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Message-ID: <31416asstr$995001002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "George Carter" <gcarterofoz@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Biological Clocks Don't Have Snoozebars (MF, MFF, cons)
Date: Fri, 13 Jul 2001 01:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



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<1st attachment, "snoozeb.txt" begin>

I've reposted this because it's been nominated for a Golden Clitty... 
thanks!
I'm working on an ASSTR website, but in the meantime, my stories can be
read on www.geocities.com/manuel_okelly/

This is a work of fiction.  It involves descriptions of sexual acts.
If viewing this is illegal for you, please stop reading now.  Having
said that, it does take quite a while to get to the good stuff, but
hopefully the storyline won't put you to sleep while you're
waiting.  How about letting me know what you thought?  Just
drop a line to
gcarterofoz@hotmail.com.  Thanks.

Many thanks to Jane for her encouragement and advice.

Copyright George Carter 2000

BIOLOGICAL CLOCKS DON'T HAVE SNOOZE BARS
(MF, MFF, Cons)

By George Carter




It was fortunate that I'd had my mail forwarded separately when I
left Newcastle.  Kate, my ex, was pretty good about that kind of
thing, but she tends to throw out things that look like circulars
and junk mail, so I might not have gotten the letter from the
blood bank had I left it to her.  It said that it had been three
months since I'd donated my last schooner of A negative, and
could I please consider donating again?

Why not, I thought.  It'd be something to do.  I'd been
unemployed for several months, since I'd moved south to Sydney
after breaking up with Kate, and apart from a very pleasant
interlude during the Olympics, life had been pretty dull.  I'd filled
in my days looking for a new job and trying to catch up with my
old friends, with little success on either front, so the next morning
I took the bus into the city and walked to Clarence Street.

The blood bank opened at nine; I was there by five past.  It had
been nearly ten years since I'd been there last.  It had been
renovated and looked pretty schmick.  As I'd gotten there so
early, there was no real delay.  I filled out the form stating that I'd
done nothing in the last two years that would compromise the
integrity of my immune system and handed it to the nurse, who
directed me to an interview room.  There, another nurse asked me
basically the same questions all over again, then, satisfied, pricked
my finger and took a drop of blood so she could test the
haemoglobin level.

I'd done this all before about twenty times, so there were no
surprises in the process.  I asked the nurse, 'How was it?'  and she
answered, 'Fine'.  I thought it would be; if anything, I was over-
fond of red meat.

Within ten minutes, I was lying on a couch, and yet another nurse
asked me, 'Which arm do you want to use today, Mr. Carter?'

I had my eyes closed, so I didn't see the nurse, but in retrospect, I
should have recognised the voice; it was warm and musical, with
the faintest hint of a German accent.

'Um, the right will be fine, thank you.'  I cracked my eyes open
and watched the nurse swab the crook of my elbow with
antiseptic.  Blonde, straight hair, done up neatly in the back, but
all I could see of her face was her forehead.

She spoke again, and the professionalism was gone from her
voice, replaced by simple, genuine warmth.  'You're still George.
You haven't aged a day.  How are you, Tiger?'

Tiger?

'Angie?'  I looked at her.  She was smiling, and the smile was a
giveaway.  It was Angela all right.  'Angie!  This is incredible...
It's great to see you.  You look fantastic.'  That was true, not just
something said for the sake of saying something.  Angela Weiss
had been one of my two objects of unrequited lust in high school,
more than twenty years ago.  She'd turned up one day in Year 8;
golden blonde, comely, and so painfully shy we'd soon taken to
calling her 'Traffic Light' she turned red so often.  I found out
years later that Rolf and Eva, her parents, had risked everything
getting themselves and their young children out of East Germany;
this was in the seventies, with the cold war at its height.  Angie
had been very pretty, with bright green eyes, a heart-shaped face
and a Julia Roberts smile. Actually, Julia Roberts had an Angela
Weiss smile... Angie was first, after all.  Even better from the
perspective of a hormone-intoxicated fourteen year old
boy, she had the most phenomenal breasts in Christendom.  They
seemed to develop overnight, from nothing to D-cup, like some
kind of erotic conjurer's trick.  Angie had been single-handedly
responsible for awakening my interest in boobs for the first time
since I'd been weaned.  (Although, Mum had told me I was an
enthusiastic breast-feeder... so much so that I gave her inverted
nipples, so maybe my interest had just gone latent for a while.)

Anyway, the point was that I was smitten with her all through
high school.  She left school at the end of Year 10 to spend a year
with relatives in Munich, and cowardly, shy, stupid me... I waited
until she was in Europe before I told her how I felt about her.
And then it was by way of letter.  Pathetic.  She wrote back and
told me, gently, that she'd met a guy in Germany that she intended
to marry.  I was heartbroken... as heartbroken as a sixteen-year-
old could get, anyway.  Something must have gone  wrong with
the German guy, because Angie came back after a year and a bit.
We remained friends, and she started calling me 'Tiger' for some
reason, and soon she got hitched to... Alan?  Something like that.
I hadn't seen or heard from her for about five or six years.

I returned to the present.  Angie was about to introduce the
hollow needle into my arm.  She said, 'Take it easy... I don't want
to hurt you.  We'll talk later, okay?'
I lay back and proceeded to bleed into a plastic bag, something I
do rather well.

'Would you like to have lunch?  We could catch up.'  This from
Angie, as she removed the needle and bandaged me.

'I'd love to... when and where do you want to go?'

'There's a caf  just across the street from here.  I don't get off  till
one o'clock... is that all right?'  She seemed a little anxious that I
might refuse her invitation, but I didn't register it at that time.

'That's great, Angie.  In the meantime, I can find out if the
milkshakes this place does are as good as I remember.'  I sat up,
carefully, feeling a little light-headed and very pleased indeed.



*****



I had  a little over three hours before lunch. I knew that a local
cinema was currently running a Hitchcock festival, and that Rear
Window was showing on this fine November day, but I needed all
my concentration to best appreciate the master of suspense, and I
was finding concentration a little scarce.  Angie.  Unbelievable.
She was still beautiful... still sexy.  Still challenging brassiere
manufacturers everywhere.  Then I realised... she was married.
Ah well, she was still a friend, I hoped.

I walked around and killed time till one o'clock, but you'd better
believe I was at the caf  on time.

