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From: "Mei Raj" <meiraj@flashmail.com>
Reply-to: meiraj@flashmail.com
Subject: {ASSM} DECISIONS! DECISIONS! DECISIONS!
Date: Thu,  3 Jan 2002 13:10:06 -0500
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TITLE: DECISIONS! DECISIONS! DECISIONS!

By Meiraj@sify.com

-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------
AN ADULT STORY, TO BE READ BY ADULTS AT LEAST 21 YEARS OF AGE.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit. This
story may be freely distributed for personal use with this notice
attached. All characters and events depicted in this story are
purely fiction. There is no Intention in any manner to represent
or mimic, any real world situations or persons.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
--------

TITLE: DECISIONS! DECISIONS!DECISIONS!

By Meiraj@sify.com 

CHAPTER 1: BAD NEWS KINDLES AN IDEA

It all began when the doctor revealed that I was the problem why
my wife wasn't getting pregnant. "You don't have enough sperm and
what little there is just too weak" the doctor said in a
professional tone as my wife and I heard the disastrous news. He
then discussed the various options available to us, such as using
donor semen, in-vitriol conception, adoption etc., The in-vitriol
or in-the-dish conception was too expensive, I did not like the
idea of donor semen, god knows whose it is and what the child
might look like. Adoption would involve two years or more of
waiting and that would be somebody's child not our own. 

"Nicole is devastated at the news, but she says she still loves
me, and doesn't blame me. We only have to wait a year or two
until we can get the money to use an alternative fertilization
method." I told my mother after appraising the situation to her.
She wanted a grandchild very badly. It was her goading that had
made us try to have a child. 

We talked about it again after a few days. Mother said she had
came up with an idea that wouldn't cost us anything and that the
child would look like me.  She quickly caught my attention,
because I wanted the child to look like a blend of my dear wife
and me. That would be impossible if we used some stranger donor's
semen.

"I know you and he don't get along well. You should put that
behind you now. You are in need of semen of high sperm count, and
your brother is big, strong and athletic. Why not let him be the
sperm donor to your wife?" asked my mother.

I was speechless upon hearing mother's thoughts. "Y-You c-can't
be serious!  You-You know how I despise him. Th-The way he-he
used to treat me in high school.  Th-The things he used to say
about me.  Plus, he-he was always your favorite anyway. "That
m-must be why y-you're suggesting that.  H-He's ..."        

"I know, I know, ... You've said it before. But that was long
ago. You're the brainy one now and I am proud of you -- the
college professor. Just think about what I am proposing. Just
mull it over, consider it.  Isn't what I'm suggesting logical?
Think how strong and beautiful your child will be! It will all be
in the family, and your wife can be in the family way in no time.
But of course we will have to get Nick to accept the idea."

As I collected my thoughts, I had to admit mother was right. Her
idea was a perfect solution except for the fact that I hated my
older brother Nick.  He was athletic but egotistical and always
downgraded me because I was not into sports and other 'manly
stuff' as he called it. He also made fun of me for not being
forward with the girls. He was a charmer with the chicks.

When mother gets an idea there is no talking her out. So hoping
to let her drop it in stages I said I would think about it and
that Nicole and I would have to discuss and consider alternatives
and options in the coming days. 

I was sure Nicole would never go along with having Nick donate
his semen for her to be impregnated with. She had met Nick only a
few times and what she knew about him was from me.  I knew she
would not entertain mother's crazy idea. She was a perfect wife
-- every inch, each ounce. I didn't want to even mention the idea
for fear that her sensibility would be outraged.

Nonetheless, as husbands often do, later that night, I opened my
mouth and put my foot in it. We were in bed having a pillow talk.
Nicole was holding my penis and playing with it in its usual semi
inflated state at that time of the night. I could not help but
report to her the conversation I had with mother - Mother's
ridiculous idea of asking Nick to donate his semen. Wanting her
to be strongly opposed to her mother-in-law's idea, I said it was
something we should think about, casually mentioning that he and
I had never gotten along. She had on several occasions heard me
describe him as having been a prick and a bully to me. She became
fidgety as she always does when she becomes fuming angry towards
her mother-in-law but never shows it as my mother and I have a
close relationship. Reassuringly she continued to make play-dough
of my penis, which I enjoy very much. She said she would handle
mother if she ever brought it up again, gave me a good night
kiss, and turned the other way and dozed off to sleep. I knew she
was capable of handling mother gently but firmly. With that
thought I fell off to sleep but not before feeling that perhaps I
should never have brought up the subject at all. 

She must have thought about it all next day. For as soon as we
hit the bed, she opened the topic, "After all he is family and we
wouldn't have to wait any longer to start a family. You know how
bad I want to be a mother." I was shocked and just looked at her
with bewildered eyes. She continued, " I know you two guys are
opposite of each other, you are an academic scholar and he is a
sports jock and a bully to you. You are a steady and solid and he
is fleeting and a loose canon. But just theoretically speaking
don't you think something like this might bring you two closer,
and help him settle down in life?" There was innocence in her big
eyes and her genuine concern to bring the two brothers together.

`Highly unlikely' I tersely replied. There was an obvious quiver
in my voice. I do not want to see him or his virile semen
couriered in cold icepack or hot in a thermos. And I don't want
it especially anywhere near my wife.

"That's what I think too," she said. "Besides I do not believe in
making a baby by pouring seeds from a test tube; a human baby
must be a product of the passionate union of a man and a woman,
both in the throes of an emotional arousal with hearts
pulsating," she said smiling, ostensibly to calm me, by giving it
a new slant. 

What she said served its purpose. I calmed down quick and
extended her humor line, "Yes, with heavy breathing, and breast
against breast, thighs within thighs, pestle pounding the pea" I
added laughing. We laughed for our jokes and kissed and laughed
again. We were in the same wavelength, in perfect agreement. I
felt much relieved that the idea of semen transplantation had met
its inevitable death.  

 CHAPTER 2: A MOTHER'S HELP

I was wrong. In the next two weeks I got extra busy at work as I
was teaching an intense two week short course in addition to my
usual schedule. Nicole mentioned receiving luncheon invitation
from mother. I think she went out twice. I knew she was handling
mother in her own way. She also mentioned my sister dropping in
once or twice. I thought it was odd because Sis had done that
were rarely. 

I was conscientious in my work, and worked long hours.
Nonetheless, a hard working man is also a man, and has manly
needs. Besides I had many pretty coeds in my evening classes.
Naturally I'd be quite horny when I came home. I wanted to make
love to my beautiful petite wife. But we started beginning and
ending with her playing play-dough with my staff, bending it this
way, that way, folding it in half, squeezing, pummeling. She gave
love smacks, thwacks, whacks, and wallops. My manhood enjoyed her
handling it like that. She was sweet and at her utmost womanly
tenderness when she did that, cooing and mooing and making all
kinds of silly noises like with biting, chewing, gnawing,
nibbling, hissing and kissing. But that sort of play-doughing
can't be done if the penis is fully erect. So, I had developed
the knack of keeping it pliable by mentally reciting 'Hail Mary'
and 'Our Father'. They were probably wrong mantras, but they
worked for me. 

