CHARLES' point of view.
My wife, Milan, ever resourceful and determined, conceived a rather unconventional plan to increase our chances of having male children. To my surprise, she not only devised this plan but also independently secured the necessary funds.
As a man longing for sons, I confess this was a path I wouldn't have considered myself. My hesitation stemmed from a concern for Milan's well-being and a fear of appearing selfish in her eyes.
Within a month, she had finalized the arrangements, and six young women arrived in America from Italy. It was their first time on American soil, and they were understandably excited.
While most of the women were pleasant, I must admit that two of them were not physically attractive to me. I was sure I wouldn't get horny even when they naked themselves in my presence.
I made an effort to be polite, reminding myself that appearance is not something one chooses. They were also older than I was, so I had to be polite in every way.
I informed them that there had been a slight miscalculation, and we only required four participants. The other two that I didn't choose expressed a desire to see more of America before their return to Italy, a request I granted. Given the funds Milan had raised, it seemed a reasonable gesture.
The time arrived to proceed with our agreement. We arranged for their accommodation in four separate houses, with a year's rent prepaid.
I found their lack of grooming in their private areas quite unexpected. It was a detail I hadn't anticipated and, frankly, found rather off-putting.
Professionally, I would rate the experience as satisfactory, perhaps an eight out of ten. The remaining points are withheld out of respect for my wife and the impersonal nature of the arrangement.
Despite their profession, the women maintained themselves well. They were physically appealing and adept at various sexual acts.
Their bodies were generally well-proportioned, except for Giulia, the oldest at thirty-two, and Alessandro, who was the youngest.
I typically visit each of them twice every other week. Whenever I arrived at Alessandro's residence, she would immediately excuse herself to shower in the guest bathroom while I waited in the living room.
She would then walk back into the room, her movements captivating, and with a simple gesture, she invited me to the bedroom. Alessandro possessed an undeniable allure.
Once she summoned me, I would undress and join her. She often positioned herself kneeling on the bed, chest down, with her hips raised. My role was simply to navigate past the hair blocking her hole with my fingers and enter her.
Eight months later, Alessandro went into labor. Although it was her first pregnancy, which might explain it, I have always felt a stronger connection with her, having more countless extremely enjoyable intercourse with her.
The labor was protracted. I prayed for a son, but a daughter was born. I was deeply disappointed, feeling as though the entire endeavor had been a failure. The doctor attributed the long labor to it being her first time, but my focus was solely on the absence of a male child.
Over the following months, the other women also gave birth, and each one delivered a girl. It was a profound disappointment, and I felt a significant sense of despair. I was very saddened and was so downed by it.
MILAN'S P.O.V.
Seven months have passed since our arrangement of contract wives yielded only daughters, and Charles has been a shadow of his former self.
He isolates himself, responds irritably to my attempts at conversation, and neglects his basic needs like eating and grooming. The vibrant man I fell in love with seems lost, and I try my best to navigate his changed habits.
We had hoped for sons, and instead, all four women we had contact with delivered girls. Not a single boy among them.
It pains me to think that I sold my inheritance for this outcome, which has not brought us what we so desperately desired.
One evening, I was with Ace, our second daughter, when I heard loud crashing sounds. Charles was destroying our electronics, his frustration over the birth of only girls still consuming him.
Remembering the depth of his love for me, I found the courage to approach him and gently take the baseball baton he was using to destroy things away from his hand.
"It's alright, Charles," I said softly. "Please, try to get through this and pull yourself together."
He released the baseball baton, sank onto a chair and began to sob. I drew his head to my chest, suggesting we make love, hoping that this time perhaps, I could still bear him a son.
His first words to me in months were: "We are getting rid of them. The mothers and the children."
I reminded him that our agreement with the women was still in effect for another month.
He abruptly pulled away, stating he would be back soon.
When Charles returned late that night, he was carrying four infants. I was bewildered. "What are we going to do with them?" I asked. His only reply was, "Trust me. This won't affect you as much as it already has."
I was shocked when he informed me that the mothers were already on a plane back to Italy.
That night, he made similar marks on the babies' waists and upper left hips. He then administered what I assumed were painkillers, fed them, and carefully laid each one down to sleep, one after the other. His gentleness with them was remarkable, something even their own mothers might have struggled to replicate.
Before dawn, Charles had taken the four infants to different orphanages, leaving a letter for me explaining his actions.
I was extremely surprised he had abandoned the infants to orphanage homes.
While I felt a pang of unease about his decision, Charles's fragile state compelled me to support him, hoping it would help him find his way back to himself.