'So, Tiger... how have you been?'

'A hell of a lot better now I've caught up with you, Angie.  How's
your husband... Alan?'

'What rock have you been hiding under?  *Adam* and I split up
three years ago.  I'm divorced now.'

I dared to hope.  She continued speaking.  'What about your
wife... Karen?  How is she?'

I smiled, ruefully.  '*Kate* and I split up back in July.'

'Ouch. Sorry', she said.  We both grinned a little, sheepishly.  'At
least we recognised each other, Tiger.'

'I've always wanted to know that.  Why "Tiger"?'

Angie paused, and collected her thoughts.  'George, you know,
you had more going for you than most guys at school.  You
weren't bad looking, you were very smart, a debating champion,
and you had courage... in all things but one.  You  couldn't
connect with girls.  Linda and I both wondered when you'd ask
one of us out, but you were too shy.'

'I was short, and I had acne.  I was afraid you'd laugh at me.'

'Oh, George... everybody had acne.  You had the best hair in
those days... it was the colour of dark chocolate, and you wore it
down to your shoulders.  You looked like Prince Valiant.  Now
you've got a crewcut.  Why did you cut it?'

I laughed briefly.  'Having hair like Prince Valiant was a pain in
the arse.  The summer I finished school I did a hitch in the Army
Reserve, so the hair had to go, and I was glad.  Sometimes I let it
grow a little, but I always seem to come back to the Number 2.
So... the reason you called me "Tiger" was....'

'...because you weren't.'

With that, we shut up and ate for a little while.

A few minutes passed, and I realised I had to ask her.  'So,
Angie... are you living with anyone now?'

'Yes, I am.  You'll be surprised when I tell you who.'

'Not someone from school?'  She nodded.  'Not Peter?'

'Nope.'

'Not David Mac?'

'Cold.'

'Wayne?'

'Colder still.'

'Okay, I give up... who?'

She looked like the Sphinx must've.  'Linda.'

'Linda?  Our Linda?  What... she's your flatmate?'

'She's my lover.'

Angie broke the silence that followed before it became too
awkward.  'Are you shocked?'

'Surprised.'  I rallied, desperately.  'Disappointed... and envious of
both of you.'

That got a big smile.  'What a sweet thing to say!'  She kissed my
cheek.

I honestly don't remember anything else we said during lunch... I
think I kept up my end of the conversation, but my mouth must
have been on autopilot.  My mind was reeling.  Angie... and
Linda.   Linda was, I'm sure you've realised,  the second of my
two youthful lust objects.  I didn't have a hope of sorting out my
feelings about this revelation just then, but one thing I did know
was that I had a sudden yearning to see Linda, and talk to her,
just as I was doing with Angie.

Angie was looking at her watch, and it was obvious our time was
running out.  I started to jot down my phone number when she
asked me if I wanted to come to dinner one night soon.  'In fact,
why not tomorrow night?  I've got tomorrow off.  I'll make
something special.  Linda would love to see you.  How about it?'

'I'd love that, Angie.  It's been too long.'

'Okay... gimme that.'  She grabbed my pen and notebook and
wrote down her address and phone number.  I took them back
and looked at the page she'd filled.
Narrabeen.

'Nice neighbourhood,' I remarked.  'What time should I turn up?'

'Make it about six.'  She gave me that gorgeous smile again, and
another little peck on the cheek.


*****


Narrabeen is easy to get to.  You just cross the harbour bridge
heading north, get onto Pittwater Road, and follow your nose
from there, following the line of beachside suburbs...  Brookvale,
Dee Why, Long Reef, Collaroy.  The traffic was pretty heavy at
that time of day, though, so I was glad I'd left a little early.  I
recalled what I knew about Narrabeen.  It was a narrow strip of
land between a  long beach and a series of lakes.  Expensive.  The
beach was good for surfing, if you were into that.  In fact, the
Beach Boys had immortalised it in 'Surfin' USA'.  A nice place to
live.  Too few pubs and eating places to suit me, however.

I turned my Laser into a side street and checked my street
directory against Angie's address, and saw that I was close
enough to park up and walk.  I grabbed the cold bottle of
Traminer I'd brought, locked the car, and was at the door within
two minutes.
I knocked, and a  blonde vision opened the door.  Linda looked
me up and down, frowned and said,'It took you long enough to
look me up...  you heartbreaker.'

I responded to that with a pretty fair goldfish impression.  What
could she possibly have meant?  Then she dropped it... giggled,
and smiled, said 'Come here', and kissed me, quick and hard, on
the lips.  She invited me in, and took the bottle.  'Let's open this
now and have a chat.  Grab a seat.'

I sat on a leather-covered sofa and indulged myself in watching
her as she opened the wine.  The girl I remembered from high
school was still there, only a few details were different.  Linda
Sanderson was petite where Angie was more of a Reubens model.
Linda had  high cheekbones, a little snub nose, and eyes the color
of ancient ice.  Like Angie, she had  blonde hair; straw-coloured
rather than golden, short rather than long, permed rather than
straight.  Everything about her was built on smaller lines than
Angie.  She even had tiny, pearl-like teeth in her tiny, perfect
mouth.  All of her parts were in precise proportion.   Looking at
her, I ached.  Where were the pigtails, the freckles?   Linda and I
had flirted with each other, in a very low-key way, in the last two
years of high school, and many times in the following years, I'd
wished I'd taken it further than that.  I shook my head.  The past
was gone.  The past was a bucket of ashes.  And in the present,
an old friend was handing me a glass of wine, and I wanted
nothing more than to drink it and talk to her.

By the time Angie came out of the kitchen, trailing delicious
aromas behind her, to claim her glass of wine, I'd found out that
Linda was still with QANTAS, training stewardesses now, no
longer travelling the world herself.  Linda saw Angie enter the
living room, smiled a greeting to her, then turned back to me.

'Angie told me you were pretty cool about us being a couple,'
Linda started.

'I freaked,' I replied.  'I'm just a good actor.'

'You must be a great actor,' Angie answered.  'So, how do you
really feel about it?'

'Let me ask you a question instead.  Do you love each other?'

'Yes, we do... don't we, babe?'

'We surely do', Linda answered, taking Angie's hand.

'And are you friends, as well as lovers?'