That my mother's idea was not totally dead came to me on one such
night when she started to play-dough me, but she stopped midway,
to go get some pictures of a kid - shots from different angles.
They were computer pictures of face only. The kid looked about
2-3 years old, kind of cute. Couldn't tell boy or girl. She asked
what I thought of the kid, who did the kid resemble, was I
reminded of any kind I knew. 

I scratched my head and it came to me suddenly, "Hey, you've
gotten my childhood picture computer enhanced. I look cute, and
attractive don't I?"  I said.

She was smiling. "Could it be my childhood picture?" she asked
sounding mischievous. Puzzled, I looked at her and I looked at
the pictures again. "Yes, could be, yes, from some angles it does
look like you. Where were you hiding this, I think I have seen
all your childhood pictures," I said. 

"Look again," she said, "Could it be a blend of you and me,
computer wizardry?"

I was flabbergasted. I looked at her, I looked at the pictures, I
remembered my pictures of when I was 2 or 3. "Yes, it is a blend
of you and me. Definitely so. Wouldn't it be nice if our child
looked like that," I said.  
 
"Your sister has gotten it done somewhere. She brought it over
this afternoon. She said, if Nick made me pregnant, that is what
the child will look like! She has gotten my face and Nick's face
blended." 

Needless to say I was floored to my bones. My penis shrank to its
smallest. She had continued to play with it off and on with one
hand while we were looking at the pictures. She must have seen my
utter distress and the sweat that was forming on my forehead. She
slid down into the bed and hugged me in a reassuring way. "Honey,
relax. You know I am not that kind of a woman. I wouldn't go to
Nick just to have a baby, not behind your back. You know, your
sister is just as crazy as your mother!"

We hugged tight and kissed hard with all the passion we felt for
each other. I made love to her. I had not fucked her in two weeks
or more. My pecker had surprisingly stayed hard for the necessary
duration. I pumped her like there was no tomorrow. I peaked first
as usual, and she peaked right behind me. I could tell she was
satisfied, or pretty close to it. I was satisfied that she was
satisfied. We fell asleep in each other's arms. 

I woke up sometime in the early hours of the morning. I was
wide-awake. I could not help my mind looking back with deep
satisfaction the lovemaking scenario I had just gone through a
few hours earlier. I could feel a smile on my face. The words she
had uttered also played back, "I am not that kind of a woman. I
wouldn't go to Nick just to have a baby, not behind your back.
"What did she mean by 'not behind my back?' Why had she called
him Nick, as if she was familiar with him, whereas it was always
'your brother Nick.' Why had she said 'not go to Nick just to
have a baby,' what else would she want to have in addition?
Doubts, doubts, doubts. I could not sleep the rest of the night.
The sound of the alarm clock was sweet. I was huffy at breakfast,
hardly ate any. I could sense Nicole feeling I was behaving
weird, especially after great sex. I was angry with myself for
all the weird thoughts that had come to me at night. I knew my
feelings were at odds with those of Nicole. After great sex she
always felt happy and gay like a butterfly.

Later in the morning I phoned home and apologized for my mood in
the morning. She said she could understand my drained out mood
and in turn apologized for milking me dry. Yes, her pussy had a
way of squeezing out every drop of juice in my manhood. I could
not tell her that it was my doubts and lack of sleep that had
left me feeling as I did. Anyway for the next 2-3 days we did not
have many interactions. I came home late after normal bedtime for
her or she came late from her girls' night out after I had fallen
asleep. 

It was Friday when we went to bed together and in good mood. I
wanted her to play-dough me. We were exchanging notes about
mundane events of the day as we lay together. I interjected,
"Your play-dough is ready", as I drew her close to me. "I will do
that for you if you promise to suck my pussy", she said. She put
her hand where it should have already been, and added, "you
better become a good pussy sucker". She kissed me thrusting her
tongue into my dazed mouth, swirling it left and right, up and
down, touching the tip of my tongue and swirling it round and
round: sealing our lips to lips, she sucked hard like a vacuum,
making my cheeks cave in. Obviously those were instructions on
how to suck her pussy. I had not been much of a pussy eater, had
been clumsy, and could only eat pussy on a single breath having
to surface up frequently for air. She didn't like such
sucker-interrupts. So we had practically given up oral sex,
except for special occasions. So, her new demand, with
instructions on how to, baffled me. I couldn't figure out what
the special occasion was for which she wanted me to lick her
pussy and tickle her clit with my tongue. But I knew it had to be
a special occasion for her, to want me to do so even if I was not
too competent at it. To add to my puzzlement she transformed her
leisurely handwork on me to quick and vigorous long strokes and
jerked me off quick, in spite of my protesting moans, groans,
grunts, and whimpers. I surmised that she was in a hurry to get
to her turn. Before I could wipe myself off she commanded with
earnestness in her voice, "Quick, put your kisser on Rascal
Nicole's cunt". Realizing her need, I did the best I could, and
she had a rousing orgasm. 

Nicole reserved pussy eating and lewd language for special
occasions like a birthday or an anniversary or a special night
out on the town. Decision to buy our home, decision to buy a car,
decision to go on a summer holiday and such other decisions were
also celebrated by such pussy work and lewd sexy language. On
such occasions she would dispense with romantic lovemaking. She
would use words like fuck prick, cunt, kisser, bugger, and such
other words were use. She would just sit on my face and rub her
pussy all over my face, plug my nose to it and eventually get my
tongue in. Sometimes she would want the tip of my tongue to
tickle her anus. On such occasions she called herself as "Rascal
Nicole". 

After her rousing orgasm she fell into sleep like a lamb. With
all the taste of her in my mouth and her juices drying on spots
on my face, I had a throbbing hard on which I did not want. I
wanted to think. But the musky taste and smell and the throbbing
in my prick were robbing the clarity of my thinking. The
throbbing was completely out of place, especially because she had
just jerked me off. After much tossing and turning and telling
myself that whatever the special occasion was would eventually
become known, I slipped off to sleep.

A couple of days later while we were mutually comfortably
positioned in bed, she complemented me on the pussy sucking job I
had done a couple of nights ago. She said she was fortunate to
have a husband like me who knew how to please his wife. She said
she was conferring the honor of sucking her pussy exclusively on
me, and never let anyone else do it, even if she were ever to
take a lover.

Boldly I asked, "Why, are you thinking of taking a lover?" She
looked at me like I had grossly offended her and replied curtly,
"Is the Queen of England a Catholic?"  We both laughed and
tickled each other before falling asleep. Between tickles and
giggles she said she would never make me suck out sloppy seconds
as they do in some ASSTR stories. It was thus quite by accident
that it slipped out of her that she had been reading the naughty
stories in the ASSTR collections. I could only hope that her
favorite collection was not the same as mine. And I don't know
why I like the cde collection and the like. 

