The Sideline Storm - An Mpreg Story

A Burning Chest

For three whole weeks, James Barker was completely convinced that whatever he was going through was the consequences of his own actions - the heavy protein and fibre-rich meals he would typically wolf down to keep up with his busy schedule, which would then be pursed by hours of strenuous activity at the gym or during pre-match training. 

Being a high school P.E teacher, and the assistant coach for the school's semi-pro football team and simultaneously a fitness enthusiast himself, his life was a constant whirlwind of being on the go, not giving much mind to the physiological toll which until now, hadn't really ever been an issue. Therefore, when the white-hot burn of bile begin attacking his throat morning until night, and the constant fatigue started leaving him incapable of even finishing an easy 20-minute treadmill run, he begin popping strong antacids like breath candies, to no avail. 

''You look like shit mate'', his colleague Marcus, head coach of the team, remarked one Tuesday afternoon as they set up for a routine training session. James, who was leaning exhaustedly against a goal post, pressed his hand firmly onto his chest -  his sharp brown eyes closed and his thick, brown hair plastered to his head in a cold sweat. ''It's just bad acid reflux'', he muttered, his voice gravelly from having just expelled the few bites of salad he had managed to force down for lunch. ''I just need some stronger antacids, these are rubbish''. 

''You've been saying that for weeks now mate'', Marcus pointed out with a hint of concern. ''And you've lost weight'', he added as he eyed his 6-foot muscular colleague, pointing towards the athletic track jacket which seemed looser around James' usually toned shoulders. ''I'd go see a doctor if I were you. You're 27 mate, you're no longer 15. This could be something more serious than what you believe it is''. 

James grumbled a curse underneath his breath, hoping his colleague and best mate would just shut up. His mind was spinning, his stomach churning as the players begin making their way to the pitch for practice. As he ran a simple passing drill, his legs felt heavy. On merely kicking the ball, a violent wave of nausea hit him, causing him to gag audibly. In a panic unusual to his characteristic composed demeanour, he swallowed his own sick, choking to keep it from rushing back up to his throat. ''What the fuck is wrong with me?'' he thought to himself. 

I think y'all know what's happening here... stay tuned :)