'Best friends', Angie replied, holding her glass up in salute to
Linda.

'Then,' I said, 'I'm happy for you both, because you've got the
game beaten.  I'm in mourning, on behalf of straight men
everywhere, but I'm also happy for you.  And happy that I
stumbled across you again.'

'Nothing's changed with you, George...  you could still talk your
way out of hell, given half an hour with the devil.'  Linda paused
for a moment and changed tack.  'You really don't know how
lucky you were to run into Angie yesterday.'

'How so?'

Angie replied.  'Yesterday was my last day at the blood bank.
Starting tomorrow, I'm on night shift at Royal Prince Alfred,
where I doubt you would have run into me.'

I silently thanked Australia Post for a prompt delivery of my
blood bank letter, and sipped my wine.  If you're not familiar with
it, Traminer tastes beautifully fruity - like lychees.  It's a great
wine for quaffing, and I was starting to wish I'd brought more
than one bottle.  Maybe I could make a run to a bottle shop
before dinner.

I looked at the two women, sitting at ease near each other.  If
ugly ducklings became swans, what then became of beautiful
ducklings?  It didn't matter that, in one way, they were
inaccessible to me.  They had each meant a great deal to me in the
past, and seeing them again was filling a gaping hole somewhere
inside me.  I didn't admit it very often, even to myself, but I was
very lonely.  My own fault; I'd separated myself from all my old
friends and plunged whole-heartedly into life with Kate and her
two sons, and that was great, until Kate decided to walk.  Over
the past months I'd prayed that I hadn't burned all my bridges
behind me.  I could only hope now that we could rekindle our old
friendship.

Angie got up and mentioned that she had to tend to the food.  I
stood and asked her if there was anything I could do to help, and
she replied, 'Yes... you can eat it, and rave about it, and praise the
chef.  Sit down and talk to Linda.'

Linda was regarding me intently, a slight smile on her face.  'I
know you used to have feelings for both of us. Are you really
sure you're ok with us being ... lesbians?'

I snorted.  'I hate that word.  It's  impossible to say it without
evoking some kind of emotive response, usually negative.  You
know that yourself.  You hesitated before you said it.  I don't like
labelling people.' I blew out a sigh.  'You have no idea how happy
I am to be here with the two of you right now.  I'm telling you, I
don't give a rat's arse what you do sexually.  It couldn't make me
any less happy.  Of course,' and here I grinned wickedly, 'if it
involves whipped cream, garden tools and/or farm animals, please
give me all the sordid details!  I write short stories occasionally,
and I can use some good material.'

Linda giggled; unfortunately she had a mouthful of wine at the
time, and some went down the wrong way. She coughed, but
waved away my offer of help.  Finally, recovered, she said, 'I
deserved that... I shouldn't have doubted you.  It's just that...' she
hesitated, and I was sure she'd changed her mind about what she
was going to say.
'It's just that you were the most repressed guy in school.  I was
afraid that you might have joined the Festival of Light or
something.'

It was my turn to laugh.  'Repressed?  I was never repressed.  I
was scared.  I was cowardly.  But I wasn't repressed.  I wanted
you so much, but I was always afraid that if I said so, you'd reject
me... and I couldn't bear the thought of that.'

'Ohh, George.  How silly was that?  We were friends.  Even if I
had've rejected you, I wouldn't have made you feel small.'  She
drained her glass, then shared the dregs of the bottle between us.

'And, in fact, I... let me tell you a George story.  Remember the
time you got the cane in Art class?'

'I remember it well,' I replied.  'Nick, Andy and I all got the cane
for that.  It was Nick's fault.  The stupid bastard started scuffling
with me, and I had a pair of dividers in my hand.  We were doing
pottery, and the dividers were for scribing  a round base for a pot
out of clay.  It had the potential to be dangerous, and that's why
we got the cane.  I still don't know why Andy copped it.  Guilt by
association I suppose.'

'Yeah... I saw the whole thing, and I saw all three of you get
caned.  I'll never forget it.  You had a little while to wait  out in
the hall while Steadman fetched the cane, and Nick started
working himself up. From where I was in the art room, I could
see all of you.  Nick was ashamed, and worried about what his
parents would say, I suppose.  He was in tears before Steadman
came back. He got it first, and he was bawling in the end.  You
wouldn't look at him.  After that, it was Andy's turn.  He was ok
until he got the cane.  It must have stung him pretty badly,
because he started crying too.  I was sorry for them, but I hated
them a little at that moment, too.  It was almost like I felt
betrayed by them.  Can't explain why I felt that way.
Then it was your turn to be caned.  You looked straight ahead
and  held your arm out.  It was as steady as a rock, and the only
thing I could see on your face was contempt.  It was like you
were made of stone.  The cane came down.  I was watching your
face.  You blinked.  That was all.  Not a sound, not a movement
out of you.  Six of the best... and then you walked back into the
room like nothing had happened.  Your hands must have been
terribly sore, but you were working the clay while the other two
were blowing on their hands and feeling sorry for themselves.'

'Bloody-minded masculine pride. I couldn't let the bastard think
that he'd beaten me,' I answered.  'Besides, Steadman couldn't
knock the skin off a rice pudding.'

'That wasn't what Andy said.'  Linda dropped her eyes, and her
voice, a little.  'I had no words to describe the way I felt.  I didn't
say anything to you about it. I couldn't.  But that night, in bed, I
couldn't sleep... I was tossing and turning.  I kept seeing your
face... and finally, I started touching myself.  I... masturbated
myself to sleep... must have come at least twice.'

It was the first time I'd ever seen her blush.  'Prior to that day,'
she continued, 'I had seen you as a little bookworm with skinny
arms and hair like a girl.  Afterwards, I saw something very
different.  I... wanted you, I thought, but I was young, and good
girls didn't tell boys that kind of thing.  We became friends, and
because you were already friends with Angie, I became her friend
too.  Part of me wanted so much for you to touch me.  The other
part was scared of what would happen if you did.'

I could see that it had cost her a lot to tell me that.  She had her
face turned away from me, and she was wiping her eyes.

'Linda... I'm so sorry.'  I was sorry for myself, too.  If only I had
had the courage she credited me with.