Between giggles she had also made me promise that I would kiss
and suck her pussy and give a tongue massage to her clit whenever
she opened her thighs wide, day or night, in bed or not. Her
opening the thighs wide would be the signal, no words, and no
language. It amazes me to no end how husbands get trained to do
things for wives based on subtle signals such as a look, a smile,
and a finger movement. No wonder we are referred to as 'stupid
husbands', and I am a living proof myself.

Anyway, following the night of giggles and promises, I was
wide-awake early in the morning. My mind was clear. It dawned on
me that the special occasion night of a couple of days ago was to
mark an important decision she had made - to explore the idea
that my sister had put in her head.  This became apparent to me
much later. It was also later that I realized that having made a
decision, she went about things methodically, objectively and
step by step. I have always felt pride about her systematic and
organized approach to things and tasks.

Two or three weeks went by without anything special to report
except that I would find her thighs wide open sometimes in the
middle of the night and sometimes early in the morning upon her
return from the bathroom after emptying her bladder. And I put my
mouth to work and kept my husband's word (and work) of honor. She
was full of joy and full of love for me. Cooked all my favorite
dishes and mended all my torn socks. Sent me off to work with
kisses and hugs and welcomed me home in the same way. She also
jerked me off tenderly, and with lots of sweet kissing and
cooing, taking her time to play-dough me enough to make me rise
to the occasion. But my work pressures kept me from rising to the
occasion every time, although in my mind I was always risen.

It was a Wednesday night and a transformer went out at school
causing the building where I taught to lose power.  Class was
excused three hours early. Thank goodness for small favors I
thought as I drove home. Not having been by to see mother in a
while, I decided to surprise her and stop by for a bit before
going home and surprising Nicole too, by coming home at a decent
hour.

As I turned the corner to mom's house. I noticed a couple of cars
in the driveway along side my mother's. Obviously mother was
having her bridge club or some visitors. I debated whether to
stop or drive on. I thought I would just say hi and bye even if
she had visitors. I rang the doorbell but was surprised when my
sister opened it. Mother was right behind her. They just stood
there looking at me, like they had not seen me for a long long
time. Mother finally asked "what brings you to my neck of the
woods son? I would love to ask you to come in, but I have some
house guests," and she gestured upstairs.  My sister made sounds
of agreement. Adding she said, "Nicole phoned here for you, she
said she had called your office too but you were not there". 

I couldn't help thinking of Nicole needing me with her thighs
wide open. When a woman needs it, she needs it in a hurry. The
pulse quickened in me. I said, "OK, bye, I am on my way". I
quickly got in my car and tore off towards home. After I had
driven perhaps 20 minutes and close to home, I recalled that
Mother's TV had been on and on high volume. I also recalled that
one of the cars on her driveway had looked familiar. The more I
strained my memory to recall what I had seen, the more it looked
like Nicole's car. It couldn't have been, I told myself. Why
would she call there looking for me, and be there at the same
time?  It did not make any logical sense. I was already close to
home and I didn't feel like driving all the way back there just
to check out some devil of a mind's doubts. 

When I went home, all there was a scribbled note from Nicole.
"Honey, I have some out of state friends in town and I may be
going to a ball game with them and to a dinner and what not. I
may be late. Don't wait up for me. There is stuff to microwave. I
have also kept a couple of beers in the frig. I think there is
baseball on TV tonight; may be you can bring your bat out and
pretend play. I love you darling."  Accordingly I warmed the food
and sat down with it in front of the TV to watch the ball game.
My team was hitting and hitting hard. On the victorious final
ball I took out my bat and trashed hard and fast just as Nicole
had wanted me, celebrating my team's victory to the roar of the
crowd.

I must have dozed off on the sofa. When I woke up in the wee
hours, the TV was going zigzag. Obviously Nicole was not home yet
or else she would have turned the TV off and covered me with a
blanket. I became wide awake and my sister's face came to mind,
her face, as I was leaving mother's house, to hurry home to
Nicole. The face had a smirk on it. I was not sure if I was
imagining it, or my storehouse of memory was putting it out now
with much clarity. Could it be that my mother and sister were in
conspiracy and that Nicole was also right there upstairs? And
with Nick?  What could they have been doing? Why were mother and
sister in such great hurry to get rid of me? Why was the TV
volume so loud? I remembered mother's upstairs floor creaked!
Yes, the higher volume of the TV was to hide the creaking
upstairs. I guess I am a bit like that detective character
Columbo. It felt good that I had begun to put the pieces of the
puzzle together. Or, had I? Was the puzzle just in my
imagination? I remembered having read somewhere that a suspicious
man is an inadequate man. But I am an adequate man. So I told
myself that I should not give in to suspicious thoughts. I must
have fallen off into slumber again. 

CHAPTER 3: PRODUCTIVE HOMEWORK

I woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee. Nicole makes the best
bacon and the best coffee. At breakfast I asked Nicole how her
evening out was, and she chirped happily that it was great fun
and that she would tell me all about it when I had some time. As
I was leaving for work she asked if I could come home early, as
she wanted to discuss a few things she had been working at. My
curiosity went up and I promised to be home early. Good thing I
did not have any late afternoon or evening classes to teach that
day.

I did get home early. And the dinner was my favorite dish. Nicole
is a fantastic cook when she has the time. After dinner and
dishes we settled down on the chaise in the living room with our
favorite wine. We had had some jovial banter during dinner
remembering some old times. She seemed to want to hang on to that
mood. Obviously she had some misgivings on the discussion she
wanted. I was curious but also had a vague gnawing fear. I took
the initiative and ventured, "Well you wanted me home early and
here I am. What did you want to discuss, shoot," I quipped.

She seemed glad I opened the agenda. She preambled, "Francis
honey, promise to be quiet and hear me out. I will lay it out
completely and honestly before you.  Then we have choices to
make. I will always love you no matter what choice you make." "
You know that I have been looking forward to having a baby, to
hold, to cuddle, to nurture. I want to feel what it is like to be
a mother, what is to be making a child in my womb, to feel the
child kicking and turning in my tummy. And I know how much you
want us to have a baby. We have tried and tried and have found we
can't. And you know it is not my fault."   

I was listening intently to what she was saying. It was obvious
whose fault it was. It was mine, but I did not say anything. I
know when to keep quiet. She continued, "I don't want you to be
hurt by this, but you know your sperm count is low, very low
indeed. It will not be a healthy child even if by some fluke I
conceive your baby. I also believe that a happy human child comes
out of a passionate sexual intercourse between a man and a woman.
You know that our sex life has not been that for a long time now.
You have yourself said that God did not make you a well-hung
hunk. But I still love you. You are a wonderful, kind and caring
man, very understanding and accommodative to your woman. There
aren't many men like you. I want to grow old with you. I want you
to understand that."

