something I said? I don’t get it :/

I glanced back over my shoulder to see if England was close to being done. As rough as he was being, I couldn’t imagine him taking very long. He was all sweaty and grunting under his breath as he fucked me with quick thrusts. He had to be quiet. After all, we were in a tent inside Wal*mart! What if people found out?

“You almost finished?” I asked.

“Getting there,” he panted.

“All right. I’m gonna check my email.”

I was reading Amazon’s recommendations for me when I felt it. Silly Amazon! You think you know what I like just because I’ve ordered a couple things from you? Just because I bought that Boyfriend Arms pillow doesn’t mean I also want to order a Forever Comfy. They look like dog beds! I can find one of them at PetSmart for cheaper. Anyway it was when I was reading that email from Amazon that I felt England jerk inside me. I glanced back and from the look on his face he was obviously cumming.

When he was done, he pulled out of me, and sat back, panting.

“Took you long enough,” I said, looking back to my iPhone.

“Don’t you want me to finish you off?” he asked. “Turn around. I’ll give you a good wank.”

“Nah.”

“No?” He looked all confused. “You want to walk out of this tent and back into Wal*mart with an erection?”

Silly England. We’re still in Wal*mart. In a tent in Wal*mart. Still in Wal*mart though. This counts as public sex! Once we had public sex at a Publix bathroom so then it was public Publix sex. Say that three times fast!

“Uh … ya know …” I glanced down. I wasn’t that hard. Just a little but that would go away pretty quickly. “I don’t really have a boner so … yeah, I don’t really care.”

 He looked a little hurt. OH WAAAH! “Oh … I thought you were enjoying it, too, I—“

“Come on.” I stood up, still texting. Not easy to do. “Let’s go home and finish this.”

Then he looked a little happier. “Oh— all right.”

“If I keep texting and emailing here I’m gonna use up all my data plan. If I go home I got free Wifi.”

“Oh.” He frowned again :(

I guess he thought I meant continue sex at home. NOPE. If we kept having sex, how will I win Doodlejump on my phone? That game is very sensitive to movement. And England ramming me in the ass is enough movement to fuck it up.

X

So some time went by and I was getting very worried. England had gone back to England. But that’s not why I was worried. I mean I can always just text him. That’s almost as good as IRL face to face talking. Or at least FaceTime is. I mean, it’s got ‘face’ right in the name, duh.

No, I was worried because I was pretty sure I got knocked up. But it wasn’t all fun and games with Judd Apatow and Seth Rogan like in that movie with the same name. No, I was really scared! What would people think? They will judge me and the verdict in the court case of everyone v. me would be that I am a whore :(

I first suspected I was preggars from the Wal*mart sex when I started throwing up every morning. And afternoon. And evening. I threw up a lot. You know when you throw up and you smell the puke and the smell is so gross it makes you throw up again? That’s what happened to me.

The timing with the first sex I’d had in a couple months (don’t make fun of my dry spell!) made sense, so I decided to do an internets search to see if I had any other symptoms of pregnancy. By the way, if you go to Yahoo (yeah, I still use Yahoo, what of it) and type in ‘early symptoms of pregnancy’ the VERY FIRST THING that comes up is from a website called americanpregancy dot org. AMERICAN PREGNANCY! American—well that’s me! It’s like they KNEW! How did they know I was pregnant? That freaked me out. Also true story. Try it if you don’t believe me.

I read the list and a lot of them applied to me! D: And I don’t just mean the vague ones like headaches and backaches and fatigue. Also the ones about tender, swollen breasts and darkened areolas! YEAH MY NIPS GOT ALL DARK! WTF? ! Who knew that was a symptoms of being pregnant? ! I also had a solid A cup going on. Maybe A+. Couldn’t play with them though because they were all tender and sore.

I had to know for sho though. Was I really prego? (Pregnant not the spaghetti sauce.) I had to get tested. And I didn’t think regular pee-on-a-stick pregnancy type tests from CVS would work on me. After all, I’m a dude. We’re not even supposed to get pregnant. But I’m a country so things work a little differently for us. Like God, we work in mysterious ways.

Luckily, I knew how to tell if there was a bun in the oven without an embarrassing trip to Walgreens. All you need is a rabbit. LET ME EXPLAIN. England told me about this when I was young! You take a rabbit, and you pee on it, and if it dies, you’re pregnant. No, wait. That’s not right. I’m trying to remember … it was like two hundred years ago, cut me some slack, all right? What did he say … oh yeah! You kill the rabbit, cut it open, pee on its ovaries, and if they change, you are pregnant.

So I went on down to the local pet shop and bought a rabbit.

It was so cute! With its soft fur and long ears and pink button nose and its little mouth like :3 It liked to nibble on stuff. I petted it and let it sit in my lap and gave it a piece of lettuce. It nibbled the lettuce.

“Aww, you’re so adorable!” I said to the rabbit. “I’m gonna call you Munchie, hehe. What a shame I’m gonna have to kill you and piss on your organs.”

So I went and got my shotgun. I would have liked to use my new Colt LE6920 Carbine Semi-Auto Rifle I got from Wal*mart but I’m pretty sure if I used that there wouldn’t be any ovaries or rabbit at all left when I was done! Kinda makes me wonder why it is sold in the Sports and Outdoors section at Wal*mart. I mean, it’s not like people are hunting with a semi-automatic rifle, right? Well, maybe Ted Nugent. He’s kind of a dick but I like that song. CAT SCATCH FEVAAAAAA!

(Cat Scratch Fever is a real disease that affects over 22,000 people every year in the US alone and can cause serious complications, so I dunno why he chose to make a song about it.)

Well, anyway, I took the safety off my shotgun and cocked it (LOL I said cock.) I pointed the rifle between Munchie’s eyes at point blank range. Munchie was still like MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH on the lettuce. I gripped the trigger. Sorry, Munchie …

But then my hand started to tremble. I slowly lowered the gun. Then dropped it to the floor.

“Ohhh, I can’t kill you, Munchie!” I exclaimed. I hugged Munchie. “You are too cute! And you don’t deserve to die just because England wanted to put his penis inside me in a display tent at Wal*mart.”

So I went back to the pet shop and this time, I got an UGLY rabbit. So that when I pointed my gun between its eyes, I would have no problem!

… or so I thought. Until I my hand started shaking again as I held the gun to its head.

“DAMN IT!” I yelled, throwing the gun across the room. “I CAN’T DO IT!”

How did Elmer Fudd do this shit? ! I’ve been through wars and other wars and even recent wars I started just for the hell of it. It’s not like I’m a stranger to violence, all right? I saw all the Saw movies. Yet I don’t have the balls to shoot a rabbit? ! What was wrong with me? !

Why couldn’t I kill these rabbits? Even the ugly one? It was like something in me just wouldn’t allow it. But I couldn’t explain what. Ugh, I hate when I have problems I can’t Google! (or Yahoo.)

But then I didn’t have to because I suddenly remembered. An incident that happened to me years ago that I’d forgotten. I’ll tell you the story so get some popcorn or something. My favorite is Orville Redenbacher. First in flight! :D

It was many years ago, before I was independent from England. I grew up really fast and one day when England came to visit he was like :O because I grew up while he was gone. Well that :O didn’t last very long. Pretty soon it was more like :d (That was supposed to be a face licking its lips. Not sure how well I pulled that off. :P just looks too playful.)

So yeah, I’d hit puberty, and England was all into that. He saw me differently then. I had the body of like a fifteen year old. He liked my fresh, nubile body. I was like a ripened peach to him. And he wanted my juicy fruit (not Juicy Fruit the gum.) And one day, after I’d milked the cows, gathered eggs from the hens, and checked on the spider web above the pig pen, England got his wish. He laid me down in the hay in the barn and had his way with me. I lost my virginity to the CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK of chickens around us, and it was magical.

Okay, not really. Because when I kept puking all the time after that, England was very worried he’d gotten me pregnant. And while back then it was okay to have sex with underage people (people got married at like 14 back then) it was NOT okay to have a baby out of wedlock. People sure judged you for that! England flipped his shit and said he needed to do a pregnancy test right away. That’s when he told me about the rabbit test.

I had a pet rabbit as a kid. Like even when I was a little kid. I carried her with me. She was my friend when all this happened to me. Until England got a hold of her. England took her from me, killed her, gutted her, and made me pee on her. I cried the whole time.

Holy shit. How did I forget something like THAT? I bet I REPRESSED it. I was so traumatized that my brain must have hid that memory for me. Freud taught us about that. But then again, he also taught us that all kids love oral and anal and are in love with their opposite sex parents so who really knows.

I got so pissed at England when I remembered that. He killed my childhood pet! And yeah Marmalade was pretty old and was gonna die soon anyway, but STILL! That doesn’t mean she deserved to die like that. I buried her in my backyard and even though my body had blossomed into a beautiful young w—I mean man, I cried like a little baby.

That night (modern times, I’m done with my story now) I sat on my couch with my two new pet rabbits and watched a movie. I saw Space Jam in a whole new light that night :’D

(Because it has rabbits in it.)

X

So some more time went by. But not once did I talk to England. He tried but I refused to answer his calls or texts or emails or letter or AIM messages. LOL, yeah he thought I still used AIM and signed up just so he could try to talk to me! But even though that is AOL’s messenger and AOL stands for America Online, I was not online. Not for him, anyway. I didn’t want to talk to that RABBIT MURDERER.

One day I was just chilling at my house trying to figure out if I like the regular nacho cheese Doritos Locos Tacos better or the new Cool Ranch ones, when he tried calling me YET AGAIN.

He’d been doing it so much even though he knew I wasn’t going to answer. Especially not with Cool Ranch dust on my fingers. I like how it is Christmas colored :)

My phone had been like BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ all day like it was Bee Movie in my house. That was a good movie. I like Jerry Seinfeld. But I don’t like England blowing up my phone.

I took a gander at the latest text message he sent when I didn’t answer, and spewed taco bits all over the place out of my mouth.

‘I’m coming to see you. My flight landed about twenty minutes ago and I’m on my way,’ said his text.

GRRR! Time for some ANGRY texting. Angry texting is when you type your message while mashing the buttons really hard and making a mad face! By the way, don’t ever try angry sexting. It doesn’t work for some reason.

‘no way dude i dont want 2 talk to u!!!! so get back on the plain and go home u ducking doosh bag’ I texted back. I didn’t type ‘ducking’ … stupid autocorrect made me look dumb!

England texted back, ‘I don’t know why you’re so angry with me. You’ve ignored me for months. Whatever I’ve done to offend you, don’t you think it’s been enough time to forgive me for it?’

‘its been way longer then a few months but whatevs i’m still mad’

Try like over 200 years!

‘Is it because I can’t sexually satisfy you? I’ll try harder. Whatever it takes. We can try new things. I’m up for anything.’

‘yeah I bet u r arent u’

‘I can’t tell if you meant that to sound annoyed or if you were being playful because you liked that idea. Hopefully it’s the latter ;) ‘

‘wut do I need a ladder for? And dont use a winky face to me who do u think u r!!! I dont want to see u so DONT COME!!!’