She raised a trembling smile.  'Don't be.  You warmed my nights.
I'd fantasize about you deflowering me, and in my fantasy, it was
perfect.  You'd be slow, and careful, and you'd know just where
to touch me, just how to kiss me.  There'd be no pain.  I'd take
you inside me, and the sheer pleasure would be almost too much
to bear.  If it had ever really happened...'

'... it would have been two virgins, fumbling, afraid of getting
caught, not really knowing anything, having a dreadful time, and
destroying your beautiful fantasy forever.'

'That's exactly right.  At least I got to keep the fantasy.'

There was a short, uncomfortable pause, which I hastened to fill.
'Why did you tell me about this?'

'George, I've been holding on to that story for more than twenty
years.  It had to be told.  I've never told anyone that story before,
not even Angie.'

I was suddenly filled with guilt and dread.  'Linda,  I didn't... I
didn't ruin you for men, did I?'

After about thirty seconds, she stopped laughing.  'The look on
your face! Give me a little credit, George.  Sexuality isn't digital,
you know... people don't come with big toggle switches marked
'Straight' and 'Gay'.  I've had men.  I just prefer women.  I prefer
Angie.'

The preferred one came back in to the living room with a plate of
appetizers.  'Talking about me?  Not vicious gossip, I hope.'

I said, 'I've just been trying to get Linda to dump you and try
batting for my team again.  Nothing personal.'

'Ohh, yeah.  And she said?'

'She said I couldn't afford the transfer fee.  Um, ladies... would
you like me to run out and get some more wine?  It wouldn't take
a moment.'

'Sit down.  We have plenty of wine.'


*****

'Are you hungry?' Angie asked.

'Right now, I'd bite the crutch out of a low-flying duck,' I
answered.

'Oh, that's a nice image,' Linda said, laughing, 'but I'm sure that
won't be necessary.'

'I hope you like Thai food', Angie said, placing the entree before
me.

'I like it... I just can't pronounce it', I smiled.  It smelled great.

'Well then, this is yam plamuk. I think I got that right.'

She got it right, all right.  It was squid, succulent and tasty, with
onion and green chili.  It's so easy to get squid wrong; all it needs
is a little too much cooking and it turns to rubber.  This was not
rubber.

'Angie, this is superb.  I don't remember ever having squid this
good.'

One thing hadn't changed about Angie.  She still couldn't take a
compliment.  She closed her eyes, wore an embarrassed half-grin,
and blushed, and she was suddenly so much like the little girl I
once knew that my stomach dropped.  I turned my face away
from her, to allow her to recover, and took a sip of wine.  'Awful
lot of blushing going on around here,' I said to no one in
particular.

One little part of my mind - the sneaky, observant part - told me
there was something not quite right.  Surely Angie was past the
stage where an innocent compliment would affect her like that?
So I numbed my sneaky, observant brain with alcohol.
Troublemaker.

Pretty soon it was time for the main course, and Linda clapped
her hands together in tribute to her partner's cooking skills.
Angie announced the dish as pla tod lard prik.  It was a whole fish
- a huge perch - and I couldn't begin to describe the flavours it
held.  The flesh was falling off the bones, it was so tender and
juicy.
'Do you guys always eat like this?' I asked, astonished.  I didn't
wait for an answer.  'That's it.  The hell with getting you to switch
sides.  I wanna join your team.  C'mon... let me join, pleeease.  I
like women, honest.'
It wasn't that funny, but we'd all had a bit to drink by then.

After the fish, we decided to wait a little bit before having dessert.
Linda filled our glasses, and we went to the sofa.  We sat back,
relaxed and replete, the thorn between the two roses, and my
heart was as full as my stomach.  There was a precious moment
of silence, and then Linda picked up on something I'd said before
about looking for work.

'You've got a qualification in accountancy, haven't you?'

'Just a tech. certificate.  Most places want you to have a degree.'

'Yeah, but still, you know about bookkeeping, budgeting,
handling money... that kind of thing, yeah?'  I nodded in reply.
'Well, I might have an idea for you.  How would you like to work
for Lifeline?'

'That sounds all right, but don't they use volunteers?'

'They do, but they have a paying job open for a financial
counsellor.  You could do that, I bet.  You like talking to people,
and I'd say you have the skills for the job.  Just a minute, I'll be
right back.'

She left the room, and I thought about the prospect.  It sounded
pretty good.  Lifeline was an organisation that assisted people in
trouble - spouse trouble, gambling trouble, drug abuse.  There
were lots worse people to work for, and it wasn't likely to be
boring.  As I ruminated, I could feel Angie's gaze studying me.
Linda returned with a business card.  'Give Laura a ring on this
number tomorrow,' she suggested.

'Thanks, Linda.  I appreciate it.'

Linda waved away my thanks. 'I'll get the dessert, since I'm up.'

Dessert was creme caramel; light, simple and full of sugar.  It
lasted about two minutes.

'That's it.  I'm full as a goog.  If the onset of paralysis is any
indicator, I've eaten like a king.'  I sat back and closed my eyes.
I'd drunk more than I'd intended; I was still coherent, but I
wouldn't want to risk driving home.  I hoped that the ladies
wouldn't mind if I crashed on the sofa.

Linda had put some music on the sound system, then returned to
sit next to me.  I was about to speak when she got in first.
'You're still a blood donor.  Did you ever go on the bone marrow
register?

'Yeah, I did.  Never gotten the phone call though.'

'Most people don't,' Angie replied authoritatively, 'but lots of
people are alive today 'cos of the ones that do.'

Linda smiled, showing her fine teeth.  'Ever been a sperm donor?'

I laughed at the idea.  'Wanking for cash?  Wouldn't want to lose
my amateur status.  Besides, who'd want a kid that looked like
me?'

The silence that followed was so sudden and complete I thought
someone had flicked a switch.  I looked at Angie, then at Linda.
They both seemed to be looking for words.  Finally, Linda spoke.
Her voice was very soft.

'You'd be surprised.'   She paused.  'May as well come out and say
it.  We three are all about the same age.  We all turned forty this
year.  I don't expect you to understand this, but ... I ask you to
accept that it's true.  Angie and I love each other.  The title for
this unit is in both our names.  We're married in every sense but
legally.  And we...'

Angie took up the thread.  'We want a baby.  We want a child to
raise, and teach, and love.  We want to be parents so badly we
ache.  But the government won't allow gay couples access to the
IVF program, and with each month that passes, our
opportunities slip away.  If we leave it any longer, the chances of
birth defects will only increase.'

