Congratulations on Tricking Your Wife Into Having the Devil's Baby!

“Hey honey,” you’ll mumble into her ear, winding your arm around her stomach. She’ll let out a long breath, one you’ll feel rolling through her gut as she rests her head against yours. You’ll feel the smile roaring through her body rather than see it.

“Mmm,” she’ll purr. “Hi.”

You’ll turn her around gently. Both your eyes will already be closed as you inch her nearer and nearer to your face. You won’t speak another word, you’ll just move your lips to hers and up and over and under and within and words won’t matter by the end of it. You’ll drag step to the bedroom awkwardly in each other’s arms, but you won’t notice, you’ll be so focused on not touching, on not removing any clothing until you settle into the bed and begin your work, purposeful, methodical, reflexive and thoughtlessly infinitely engaging.

When you enter her you won’t be thinking of anything, anything in the world. That moment, that moment you’ll find yourself pinned within will be perfect, leaving you to echo inside your own mind until it builds to soundless cacophony in your ears, the driving force of your own blood pushing you over the edge gasping soundlessly as she smiles and sweats below you, her eyes again closed.

You won’t think about the deal you made with the devil until the next morning, when your Ski Doo materializes in your garage. Your wife will be puzzled, but you’ll tell her not to worry as you run your hands over her belly. You’ll wink and tell her that everything will be fine, wondering, as you do it, if the children of the anti-Christ might be spared the fires of his coming, on account of raising him and stuff.

Congratulations on Tricking Your Wife Into Having the Devil’s Baby!