I was all ears to what she was saying. What all she had said was
true. I was nodding my head in agreement, giving her positive
feedback to continue what she had to say. I was thankful she had
not mentioned the low volume of my juice, its watery thinness,
and the rarity of my shaft achieving full hardness or its speedy
collapse. In a way it is nice to put everything on the table in a
serious discussion. But she had put just the seminal points. That
sufficed.  

She shifted and repositioned herself on the love seat, looked at
me to see if it was okay to go on, and continued. "Darling, I
don't have to tell you that love is different from sex, as
different as gender is from sex. I am a passionate, lusty,
all-American girl. I am in my bloom, I want sex and I want a
baby. Your brother Nick is capable of giving me both. And as you
know your own mother and sister are for it. But as you know that
has been a distasteful idea for me because I have been a one-man
woman. What I had heard about Nick had made it doubly distasteful
to me. I want you to understand that." And she looked at me
intently to see if I was with her so far, and I was. I conveyed
as much by gestures and gutturals and especially with my eyes.
Yes, a husband's eyes can transmit genuine communication,
especially of love and empathy.

Nicole continued, "A few weeks ago, your mother suggested that I
at least meet Nick and verify first hand, the second hand
impressions I have of him. She noted that I should be objective,
unbiased and trust my intuitions. Your mother has her faults but
she is a wise woman..."

I didn't like the turn her words had taken and tried to
interject, "But, Nicole, do you mean to."  She cut me short with
a highly disapproving look, "Francis, dear, I asked you to listen
and hear me out before you say anything. Would you? Please let me
finish." 

I should have known better than to interrupt my systematic and
organized wife. So, I took on an attentive posture again. For
some reason, there was a stirring in my loins; I guess an excited
anticipation to hear the conclusions from her unbiased and
objective observations of big bully Nick. She continued, "So far
I have met him four times, the first was at your mother's, over a
cup of coffee and home baked cake. Mother and he talked mostly,
on kinds of things that you and she talk. I mostly observed him,
his mannerisms, and tried to assess his underlying attitudes and
orientations. He came across as a regular guy, like any of your
colleagues, except that he is a big guy with a deep manly voice
that the broadcast industry would like."

I was beginning to fume, telling myself, 'There he does it again,
charming the lady with his deep voice.' I knew he was a snake and
was going to strike. The snake in me was also rising, as if to
strike him back, venom for venom. I controlled my anger to hear
more of what she had to say.  

Nicole could tell I was not happy at what I was hearing. She
added reassurance, "I know you're becoming upset. I know I have
gone and done this investigating behind your back, but only to
present you with the findings, and for us to make some important
life decisions. Now let me tell you about my second impression of
him. I met him for lunch at Totollinis. I observed his table
manners and his choice of the menu. He has become a vegetarian. I
tried to draw him out on critical issues you and I hold dear,
like world peace, ecology, music and arts. Except in music, his
tastes and orientations are similar to ours. He likes lifting
weights and makes it a point to work out regularly. He watches
his weight and what he eats. He has dabbled a bit in theater, has
taken lessons in martial arts, and computer imaging. He said that
many years ago he had written some erotica but did not make any
attempt to seek publication. We sat for a long time, but he was a
thorough gentleman. He was respectful of me and he expressed
regret that he had mistreated you and bullied you when he was a
young brat. He feels very protective towards you now and is proud
that you surpassed him in scholastics and have become a
professor. He said he would be sending over a superduper laptop
for you that he no longer needs. I tried to decline on your
behalf, but he would not listen. It came a couple of days ago and
I have it in the attic, wanting to give you this narration first.
Don't you think that's really nice of him? It shows he has a
caring and sharing nature."
  
"Did you ask him to make you pregnant?" I shot at her, discarding
all the biodata she had carefully compiled.

Nicole looked at me with a kind and understanding expression. "Oh
Francis, you have been traumatized in your teens. May be we
should explore some sort of therapy for you. But I am inclined to
think it might just suffice if the two of you got together, shook
hands and gave hugs to each other."  I wanted to add, "and kisses
on the cheeks as they do in the middle-east." Instead I ate my
words and quickly counted to ten backwards. She continued with
obvious pity in her eyes, "Francis, you are jumping to
conclusions. I will put it categorically, emphatically and
definitively - no, he did not jump me. Satisfied? Do you think I
am a bitch? You know I am not that kind of a woman. I want us to
think together and make some intelligent life-choices. We want to
be a family. We want a child. I am telling you all as it is. Will
you please keep your wild thoughts on leash? Will you hear me out
or shall I stop?" 

I felt very much chastised. Her rebuke was justified. I had been
jumping to conclusions. I told myself I should have more trust in
my wife, more than in my mother and sister. I apologized in a
chided voice, "I am sorry honey, I guess I have been edgy with
all this talk about Nick. May be it is my own venom that I have
shifted to him. Yes, please continue. I promise I will hear you
out as you wish. Your wish is my command, my queen'" I tried to
inject some humor to make up for the coarse words I had uttered.

"That is better. I accept your apologies. Let me continue where
was I? Yes, for our third meeting I met him at his apartment.
Now, don't jump to conclusions again. I wanted a quiet place to
administer some personality and psychological tests like the
MMPI, the Inkblot test and the TAT. I also gave him an
aggressiveness-assertiveness test to see if he was still a bully.
He answered them all patiently. And his bulliness score was very
low, the personality scores showed him to be amiable and his
thought processes were no different than what you would expect in
a horny single guy." She gave a pleased smile and blushed
slightly, but quickly continued not wanting me to butt into her
narrative report. "I had earlier taken a quick tour of his home.
He had it neat, clean and orderly. I did not find anything
unwholesome or objectionable except stacks of Playboy and the
like and in his bedroom some posters of provocative sex kittens.
That is quite understandable for a single guy. I looked for any
souvenir panty collection he may have, but did not find any."

I found an interval to pose a question, "How about his
psychological test scores? Don't you think it needs an expert to
interpret them?"

"Yes, I was just about to come to it. I am no expert as you
rightly pointed out. I had them scored and interpreted by my
friend in the Psych department without revealing the identity of
the respondent. I must say the tests gave him a positive profile.
My amateurish interpretation turned out to be OK."

My mind forgot its resolve again and went abuzz. Her going to his
apartment was not at all right. God knows what message it sent
him. The two of them, alone in his apartment, and he was a
gentleman? His crotch must have bulged. She must have seen it.
Her needs didn't get the better of her? She didn't melt into him?
Give me a break! Just listening to her narrative was putting
tingles in my crotch. Naturally my thoughts started running
faster than her words, and my head was getting overloaded; I had
to have a break. "Nicole, honey, would you like a drink, you have
been talking a whole lot, you must be thirsty," I interjected
wanting a break to regain my mental composure.  