Then I very angrily held the home button and the top button down on my iPhone! That’s how you turn it off, for those of you who are not cool enough to have an iPhone like me. That’ll learn England.

But he showed up at my house anyway! He kept knocking on the door but I didn’t answer. Hehe, I was smart. Before he came I locked all the doors, drew all the curtains, and turned the lights off. Now he’ll think I’m not home! Even though I usually DO leave a light on when I leave so burglars think someone’s here. I also leave the TV on for Whaley because he thinks that the people talking on the TV are real people and it keeps him company. BUT ENGLAND DOESN’T KNOW ALL THAT SO IT’S OKEY.

“Come on, America!” yelled England from outside the door. “Open up!”

“No, I’m not home!” I yelled back. WAIT SHIT—

“I know you are,” he said. “Let me inside. I just want to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk to you. Even though I’m doing it right now through the door OH MY GOD GET OUT OF MY BRAIN WHAT IS THIS SORCERY—“

“Listen,” said England. “I understand why you’re upset. I would be too if my partner couldn’t satisfy me. It must be very trying to simply lie there and not enjoy yourself, knowing full well that I am. It must seem very selfish. Like I’m using you for my own pleasure. But I assure you that’s not what I intended—I didn’t realize you weren’t enjoying it. I promise, from now on I will make sure you have just as pleasurable an experience as me. If not more so. What are you into, America? What turns you on? I’ll try whatever you want.”

“SHIT ENGLAND!” I yelled back very angrily.

England took a moment to reply. And when he did, he sounded disturbed.“… I-I see. Well, it’s not my thing, but I did say I would try whatever you wanted. If that’s what it takes, I suppose I can—“

“You dummy. I didn’t mean like ‘I’m into shit, England,’ I meant like ‘SHIT ENGLAND WTF IS WRONG WITH YOUR DIRTY ASS?’ …. duh!”

“Oh thank God …”

“Everything is always about sex with you, isn’t it? We go to Wal*mart, you bang me in the display tent. We go to Build a Bear, you bang me in the stuffing machine. We go to a funeral, you bang me under a table. I don’t think Princess Di’s ghost appreciated you doing that very much. Like that movie with that big ass white dog dragon thing Falkor, it never ends, England!”

“Ah, I think I understand now,” said England. “You think we have sex too much, and it’s too much of a good thing. It’s become routine and stale, and thus boring. But don’t worry, we can still spice it up—“

“WOW!” I exclaimed. “You are REALLY not listening to me. I’ll say it plainly for you so pull the penises out of your ears: I AM NEVER GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU EVER AGAIN.”

Awkward silence.

“In fact,” I continued, “I’m never going to have sex with anyone ever again.”

“Come now,” said England. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“Oh, trust me. I do.”

England sighed. “What’s going on, America? This isn’t like you. Something’s obviously on your mind. Talk to me.”

“NO,” I pouted.

“Then you leave me no choice,” he said. “I didn’t want to do this, but I don’t see any other way. If you’re right behind the door, I suggest you move.”

“WHAT THE! Don’t you break down my door!” I yelled at him. “If you do you better believe your ass is going to Lowe’s to buy me a new one! Their slogan is let’s build something together but you gotta do it on your own—WHAT THE!” As I was talking, the door opened and England pushed his way through. He had to squeeze but yeah he got in. “HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT? !” I interobanged.

“I unlocked it,” he said, holding up a key. Oh yeah. I gave him one a long time ago, back when we were buttbuddies. “I really didn’t want to do that. Letting oneself in is rude and improper. But you didn’t give me a ch—dear God.” Something shut England’s ass up real quick. “No wonder you didn’t want me coming inside! What is going on in here? !”

I didn’t know what England was talking about.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. I pulled at my shirt and took a few steps backward.

“This!” England motioned everywhere. “There are rabbits everywhere! God, there must be dozens of them! Everywhere I look!”

“Oh. That.” I waved him off. “They’re just my pets. Don’t pet them. They’re not used to other people and if you scare them they’re gonna piss everywhere.”

England was trying to walk through the room, but he kept stopping and stumbling because there were so many rabbits in the way. Um, did I invite him into the other room? No, I did not! England just presumed he was allowed! You know what they say about when you PRESUME! You make an ASS out of U and ME. Wait, crap, that’s ‘assume.’ Oh well, same diff.

“How did you end up with so many? !” asked England.

“Um, well when a boy rabbit and a girl rabbit love each other very much …” I started sarcastically. But then I stopped myself. “Actually, you know what? They don’t even have to love each other.”

England looked confused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“LIKE WHAT? Anyway, they had babies. And then their babies had babies. And then their babies had babies. And now I got a whole lot of inbred rabbits.”

England gave up trying to walk into the next room. There were too many rabbits and too many rabbit poops in the way. Rabbit poops look like Milk Duds. They don’t taste like them though. “I knew something was going on,” said England. “And not just this. Look at yourself.”

I quickly crossed my arms. I didn’t want England looking at me. “What about me?”

“You’ve let yourself go. You’re wearing baggy sweats, you have bags under your eyes, you’ve gained half a stone, something is around your mouth, Lord knows what …”

I wiped my mouth and licked my fingers. Ah. Cool Ranch dust.

“You look like you haven’t had a bath or a good night’s sleep in a long time,” said England. “You just look so … weary. You can’t keep living like this. Let me help you. How about you come stay with me for a while? I don’t thinking living in this house in this state in good for you. You know … full of feces.”

“HEY NOW! Stop dissing on New York.”

“I meant state as in condition. So what do you say?”

“I SAY NO WAY! I like living with all my rabbits. I can tell them apart and know them individually and they all have names. The one pooping on your shoes is named Nutella. Good boy, Nutella.”

England quickly stepped away from Nutella and the Milk Duds he was leaving on his shoes. “I feel like something else is going on …” he said all dramatically. “This isn’t really about the rabbits, is it? Something is off about you.”

“Well, it’s not my clothes, so you’re probably not interested, you pervert.” OH BURRRRRN! I love it when I can actually think of a good comeback at the right time. Normally I can’t think of anything and I’m just like ‘Oh yeah, well, YOUR MOM!’ and then later in the shower or something I think of the perfect thing and am like DAMN IT! That would have been awesome.

England looked at me with a very serious face. “I mean it, America. Something is going on. You need help. Please … I’m begging you. Talk to me.”

“Uhh … no.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll help you. I know you think our relationship is too physical, but I really do care about you. A lot.” He was staring me in the eyes DRAMATICALLY. “America … I love you.”

I stared back. He waited anxiously for my response.

“Oh yeah, well,” I started. “YOUR MOM!”

Then I kicked him out of the house.

X

Sun goes up, sun goes down. Every day. Never a miscommunication. That’s how Bill ORLY knows God exists.

When it went down that day, England didn’t leave. Even though I’d kicked him out. He stayed in my yard. Every now and then he’d knock on the door or bang on my window or yell at me, but I ignored him. It really sucked. I had to turn my TV up really loud while I watched The Big Bang Theory. It was hard to hear Leonard bitching about Sheldon’s annoying aspie idiosyncrasies while England yelled about his concerns and gay feelings for me from outside. UGH!

“They use too many big words on this show, but boy is Penny hot,” I said as I petted Munchie on my lap. “So is Raj.”

“I’m going to sleep now!” I heard England yell suddenly. “I’m sleeping in your garden! If you change your mind, come and wake me.”

I don’t have any vegetables in my yard. England just calls yards ‘gardens’ because he’s weird. Same reason he calls an elevator a ‘loo.’

I couldn’t believe he was really gonna sleep in my yard. There are a lot of possums where I live. But aside from that, it’s pretty desperate, am I right?

“GOOD NIGHT!” I yelled back to him. “SLEEP TIGHT! DON’T LET THE BED BUGS BITE!” Ya see, that’s funny because here in New York we really do have a bed bug problem. Don’t stay in a hotel here unless you are prepared to wake up as one itchy bitch. Bloomberg should really get on that, but nooooo. He’s more concerned about how many ounces of soda we drink in one cup! But joke’s on him because that law failed. IN YO FACE BLOOMY!

Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘America, stop acting so bitchy and let England come inside. And let him bang you so I can read about hot yaoi sex.’ NO. Stop rubbing your clitoris because that ain’t gonna happen. Nevar again. Because last time that happened, I got pregnant.

Yep, fo reals. I was over eight months along. BUT SHHH DON’T TELL ENGLAND! It’s a secret. No one knows. Not England, not any other countries, not any of my citizens, not even Obama. He’d probably rag on me anyway. Like ‘With ObamaCare, birth control is free. I give that stuff out like candy. Why didn’t you use it?’ SIGH! I should have. Or done the Republican way of birth control, and put an aspirin between my legs. That way I wouldn’t be stuck with this eight month old fetus inside me.

In case you’re wondering, being pregnant SUCKS. I threw up more than Lindsey Lohan when she was a bulimic. Haha, just kidding. She’s still a bulimic. Anyway, I was tired all the time, my back hurt, and my boobs hurt a lot too. Oh yeah, did I mention I got boobs? And not just that A cup I had going on earlier. Oh no, they were a solid B cup. And I still had those dark nips.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it! I had terrible mood swings. One minute I’d be happy as a clam, the next I was angry as a clam growing a pearl. Did you know pearls are bad for clams? They make pearls when a grain of sand gets inside them and irritates them so they make a protective barrier around them so it doesn’t hurt them as much. The protective barrier is the pearl. *THE MOAR YOU KNOW*

It was the hormones. And it had other effects too. If you know what I mean. Like … sexually. I think that’s why they call them hormones. Like WHOREMOANS. Because you moan like a whore, duh. It’s no secret that the crazy amount of hormones when pregnant make a woman (or pregnant dude) super horny. It’s not my fault, it’s like science. Look it up if you don’t believe me, bitch. I’m tired of you not believing me all the time. If you actually Google this shit, you must not trust me. God, how can you be so heartless!

Oh, God, I’m SO SORRY, boys and girls! I didn’t mean to yell at you. I love you, baby. I confide in you. It’s these crazy hormones! You see what I mean? Like a steering wheel in a pirate’s pants, they are DRIVING ME NUTS!

Anyway, yeah, I’d been horny as fuck lately. And since I was mad at England, I wasn’t gonna bang him anymore. And since I didn’t want anyone to know I was pregnant, I didn’t bang anyone else. What if they saw my tummy? I got away with it (BARELY) with England by wearing that baggy sweart shirt. He just thought I’d gained a few pounds, that dummy. But if I took my shirt off, it’d be very obvi.

So what did I do? I fapped a lot. And I do mean A LOT. In all kinds of ways. To my imagination, to DVD porn, to internets porn, to sexy dreams I woke up in the middle of. Sometimes I used my hand and jerked off, sometimes I humped stuff, sometimes I shoved stuff up my ass. Just depended on my mood.

I was so glad when England finally went to sleep in my yard. Because I was feeling particularly frisky that night, but I didn’t wanna jack off while he was still yelling from outside. That’d be weird. What if he looked inside the window? He didn’t deserve the show. Because y’all know I’m still hot and sexy even with a big ass baby bump. I CAN STILL WORK IT.

