Nest, Part 1 - Male Version

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Note: This is a male version of Nest.

Summary: Connor is pregnant with large alien beetles which crawl in an out of him at their whim and are forming a nest inside his abdomen. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, unbirthing, and more...

-

The Doctor didn’t come home until late that night, pulling into the warm suburban neighborhood with a tired frown on his face.

He came home late most days and left early as well. He hardly saw his wife and two children anymore. But his work at the government lab was important, and they had just received a new meteor sample from the landing site discovered in Armidale.

The Doctor knew it was probably another dead lead. He and his colleagues would pick the sample apart and test it for everything under the sun. They would search tirelessly—for what—alien entity? Much as he loved his field, The Doctor was growing jaded with the process. He must have gone through thousands of samples of potential “extraterrestrial origin,” and nothing had ever yielded anything of interest.

The Doctor was so weary, he hadn’t even remembered to properly decontaminate himself when he left the facilities that evening. Getting out of his car, he quietly entered his house. He shed his scrubs and lab coat in the bathroom hamper, where it was mixed with the other clothes there. He crept into his bedroom and quietly settled in bed, being careful not to rouse his wife from her sleep.

-

When Connor awoke the following morning, he blinked the sleep from his eyes, groggily climbed out of bed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen where his mother was up, about, and making coffee.

“Dad left early again?” Connor asked, looking around.

“You just missed him,” said Mom, offering an apologetic shrug.

“Still loving his job, I see,” said Connor, idly poking around the fridge. He withdrew a cheese stick.

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Mom, with a wry look. “Fresh laundry,” she added, nodding to a basket of clothes sitting in the corridor just outside of the kitchen.

Chewing on the cheese stick, Connor grabbed up the laundry basket under his free arm. He went back to his bedroom, where he quickly got washed and dressed. He was in his senior year of high school, and though it was the weekend, Connor was scheduled to visit a potential college that afternoon. Though he tried to savor his last few months at his family home, he was excited to finally move out and venture into a level of adulthood that his eighteenth birthday, at home, with homemade cake and eighteen candles, just hadn’t offered him.

Connor pulled a pair of jeans out of the basket, and peeled away a thin, white robe of some sort, before recognizing it as a lab coat. Dad’s stuff got mixed in with mine, he thought, as he put it aside, to join one of his brother’s missing socks that sat collecting dust on his dresser.

Connor finished getting dressed, donning a t-shirt and sweatshirt with his jeans. He ran his hand through his messy hair as he walked out of his bedroom, grabbing his sneakers out of the hallway closet.

His clothes felt itchy that day, almost tickling him, like there was a stray gnat somewhere, tickling his skin, especially in the groin and ass region.

Connor fidgeted and adjusted himself as he returned to the kitchen, doing his best to keep it discreet. “I’m off,” he told Mom, who was by then nipping at some stale popcorn from last night.

“Catching a ride with your brother?” Mom asked.

“No, this campus isn’t too far. I’ll just bike there. Tell Charlie he owes me one.”

“Mm,” Mom gave a noncommittal hum as Connor walked out of the house and began to unchain his bike from the side of the garage.

-

Connor was itchy throughout his tour with the college officials, really itchy. He almost felt as though something was crawling on him. He tried to ignore it, and look composed. He asked intelligent questions and attentively examined facilities. Seck University was one of his top choices. But then, he also had four other top choices. He had a wealth of options, which wasn’t really helping with his tendency towards indecisiveness.

His brother, Charlie, worked at a mechanic shop a few blocks from the house. Connor stopped there on his way back from the college. He brought two sandwiches from a nearby deli, and Charlie started his lunch break to join him in a spare office.

Connor sat down, and just as he unwrapped his sandwich, his stomach seemed to lurch, in an odd way it never had before. “I—er—” he stammered, then just gave up on words, and raced to the closest bathroom.

He leaned down to puke, but all that emerged from his throat was a massive belch that made his face hot. He wasn’t sure what was going on with him, he just hoped he wasn’t getting sick. He tried to recall if he had eaten anything unusual that day, but he was certain all he had consumed was a cheese stick and an apple.

His stomach continued to lurch. He waited several moments, and when he was fairly confident that he wasn’t going to throw up, Connor returned to lunch with his brother.

-

Over the next few days, Connor felt unusually lethargic, and his appetite had surged. He found himself snacking constantly on junk food, which was new for him, but he wrote it off as anxiety about his college search. He would worry about his eating habits later, when he finished all his tests and applications, and had finally picked out a school.

He was also very gassy, and found himself frequently burping to relieve his gas buildup. And his belches were always unreasonably loud.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was too busy to really address it. When he got dressed in the mornings, he could see that his stomach had developed a growing curve. He would promise himself that he would eat better that day, but never really followed through.

