Grey Hearts and Flowers

A Cab Ride to Forever

Sorry for the delay! Lots more to come! Here is a big chapter. Hope you enjoy! xox

My wife is tremendous. Tremendous in every sense of the word. She is astonishing, breathtaking, magnificent and Lord have mercy—big. No, big is definitely an understatement. I mean, I've seen her through two pregnancies before, but this is something else. I never knew someone as slight as Ana could grow to such epic proportions in so many areas and opposing directions. Her belly, her breasts, her ass, even her lips are three, maybe four times their normal size. And it's all so fucking hot! She gave me a blow job last night that had me seeing stars. And not just the ones close by, constellations in galaxies far, far away. No, Ana isn't big—she's astronomical.

"Earth to Christian," Ana says. Maybe I have been to space and back. Although looking at her here—the sunlight beaming through the curtains of a picture window, burnishing her hair and lighting her eyes—I think I bypassed the stars and went straight to the seventh level of heaven. If there ever was a vision of maternal love and sex goddesstry all in one, it is my wife.

"Prussian Prince or Violet Dusk?" she asks.

"Excuse me?"

"What color do we paint the room?"

"What room?"

"The babies' room," she giggles, and playfully swats my arm like she thinks I'm kidding. "The one we're standing in."

Oh shit. The room. We're standing in front of the decorator. In the room. How the hell am I supposed to make coherent decisions when my wife's breasts are as big as her head?

"Anything you want, Ana," I say. "But, not violet. That's purple, which is just a phone call away from pink."

"Do colors call each other?" Phoebe asks, as she twirls and leaps in her tutu and princess crown, moving across a carpet that will soon be converted from eggshell to some hue of baby blue. Three of the five extra bedrooms upstairs will be filled with our children now. Though once, long ago, when I first stepped foot into this house with only the hope of buying it for a future with my Ana, it was a lofty goal to fill even one. Now, I can't wait for the day we run out of bedrooms and have to add on a story.

"Yes," I say. "And purple is pinks' bff."

"Yay! I all of my whole life knew it!" Phoebe cheers, and Chester—who's on her shoulder in a blue tutu and Baryshnikov style tights, if Baryshnikov was a rat gigolo to Barbie—nearly takes a nose dive, but somehow, even in ballet slippers, he still hangs on.

"The violet is more like a dust, Mr. Grey," says Cordero Cabanis the third—or "CC3"as our new highly touted, highly priced, highly weird interior designer likes to be called. "Dust is en vogue."

This guy. All 4'8" of him. It's like a grasshopper decided to celebrate Halloween dressed as a post-apocalyptic Mozart. I'm not sure who the other two are who came before him, or if it's a real name at all or just two flipped letters on the marijuana plant that he came up with while smoking a joint, or why he likes to be called something that sounds like a Star Wars robot, but I don't fucking care. He's over fifty, gay and supposedly the best.

"I don't want dust," I say. "That's like dirt. My boys are not getting a dirt colored room."

"I want a dirt colored room!" Teddy says as he runs around pretending to blast asteroids with his ray gun. Chester hisses at him every time the phony red laser shoots across his face.

"Nobody's having dirt as their wall color," I say. "We need clean, solid."

"How about a yellow?" Ana asks.