That night I was extra horny. I didn’t know why. BUT IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ENGLAND VISITING, THAT’S FOR SURE! Get that out of your filthy minds, boys and girls. Oh who am I kidding. JUST GIRLS. Anyway, I just wasn’t in the mood to jerk it. I definitely wanted some anal play. You know when you just gotta have something up there, ya know? Again, nothing to do with England’s visit. It just feels good, OKAY? ! The prostate and all. Yeah.

But when I went to get my dildo, there was a problem!

“TRIX!” I scolded. Trix was one of my rabbits. She was named after the Trix cereal rabbit, DUH. And unlike how Trix is for kids, what my Trix had was definitely NOT for kids. It was my dildo in her mouth. “You chewed up my dildo! DAMN IT!”

She chewed it up really bad. It was too messed up to use anymore. With all those jagged notches, it would not feel good all scraping up my rectum. Plus she fucked up the battery part so it wouldn’t vibrate anymore. I liked the vibrations. That’s my favorite part!

See, this is why you should always have a back-up dildo! But alas. I did not. I started freaking out. I was horny as hell from the hormones, and I knew the only thing that would satisfy me was a good dicking. WHAT DO?

I took a deep breath and thought hard. There had to be something around the house that could go up my butt. TO THE KITCHEN!

I raided my fridge. Oh, if only those stereotypes about craving eating pickles and ice cream were true! A pickle would have worked great. It didn’t vibrate but it was good and penis shaped. Thicker than England too, hehe. But unfortunately the only food cravings I’ve had were for tacos with Doritos for shells and Taco Bell had me covered on that one.

I looked around my fridge. A mayonnaise jar? Ouch. My ass couldn’t handle that. I’d be stretched like the Grand Canyon and you don’t come back from that. I’d probably poop myself uncontrollably all the time after that. Plus what if it broke while inside me? ! I didn’t want to reenact ‘1 Guy 1 Jar.’ You guys ever Google that shit? Quit lying.

I looked around some more. A Coke bottle, no … a can of Pringles, no … a frozen Jimmy Dean Pancakes and Sausage on a Stick, no. AUGH! Can’t these companies make something just the right size and shape to go up someone’s ASS? ! I mean, is that really so hard? ! They’re all either too big or too small or have something that will scratch me like a cap on the bottle and it’s not like you can put a Band-Aid up your ass. You just have to hold some toilet paper or paper towels down there until the bleeding stops. N-not that I know from personal experience or anything.

I looked around the rest of my house. The remote control, a shampoo bottle, the handle on one of my pots or pans, a Ped-Egg, the Pocket Hose … noooo! None of these would work. You seen the new Pocket Hose by the way? It’s by the same brilliant people who brought us GEMS such as the Snuggie and the Chop Slap and the ShamWOW. The Pocket Hose is a garden hose that's small enough to fit in your pocket, then expands automatically to a giant full sized hose!  Just like my PENIS. God, I was so horny then! It was expanding automatically to a giant full sized hose the more I thought about putting something up my butt.

I couldn’t take it anymore! Dildo or no dildo, I needed to masturbate, RIGHT NOW. I decided to just use my fingers like a poor person.

So I got on my bed, got out my bottle of lube, and pushed off all the rabbits onto the floor. I can’t get off if they’re like nuzzling me and shit while I’m diddling myself, ugh. So anyway, I took off my pants and squirted some lube on my fingers and went to town. Rectum Town. Population: two fingers. A third resident may also move in. Depends on my mood.

I was on my knees and elbows. Well, one elbow. My other arm was reaching back and under myself, fingering my asshole real good. I closed my eyes and moaned. Lost myself in the moment. I’d been doing this a lot, thanks to this stupid baby of England’s, so I knew exactly where my prostate was. Only took a few seconds and I’d already found it. My cock, which was half hard before I even got my pants off, responded VERY EAGERLY to this. It didn’t take much fingering before it was fully ERECT and HARD and TURDID … TURRID … TURGID? Something like that. Whatevs. You want sexy, fappable literature go rent a book from a library, you nerd.

It felt good up in my ass, but kinda awkward otherwise. I had to reach around my big pregnant belly. WORST KIND OF REACH AROUND EVAR. You weren’t picturing me with a big preggo tummy while getting sexy with myself, were ya? It’s okey. Please don’t. I didn’t want to admit it but I’m secretly self-conscious about it and feel less sexy like this :(

Anyway, I was moaning and bucking back into my fingers but it WASN’T ENOUGH. I needed moar. My dildo had spoiled me. It was the perfect size and shape and it VIBRATED! You know how GOOD it feels to have something vibrate against your prostate? Just holding it there buzzing away, as the pleasure shoots up your spine, and you melt into a puddle of sexy goo. It brings me to orgasm in literally SECONDS.

Now I gotta do it all old school way with just my fingers. LAME. Why don’t I just get a pager and a VCR and some Beanie Babies and other shit we don’t need anymore while I’m at?? At least a pager vibrated. Actually, that would probably feel pretty nice …

Thinking about that and UGH I couldn’t take it anymore. I groaned as I wormed another finger inside me. Like HHHHGGGGHHH! But then it was right back to thrusting them in and out of me. Like it was my dildo. Like it was a real dick. Like it was E—

BZZZZZZZT

“WHOA SHIT—“

That was my phone. It made a BZZZZZT noise as it vibrated on my nightstand beside the bed. Who was texting me at this hour? I knew it wasn’t Obama because he told me he wasn’t gonna text me anymore because he said I sent him too many selfies :(

I pulled my fingers out of my ass so I could lean over and see who it was. TAKE A GUESS. You knew it would be England.

‘I can’t sleep. I’m thinking about you,’ was what his text said.

Good! I was glad he couldn’t sleep. I hope he’s cold and miserable outside, and that the possums come and curl up with him with all their little babies all falling out of the hole in the front of them and it’s super creepy. You know possums are marsupials, right? They got pouches like kangaroos and wallabies (that’s what Rocko from Rocko’s Modern Life was.) (But they never showed his pouch for some reason.) (I guess because that’s not appropriate for childrens.) (Or because he’s a dude.)

BZZZZZZZT

 ‘How about you? Can you sleep?’ England texted.

GRRR! England had ruined my concentration! There I was, minding my own business, pleasuring myself with my fingers, and then ALL OF A SUDDEN England’s gonna text me and distract me! Now all I could think about was HIM. How would I get off then?

BZZZZZZZT

 ‘I miss you. I wish you’d let me back inside.’ (That was also another text of England’s.)

Oh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, England? You’d find me sans pants, bent over on my hands and knees, asshole slick and stretched and begging for a cock, even your rabbit murdering cock.

BZZZZZZZT

‘Please … I want to come inside,’ England texted.

I knew he meant come inside my house, but all I could think about was him coming inside ME. And my RECTUM. (After some sex.) And then it dribbles out of my hole and down my thigh but I don’t care because I finally got the hot dicking I needed so bad — WAIT NO! What was I thinking? ! This was ENGLAND! He’s not allowed to put his penis inside me anymore. Even if it would feel really good because I really don’t like using my fingers, something about being distracted by being able to feel inside myself with my fingers like how there’s two sensations at once, it’s just not as good as—ASJWEJPFOJPOZ; SHUT UP BRAIN

BZZZZZZZT

‘I love you,’ texted England.

Okay. That was it. I couldn’t take anymore. Those texts, one after another, drove me to it. England sure was persistent! I gave in. Please don’t judge me for what I did next. Anyone else in my position (hands and knees on the bed) would have done the same thing if they were as horny as me! It’s this dang pregnancy that made me do it. Yeah. I’m gonna blame that. The hormones were why I grabbed my iPhone and shoved it up my ass.

I mean, it seemed like a perfectly logically thing to do at the time! Like you’ve never thought of it. PLEASE. None of us are saints here, okay? We’ve all looked at our phone while it was vibrating and thought that’d feel real nice in the right spot. AM I RIGHT? … no? Well, screw you guys. I told you I like vibrations. And every time England texted me, my phone vibrated. HOW COULD I RESIST?

I had the iPhone 5 (stop being jealous with your Samsung POS) so it was longer than the iPhone 4. And slimmer, but there’s TWO widths on a phone, and that second one really counts! That’s called physics. Ask Sheldon. Anyway, it stretched my asshole pretty good but I got up there pretty easy since I’d already lubed up and fingered myself and all.

Then England texted me again.

BZZZZZZZT

I could tell because I felt it. OH HOW I FELT IT! The vibrations inside me were AMAZING! Not as good as my dildo but still pretty good! It was right on my prostate too, mmmm yeah. I flopped on the bed on my side with a derpy grin on my face and just let England do all the work.

He kept texting me over and over. And each time he did, I shuddered in pleasure. Wait, is it ‘shuddered’ or ‘shuttered’? One of them means like what a camera does and the other means like what I do when something vibrates in my ass. Anyway, this went on for a while. England texting, my phone vibrating, me squirming and moaning, like I was being fingered by Steve Jobs’ holy ghost. Hey new guy who took over after Jobs died, I got a message for ya: VIBRATOR APP. Set it to just vibrate as long as you want. Then you turn it off with a voice command just in case your fingers are wet and dirty, hehe. GET ON THIS, NERDS. I’ll buy it.

Anyway, after text after text and text buzzing in my ass, I’d finally reached my limit. Not my data plan text limit, my orgasm threshold limit. One last text and I jizzed all over myself and the bed.

“NNNGGH YESSSSSS …!” I moaned. “OHHH ENG— ENG— ENG—INGUINAL CANAL! IT-IT FEELS GREAT YEEEEEEAH!”

That was me cumming. The inguinal canal is the passage which the testes descend into the scrotum and contains the spermatic cord. *THE MOAR YOU KNOW* So that totally made sense there and wasn’t suspicious at all so don’t think on it. Think about something else. Like how now there was some cum that shot and stuck to the bottom of my big baby bump. I didn’t mean to do that but, but come on! I was eight months along. Baby bump cumshots are unavoidable sometimes.

I heaved a big sigh of sexual release and just kinda laid there. Soaking in my gasm. And drying fluids.

BZZZZZZZT

When the phone vibrated again, it was just annoying. I was spent. So I reached down to get that thing out of there. But when I stuck my fingers inside to grab it, I couldn’t feel it. I reached deeper but I couldn’t grasp it. It was pretty deep in there. Too deep to grab.

OH SHIT D:

IT WAS STUCK. I kept trying to get it out with my fingers but I only pushed it deeper! I started to freak out, you guys!