Linda articulated what I'd already figured out.  'We need a sperm
donor, George.  We'd like that donor to be you.  What do you
think?'

'I think we'd better stop drinking wine.  I might need some coffee
instead.'  I paused, collecting my questions.  'Who's going to be
Mum?'  Angie raised her hand slightly.  I thought that made sense.
Besides the boobs, Angie had  what they used to call 'child-
bearing hips'.  There was also the practical aspect.  I was sure
Linda made more money than Angie.  That thought ran me into
another.  'I hate to say this, but... you know how tough the child
support laws are on non-custodial fathers.  How much
responsibility would I be taking on?  I don't want to offend you,
but...'

Linda replied.  'That's one reason why we chose you.  We thought
you'd understand when we say...  you'd have no responsibility...
but no rights, either.  We don't want a father who'll be poking his
nose in every five minutes, interfering in the decisions we make
for our child.'

'Are you saying  that... if I agree to do this, that I'd never have
any contact with the child?'

'No, George. Quite the contrary, we'd hope.  We would want our
child to know his or her father.  We just want to be able to be
parents without any interference.'

I still had a few questions.  'How do you know I'm safe?  For all
you know I could be HIV positive, or have Hep C or something.'

'You're a blood donor, George.  All three of us are.  You know
your donations get screened.  If you're good enough for the Red
Cross, you're good enough for us.

'I don't have any children, and I've never been tested.  I could be
firing blanks.'

'Now you're just stalling,' Linda replied.  'I don't blame you.
We've hit you with a lot today.  But, George... it's like this.  We
can't just hit the snoozebar and wake up later.  The clock we're
using doesn't have one.'

'What are you saying?'

'Angie is ovulating now.  The thermometer never lies.  I'm sorry,
but we need an answer.'

Normally, my mind works very quickly.  Honest.  However, on
this occasion I must have paused a little too long.  Angie's voice
was strained.

'Do you want me to beg?  I'll beg.  I'll do whatever it takes.  I'll...
I'll... '  Her voice trailed off, and wavered as it did.

'Angie.  Don't.  If you start crying, I'll agree to whatever you ask,
and it'll be for the wrong reason.  I can't stand to see a woman
cry.  It's my version of kryptonite.  And... no, I don't want you to
beg.'

Angie nodded, swallowed hard and composed herself.  She
waited.

'Did you really think I'd refuse?  Of course, I'll help.  Let's do this
thing.'

You'd have thought I'd agreed to donate a kidney from the
reaction I got.  After the hugs and kisses were over, it was time
for practicalities.

'Well, Angie,' I said, 'you'd better go and get your eggs warmed
up, or whatever it is you have to do.  Linda, I suppose you've got
a jam jar and a turkey baster?  And some hard-core porn wouldn't
hurt.  Girl/girl is ok, if that's all you have,' I joked.

Then Linda staggered me for the second-last time that night.
'What's wrong with the traditional method?' she asked.

I blew the chance to say that there was a lot to be said for
tradition.  Instead, I said:  'What?'

'Go into the bedroom and make love to Angie.   It's okay, we've
talked about it, haven't we, babe?'

'Yes... we have.'  I heard it, but I wasn't  totally convinced.

'It's okay, honestly,' Linda continued.  'There are good reasons
why we want it this way.  With regards to the sperm, obviously
the fresher the better.  And you deserve it.'  I grew a tiny bit
angry at this, and couldn't pin down why.  'But most of all, we
want the conception of our child to be an act of love, not
something cold and mechanical.  I don't suppose you understand
that.'

'I do understand.'  It was the only one of her reasons I did
understand, but it was enough.  I realised that Linda was doing
most of the talking, and it was clear to me that she was the pants-
wearer in this household.  I turned to Angie.  'Are you sure this is
okay with you?'  I asked.  She nodded.  'All right, sweetheart.
Go.  I'll be with you shortly.'

Angie left the room, and I turned to Linda.  'I'm not doing this for
any kind of reward.  I want you to know that.'

'I know, George.  I'm sorry I implied that.  But, George...'

'Yeah?'

'While you're there... you may as well enjoy yourself.'

I smiled.  The tension that had been growing between us
dissipated.  'I don't suppose you've got a toothbrush I could
borrow?'


*****


The bedroom was large and quite beautiful.  It was filled with the
jasmine scent and diffuse light of a half-dozen candles.  Angie was
nestled in the vastness of the bed, and I couldn't help but think
about princesses and peas.  It was a warm evening, so she only
had a sheet covering her; but she had it drawn up to her neck.
The body language was less than promising.

I stood at the foot of the bed and disrobed, taking my time.  It
wouldn't do to trip over my pants leg in a show of eagerness.
Soon I was naked, and I slipped into bed beside Angie.  She
didn't move.

When you get to my age, you get quietly resigned to the fact that
there are some things in life that you will never see, like for
example what an old school girl-friend looks like naked.  The
sense of joy that you get when you realise you were wrong is like
champagne.  I drew back the sheet covering Angie and feasted
my eyes.  The onset of middle age had been kind to her.  Her
breasts were too large to have defied age and gravity completely,
but they were surprisingly firm.  Her nipples were large, pink and
puffy.  I touched one, gently, barely brushing the tip.

Angie's skin was milky and smooth, almost without blemish.  I
ran my fingers down her torso, testing the elasticity of that skin.
She was built on generous lines, but was only perhaps a little
overweight.  She felt cool to the touch, almost as cool as her
reaction to my attentions.  My fingers were stroking her inner
thighs, and I watched her intently for some kind of reaction.  I
was half-erect by now, the sight and touch of her stirring my
blood; but she didn't react at all.  Her eyes were tightly closed.

My earlier joy was fading, being rapidly replaced by a growing
frustration.  I did not want it to be like this.  It would be too
much like rape to suit me.  There was a mystery here; her lack of
reaction could only partly be explained by her sexual preference.

I moved up so my face was above her own.  I had my right hand
raised alongside my head.  My intention was to stroke her hair,
and then to start kissing her, but first I had to get her eyes open.
'Angie,' I whispered, 'look at me.'