While I fixed drinks she went to take a leak. I needed one too.
When I came back she was on her back on the sofa, with her thighs
wide open and her pussy staring at me. She knew where she wanted
my stamp of approval. And I knew where she wanted me to stick my
stamp of approval. Also, she must have also figured out my
thoughts that as a married woman it was not proper for her to
have gone alone to his apartment. And for this she knew she
should be whipped and lashed out. By opening her thighs wide and
with no panty to cover her bush, she was telling me where to
whack her and at the same time where to put my stamp of approval
for her systematic and methodical research on my brother. So, I
concurrently made her suffer the punishment and obtain the stamp
of approval. I was a bit harsh but also gentle. After all, she
was my wife. So with my lips I separated her pussy lips, and
spanked her clit from every angle, while my mind processed
pictures of them together in his apartment. She started
shuddering and quivering due to my spanking pulls, pushes and
thrusts. Finally I said enough is enough and let her go. When she
sat up she knew she had gotten what was coming to her. My mind
had also become calm, having exhausted its work. We both sat in
silent company of each other, me sipping the Vulcan Bull that I
had fixed for myself, and she her Bloody Mary. Nothing needed to
be spoken in this companionship. My mind was going over what all
had surfaced in the course of the evening and also peeking at
what was yet to surface. Yes, there still was trepidation in the
back burners of my mind. But a good husband hides such
apprehension and bides his time.  No doubt, her mind was
formulating the words to say what she had not yet said.

She broke the silence sweetly, "Honey bun, I think you heard
enough for to-day? I am being long winded and boring you. Shall
we to go to sleep?" she cooed sweetly with obvious concern for
me. She usually knows when I am bored and when I am sleepy. But I
was neither bored nor sleepy. And she also knows that my
professorial mind is capable of handling any amount of
information overload. 

In semi agreement with her I suggested, "yes, why don't we go up
and talk in bed," wanting to be in a more intimate position while
we talked. Yes, she was being long winded. I had no sense where
the narration was heading. Her furtive glances at me were
uncharacteristic of her. 

But she was on a role. She wanted to tell me what she wanted to
tell me. "Yes, in a minute. Before we do that let me also tell
you that one of the tests I gave him is the questionnaire from
the Red Book, remember, the one we took a few months ago?"

I interjected in disbelief, "You mean the one on sexual
compatibility and preferred practices?  But, but.." The degree of
discomfort in my voice made her look deep into my eyes with
reassuring smile. "Darling, it was just to put some humor because
I was loading him with all kinds of serious questionnaires and
tests," she said, and continued on, "I also wanted to see if he
would be boastful or truthful; weird or kinky. No he wasn't
boastful, weird or kinky; if he had, his B, W and K scores would
have come out ridiculously higher. As a matter of fact it was
only believably higher than yours." She gave me an assuring look
and ended the sentence with a tone of finality on the issue.  

Quickly changing the subject, she went on to speak about the
questions she had posed with respect to how he felt about
children, his philosophy on child rearing, and father-child
relationship matters and so on. My mind was still on the Red Book
questionnaire, trying to recall the aspects it touched upon, and
what she meant by his scores on Weird, Kinky and Boast scales
being a bit higher than mine. I should have asked her to
elaborate, but the moment had passed. 

She chattered on, "Fran darling, you have to understand that if I
went to this extent in my research, you must know how much I want
us to have a baby. I know you have some disagreements with your
brother.  But you have to understand that I love you more than
you realize. Any way, I've now gotten to know your brother
better. He does have a lot of good qualities now whatever he may
have been when he was younger. I want you to give him a chance,
darling." As an after thought she added, "I want us all to work
out, honey! I am sure you do too." I tried to reply but couldn't.
 I was tongue tied at hearing my wife rattling off so
matter-of-factly. What was there for US ALL to work out?
 
She got up and pulled me towards the bedroom, "Let's talk in
bed". I followed obediently. As we were going she abruptly said,
"I hope you realize what it's like for me to be a woman in heat,
especially without a stud around." She laughed at her own joke. I
didn't think it was funny, but I had to fake an Unhu agreement,
as husbands often do. She continued, "Darling, tell me a man
thing. Is it true that some men can get their woman off two or
three times in a night?"  It was one of those questions to which
a husband should not answer yes or no. In either case he will end
up showing in poor light. I was quick to equivocate, "I have also
heard that in the locker room, may be so in exceptional cases." I
was glad we reached the bedroom and the subject dropped.

Once we were comfortably settled in bed, her hand slid down my
belly and cupped my balls. Her fingers slowly began to examine
what they had held. I made appropriate gestures of reciprocating
her affections. But I was itching to hear more of what she had
been working at. Too many things had gone on behind my back and I
wanted to know if there was more. I wanted her to tell me all
while I was enjoying her hand was on her usual exploration of my
front. In a tone that conveyed my approval of her exploring hand
I asked, "Tell me darling, amidst all your questionnaires and
questions, did you ask him if he would be willing to father your
child?" Yes, I had put a blunt question. I wanted to know the
bottom line and where I stood. I wanted to hear the answer in the
negative. On the back burners of my mind was a confident and good
feeling that my woman was consulting and thinking through with me
in all frankness. Many a wife in this sort of a situation would
have gone and got herself inseminated behind their husband's
back. But not my Nicole. She may be toying with the idea out of
sheer necessity. But no, not her. She was a one-man woman.  

Yes, my question was too blunt and I had used the word 'your
child' when I should have used the word 'our child'. It had just
slipped out of me like that. Luckily she did not pick up on my
error. May be she heard me say 'our'. In my experience most women
hear what they want to hear. Lucky for me.

While she was formulating her response I wanted to make my stand
quite clear. I affirmed in a manly voice, "I just don't like
another dick slipping into you." I gave the statement an air of
finality, while at the same time affectionately slipping my
middle finger into her. She did not respond for about half a
minute. Her hand kept moving back and forth from my balls to the
flaccid shaft. Taking my question matter of factly she responded
in all honesty, "No, I did not ask him the fathering question. It
was too early in the game at that point. I wanted us, you and me,
to have all my research data on him before we - that is you and
me, asked him. Mother may have mentioned our situation to him and
that we might need a sperm donor. He may have made his guesses as
to why I was trying to know him, with all questions and
questionnaires etc., but he was a gentleman. Didn't ask any
questions. May be he wanted to probe me later." She fell silent
for a minute, looking at me off and on. Expecting her to
continue, I stayed quiet, except for my finger that was trying to
make communion with her clit. I put my hand on autopilot and made
my mind all ears to what she would respond. What she would
respond to my objections for another dick probing her.

"Fran darling, you know I love you more than I love myself; I
would never let anyone slip into me for the fun of it. Never,
never, never!!!"  She moved back a bit to face me, to make eye
contact. Naturally my finger lost its place. Her voice was
accusatory, "You combined two questions into one. That does not
make a dialogue, which is what we should have. It is like my
grabbing your two balls and squeezing into one". And she reached
her hand out and acted it out. She had made the point. The
squeezing hurt me a bit, as my question must have been to her. 