“OH MAN I AM LOSING MY SHIT RIGHT NOW—“

I panicked. I didn’t pay $399.99 plus $81 a month for my AT&T data plan just to lose that thing in my juicy cavern. Plus, I just can’t NOT have my iPhone. I’m lost without it! It has all my contacts (I haven’t memorized someone’s phone number since like 2006!) and my schedule with my important dates like when the next Games of Thrones comes out and it tells me the weather so I know how much clothes to wear and it has my GPS so I know where the nearest Chili’s is and I always need to ask Siri stuff like what was that show from a long time ago with the puppets and the girl wizard and the dragon that always hits stuff with his tail and the blind bat that always ran into stuff? (Eureeka’s Castle. Thanks, Siri.) SEE? I can’t live without my phone! It’s like glued to my hip. Except now I guess it’s like inside my hip :/

WHAT IF I MISS AN IMPORTANT TEXT? ! Also it’s probably like bad for my health to have something stuck in there I guess.

I was freaking out, man. I started crying and sobbing. Like gross, Chris Crocker type sobbing. How would I watch the new funny viral K-mart commercial on youtube now? I was in a panic, but not a panic at the disco. This was panic at my rectum. I threw on some clothes and opened the door.

“ENGLAND!” I yelled out the door. “Quit spooning with the possums and help meeeee!”

 England jammed for the door so fast! He pushed past me and was inside before I could barely finish my sentence.

“I’m so glad you let me inside,” said England, rubbing his arms. “It’s quite nippy out there.”

“STOP TALKING ABOUT NIPS!” I yelled. I closed the door behind him. “Jesus, it’s always about sex with you. I can’t help that they’re dark. But I got a bigger problem!” (The iPhone 5 ain’t small. Nearly five inches! Five inches isn’t small. T-trust me. It’s how you use it, okay? Shut up you size queen.)

“Eh? What’s … what’s going on?” asked England. He looked very confused. Because he was staring at my tummy.

SHIT. I forgot to wear a sweatshirt to cover it up! Instead I threw on my velour jumpsuit and some house slippers, and a dookie brown leather jacket. Mackelmore knows what’s up.

Well, I guess my secret is out.

“England,” I said very dramatically. “I’m pregnant.”

DRAMA TIME!

“With a baby,” I said.

OH SUCH DRAMA

“It’s yours,” I finished.

RIDING A WHOLE HERD OF DRAMA LLAMAS NOW

England looked at me INTENSELY and then back to my tummy and then back to my face again. “You’re … you’re serious?”

“Totes.”

Now that that’s out of the way, we can get to a more pressing matter. The matter pressing up against the sides of my rectum.

“So a funny little thing happened a few minutes ago—“

“This is amazing,” interrupted England which was rude. “I can’t believe it. You’re really pregnant. This … this is wonderful!” Whoa, England was smiling. England hardly ever smiles. At least not like that. He was friggin’ beamin’. A rare :D face from him. “We can be a family!”

“Whoa, whoa,” I said, taking a step back. “Calm yo tits, England. I got something else to tell you—“

“Oh, I’m so excited,” said England … excitedly. “I’ve always loved children. When are you due? You look huge—it mustn’t be long. Oh, we have so much to do before the baby comes! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Is this why you’ve been acting so strange? Oh! What shall we name him or her? I have a few ideas …”

Jesus. What, was England a twenty years old girl? Who knew some baby could make him gush like every female friend evar of a girl who gets knocked up, at least to her face because you know secretly they’re thinking ‘Ugh I’d hate to see you as a mom’ or ‘Oh that was an accident and now you’re acting like it was on purpose’ or ‘You ain’t even married you whore’ because they’re catty bitches. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah. England was getting way too excited about this …

“Oh, America …” England wiped away a tear because he was like :’D “I’m … I’m so happy.”

“Ugh, don’t be a pussy—“

But he was because he hugged me. Wrapped his arms around me as I stood there awkwardly. My belly rubbed against his and it was weird.

“This is the best thing that could have happened to us,” said England, still hugging me. “Just think. Inside you right now is a tiny, little bundle of joy just waiting to come out and be held in our hands.”

“England … you don’t know the half of it.” :/

X

TEH NEXT DAY

(I’M AT MY HOUSE ON THE COUCH, THAT’S THE SCENE, PICTURE IT)

“Search ... ‘objects in rectum,” I said to my new Google Glasses. Wait, it is Google Glasses or Glass? Oh well. Imma call it Google Glasses. Because they are glasses. For those of you wondering, no they’re not out yet, so yes you can be jealous I got mine early.

“AUGH FUCK—“

I needed to revise my Google search. (Okay, Yahoo search. Yes, I used Google Glasses to go to yahoo . com and search something.) Because what came up was all kinds of crazy kinky porn of different stuff in people’s butts. But I wasn’t looking for fapping material. No, I was trying to figure out how to get something OUT of my butt.

“Damn it, new search. ‘How to REMOVE object from rect—holy shit is that a whole baseball up someone’s cornhole? !” There was a link to a video! Damn! Can you imagine watching porn with Google Glasses? ! All the images, videos, etc. are right IN YO FACE. It’ll be like you’re RIGHT THERE! In the porn! Plus you know they’ll make porn just for it. POV porn, where like they film it wearing the glasses so when you watch the video it’s like you’re really there. It’s totally gonna revolutionize the way people jack off in the future.

“Hmm … let me … just click on that right quick—“

SLAM! went the front door.

“Oop—“

I quickly took off the glasses and hid them under a throw pillow.

“I’m home!” said England, walking into the room with a big bag. He wasn’t really home. He was at MY home. Even though I didn’t invite him. But he thinks that just because his limey ass knocked me up that my house is suddenly a Hotel Motel Holiday Inn (by Pitbull.)

“Swiggity swag, what’s in the bag?” I asked him.

“Things for the baby,” he said.

“Oh. So not Taco Bell then.”

England flopped on the couch beside me. I scooted away from him. “You know,” he began, “I find it disturbing that you haven’t bought a single thing for the baby yet. Not one nappy, not one blanket, not even a crib! Where were you expecting the baby to sleep? We need to get rid of these damn rabbits and clear a room for--“

“I DON’T KNOW ‘BOUT YOU, BUT I’M FEELING TWENTY TWOOOOO~”

“… um, what the hell was that?” asked England, glancing around. “Where’s that coming from?”

Shit. It was my iPhone, ringing in my ass. It sounded muffled but I kept my ringer up pretty loud so you could definitely make out Taylor Swift’s shrill wailing of a song about feeling twenty two. Whatever the hell twenty two feels like. Kinda a very narrow topic to write about. Not everyone is gonna relate. Esoteric even. Yeah, I know that word. Learned it from Family Guy.

“Th-that’s my phone,” I said. “It’s in my pocket. I, uh … better take this in the other room. Could be about important government secrets or some crap.”

“You know, we are allies, America.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust anyone and spy on my allies so BRB.” No use hiding it now that that WEASEL Snowden blabbed to the whole word. That pasty ass NERD.

I went into the kitchen. But it wasn’t to answer my phone or fry up some tater tots. No, I needed to find something. I pushed past all the rabbits and went through my drawers. Ah, there they are. My tongs. (Not to be confused with thongs.) I don’t use them for much besides getting hot dogs out of the pot after I boil them. And now I will never be able to use them for that again once I use them for what I was about to do :(

 (Use them to get my iPhone out of my ass.)

So I went to my bedroom, laid down some towels on the bed, and got out the lube. Thank GOD I had lube. My phone couldn’t get in my ass without it, and it wasn’t coming out without it either.

Now while I was originally going to tell England, that was just a moment of panic. After I slept on it, I realized how FRIGGIN’ EMBARRASSING what I did was and decided to keep it from him. Plus I didn’t wanna hear him bitch about it, ya know?

“TONYYYYY!” I yelled.

Tony opened the door and made a question mark sound at me.

“Yo, Tony,” I said. “I need you to do me a solid. Don’t tell England but I accidentally shoved my iPhone 5 up my ass and now I can’t get it out. I’m gonna try and use tongs but it’s gonna be hard with like the angle for me to do it myself, especially with this big pregnant belly. Can you help a bro out?”

Tony started cussing up a storm, saying fuck this and fuck that and that I was racist for assuming ALL aliens liked anal probes and such. Only some do and I shouldn’t prejudge and that’s politically incorrect or whatever the hell he said.

“Fine, screw you too,” I said.

Tony left the room and I had to do this all on my own. So I took off my pants and underwear and got the lube and laid down on the towels. This felt like I was about to fap but trust me. There was nothing sexy about this. I was actually kinda scared, you guys. Just how many calls and texts was I missing? D:

I lubed up the tongs good and slick. Then slowly slid them in, with them all the way closed. I took a deep breath when I felt them hit the iPhone. I was so close! I was touching them with the tongs. If only I could text with them too! So close and yet so far. It was a tragedy. I had to get that thing out of me.

I opened the tongs. They didn’t open very much. I tried to move them around so that I could grab the phone. I kept moving and trying different angles but I just couldn’t get it. It was like playing one of those claw grab machines at an arcade. You never win those things! And like those little toy aliens who lived in one of those machines in Toy Story, I was going “OOOOOOHHH!” Except instead of saying it in awe like them -- I was saying it in pain and frustration. Jamming things up your butt when you’re not sexually excited just kinda hurts. Weird how being horny makes such a difference! Science, you are ever constant elusion.

KNOCK KNOCK

That wasn’t the beginning of a knock knock joke, but someone a rapping upon my chamber door. My chamber of secrets.

“Is everything all right in there?” asked England on the other side. “It sounded like you were groaning.”

The door handle jiggled but luckily it was locked. “Uh, yeah,” I said quickly. “It was a contraction so go away.”

“Do you want me to take you to A&E?”

“I love Duck Dynasty and Storage Wars as much as the next person, but now is not the time, England.”

“No, no,” he said. “A&E is the emergency room. What if the baby is coming early?”

“Then we should have dinner early. Go get me some Doritos Tacos Locos from Taco Bell. Both the Cool Ranch kind AND the cheese kind.”

“But what if the baby—“

“IT’S HUNGRY GO GET US FOOD!”

I heard England huff. “Fine. I’ll be back soon.”

When England was gone, I tried using the tongs again. But try as I may, I just couldn’t get the phone outta there. Eventually, I gave up and threw the tongs in the trash. SIIIIIGH. Looks like I won’t be eating boiled hot dogs any time soon. Oh well. At least I could have boiled peanuts. Ooh I should have them now and then take a pic with my phone and upload it to Instagram because people need to know what I eat and—oh yeah. Never mind :(

X

England and I sat at the dinner table, eating tacos. England had gotten me FIVE tacos. I’d wanted SIX, duh! That way the proportion of cheesy Doritos shells to Cool Ranch Doritos shells would be 3:3, not this 2:3 uneven bullshit. Is it so wrong to want my food to be proportional? ! Oh well. At least he got me a churro so I guess that evens it out.

“What’s wrong?” asked England, watching me. “You’re just poking your food. I thought you loved the Taco Bell?”

“I do,” I said. “Don’t question my love for Taco Bell.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?”

I set my fork down. “I want to! But I don’t feel very well. My mouth says OH YES but my stomach says OH NO!”

(No jokes about my mouth saying OH YES to stuff.)

“You still have nausea? This has been a rough pregnancy for you …”

“Uh … yeeeeah … from the pregnancy. Suuuure.”