She opened her eyes, and took one look at me.  Her eyes
widened, and for an instant I saw white all the way around her
emerald irises; then her mouth opened in a silent cry and she
screwed her eyes shut again and turned her head away.  I was
nonplussed by this reaction, my mind racing to find an
explanation for it.  Then I realised my hand was still raised
alongside my head, and in a flash of insight, I knew.

Poor Angie.  I had no idea.  I felt dirty and ashamed.

The last thing she needed was for me to be there.  I rose from the
bed.  I kept my voice soft.

'It's all right, Angie.  Nobody's going to hurt you.  I promise.  I'm
going now.  I'll send Linda  in  after a moment.'

I quickly put my pants on, gathered up the rest of my things, and
stepped out the door, my thoughts dark.

Linda was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, when I stode
through the portal, and obviously she hadn't yet seen my face.

'That was quick...'

'Why. Didn't. You tell me?' I answered.  Biting off the words.

'Tell you what?'  Then she saw my face, and what was working on
it.

'Why didn't you tell me that Angie's husband used to beat her?

'Oh... shit.'  Concern sprouted on her lovely face.

'Yeah.  Shit.'  My anger was unfocused; I dropped my shoulders
and let it drain away.  'Go to her.  She needs you.'

'Yes.  George... please don't leave.  Please.'

I was silent.  As she left the room, I started buttoning my shirt.


*****


I don't know why I didn't just leave.  The night had turned into a
disaster.  I cursed myself, cursed Linda, and most of all, cursed
that arsehole Adam.  A fucking wife basher.  Shit.  The only
things lower in my book were child molesters and maybe
politicians.  I lay on the sofa, fully clothed, and stared at the
ceiling.  How many years of abuse had she suffered?  If only...  If
only what?  If only I'd done something differently, way back
when?  You can't take your moves back.  It comes out the way
it's written.

I'd have given anything not to have put that look of terror on her
face.  It wasn't my fault, I knew, but I still felt lower than a
snake's belly.  I said 'Shit' one more time, closed my eyes, and
tried to sleep.

An uncertain amount of time later, I heard Angie's voice calling
my name from far away.  On the second calling, I knew it wasn't a
dream.  I stood and followed the sound back to their bedroom,
not really knowing what to expect.  I thought I might see Linda
comforting Angie, talking to her softly and drying her tears.

Instead, I saw the two of them engaged in a passionate and noisy
sixty-niner. Angie was on top; I thought this strange, but maybe
she was trying to murder Linda.  Certainly, it looked that way;
she was grinding her pussy into Linda's face with a kind of fury.
Angie's own face was obscured , bobbing slightly.

I figured that this was at least partly for my benefit.  If so, it was
working.  Boy, was it working!  I unbuckled and dropped my
pants; the belt buckle hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud.
Angie must have heard it.  She raised herself off Linda and turned
her head toward me.  Seeing me there, she wiggled her bum at me
in silent invitation.  Linda was gasping for breath, and her eyes
were glazed.  Still, she raised her head and applied her lips to
Angie's slit.  Angie started talking.  'George, please... hurry.
Please...'

I wasn't a rational, thinking man any longer.  I was a pulsing,
engorged, enraged erection with a man attached.  My favourite
four-Kleenex fantasy was playing itself out in front of me, and I
was diving in, no questions asked.  Angie's pussy was splayed and
wet, and I entered her easily.  Almost as soon as I did, she came,
loudly, with a shuddering moan, her spasms gripping and milking
my shaft.  I kept right on thrusting, taking long strokes, sinking
myself in up to the balls, then pulling back until only the glans
remained in her.  We were screwing like dogs in rut, and with
about as much tenderness.  She let out a little 'oh' each time I
rammed home.  I noticed she wasn't using her tongue on Linda
any more.  I was flattered.

The air smelled of fresh sweat and women, overpowering the
scented candles.  My hands were full of those phenomenal tits
that had haunted my youth; I squeezed them and gently flicked
the nipples, getting a strangled moan for my trouble.  I could feel
Angie's juice coating my balls and dripping down my thighs.  I
wanted to slow down and enjoy this, as I knew that I  would be
coming very soon at this rate;  but after all, my role in this play
was merely that of sperm-dispenser, so maybe I should just blow
my wad and get it finished.  Then I thought, the bigger the wad
the better, right?  Better to slow down and make sure I really
emptied myself.

I released one breast and moved the freed hand to Angie's clit -
slowly, carefully, as I didn't want to poke Linda in the eye.  She
must have obligingly moved her head.  I started stroking Angie's
button as my thrusts slowed.  Her response to this was a string of
delightful obscenities uttered very softly.

Then I felt Linda's tongue on my balls, and her fingernail probing
my anus.  This was as unexpected as it was stimulating.  Its net
effect was to make me forget about pacing myself - in fact, it
effectively killed any rational thought I had left.  I started
thrusting like a madman.  Linda's tongue moved slightly and then
stayed still, lapping the length of me as I pushed and pulled.
Somehow she kept her finger in my bunghole; and she found my
prostate.  I roared.  My orgasm was going to be massive, and was
only seconds away.  I moved my other hand from her boob to her
hip so I could thrust harder.

I came so hard, and ejaculated so much, that my balls ached, and
the noises I made were those of an animal rather than a man.  We
collapsed into a heaving, sobbing mound of flesh, and lay still for
a little while.

Moments passed.

Linda, on the bottom of the pile, started to move.  I took this as
my signal to extract myself from Angie's glorious sheath.  I stood,
and watched the girls disentangle themselves.  There were many
things we could have said, but somehow silence was more
eloquent.  I turned towards the door, and Linda found her voice.
'The spare room's made up for you...'  I gathered up my clothes
and left the room, and for the first time ever, I was barracking
(silently) for my sperm.  Go, little guys!  Go, you good things!

There was a bath towel in the spare bedroom.  I was hot and
sweaty, and had all kinds of secretions on my loins, so I thought a
shower was in order.  Then I returned to the room, put my head
on the pillow, and fell asleep within ten seconds.


*****


Awareness returned to me.  I sat up in the bed and acknowledged
my dry mouth.  I was dehydrated from the last night's wine.
Thankfully, there were no little men with hammers inside my
head.  I recalled the night with a grin.  Angie was either pregnant
now, or not.  Only time would tell.  I hoped, at least, that she
knew that I would never - could never -  hurt her.