She went on magnanimously, "Let me see if I can answer both
questions, second question, first" she said. "But let me beat
around the bush a bit to come to the point, it will make sense to
your academic mind" she said just as I put my hand affectionately
on her bush. "Let us take the macro perspective of our nation
going into Granada, Panama, Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan just to
take a few instances. Why did we go in? We wanted to give them a
new life, a new joy, a feeling of peace within, and solidarity
with the world around them. We just didn't go in there to bomb
the hell out of them just for our pleasure did we?" She looked at
me for an answer. It was not just a rhetorical question. She was
dead right. There was only one answer, "We went in there for a
greater good," I said tamely. 

Pleased that I had seen her point she continued, "It is the
purpose that makes the difference is it not? If we had not put
ourselves into those countries where would they be to-day? We
moved in and we moved out. Got in, did our job and got out. We
did not plant our flag there and stay in. Is it not?" She was
looking straight into my conscience. As a patriot American I had
to nod my head in agreement with her. Confident she had made the
analogy obvious to me, she went on chuckling in a joking tone,
"About any old Tom or Harry slipping their dick into me, they are
not under consideration, only Nick is. He is an American and your
own blood brother, and only his dick can slip in and slip out of
me, for a purpose you and I know very well. And that too if You
and I both jointly make the decision to allow him to do so. So,
darling put this thought of any old dick slipping into me out of
your mind. I love you too much to let Tommy or Harry or Dick near
me." She drew close to me with affection, resting her palm on my
flaccid dick.
 
She continued on, "Now let me come to your first question,
whether I popped the question to him about his willingness to
release his semen, his sperms in my vagina." Her voice was calm
and she continued. "No, I did not ask him that question, not at
that point in time. I wanted to wait until we both - you and me -
had had a chance to evaluate my research data. But yesterday it
became obvious that his response to that question would also be
data for us to consider. There is no point in us going to the
point of accepting him if he was going to say no. So, I posed
that question to him in a subtle way yesterday when I met him at
your mother's place. I was in meeting with him when you dropped
by." She blushed and looked away. 

My mind immediately went back to remember my hunch of the
previous day, when I was driving home after I left mother's
place. I was right. It was Nicole's car I had seen. She must have
realized I had seen her car. No wonder she wanted to tell it all
before I quizzed her, or asked my mother or my sister. I wondered
what else of my hunch was right? Surprisingly I kept my cool and
helped her to continue, "So, that was the fourth meeting with
him. What was on the agenda?" I asked.

"Your sister had insisted that I should give him a physical
examination also to complete the profile I was building. She said
better do it now rather than later feel sorry. So, I wanted to
make sure he did not have any physical deformities or repulsive
birth marks in other ways. I simply asked him to show me his
birthday suit."

I had lost eye contact. She had blushed even more. I could see
that she wanted to tell me all and let it all hang out, but her
womanly bashfulness was coming in the way. At such times a wife
needs her husband's manly boldness of expression to come to her
aid. It was an acid test for my gallantry. I figured that
responding to straightforward questions was the best way to let
her express herself and also do so briefly in her blushed and
bashful condition. As for the questions to pose her, I relied on
my memory of the physical examination she had put me through
during our dating days. I asked "Did you find any unsightly
birthmarks on any part of his body suit?"

"No, but he has a lot of hair on his chest," she replied
obviously relieved that I too wanted just the facts.

"Did the hair have perspiration odor or feel coarse?"

"No, there was no bad perspiration odor and it felt smooth and
silky like the hair on his head."

"That is good. What about pubic hair or hair on the scrotum?"

"No bad smell, strong masculine odor, and the hairs were short
and silky smooth."

"Must be high levels of testosterone then. That is good! Was he
well hung, did his musket present you an honor guard? Did it feel
robust, hard, and clean?

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, it was rock hard, uniform in thickness,
rather longer and thicker too."

Remembering what she had done to me before she decided to go
steady with me, I wanted to ask if she had tried to measure the
circumference with her mouth, but did not know how to phrase the
question without invading her privacy. I also wanted to ask if
she had fired the musket to see how far the bullets would go,
again remembering what she had put me through. In my case she had
also wanted to smell and taste the pellets, as she was new to it
all and wanted to learn as much as possible. But I postponed
ascertaining whether she had applied these same tests to Nick. At
present it was enough to focus on more seminal issues.

"I hope not so big as to create physical damage or undue wear and
tear," I smiled jokingly. She laughed and said, "No, I hope
not... I don't think we need to worry on that account. Women have
capacities that men do not usually believe," she replied in a
similar joking way.

I inquired "Recall your saying that a new life should come out of
the passionate rough and tumble of man and woman. Were you able
to test out the potentialities and probabilities in this
respect?" 

"Yes, in a limited way. I put him through a simulation of the rub
and tumble."

"I don't understand how can one simulate the rough and tumble
without appropriate emotions, Can you elaborate that." My
curiosity rose up, along with my manhood, which had been on an
upward climb since I had started posing this set of questions to
her. I dare say that the palm that had come to rest on my then
flaccid member had picked up a message in these rising trends. I
hoped that these were not interpreted as glad tidings. But
meanings are in the minds of beholders and we some times give
unintended messages.

My last question had challenged her to be bold, much like a
witness in a court of law. She had to find the words herself now.
She became daring, looked me in the eyes and calmly said, "Sure,
one can, like women fake orgasms, like actors and actresses sex
it up in porno movies, without actually sexing." 

"Oh, I see, there may not be penetration but they do rub breast
to breast, and put bare thighs within bare thighs and act out a
rocking in and rocking out. And we see it in the movie as if it
is the real McCoy."

"Yes, you got the picture now," she said without batting her
eyes. Only her face was still a bit red. She had acquitted
herself very well, and reported all she had wanted to report on
this aspect. I moved her to a related track that had been
triggered in my mind now. 

"Did he want to inspect your birthday suit too? And did he find
anything unacceptable to him?" 

"No. He said something about him being able to tell a book from
its covers. I didn't quite understand that. I thought it would
only be fair to reciprocate his openness. I got into my birthday
suit, taking my own time. From his facial expressions I inferred
that he did not find anything unacceptable, in fact more than
acceptable I should say. He said he found my juices delicious,
and my saliva appetizing. He complimented my body odor to be
sweet-scented, spine-tingling, and lifting."

I would have said the same except for the lifting. What is
lifting to one may not be lifting to another. But I wasn't going
to quibble with his words. I continued to help her out in
presenting her data, "Did he think you were too petite and
delicate, especially in view of his big size?" We had both been
conversing now "in tongue" now.

"Yes, he said they looked delicate and felt soft. He did not
think they were petite. On the size question, he believes that
men and women are biologically built to accommodate each other
more physiologically than psychologically."

"Was it then that you asked him the million dollar question? How
did you phrase it exactly?  I wish I was there to help you out
with my professorial competent vocabulary," I said.