Actually it was from not pooping and being all bloated but yeah we’ll go with that.

“But fuck it!” I exclaimed defiantly. LOL I said ‘but fuck.’ Like ‘butt fuck. “I wanna eat these tacos and I’m not gonna let a friggin’ stomachache stop me! I LIVE MAS!”

FIVE TACOS AND ONE CHURRO LATER

I puked them all up :(

X

So some time went by. Each day I felt a little crappier. No, wait. NOT CRAPPIER. Because I hadn’t pooped. Let me tell you a lesson in science, boys and girls. The digestive system is like the internet. It’s a series of tubes. If there is a clog in that tube, things can’t go through it. That’s why your emails get lost and that’s why every time I ate, I puked.

I literally could not keep anything down. Anything I ate just came right back up! Because my tube was clogged. The very end of my tube, but still. I was backed up and what happens if you get a clog in your sink and you turn your faucet on? The water comes back up the drain. You see where I’m going with this? I hope you weren’t eating while reading this, LOL. Because it’s pretty gross when you think about it.

If you’re thinking ‘HOLY SHIT AMERICA, JUST GET THAT THING OUT OF YOU!’ Well, first of all, calm yo tits. Secondly, I TRIED! Every day, multiple times a day! With my fingers, with lube, with better tongs I bought at Bed Bath and Beyond (beyond indeed), and my rectal muscles. Nothing worked.

So I was puking every day, but I hid it from England after that taco incident. I didn’t wanna hear him bitching. Also it wasn’t hard at all. He’d been super busy, getting things ready for the baby. Clearing and setting up a room for it, and buying lots of baby shit, and reading baby books, and the usual baby crap you gotta do that I didn’t feel like doing. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I was glad he kept to himself for the most part. I was still pissed at him. For murdering my pet rabbit. Speaking of rabbits, England kept bitching at me to get rid of the ones I was keeping as pets.

“They’re a health hazard,” said England one morning at breakfast.

I just poked at my Smax cereal. Dig’em the Frog never gave me this SHIT. “You’re a health hazard.” I am so witty.

“They shit and piss everywhere and you rarely clean it up. This place is rife with germs and bacteria and possibly even diseases.”

“You’re rife with germs and bacteria and possibly even diseases.”

“Do you really want to raise a child in this environment?”

“Do you really want to raise a child in this environment?”

“No, I don’t! That’s why I’m telling you to get rid of those damn rabbits!”

Damn it. Who would have thought my genius retorts would backfire …

“They’re my pets, part of my family,” I said. “You don’t understand. Ohana means family. And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.” Lilo and Stitch, good movie.

“The hell? Look, we’ll compromise, all right? You can keep up to three rabbits—in safe, well-maintained enclosures, like a rabbit hutch in the backyard. That’s fair. What do you say?”

“In the BACKYARD? ! YOU wouldn’t sleep in the backyard, why do you expect my pets to? !”

“Um, I did sleep in the backyard. You made me.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I just want the best place possible to raise our—“

BZZZZZZZT

“What the hell is that?” asked England.

It was my ass. Vibrating inside me from a text.

“Uh …” I said nervously. “I dunno, probably a bee or vibrator or something.”

This actually happened a lot. I mean, you guys know me. I’m a pretty happenin’ guy. Very popular. And cool guys like me get lots of texts! I’d been pretty good about hiding it. What with England so busy and all. It was killing me on the inside though. WHAT TEXTS WAS I MISSING? ! I needed to see those texts. Not being able to read them or reply to them was driving me insane! Calls too. And I am too good to use a landline these days like an old person. Landlines are for n00bs. Or … 0lds, I guess.

“Oh,” said England. “Well, I certainly hope it’s not a bee. I’m allergic.”

X

I spent the day drinking strawberry, raspberry, and Pepto-Bismol smoothies. Thanks for being accommodating, Tropical Smoothie Café! For that I’ll forgive you for turning the AC all the way up to balls cold degrees even though we are already drinking cold smoothies. It’s like they WANT us to have goose bumps and hard nips when we go there or something …

But even the magic of Pepto-Bismol was no match for my rectal blockage. I still puked that up that evening. And my puke was bright pink! It looked like a whole massacred Jigglypuff floating in that toilet bowl. It was so crazy looking I wanted to take a pic of it and put it on my tumblr. But alas, my iPhone 5 was still nestled deep within my anal crevices. If only there was some other way to take a picture! They should really invent something that just like takes pictures, and nothing else. That way if you lose your phone you can still upload things to Instagram! Why won’t scientists get on that?

After mouthwashing all that puke juice from my mouth, I went to my room. I flopped on my bed because it was time for night-night. I was just drifting off into slumber land when England came into the room and woke me up with his talking mouth.

“I made a lot of progress today with the baby’s room,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt by the dresser. He was changing into his jammies. “It’s nearly done. All that’s left is a bit of the decorating, and that’s the fun part.”

I lazily opened one eye. The other was mashed into the pillow. “I’m asleep.”

“These past few days have been nice, haven’t they?” asked England like he wasn’t even paying attention to me, putting on his nighty shirt. “Getting ready for the baby, spending time together, sharing domestic bliss. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Lately England’s been pretending we’re like a married couple or something. But I don’t know what he’s talking about. He never shared any chocolate Bliss candy with me.

“Some of that I’ll do after the baby arrives though,” England kept rambling on. “Depending on whether the baby is a boy or girl. When is your due date again?”

“Uh …”

“Come to think of it, I don’t think you gave me an exact date … did you?”

Shit I didn’t. I’ve never actually gone to a doctor. I knew I was eight and some change months along, but I didn’t know the exact day I was due.

“I’m due … uh …” I said, thinking real quick, “… September 2nd.”

“Labour Day?” You could just hear the useless u in England’s Britishy mouth. “That’s a bit ironic, don’t you think?”

LOLOLOLOL did you get it? I’ll go into LABOR on LABOR DAY? Goddamn I’m clever.

“NO,” said me. “You know what’s ironic? It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife. It’s like meeting the man of your dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife.”

“What?”

90’s music ruled, you guys.

“Well, I’ll plan for September 2nd then,” said England. I heard the bed creak as he climbed on. “I think we’ll be ready.”

Suddenly I felt his body press against mine from behind. He was spooning me.

“You know …” he started, “… it’s also been really nice that you haven’t been on your mobile constantly. These last few days, I don’t recall you using it once.”

Pssh, like he’d have known even if it WASN’T stuck up my ass. He’s been too busy neglecting me to get ready for this damn baby. After all, I’d been on the Google Glasses a lot and he didn’t notice that. He didn’t notice me try to watch porn on those things but it didn’t work because I got a killer headache and nauseous like how you get sometimes when you watch a 3-D movie it’s like motion sickness or something but you know. Anyway vomiting is a surefire way to lose a boner! Trust me, same thing happened to me when I went to see Despicable Me 2 in 3D. (The headache nausea thing, not the boner thing.)

England’s hand started touching me. He was rubbing it along my side. SEXUALLY :O What the hell was with that? I’m nearly nine months pregnant, eew. Is England into that? I mean I know some guys are into pregnancy, it’s like a fetish or something, but WTF. What is their line of thinking? ‘There’s just skin and a placental membrane in between you and a fetus, oh yeeeeah that makes me hot.’ Wait shit does that make it a threesome? I always wanted to be a part of a threesome but Obama and Michelle said no :(

And then it happened. England rolled me onto my back so that he could climb on top of me. Which he did, and he pressed his lips to mine, and moaned into my mouth, and his hand drifted down and cupped me between the legs, and then I punched that asshole in the face.

“WHAT THE FUCK DUDE!” I yelled to England who was now on the floor. “I told you before! I don’t want to have any sex with you!”

“Shit,” muttered England, picking himself up. He looked dazed and confused, starring Mathew McConaughey and Ben Affleck. “The hell …”

“NO MEANS NO!”

England looked hurt. “But … but we’ve been getting along so well these past few days. Whatever is the matter with you?” The tension was palmolive.

“I don’t have sex with MURDERERS.” (Not even Dexter even though he’s kinda hot.) (Dexter from Dexter not Dexter’s Laboratory.)

England stumbled to his feet. “Murderers? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember?” I said with a crazy look in my eyes. “I’LL REFRESH YOUR MEMORY.” Oh here we go! Story time. “The year was 1700’s. A lot of them. Marmalade and I were best of friends. She was my wittle pet rabbit, and I would pet her and brush her fur and feed her lettuces. We went everywhere together! Then one day, while preparing the smallpox blankets for my neighbors, you suddenly showed up. You grabbed Marmalade and wrung her neck right in front of me! I screamed and begged you to stop, but it was too late! You’d already killed her. She was dead. And you took out a pocket knife and gutted her right there for me to see. There was all this blood and those tiny little organs. Then you made me pull down my pants … and … and …” Tears were running down my face. I couldn’t finish my story. THIS IS EMOTIONAL SHIT YOU BETTER FEEL IT TOO. Like you should be crying or you’re a heartless bitch!

“Whoa, where did that come from?” said England, legit confused.

I was crying. “Baaaaaw,” I cried.

“America …” England sat down next to me. He tried to hug me but I shoved away his murdering arms. “You’re remembering that wrong. That’s not exactly what happened …”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!”

“Look, I didn’t tell you this at the time because I didn’t want to scare you but …” England looked down at the floor, dramatically, so picture this with dramatic music playing in the background. “… I was really worried about you. Being so young and male, your hips were not wide enough to birth a baby. If you were pregnant, I’d condemned you to a gruesome death. No—actually, being a country you wouldn’t die. Countries can’t die—not like that. So you’d just suffer indefinitely. Trying to pass a baby that would never come, in torturous pain, the baby slowly dies, but it won’t come out, not even as you bleed and tear apart …”

“M-my hips?” I sniffled. “Don’t lie …” That wasn’t a Shakira reference. I was legit telling him not to lie to me.

“I’m not lying,” said England. “It’s the truth. I was wracked with guilt when you started showing pregnancy symptoms. It would have been my fault. I was the one who pushed you into having sex in the barn. Thinking you’d go through such torture because of me … I had to do something. I had to know one way or the other if you were really pregnant. And back then, the rabbit test was the only way to know. But thank God it turned out that you were just vomiting because you ate raw eggs afterwards from the chickens who watched our tryst in the barn, so it was a false alarm.”

Don’t judge me for eating raw eggs. This was back before the days of good food like Pop Tarts and Rice Krispy’s Treats and Fudgy the Whale cakes. I had to make due back in the oldened days, and not everything was safe. Luckily I am smarter now and have snacks like raw cookie dough.

But back to the drama. England wasn’t off the hook yet, boys and girls.

“But why did you have to kill my rabbit? !” I asked. “Marmalade was my friend! You could have just gone and got some wild rabbit and never told me about it!”

“Right … about ‘Marmalade’ …”

Uh oh. You know when someone says something in quotes, it ain’t gonna be good.