He was working relentlessly throughout the week to maintain his near-perfect grade point average. Mom would look at him in concern and encourage him to take things easy. Dad continued to be absent, and absorbed in his job. Connor caught him when he stayed up late one evening to finish an essay. Dad patted his shoulder and told him goodnight. Dad then appraised Connor for a moment with a frown. When Connor went upstairs and surveyed himself in his bedroom mirror, he wondered if he really was putting on weight.

His stomach was a rounded curve that was starting to push into his t-shirt, actually. The material usually hung loose down his torso but was now lying against Connor’s gut. Connor sighed and shook his head. “Once I’m done with the school year, I’ll deal with this,” he promised himself.

The following day, Connor awoke slowly, as he often did now, particularly on the weekends, when his alarm wasn’t set to wake him up. He yawned and opened his eyes to narrow slits, before closing them again, and entertaining the thought of just snoozing until the afternoon, when the weird lurch, more of a twitching started up in his gut, and this time reverberating outside of him, on his skin. It was like something was crawling on him, something solid and tangible, that made him squirm till he realized it wasn’t just sensation. Something actually was on him! Connor was suddenly wide awake. He scrambled in his bed and tore off his sheets, just in time to catch sight of a bug on his thighs, a big one that was a bright purple color he had never seen on an insect before. He quickly got off the bed.

Connor’s heart was pounding. He hated bugs. This one was crawling rapidly. It was round, almost fat looking. An odd beetle of some sort. Connor went to his closet where he grabbed an old boot. He returned to his bed, and was dismayed to see that the insect was gone.

“Fuck.” He tore the remaining sheets off the bed, but still no sight of the insect. He looked under the bed, then the dresser, and began to, frankly, tear his room apart in search.

There was a light knocking on the bedroom door. Mom poked her head in. “Everything okay in…” Mom trailed off, a frown twisting her face as she saw the state of Connor’s room.

Connor grimaced. “There was a bug.”

“Connor—seriously?” said Mom. “Clean this up. It’s just a bug. I’m sure you’ll survive.” And with one more dour look, Mom left, closing the door behind her.

Connor dropped the boot.

Mom was right. He was overreacting and being ridiculous. It was just a bug. It had been in close contact with Connor’s skin and had not caused him any harm.

As Connor sheepishly began to return his clothing to the dresser and his books to the shelves, he wondered if he was imagining the continuing twitching in his gut and the general crawling sensation that covered his skin.

-

It kept happening. The bright purple bugs popped up out of nowhere. It was maddening and made him feel paranoid in his own bedroom. He had failed to catch or kill even one. He had resorted to putting some insecticide in the corners but it didn’t seem to be doing any good.

His mother treated him like he was being childish. “They obviously haven’t hurt you,” she chided over dinner that evening. “I don’t see one bite on your skin.”

It was true. Connor wasn’t getting any bug bites. But he could still feel them crawling on him the moment his guard was down. Once he swore he saw one in his shirt!

He had even tried sleeping on the couch in the living room, but the bugs seemed to follow him. He felt as though he himself was infested. He thought of talking to Dad, but he’d probably suggest that Connor was committed.

Maybe I should be.

It was Charlie who convinced Connor that he wasn’t going insane.

“I actually did see one,” he mentioned over breakfast one morning. “In the toilet of all places. Huge. I flushed it.” He gave a cheeky grin.

Mom made a face. “Maybe it’s time to call the exterminator...”

“Please,” said Connor in relief.

“Eat your grapefruit,” Mom chided.

Mom had been pushing fruit and vegetables on Connor any time she could, always marketing them as though she was getting paid to. It wasn’t as though she discouraged Connor from eating other things. Connor supposed it was Mom’s polite way of trying to address the elephant in the room.

Connor’s increasing weight.

His stomach was really starting to stick out. It was sort of embarrassing. He had always been skinny, and moderately athletic. The stomach weight just looked bad on his slim build.

Making a note to try to hit the gym that week, Connor shoved some more eggs and bacon onto his plate. He spent the day studying, tutoring, and volunteering at the local hospital—volunteer work looked good on college applications—before having a late dinner with some friends, and all but collapsing to bed when he got home. To his disappointment, there was no sighting of his father.

Connor tossed and turned most of the night, his stomach really lurching now. His indigestion had not improved, only exacerbating with time. He had to belch almost hourly, and his gut felt as though it was constantly bubbling. He wondered if he was suffering a medical issue, but pushed the idea aside to address later, when he actually had free time to. In his discomfort, he turned and fidgeted, frequently waking from his sleep. His latest drift into consciousness presented him with his pitch-black room and the familiarly horrible sensation of something crawling—on his ass!

Connor scrambled madly. He threw off his sheets and managed to turn on his bedside lamp, before shoving down his underwear. One of the insects was crawling about in the groin of his boxers. “Shit,” he said in disgust.

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