"Yes, shortly after I had completed my physical examination we
exchanged some small talk, and he said some small jokes, and I
ended up giving a small lecture on the topic Small is Beautiful.
As for his willingness, the words were not hard to come. In fact
it was quite spontaneous. Actually I wanted you to pop the
question - man to man, that is if that is what we had decided to
do after considering all my research data. Anyway what I asked
does not commit us to anything. I was quite vague, wanting only
to ascertain his inclinations, like your sister had suggested.
What I asked him was if he would be willing to partner me to a
mating dance at the uptown Bedrow," she beamed proudly at her own
cleverly put question. She had deliberately flubbed 'bedroom' and
'upstairs'. Bedrow is also a glitzy hotel uptown that is known
for its fancy popular dance competitions every spring.

"You know what his answer was?" she continued with earnestness in
her voice, "He said he could, but only if you consented,
consecrated, and choreographed the dance. Oh, he also wondered if
the uptown Bedrow had appropriate professional settings. I lost
him there! I didn't understand what he was alluding to, but I let
it go as I did not want to appear dumb." 

After a silent gap she said, "There, that is my report. I am glad
you heard me out. What do you think?" she asked. She had relief
in her voice now that she had let it all hang out after she had
thought out things. I had begun to hang out, in my own a small
way I have confessed earlier in this essay, even though I had not
fully thought out anything. Fortuitously, her hand that had come
to rest on a flaccid part of my anatomy had gathered intelligence
and interpreted glad tidings from my stirrings and expansions.
Nicole is a smart and sharp lady. She concluded we had made a
decision, if only a decision in principal. (This has come to be
known in professional jargon as decision by anti-flaccidity.) She
inched closer to me, gave me a full kiss and said, "You are a
darling," and she gave me another kiss pushing her tongue into my
mouth. We engaged in a battle of the tongues as equals. Now I was
able to wag my tongue quite a bit to make up for all the rest I
had given it while she was wagging her tongue all through our
discussions. I love my wife. She is smart, cute, passionate,
lusty, logical, does her homework and gets her way.

When we had had enough of sucking tongues, I decided it was time
for me to show that I wear the pants in our family. It is the
husband that should wear the pants in the family. And I was
playing the husband role. "Have you had a chance to investigate
any other options," I asked in all seriousness.

"Oh yes. Why did I forget to mention it," she chirped not really
wanting to answer. "There is plan C, but it asks a lot of you,"
she added.

I asked her what plan C was. She went on to describe it as she
had read it in the encyclopedia on sperm deficiency. It called
for a six-month treatment of acupuncture on the penis as well as
the scrotum accompanied by absolute abstinence in action as well
as thought. She asked if absolute abstinence in thought would be
possible in my case when I was teaching classes that were packed
with young and brimming firm coeds. She added that it would cause
much hardship on her and that she might shrivel up where she has
been blossoming. 

She was right on the dot. As a husband it would be selfish as
well as inhuman on my part to indulge in total abstinence in
thought and deed; the deed would also put her through undue
hardship. It would also be inhuman to put myself under needles in
wrong places and perhaps in wrong hands. 

However, husbanding involves taking time to do the right things,
and doing things right the first time. Husbanding also involves
sleeping over things and thoughts or at least appearing to do so.
So, I suggested that we mull things over for a day or two and
catch some shuteye for the night. Having bared her conscience she
had no difficulty in capturing shut eye. My conscience was in my
crotch choreographing the dance she desired, and so was my hand.

CHAPTER 4: A FAMILY REUNION

I let a couple of days go by during with I tried to look
ponderous. I felt genuinely affectionate towards Nicole. She
deserved it for her candid reporting and thorough investigation
of the options that faced us. I only wished that coeds in my
classes did their research papers with such thoroughness. I was
not only willing to give them top marks but also engage them in a
dialogue to improve the quality of the paper to come up to
excellent rating.

Anyway, I thought I should meet my new improved and reformed
brother Nick to assess him myself. So, as Nicole was setting the
dinner table I called mother and suggested that she arrange a
family reunion where I could meet Nick whom I had not seen for a
long time. Mother called back and said she could not arrange it
until the coming Friday which happened to be the Octoberfest
week. Nicole heard our conversation. She must have felt good that
her research on Nick had not gone down the tube. It showed in her
happy face. She seemed to have a lot of time until the Friday
rolled around, because everyday she cooked up a storm. At dinner
one day, I casually wondered if low sperm count was hereditary,
and whether we should ask Nick to go get a sperm count. Nicole
looked at me as if she were a hurricane. She said if that is the
case, we would know pretty quick, without making Nick feel
defensive or challenged.  Then, in a softer tone she said, "We
have to bite the bullet, Francis, if we are going to get anywhere
in life." She was right as usual. I am sure she had compiled
research statistics on the probability of two brothers being
similar in this respect.

Friday, late afternoon, we all had a backyard family picnic at
mother's place. It was a beautiful warm day and all the three
girls wore short summer dresses. Nick shook hands warmly and gave
me a bear hug. He mentioned that he had heard glowing reports
about my teaching from some of his friends and colleagues whose
sisters or girl friends had been or were my students. He said he
was proud of my prestigious social rank as an academic. He was
quite talker and kept us all entertained by his humor and stories
of fishing trips. I began to feel that he had indeed changed and
was a mature and responsible person although academically an
underachiever.

Because it was Octoberfest mother had cooked up German sausages
and sour kraut. We sat on the picnic bench in the back yard.
Mother sat between me and Nick, Nicole and my Sister sat on the
other side, with Nicole directly opposite Nick. Nick was going on
with his fishing stories and we were all laughing away. Suddenly
I noticed that Nicole was eating the German sausage holding it
like an ice cream cone, and licking and nibbling on it ever so
delicately. Then I noticed my sister also doing the same. Both
were intently absorbed in listening to nick's story, their eyes
riveted on him. Then I noticed mother and Nick too eating their
German sausages in the same way. I was the only person eating it
the regular way sandwiching it in a bun. Only my plate had sour
kraut, they obviously having eaten theirs first, or may be they
were going back to it later. If you know Asch's family might look
like he was sexing Nicole. He also said that I would have to play
a doctor-like role choreographing his every move, and that he
would only be lending his tool for me to direct it as I would.
Anyway he said he would ask my sister to be the attending nurse
and would brief her on the details of the procedure. On the way
home, I told Nicole the gist of my conversation with Nick and
needless to say she was overjoyed, and expressed it in her usual
way by reaching for me where I like to be reached and played
with.  

CHAPTER 5: THE MAESTRO AND THE MATING DANCE

The next day which was a Saturday I had all day golf game with
some colleagues and graduate students. Then we all went out for
dinner as scheduled. So, by the time I reached home it was after
eight O'clock. The house was buzzing with activity. My mother and
sister were there, going up and down the stairs; they seemed to
be arranging something. I couldn't help wonder why they were both
wearing some kind of light green house coats, like the kind they
give you in hospitals. Nicole was no where to be seen. Tired by
the all day outing, I was about to take a beer from the cooler
and about to plop myself in front of the TV when my sister came
and told me to go take a shower. She also handed me a gown of the
same color she was and told me to put it on after the shower and
not to wear anything else underneath. She responded to my
quizzical look with an explanation, "Nick is going to be pushing
his seeds into Nicole shortly, he is showering now in the main
bathroom, I'll come and get you when you have showered and into
this gown," she pointed to the gown she had given me. As she was
hurrying up the stairs she shot a question,  "Didn't Mom tell you
this morning to be home by 7 p.m.?" in answer to my open mouth
and wide eyes that said, 'what is going on here?' As she was
departing I had also noticed that the housecoat she was wearing
was open in the front, and she did not have any under garments
underneath. I also noticed she had a nametag on her that said
'PROCTOR'. Mine is a nature that does not ask too many questions
when I see people busy doing what they appear competently busy.
So, I just picked up the housecoat and headed to my attached
bedroom. Stuck to the housecoat was a nametag that said DOCTOR. I
could not help deduce that I was to play the doctor role in the
insemination procedure that was going to take place.