“There was no one ‘Marmalade,’” said England. “They were multiple rabbits. Whenever one got old or sick and died, I replaced it without your knowing. You were so attached to the original rabbit, I couldn’t bear to see you upset when it died …”

“WHAT? !” I yelled with my mouth so big it was almost my whole face like :O

“I thought you’d catch on eventually … being that it was a couple decades, and rabbits obviously don’t live that long, but you never did …”

I was like Patrick Star in that meme :O

“The one I killed was old and about to be replaced soon anyway,” continued England. “I suppose I could have caught a wild one. But I was in a panic about your safety, and didn’t want to go through the trouble.” Finally he looked up from the floor and into my eyes. It was a serious moment. “I’m sorry. Y-you’re right. I should have caught a wild one. That must have been very traumatic for you.” Now England had tears in his eyes! There were many feels everywhere. “I’m so sorry …”

T_T

(that’s you right now)

My face was still like :’O (as in both crying AND Patrick jaw dropped.)

I can also make a monkey face! See? @o_o@ Hehe … monkeys.

But back to the drama.

“Do you forgive me?” asked soap opera England. He smiled nervously up at me, in dramatic anticipation of drama.

To err is human; to forgive, divine. You’ve probably heard that quote before. It’s from the Pope … TOO BAD I AIN’T CATHOLIC. They use calendars for birth control. Though I guess that’s better than what I used for BC, which was nothing. I wish I had my iPhone so I could use my calendar. Now how am I supposed to know what day it is? I can’t do shit without that phone! (Literally.)

“NO,” I pouted.

“America, don’t you understand the gravity of what I said?” asked England, looking deep into my eyes. I wanna look at Gravity the movie. I heard it got good reviews. “I did it for your sake. Do you know what would have happened to you if you really were pregnant—I —” I’d have an unfortunate encounter with a hanger? “I—I … don’t even want to think about it.” A lone tear trickled down his cheek, a la that Indian in the trash commercial.

“Ugh, FINE! I forgive you! Jesus …”

“Y-you do?” said England with a :’D face. “Oh, thank God. Now we can finally put all these past months of bitterness behind us.”

THEN HE HUGGED ME PASSIONATELY.

“Whoa, shit,” I said, jumping back and out of his huggy arms. “D-don’t squeeze me.” I was like a full tube of Gogurt. Ya squeeze me, vomit is gonna come out. (I mean I’m full of vomit, not that Gogurt is vomit.) (Though I do prefer Danimals.) (By the way, did you know British people say yoghurt like YOG-hurt instead of the correct yo-gurt? Does that mean they say Goghurt instead of Gogurt? Because then the pun is lost :( What a linguistic tragedy.)

What the fuck was I talking about.

Oh yeah. England and me hugging on the bed. 

“Why’d you jump like that?” asked England, looking at me suspiciously.

“I dunno, why do kangaroos jump? Why do frogs jump? Why do jumping beans jump?” I said all quickly and defensively. “Scientists don’t know, England.”

“You’re too tense. I don’t know why you’re always so wound up …”

I tensed even moar when I felt England’s hand slip between my legs! And start slowly rubbing the inside of my thigh. WHOA! What is this? We’re going from passionate feels to copping a feel? One minute we’re talking about DEATH and DRAMA and then next it’s DOKI DOKI and DICKS? What is going through England’s crazy ass mind …

… oh, right. We had a fight. And then he apologized and I forgave him. YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, BOYS AND GIRLS? No, not going out for a nice dinner at TGI Friday’s like a normal couple. Tcch. I wish. No, it means MAKE UP SEX.

“Relax …” England’s voice was calming, like white noise, because he is white. “Lie back …”

He eased me back onto the bed. You know where this is going, don’t you, boys and girls? Yeah, England climbed on top of me. He starting kissing me on the mouth and kept rubbing my thigh. I went with it at first. I mean, damn, you know how horny I was? These pregnancy hormones were kicking my plugged up butt. BUT ASS ALAS! I couldn’t continue, obvi. What would happen when England went to put his dick inside me, only to find it already full of iPhone 5? My ass had reached its data plan limit, and I could not afford ten dollars for each additional 50 BG of dick data.

“Whoa, whoa,” I said in strawberry panic. I held him still by the shoulders. “I-I can’t do this.”

England looked hurt (BLUE BALLS ALREADY?) “What’s wrong? We always have make up sex …”

“I know but … well …” My butt wasn’t well …

“Oh.” Suddenly England’s face looked like something suddenly dawned on him. But England’s face had no idea. “I almost forgot. About how you have difficulty … well … being satisfied …”

Huh? What was England—oh yeeeeeah. England thought that earlier. I remember now. LOL I should, I mean it’s my story, I’m friggin’ writing it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to be a selfish lover. We can do it however you like. I want to make sure you enjoy it.”

“Uhh—“

“How would you like to d—“

“I GOTTA—I MEAN WANNA TOP.”

It’d been about two years since I’d topped. I remember because it wasn’t too long after the iPhone 4S came out. Pssh, how did I survive with that small ass screen? The iPhone 5 makes it seem so tiny in comparison. Though now that I think about it, I actually wish I hadn’t upgraded to the iPhone 5 because the 4S was smaller and maybe it wouldn’t have gotten stuck up my ass. Come on Steve Jobs’ successor Tim Cook. Think of these design flaws when creating your products, gosh!

“You want to top?” England seemed a bit surprised. He blinked a couple times and said, “Wait … is that why you haven’t been sexually satisfied with me? You prefer to top?”

“This again …” I muttered.

“But … but what about when we first started having sex back in World War II on the African Front, and you would scream and moan so loud in ecstasy when I shagged you that our soldiers thought we were hyenas howling and went on a fruitless exhibition to shoot them?”

Did you know that female hyenas have fake penises, boys and girls? THE MOAR YOU KNOW. Why do they have fake penises? That I DO NOT KNOW. Pegging maybe?

“England, why do you always say Roman numerals? You could have just have easily said World War 2.”

“Focus, America.” England grabbed my head and held it. He made me look him in the eyes. “You always seem distracted. I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t on purpose. Now tell me … is that why you have been sexually unsatisfied with me?”

“Hey,” I said, staring up into his eyes. I had something serious to say. “England … do you say Goghurt or Gogurt?”

England stared back down at me with a :I face for a few seconds. Then he released my face and went, “Arrgh!” He rolled off me and lay beside me with a huff. “It’s impossible to talk to you anymore!”

Pssh, don’t I know. It’s impossible for me to talk to anyone anymore. Not without my iPhone 5! Without it, I’m completely cut off from the rest of the world. Why can’t they invent something in which you can talk to people that’s not bound to one person so if it’s lost (up the ass or otherwise) we’re not up rectum creek without a paddle? You know, like some kind of shared means of communication. A line that’s attached to the land or something. Get on that, scientists!

“I think … I think we need help,” said England, looking at the ceiling. “I think we should look into couple’s therapy. And a sex therapist, too. I don’t see how our relationship is going to last without taking some serious steps.”

“DID YOU KNOW … that if you put a space between the e and r in ‘therapist’ it says THE RAPIST?” I informed. “True story.”

England stared blankly at me for a few moments. “… this is exactly what I’m talking about. We—well, mostly you—can’t communicate.”

“That’s because my ass is full of my only means of com—OOP— I  mean never mind. We can go to couple’s therapy if you want. Just know I’m going to be the classic stubborn, indignant guy who only goes to appease the wifey. Compromises and shit.”

“Whoa, whoa—what did you start to say?” England looked at me suspiciously! “Your arse is full? Of your only means of coming?”

“Coming? I was gonna say communi—um, no wait, you’re right.” Caught myself that time. Smooth. England will be none the wiser, hehe. “I was just kidding though.”

“If you’re full, go to the loo first. You needn’t be worried about these things. I understand …”

“No, no, it isn’t like that …”

“Though if you say your only means of coming is through your arse, why do you want to top?”

“I-I-I don’t know, England,” I replied nervously. “Why don’t you ask your precious sex therapist? Why do you ask so many questions anyway? ‘Why do you have so many rabbits? Why don’t you orgasm during sex? Why do you take suspiciously long showers after watching Downtown Abby?’ God, it never ends!”

“Downton Abby,” corrected smartass England. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. If you want to have sex, we can, and we can do whichever way is your preference.”

“I told you my preference.”

“Very well.” England thought for a moment. “But I don’t think it’s safe for the baby for you to be on top. I fear it’d be too much movement.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Babies love movement.”

“Just to be safe …” England’s hands were suddenly on me. He eased me back on the bed. “Lie back. We’ll do it like this.”

“Like how?”

“Shh—you’ll be penetrating, but I’ll do the work. I’ll ride you. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Okey.”

“I won’t leave you unsatisfied again. I promise.”

England kissed me deeply, like Deep Space Nine starring Avery Brooks. He’d climbed on top of me, with his hands on either side of my head. The way his tongue was moving in my mouth was making me feel sexy. It’d been so long since I’d had sex with another person. Just my hand, some toys, and an unfortunate assortment of pillows. Sorry Sobakawa Cloud Pillow. I sure did make you my bitch. But you’ll never be as good as an actual warm body. Even if I did put you in the microwave. But now all that pent up sexual frustration was coming to a head. The head of my penis. Which was swelling the more England kissed me and fondled up my shirt. He rubbed one of my nips between his fingers.

I shuddered. “They’re—s-sensitive. From being pregnant,” I said, getting squirmy.

“That’s why I did it,” said England, breaking away from my mouth only long enough to say that sentence. Then he was right back to making out on me.

It was getting me pretty horny. These hormones intensified everything. Take your average amount of horniness and multiply it by 100, that’s what it was like! Actually, even more, because it’d been so long since I’d gotten laid. I’m not sure which made me hornier. It was pretty close. But if I had to say one, it’d probably be the hormones, because that’s science. So let’s say 80 times for the long time going without, because that’s almost but not quite 100.  And I’ll throw in an extra 10, because England was doing a pretty good job with the foreplay. So normal horniness (abbreviated NH) in that equation would be NH X 100 X 80 X 10 = 80,000 NH. That’s a lot!

Then I felt fingers along the elastic band of my sweatpants. England pushed them and I lifted up my butt so he could slide them all the way off. They were tossed on the floor.

“My laundry hamper … is over there,” I said, fighting England’s eager mouth to speak.

“Shhh.”

I had some chub going on already. England’s fingers wrapped around my cock and it only took a couple strokes until I was completely hard. It felt so good! I’d jerked off myself plenty of times but there is something about when another person does it that makes it so much better. Much better than holding frozen hamburger meat so long on purpose that your hand goes numb and you can’t feel anything and close your eyes and try to imagine it’s someone else touching you. No, England’s hand was definitely better. It was warm. But more than that, I guess. He was just GOOD at it. My hips made little jerky movements up as he jacked me off. My body wanted MOAR. He’d stopped kissing me and all his attention was on my cock. One hand now coming down to press on my hips to try and steady them, and the other working at an even rhythm, hard fast up and down strokes. I tried not to think about how I was holding up my pregnant belly with one hand to give England room to do this. That would take away the sexy.

