The August Problem
Copyright© 2026 by Wesley Doyle
Chapter 4: Thanksgiving
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 4: Thanksgiving - Nora Kowalski is an actuary, and her family has eleven August birthdays crammed onto one faded backyard banner. She doesn’t believe in coincidence, only in distributions nobody has looked at closely enough. So when she and her husband Danny, a band teacher with a romantic streak, decide to have a baby, she builds a spreadsheet. The math is simple: to get an August due date, they have to conceive between Halloween and New Year’s. The holidays don’t cooperate. A costume party, a Thanksgiving packe
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual
There were three problems with Window B, and two of them were mothers.
The first was Danny’s mother, Linda Pell, who drove in from Eau Claire on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. She brought four pies, a cooler of venison sausage, and a sleep apnea machine that sounded like Darth Vader breathing through a snorkel. She was installed in the guest room. The guest room shared a wall with the master bedroom. The wall, Nora discovered on Tuesday night, was roughly as soundproof as a shower curtain.
The second was Barb, whose kitchen was being redone and who had therefore announced that Thanksgiving would be at Nora’s this year. All of it. All eleven August angels, plus spouses, plus Kyle, plus a turkey the size of a Labrador.
The third problem was the bed.
Nora had never noticed that their bed squeaked. In eight years of marriage it had simply never come up. But on Tuesday night, the first night of Window B, with Linda’s CPAP whooshing through the wall, Danny climbed on top of her and the bed let out a noise like a rusty gate in a horror movie.
They both froze.
Through the wall, the CPAP paused.
“Danny?” came Linda’s voice, muffled. “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Fine, Mom!” Danny called. “Just — getting a glass of water!”
“From the bed?” Nora hissed.
They tried the floor. The floor was hardwood, and freezing, and Danny’s knees made their own noises. They managed it in the end, slowly and quietly and with tremendous concentration. It was the least erotic sex of Nora’s adult life, and she logged it anyway.
Tue 11/24, 23:10. Location: floor. Notes: knees.
By Thursday she had built a new tab.
It was called OPS — THURSDAY, and it broke the day into fifteen-minute blocks. Turkey in at 9:00. Mom arrives 11:30. Football from 12:30. Dinner at 3:00. Pie at 5:00. And, highlighted in green, three windows of opportunity: 6:00 a.m., before Linda woke up. 1:45 p.m., during the second quarter. 11:00 p.m., after everyone left.
She showed it to Danny at 5:55 a.m. in the dark bedroom. He squinted at it and said, “You’ve scheduled me like a dental appointment.”
“Peak fertility, Danny. Today is the day.”
“I know. I’m honored. I’m a little scared.” He reached for her under the covers. “Come here, then.”
They were three minutes in, very quietly, when the smoke detector went off.
Linda, it turned out, was an early riser. Linda had been up since 4:45 baking a fifth pie. Linda had set a dish towel on fire.
Thu 11/26, 06:03. Location: bed. Notes: ABORTED (pie).
The 1:45 window was worse. The house was full. Uncle Pete had his teeth out and was chasing the twins around the dining room table. Barb had taken over the kitchen and was criticizing the turkey in a running commentary, like a golf announcer. Nora caught Danny’s eye across the living room during a commercial break, flicked her eyes toward the hall, and slipped away to the laundry room.
He arrived ninety seconds later. She had already hiked her skirt up and hopped onto the dryer.
“You,” he said, staring, “are the most romantic woman alive.”
“Fourteen minutes till halftime. Get over here.”
He got over there. She had just gotten his belt open and his jeans down to his thighs, and he had just slid two fingers into her and made her gasp, when the laundry room door swung open. Uncle Pete stood there, gums bare, holding a dinner roll.
The three of them regarded each other.
“Thought thish wash the bathroom,” Uncle Pete said at last, with enormous dignity, and closed the door.
“I can’t,” Danny said, forehead on her shoulder. “I can’t now. He didn’t have teeth, Nora.”
Thu 11/26, 13:52. Location: laundry room. Notes: ABORTED (Pete).
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