I considered another shower, then realised that I'd only be
wearing the same clothes again.  A shower and a change could
wait till I returned home. I rose and looked out the window and
saw dawn breaking.  I dressed and padded silently out the door,
looking for something cold and wet.

Half a pint of iced water later, I was feeling halfway human.  I
thought it would be a while before the ladies stirred, and it would
be only common courtesy to stick around long enough to say
goodbye.  I stepped out of the back door and looked out over the
lake.  I could feel my head clearing quickly as I breathed deeply
of the cool morning air.  I sat myself down on the grass, closed
my eyes, and listened carefully for the little voice inside me that
always speaks true.

It took a little while, but the voice spoke.  I was forty years old
and had never been a father.  I had done this thing as a favour for
my friends, but I had to admit it to myself - I hoped, dearly, that
Angela had conceived my child.  Life was short; I knew that I
would die one day, and I wanted something that was me, or
partly me, to survive.  It was the only measure of immortality
anyone could achieve.  Perhaps a little girl, who would take after
her mother, I hoped; but with something - the nose perhaps, the
jaw, the curve of the lip - that came from me.

I sat there for nearly an hour, and things were clearer at the end
of it.  I returned to the unit.  I wanted to get home and chase this
Lifeline job.  Linda was in the kitchen.  She saw me, smiled, said
'Hi' and handed me a mug of English Breakfast.  I thanked her
and sipped the tea.  Our eyes met briefly, and I remembered what
she'd done last night.  Maybe something showed in my face,
because she smiled uncomfortably, closed her eyes and turned
slightly from me.  I drank my tea in silence.

'I saw you out there, near the lake,' she started.  'I thought you
were meditating.  Are you all right?'

'I'm fine.  I was just sorting things out in my head.'

'George, we put you through a lot in a short time.  I'm sorry
about that.  We'd have done things a lot differently if we'd had the
luxury of time.'

'I know.  How's Angie?'

'Still asleep.  She's working tonight.'

I nodded.  'Please tell her I'm sorry I frightened her.'

'Not your fault.  We honestly thought it wouldn't happen.  Angie
thought she'd be at ease with you.'

'Poor kid.'  I finished my tea.  'I'd better hit the road.'  I gave
Linda a hug, and asked her to say goodbye to Angie for me.  I
wrote my address and phone number on a page torn from my
notebook and handed it to her.

As I walked out the front door, Linda called, 'Don't leave it so
long between visits next time, okay?'


*****


I placed the call almost as soon as I got home.  Laura McAllister,
the name on the business card, gave me a phone interview.  I
knew what to expect, as I'd done this before on the other side of
the phone, back when I was working at a call centre.  I put on my
'professional nice person' phone voice and answered Laura's
questions with confident, measured tones.  The call ended with
her asking me to attend a formal interview in two days.  With that
done, I filled in the remainder of the morning by tinkering with
my car.  It was running a little rough, so I tuned it.  I had a
sandwich and some fruit for lunch, then decided that it was a
perfect afternoon for Maroubra Beach, which was within walking
distance of my flat.

I plunged into the cold salt water and swam out about a hundred
metres, then turned on my back and floated, allowing myself to
bob up and down with the swell.  My mind wandered.  My
scattered thoughts kept turning to... Linda.  It suddenly became
clear to me that while I liked Angie a lot, Linda attracted me.
She was very clever, and quite determined to get her own way.
She said she preferred women... and yet, she'd done things to me
that most women wouldn't do for their husbands.  I thought of
the story she'd told me and I wondered if she still felt anything for
me.  Then I concluded that my ego was telling me fibs.  I
shrugged, swam to catch a wave, and rode it in.

After a couple of hours, I decided I'd given the ozone hole
enough of a chance at my skin for one day.  I returned home and
got a piece of scotch fillet out of the freezer for dinner.  While
that was defrosting, I watched a little of the cricket on the idiot
box.  The West Indies were batting, and they were in a lot of
trouble.  The Australian bowlers were taking them to pieces.  I
felt a little bit sorry for the Windies.  They were once a cricket
superpower, probably the best liked and best respected opponents
our national team had.  Not any more.  Damn shame.  I hate one-
sided contests.

I'd cooked and eaten the steak, and was seated once more in front
of the TV.  I wasn't watching it properly; I had a notebook on the
arm of my easy chair and was jotting down plot notes for a future
story.  Brian Lara had just gotten out for a duck  when I heard a
knock at the door.

It was Linda, wearing a short black sleeveless dress and flat black
shoes.  'Howdy, stranger,' I said.  'Come in.  Did I leave
something at your place?'

She gave me a lovely smile, and closed the door behind her.
'Nope.'

'Well then,  to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this
fine afternoon?'

'We have some unfinished business.  I wanted you once.  You
wanted me.  Do you still want me?'   She unzipped her dress, and
started to lower it, revealing two small, firm breasts.  Before I
could answer, she continued to speak.  'Because I still want you.'
The dress came off; she wasn't wearing any underwear.  I drank
in the sight of her naked body.  She was lightly tanned and slim.
She looked a lot younger than her years.  Her pubic hair was
neatly trimmed, and she had a tiny butterfly tattooed just above it.

'Oh, wait,' she said, 'I forgot.  A girl's got to beg you before she
can get into your pants.'  She smiled a wicked smile, and sank to
her knees, saying, 'Do you want me to beg?  I'll beg.  I'll do
whatever it takes. I'll... whoops.  That seemed to work... you
naughty boy.  You nearly put my eye out there.'

So sue me.  I admit it, I'm kinky enough to get very aroused by a
beautiful naked woman kneeling before me.  I was only wearing
shorts and a tank top, and my erection was as obvious as Linda
had described.

Finally I found my voice.  'Linda, I...'

'Shh.'  She had my shorts and jocks around my ankles.  Then she
had my penis in her mouth.  Just the head to begin with, holding it
gently with her teeth and teasing the tip with her tongue.  She
weighed my balls in one hand,steadying herself with the other.  I
closed my eyes and breathed deeply.  It was clear that she was a
past master at giving pleasure to men.  After a moment, she
opened her mouth a little more and started taking more of me in,
her lips sliding along the length of my cock.  I had to open my
eyes and see this.  She smiled at me with her eyes and kept
working on me.  Then she took my cock out of her mouth and
ran her tongue along the underside, licking it like a lollypop.  She
kissed it, then spoke, almost singing the words.