Suddenly England pulled away. He sat back to pull down his own jammie bottoms. He didn’t even try to get them in the hamper when he threw them aside either.

“Been a while since I bottomed,” he said.

“DON’T I KNOW.”

He crawled back toward me. He paused, on all fours, above me. “You have lube?”

No, all that KY on my nightstand was for lip balm and dealing with squeaky door hinges. PSSSH. Hell yes I had lube. I was trying to deal with my pregnancy hormones on my own, remember? And yes you can use KY for those things I said. Don’t use it on toast though. It does not taste good.

I nodded toward the nightstand. British people don’t use the term “nightstand” (they just say bedside table, boring!) but England did understand me. He grabbed the lube. Don’t ask me how I knew England didn’t use that word. It is a sexual story ;)

Back to the other sexual story currently in progress.

England popped the cap off of the lube tube and squeezed some onto his fingers.

“Ugh, squeeze from the bottom!” I said. “It’s like toothpaste. Don’t friggin’ squeeze from the middle, damn.”

England cut me a glare. “Not much left in here. You’ve been busy, hmm?”

“Why, you jelly?”

“Hmm?” He looked confused. “What? KY jelly?”

“What, no. Jelly as in jealous, duh!”

England was not hip to the lingo, boys and girls.

England reached back between his legs. I watched him grimace as he started fingering himself. “Nnf,” he grunted. “Nn, yeah, been a while.”

“Little tight?”

“Give me a minute.”

I couldn’t see England’s fingers in his ass because he was facing me so his butt was facing the other way. But I was getting turned on just by watching his face. I could tell when he went from one finger to two and when he spread those two inside himself. Just from seeing how his face twitched and his teeth gritted. The sounds too. Soft grunts and sighs and hitches in his throat. Damn! If only I had some way to record this. It’d make great fapping material later on. Can you imagine this on Google Glasses? But gosh darn it! Without my iPhone, there was no way for me to record this. Yet another invention scientists need to hop on. Can’t they just invent some way to tape something without having to use your phone? Some sort of camera that takes moving pictures, right in the comfort of your home! Some sort of video home system. You scientists really disappoint me.

“All right,” England finally said. “I’m ready.”

“Cool.”

England straddled himself over me. Like he was about to sit on my hips, but stopped short. He grasped my cock with one hand, preparing to lower himself down on me.

“Let me know if this hurts,” said England.

“Wha? I should be saying that to you. What with my enormously massive dick and all.”

“Funny joke, Mr. fifteen centimeters. But I meant because of the baby.”

“Oh yeah. That.”

“If you feel pain, or uncomfortable, or sick, or anything at all that may be harming the baby, tell me immediately and we’ll stop.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sure it’ll be fine, I mean you should have seen some of the ways I masturbated earlier while preg—“

VRRRRRRRRRRRR

“What was that?” asked England.

Oh shit.

“W-what was what? Probably just a mosquito. Damn thing! Go away with your West Nile and malaria and AIDS.”

VRRRRRRRRRRRR

 “No, it sounds like it’s coming from …” England looked down. “From around …” His eyes were searching. “Right below me …”

“Whaaaa? No, it sounds like it’s coming from like everywhere at once. Th-that’s how mosquitos sound sometimes when they fly around your ear. Trust me, it’s science.”

“It sounds like something vibrating.”

“Naaaah.”

England’s eyes were narrowed, making a face like he was uncovering a mystery. All British people think they are good at solving mysteries because they’re all related to Sherlock Holmes if you trace back their ancestry. “It … sounds like it’s coming from you.”

“No, no, no,” I said desperately because England was climbing off me and we were literally just SECONDS from sweet sweet penetration. “Ignore that and get back on. You know you want this. All these centimeters just for you, aw yeah. I said centimeters instead of inches because I know that gets you hot.”

VRRRRRRRRRRRR

Whoever was texting me, I’m going to KILL. It’s like 11:00 at night, jeez. That’s too late to text on a school night.

England bent down. He was staring. Staring at me … between my legs … “Is this …?” I felt his fingers on my ass. I tried to squirm but he was quick! He spread my cheeks. “My God, America …”

“NO NO NOOOOO!” I shouted. I quickly sat up and pushed him away. “Don’t look!”

I’d pushed him and he fell backwards on the bed. He quickly sat up, looking at me with a shocked look on his face. “America, why didn’t you tell me? !”

“NOOOOOOOooooo,” was all I could say. Whined, really. While burying my face in my hands and trying not to cry like a bitch. Damn these womanly hormones!

“Talk to me!” England demanded. “This is exactly what I was saying earlier! We can’t communicate! Why would you keep this from me?”

“I don’t knooooow,” I whined. “I was embarrassed!” D:

“America, you can tell me anything,” he said, and his tone was serious business and dramatic. “I care a lot about you. You know that, right?”

I was losing my boner, and FAST.

England sighed. “This is especially the kind of thing you need to tell me about. How am I going to sexually satisfy you when you go behind my back like this and keep it a secret?”

“… what?”

“If all you needed was this, you could have just told me. I would have been more than happy to work with you. We could have done it together.”

What the fuck was wrong with England! Good lawd! “The hell? I didn’t do this on purpose!”

“Oh, you mean that vibrator shoved itself up your arse? I may believe in magic but I find that very hard to believe.”

“What? You call iPhone 5’s ‘vibrators’? Must be another one of them American vs. British English differences, like how you call ‘cookies’ ‘biscuits’ like I’m a dog or something.”

“iPhone 5?” I know you’re supposed to capitalize the first letter of a sentence, but Apple says you do not do that with iPhone. Apple (greater than symbol) grammar. Grammar ain’t got Steve Jobs’ genius. (RIP.)

“Yeah, you saw it … right?”

“I haven’t seen it in days,” said England. “I told you that. I’ve been quite happy about it.”

“I mean you didn’t see it when you looked up at my ass?”

“I didn’t look all the way up—WAIT OH BLOODY HELL YOU STUCK YOUR MOBILE UP YOUR ARSE DIDN’T YOU? !”

“Oh NOW it’s ‘mobile.’ Y’all got too many synonyms.”

England looked horrified, like he was about to toss his biscuits. “You’re …. you’re taking the piss out of me …” Um, eew. “… r-right? You can’t be serious … please tell me you’re not serious …”

“I DON’T KNOW ‘BOUT YOU, BUT I’M FEELING TWENTY TWOOOOO~” said my iPhone from my ass. Damn that Taylor Swift ringtone! I want to change it to One Direction. It’s symbolic for my ass once this baby is born if ya know what I mean… (also Niall Horan is kinda cute.)

England looked towards the direction of the sound. “Oh fucking hell.”

“I-I-I didn’t mean to!” I said frantically. “But I can explain! I only put it in there because I was horny and thought the vibrations would feel good!”

“That’s your explanation? !”

“I didn’t say it was a good one.”

“How long has it been in there? !”

“Uh … I dunno. A few days? Maybe a week?”

England was like O_O “My GOD, America! We have to get you to A&E immediately!”

“But Duck Dynasty hates gay guys now!” I’m sure y’all heard that on the news as you are worldly like myself. He said having gay sex is like having sex with animals! But I disagree. Animals don’t take you out to dinner before they fuck you. England used to do that for me. Even let me get a dessert. Desert? No, dessert. I was right the first time, of course.  The way I remember is there are two s’s in dessert so there’s MORE of it and you WANT more dessert! But not more desert because it’s hot and Arabic. *THE MOAR YOU KNOW*

Oh no, England was about to cry.

“America …” he said, voice hitching, “do you realize the consequences of this?”

“Uh, YEAH. You know how long it’s been since I could text my bros and hoes in that order—“

“How—“ he interrupted. “… how will the baby come out?”

OH SHIT

I didn’t even think of that! Actually, I hadn’t thought too much about how it’d come out irrespective of my iPhone full rectum. I don’t have a vagina, which is where babies normally come from according to Wikipedia. And that little tiny hole in my penis is WAY too small for a baby to come out of it! That’s just for pee pee and jism and maybe sounding I dunno I mean I’d have to be in the right mood ya know. But def not a baby! And it certainly can’t come up my esophagus because that’s too narrow too. I’d choke. Plus the stomach acid would burn the baby and I don’t want the baby if it’s all nasty with chemical burns. So it must truly come out the ass then. That’s just SCIENCE. And GROSS.

“Jesus,” said England, wiping away a tear from his eye :’( “This is my worst fear from two hundred years ago all over again.”

“No, no, they can treat syphilis now—“

“Impregnating you with a baby you can’t birth …” Oh, that. “So it dies and you keep trying to pass it in pure agony and writing pain but it never comes and it’s all my bloody fault—“

“England!” I shouted. He was getting delirious. “Calm down! First off, yes this is your fault. Secondly, it’s okey though because it’s two hundred years later and now we have modern medicine and doctors that use actual science instead of leeches and spices and shit.” Actually, I had to have leeches back in the day and they weren’t THAT bad. It helps if you name them as they slither on you and pierce your skin and drink your blood. My favorite was Mr. Bitey :)

“You’re right!” said England. “Dress yourself. We need to get you to hospital right away.”

Oh yeah, I was still sweatpantless. Guess that sex wasn’t gonna happen tonight. Now I wanna name that baby Cockblock. Cockblock F. Jones- Kirkland. We’re gonna hyphenate, that’s acceptable these days.

“I can’t go the hospital!” I exclaimed, pulling the covers over myself like scared children. “Then they’ll know what I did and it’ll be hella embarrassing!”

“That’s your own damn fault!” England’s harsh, man. “You shouldn’t have stuck it up there in the first place! And then you should have gone to the doctor immediately when you realized you couldn’t get it out! It never should have come to this.”

It’s true, boys and girls. Take it from me, who learned the hard way: never EVER stick something up your ass that isn’t officially approved by the FDA for sticking up your ass. You know, like actual factual sex toys because they make them with long stems and things like that so you can always pull them back out. I know that Sharpie looks tempting but don’t risk it!

England got off the bed. He went to look for his pants. “Now come. We’re going to hospital and I don’t want to hear any whinging.”

“But Englaaaaaaand,” I whinged. “I don’t wannaaaaaaa. What am I supposed to say? I accidentally sat on my iPhone while naked? Ooh hey, you think they’ll believe that? !” It’s like that episode of Seinfeld where George’s dad gets that little pasta statue stuck up his ass when he falls on it. Good ep. Same thing happened to Italy once.

“No, you’re going to tell them the truth.”

“They don’t need to know the truth! I’ll say IT WAS A MILLION TO ONE SHOT, DOC!”

England tossed my sweatpants at me. “Let’s go. Put them on.”

“You sure you don’t wanna like try to get it out yourself? Like with your mouth?”

“No.”

:/

X

The lady at the front desk asked. The triage nurse asked. The regular nurse asked. And soon the doctor will ask. “WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR TODAY?”

This is why I didn’t wanna go to the hospital. I sat nervously on the table in the exam room in a hospital gown, waiting for the doctor. England was sitting in a chair nearby, reading a magazine. Eew, I never read magazines at doctor’s offices. You know how many people touch those? SICK people?

“Intestinal discomfort,” scoffed England. “Heh … I can’t believe you told them that.”

“LOOK! I don’t need to tell everyone at this hospital what I did! Only the doctor needs to know. Besides, it’s not a lie. The rectum is part of the intestines. Read a book, GOD.”

England didn’t look up from the magazine. “Your lie is why we’ve had to wait so long. They don’t think this is an emergency. You’re at the end of triage.”

“Did you have a BETTER way of spending these past four hours?”

England looked at me like -_-

Oh yeah, I forgot. We were gonna bang each other.

Finally, the doctor came in. England immediately put down the magazine and stood up. “Oh, thank God.”

God was far from this hospital tonight.

“Let’s see here,” said the doctor, looking over a clipboard. “Intestinal discomfort, hmm? Well, that’s probably not too serious. Likely just something you ate or trapped wind. But we’ll do blood work and run a CT scan just to make sure it’s nothing serious like abnormalities with the liver or pancreas.”

“He stuck his mobile phone up his arse and now he can’t get it out,” said England.

“DUDE ENGLAND!” I yelled, all embarrassed.

The doctor tossed the clipboard aside. “Oh, good. That makes my job ten times easier.”

“It’s been in there for several days,” added England.

“OH COME ON!” I yelled. “He didn’t need to know that part!”

“Ah, I love it when patients give themselves rectal blockages. Easy to fix and makes for a very interesting night!” He opened a drawer and pulled out some gloves. And then a tube of lubricant. I think I know where this is going :/ “See, that’s what I love about this job. Never a dull day. I could never have a job where it’s the same thing every day. I am very blessed.”

“This doctor is weird …” I whispered to England.

“Shh.”

Who knew! That bed had stirrups. Like the beds at women’s doctors. The doctor pulled them out from the end of the bed. He told me to lie back and scoot forward and put my feet in the stirrups.

“Let’s go, spread’em,” said the doctor.

“I’d also like to add, if it wasn’t obvious,” said England. “That he is nearly nine months pregnant.”

“Oh, is he!” exclaimed the doctor. He snapped on a glove. “I just thought he was really fat. This is going to be a fun night! Can’t wait to tell the wife and kids about this one, whoo boy!”

The doctor sat on a stool. He wheeled it really close, right between my legs. I stared at the ceiling, feeling my face burn like when you take a bite of Doritos Tacos Locos too soon without letting it cool. Then I felt the doctor spread my ass cheeks. Then a gloved, lubed finger slip inside.

England was watching very intently. That pervert.

“Ah, there it is,” said the doctor. His finger had stop going deeper. “Hmm, that the iPhone 5?”

“Yep. 5S.”

“Very nice. My daughter wants one of those for her birthday next month. I think thirteen is too young to have a cell phone, but all her friends have one. Kids these days, huh?”

“They grow up so fast,” said England.

“What the fuck …” I muttered, still staring at the ceiling.

“Haha, ain’t that the truth,” said the doctor. “Hmm, well …” I felt him jab me a couple times. He was pushing against the iPhone. “Looks like we’ve got a problem here. Your phone’s up there pretty deep. It’s past the anterior curvature of the coccyx. That’s what we in the medical business like to call the ‘point of no return,’ haha! At least not without taking more drastic measures. Looks like it’s SURGERY TIME!”

“Surgery? !” I exclaimed, suddenly sitting up. “Ass surgery? !”

“Hmm, not exactly,” said the doctor. “We’ll likely have to make an incision in your abdomen and ‘milk’ the phone down by pushing it down through the rectum. But don’t get out your cookies just yet, because no one is gonna want to drink this milk, haha!”

“What the fuck is up with this doctor …” I muttered.

“Doctor,” said England, looking quite concerned. “Will his rectum be all right?”

Omg England you did NOT just ask that …

 “It should, in due time.” I thought the doctor said doo time. You always get me, homonyms, you crazy scamps. “So you will eventually be able to resume normal rectal activity. Evacuation and …” He winked at England ;) “… other activities.”

England winked back.

“I was referring to anal sex,” said the doctor.

“Understood.”

“YOU GUYSSSSSSSSSS!” I whined. This was NOT cool!

The doctor scooted back on the stool. “We’ll wheel you into surgery soon. I sure hope you have insurance, by the way.”

Crap! I hadn’t signed up for ObamaCare yet! Every time I tried, my computer crashed! Also it’s socialism and I don’t understand it. “Oh no! Is the surgery very expensive?”

“Surgery?” The doctor looked confused for a moment. “Oh, well, heck yes it is. But I was talking about for your iPhone. I doubt it’ll be in working condition after I retrieve it.”

“OH NO! I didn’t have insurance! That shit was like fifteen bucks a month! Ain’t nobody gonna pay that.” I looked over to England desperately. “Oh my God, England! Put me on your plan! Your country has free insurance for everybody! I’ll pretend it’s not socialism if it benefits me.”

England scoffed at me! “We have free health care, not mobile insurance!”

“What? Just health? I thought y’all had free insurance for everything over there! Cars and homes and phones and children—“

“NO!”

“You could always get a cheaper phone,” said the doctor. “Like an Android.”

“HAHAHAHAHA … fuck that, Androids suck.”

“Well, gentlemen.” The doctor stood up. “I’ll go have the nurses prep the OR room. It won’t take long. I’ll leave you two to give each other goodbye kisses. Bye!” Then he left.

“Goodbye kisses what the f…” I muttered.

“Yes, that was indeed odd,” agreed England. “Aside from the part implying we’re poufs, why does he tell us to say goodbyes? Is this a risky surgery?”

“I must get my affairs in order in case of the unthinkable,” I said in my serious voice. It is a rarity. “My last will and testament. Dictate this, dude. I hereby behemoth my house in New York to Munchie. I leave my summer home in the cape to Nutella, and my timeshare in Aspen to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Next—“

“The damn rabbits? !” exclaimed England angrily. “You can’t bequeath them your houses!”

“Bitch they’re my houses, I’ll do what I want.” England’s just jealous because his country doesn’t have rabbits. St. Patrick lured them all away and out of the country with a magical flute. That’s why we wear four leaf clovers on St. Patrick’s day. It’s rabbits’ favorite.

“Eh, you can’t die anyway,” sighed England.

“Oh!” I said suddenly. “But just in case I do, there is something I must know. Just in case worst comes to worst and I die on the operating table. I can’t die without asking you this, England.”

“Hmm?” England noticed I was being serious again. “What is it? I told you, you can ask me anything.”

“It’s really important.”

England made a tiny little gasp sound. He fanned his face for a second then put it over his mouth. “Oh my God. It’s … it’s finally happening. You’re going to ask …”

“Yeah, I’m way overdue.”

“Honestly, I was going to ask you. Since I impregnated you. I wanted us to be officially a family …”

“Huh? No, I just wanted to know what the new Taco Bell flavor was.”

“…”

“First it was Doritos Tacos Locos. GENIUS! Then it was Cool Ranch. ALSO GENIUS! What GEM of an idea came next? I must know!”

“…”

“I’ve been so sick with this blockage I haven’t gone to Taco Bell lately. And I couldn’t look it up because I didn’t have my phone. I can’t die without knowing this valuable knowledge!”

Then I realized England had collapsed back in the chair, covering his face in his hands.

“… dude?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” said the doctor, entering the room. “As I never really left and was just standing outside the door.”

“Oh. Very unprofessional but okay,” I said.

“The new taco is the Fiery Doritos taco.”

“The fuck is that?”

“It’s like the other Doritos shells, but this one is spicy.”

“Oh.” :/ “Well, that’s kinda lame. Almost the same thing. I was expecting something more exciting …”

“Indeed, it is a letdown. I am disappoint.”

“I could have died happy not knowing that.”

“What’s wrong with him?” The doctor nodded toward England, who looked like he might be crying.

“He doesn’t like Taco Bell.”

“Ah.”

So then it was SURGERY TIME

X

AFTER SURGERY TIME

My eyes fluttered open. I was on a hospital bed. Wearing nothing but a hospital gown. There were IV’s in my arm. A machine beside me said BEEP BEEP. I vaguely made out the doctor’s figure near the foot of the bed. You get the picture.

Then I saw England sitting beside me. He smiled like he was very happy which is rare for him. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said, sounding relieved.

I glanced down. My belly was smaller than I remembered. Much smaller. I mean, there was still something there but definitely a chunk was missing. That’s what happens after a baby is born. A lot of people don’t realize that. You still look fat for a while after it’s born. What, you think your figure is gonna magically go back to perfect as soon as that thing pops out? Pssh, yeah right. WAIT YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS? !

“Oh my God!” I said, quickly sitting up. “I gotta seeee! Where is … where is my …” I looked around all directions, trying frantically to find it! “Where is my iPhone? !”

England, obviously expecting me to say something else, could only be like :O

“Haha, just kidding. Let me see my baby.”

The nurse brought it in. It was wrapped in a blanket. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to me. “Congratulations.” Then she left, bye.

I held it in my arms like a very fragile football. “Wow,” I said in awe. “This is a baby.”

“Our baby,” said England, looking sentimental. “You started going into labour after they removed the mobile. So they went ahead and delivered it whilst you were out.”

“Doctor, is it a boy or girl?” I asked.

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t look at babies’ private parts. That’s sick. I’m not a pedophile.”

“Ah,” I said. “Good.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” England’s eyes were like T_T

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “But seriously. I do need that iPhone back. It might still work.”

“It’s in the NICU,” said the doctor. “We’re trying our best to save it for you.”

“America …” said England, suddenly looking sad. “This may not be the best time, but I want to apologize to you. I’m sorry for not being able to sexually satisfy you.” :(

“Huh? Where did that come from?”

“It was just something I was thinking about whilst you were in surgery. We have a lot of problems with communication, and now that we have a baby it’s something we’re really going to have to work on. For us and the baby.”

Jeez, England really does think of sex all the time. Can you say INOPPORTUNE? It’s pronounced like how it’s spelled. “Huh? Nah, dude that was actually my fault I couldn’t get off. I just wasn’t paying attention because I was on my phone. It’s a big distraction.”

“… are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda like eating food while watching porn. You ever do that? Somehow the food is too distracting and it’s much harder to get horny. Just doesn’t work, man.”

“I never tried … but … I suppose I’ll take your word for it.”

The doctor walked between us and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “I think we all learned a valuable lesson today. Communication is truly important. If we all just were honest and truthful, even if sometimes the truth is painful, we will be better in the long run. Holding in our frustrations only causes them to fester and nothing is resolved. Now that you two have been honest with each other, the healing can begin.”

“Dude what the fuck? You don’t even know us. Mind your own business, you’re the most unprofessional doctor ever.”

“Okay.”

“Honestly, I feel like …” started England, “… if I was good enough, you’d put the mobile down.”

“Meh,” I said. “Why are you even talking about sex anyway? I just had a baby. We’re not having sex anytime soon. I don’t think you’d want to fuck me anyway. I’m so loose down there it'd be like throwing your toothbrush into the Grand Canyon.”

England went :/

THE END!