'I haven't heard your answer yet...'

'I want you... my God, how I want you!'  Hey, I was slow, but I
wasn't stupid.

'Tell me what you want, baby,' she whispered.

'I want you to get up off your knees.  You look uncomfortable,
and I want to kiss you.'

She stood, and took my tank top off me.  Then we put our arms
around each other and kissed.  Her tongue was stabbing into my
mouth, trying to pin my own tongue.  I responded by slipping out
of the pin and trying for a reversal.  Both of us were making
inarticulate little sounds, and I felt harder than ever, if that was
possible.  She was rubbing herself against me, her hard little
nipples exploring the hair on my chest and her lower torso
trapping my erection.

Eventually we ended the kiss, both of us panting a little.  'What...
do you want now?' she asked.

'I want to take you to my bed and show you I can give you head
at least as well as a woman can.'

'Oooh... what'll we call that... I know... "cunnilingus for
penalties."'

'Penalties?'

'Yeah... tell you what.  If you're as good as Angie, I pay the
penalty.  I'll let you do any twisted, perverse thing you want to
me.  But if you're not as good... I call the shots.'

'That doesn't sound quite fair... since you're the sole judge and
arbiter.'

'You sounded awfully confident a moment ago.  I'll be fair.  I used
to be a Girl Guide.'  Then she started making chicken noises.

'Right!' I nearly shouted.  'I'll show you... prepare for a tongue-
lashing you'll not soon forget, my dear!'  Then I picked her up
bodily and carried her into the bedroom accompanied by her
shrieks and giggles.

Well, I really put in my best effort.  Linda was every bit as shrewd
as I thought.  Her turning it into a contest made me perform at
my best.  I started by massaging her gently, from the navel, down
the torso, the hips, her bottom, her thighs.  (Cheating perhaps -
but then, we didn't set any rules against it.)  Once I was sure she
was relaxed, I started lapping along the length of her slit,
touching just outside its frontiers as well.  I worked with the tip
of my tongue, coaxing and cajoling a reaction out of her labia.  I
was careful to leave her clitoris alone.  Once she began to open, I
invaded her with my tongue, my lips working on her lips.  My
fingers were busy applying tension to her sensitive skin, gently
pulling, stretching.  After a while, I removed my tongue, then
used my lips and chin to continue to stimulate her labia while
slipping two fingers inside her vagina.  Still leaving her clit alone.

After a few more minutes of this, during which my tongue, having
had a breather, came out again, refreshed and ready for another
round, Linda started making moans with a timbre of urgency
about them.  I took this as the signal for the final phase.  I pressed
gently with my fingers around Linda's clit, exposing it as far as
possible, then gave it a single little contact with the tip of my
tongue.  Linda twitched and gasped.  I repeated the contact with
similar results.  Then I gave her a series of staccato jabs with my
tongue until she shrieked her orgasm to me.

I got alongside her and we cuddled until her breathing returned to
normal.

'And the judge's verdict is...?'

'I'm sorry, George.  On a scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is Angie,
you're about 8.5... maybe 9.  The fix was in.  You couldn't win...
Angie's had a lot of practice, finding out what I like.  But give
you a week in training, lover... and you'd be ready for a shot at
the title.'

I accepted defeat gracefully.  'Well, sweetheart... I'm at your command.  
What would you have of me?'

'Give me what Angie can't give me.  Give me a good, hard
fucking.  I don't mean hurt me... just hold me tight and screw the
arse off me.'

So I did.  Well, not literally... she was still in one piece when I
finished.  I started by turning her on her chest and entering her
from behind.  She felt too good in that position though, and I
wanted to be able to see her face anyway, so after a minute or
two I pulled out and re-entered her in the missionary position.  I
clamped my hands on her wrists, holding her arms away from her
torso.  From the look on her face this was just what she wanted.
I started putting in hard, long strokes.  There was no way I could
last very long like this, but Linda was encouraging me to go even
harder.

Soon, too soon for my liking, I could feel my orgasm starting,
and she just said, 'Yesss... do it.'  I brought my face down to hers
and kissed her savagely as my cock paid its tribute to her.


*****


Some time later, with our bodies and minds almost back to
normal, I found I had to ask her.  'Does... Angie know about
this?'

Linda smiled.  'Yes.  I don't keep anything from her.'  A pause.
'You're like... an old itch that I just had to either scratch, or go
crazy.  And when I saw you fucking Angie last night, it took all
my self-control not to ask for some.  But that would've defeated
the purpose.  When you walked out the door, I almost asked you
to stay.'

'So, am I out of your system now?'

'I don't really know.  You might be a recurring thing, like malaria.
Or it might be finished after tonight.  But I do know one thing.'

'What's that?'

'I'll need at least one more inoculation to be sure.'


*****


Two weeks passed.  I got the job, and it was about the most
satisfying work I'd ever done.  My life was busy again, which was
great - I'd had enough of being idle.  My thoughts turned often to
Linda and Angie.  I hoped they were happy.  I hoped they would
get what they wanted.

It was a Friday evening when Linda appeared at the door again.  I
was feeling pretty good, as I was starting to get some positive
feedback from Laura about my work, so it was with a grin
plastered on my face that I let her in.

'Linda!  Hi... how're you going?'

'George... I've got some news.'

'Well... come in and tell me.'

We sat down.  She looked me in the eye and assumed a serious
expression.

'Angie's had her period.'

'Oh.  Never mind, Linda.  I'll have a fertility test, and if it's okay,
we can try again... or you can get someone else.'

She couldn't hold her serious mien.  'George... I've missed mine.'

'You what?'

'I'm so regular you can set your calendar by me... and I've missed
my period.  I'm pregnant, George.'

I was about to ask her how she felt about that, but her expression
told me.  She radiated joy.  We both stood up and hugged each
other.

'Thank you, George.  Thank you for the early Christmas present.'

'The gift that keeps on giving ... or taking. Congratulations.'

She must have cried a little.  She wiped her eyes on my shoulder.
'I owe you a Christmas present.  What would you like?'

I told her.

Then she gave it to me.



THE END

Read all my stories at www.geocities.com/manuel_okelly/







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