I showered in my bathroom and put on the housecoat I had been
given. It was then that I noticed that it was also open in the
front, and the ribbon belt did not suffice to keep my maleness
hidden, especially if it started to raise itself. It occurred to
my smart academic mind that if I wore it backwards then my
maleness could be put undercover. So I did. As I was combing my
hair my sister came to get me. She signaled me to be silent and
led me to the guest bedroom.

The bedroom was looking more like a hospital room. The bed had
light green sheets; the pillow was also of the same color. Nicole
was lying on her back on the bed; she had been covered with a
white sheet from her breasts to her bladder with her bare arms at
her sides on top of the white sheet. Her thighs and legs were
spread apart, one thigh and leg was covered with a pink sheet and
the other was covered with a blue sheet. The only area that was
not covered by any sheet was her pubic and mound area and a strip
of flesh along the folds of the thigh. And of course her face too
was open. Nick was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing only
a robe similar to mine, but was wearing it with the open side at
the front. Even though he had tied it with its string belt, his
underside was slightly open and his erect manhood was peeking out
of the robe, ready to do its job. Nick had his eyes in a
blindfold. As Sis was leading me towards the bed she whispered to
me that Nick wanted this kind of hospital atmosphere. I noticed
Mother had a glad affirmative grin on her face and housecoat had
a nametag that said RECTOR. She was also wearing nothing under
the housecoat and her bush was a bit visible. Nick's nametag
proclaimed him as NECTOR. There was some melodious music in low
volume coming from somewhere and the room smelled like it had
been given a good dose of the antiseptic Dettol. Sis led me to a
side of the bed and moved a step back. Nicole who had been
following my entry with her shining eyes took my hand in hers and
gave a beaming blushing smile. I squeezed her had in reassurance.
Her excitement was contagious. I also began to feel some
excitement and stirrings in my bushes. Sis sensed I was at a loss
not knowing what to do next, provided a prompt, by addressing
Nick, "Nectar, the Doctor has come, he will position you now, and
give you step by step instructions." So, that was my role as the
doctor. I then remembered what he had said at the picnic, his
wanting me to choreograph his every move.

Nick greeted me with a response, "Hello Doctor, I am all yours
now." I motioned to PROCTOR to assist me, and began to help the
blindfolded NECTOR to take the classic missionary mounting
position above my wife. I then noticed Nicole's nametags stuck on
her nightgown. She had two, one said ACTOR, and the other said
VICTOR. I could not help but chuckle at the nomenclatures that
had been adopted. I was the DOCTOR helping the VICTOR/ACTOR to
get the sweet seeds from the NECTOR, aided by the PROCTOR under
the overall supervision of the RECTOR.

While I was enjoying the humor in the nomenclatures, the PROCTOR
suddenly remembered, "Oops, I forgot to blindfold the
ACTOR/VICTOR," and she ran and wrapped the blindfold on Nicole."
To my inquiring look, she answered by pointing to Nick and saying
"procedure." Noticing that the NECTOR was holding in a mounting
position, she signaled to me to grab his now fully enlarged shaft
and guide it to the sheath. Sis had a frown on her face
indicating that I was not lagging in my of guiding Nick for every
move. Chastised, I took the ready penis by one hand and checked
the sheath with the other to see if it was moist enough.  It was
moist all right, quite quite moist, and pulsing to receive. I
gently pulled Nick's penis downward and positioned it right on
top of my wife's pussy, just touching her vaginal lips. With two
fingers I opened her lips apart and pushed his penis just a
little in. That act of mine, as the husband of Nicole was an act
of sanctification. With the power vested in me as the husband of
one and the brother of another it brought a holiness tot what
otherwise would have been a sacrilege. 

Holding his penis in my hand was quite an electric feeling. It
was hard like steel, robust, strong and quite manly. Holding it
for that small duration made me proud of my brother, like I
suppose my academic achievements had made him proud of me. Yes,
it was longer, thicker and harder. I felt glad he was inserting
it into my wife. As my wife had said earlier, it was not just any
dick. It was of my own brother, my own flesh and blood. 

I began to give him step by step instructions, "Push a bit in,
just a bit; pull a bit out. Good. Push a bit in, just a bit; pull
a bit out. Good, Push a bit in, pull a bit out............ Keep
doing so, until you have reached the bottom or inserted yourself
all the way in. OK, I think you have gone all the way in. Now,
slowly pull out almost all the way, and slowly push all the way
in. Repeat that a few times...."

I asked my wife, "How are you doing Nicole, Is it OK? How is it
feeling?" 

A slow moan came out of Nicole, "Ooommmmm, it is feeling gooood,
reeeal gooood," and she sucked air through her teeth. She went
on, "I feel full, fuuuullll to the brimmmmh, it is beeeg!
Ooommmmm, it is feeling gooood."

I felt confident in my doctor role. The approving glances from
Mother and Sis boosted my confidence in throwing out
instructions. "OK Nick, now vary the pattern of your thrusts and
pulls, pull out quick, fast, and put back slowly, pullout quick
and push back slowly, do that a few times."  He did. Nicole
responded by a long sucking air through teeth sound, and gave
approving moans.

I felt good that my wife was enjoying the process of getting
inseminated. I changed instructions, "OK Nick, now reverse the
process, make your withdrawals slow, very slow, but make your
thrusts fast, almost like rams. ...... Good, that is the way.
Make ten of those." I instructed, and watched Nicole. Even though
she was blindfolded, I could tell she was in delightful
enjoyment. Nothing gives a husband more satisfaction than seeing
his wife getting good joyful sex.

"Now, Nick, let us change the pattern a bit. Pull out all the
way. Now just use the head part as your weapon to make fast short
thrusts and fast retractions. Just so it massages only up to the
clit and not beyond. Yes, that's the way. Good."  I glanced at my
dear sweet wife. Those short thrusts/massages tease the cunt,
making it want more intensity and deep thrusts. Yes, my wife was
indeed making impatient sounds, as if the candy that was given
was now taken away except on the top end. She made Unnhuu,
Unnhuu, Unnhuu, Unnhuu, that said 'give me all of it, give me
more of it'.  She yelled out, Ohhh Nick,  Ohh Francis, that were
music to my ears. "Oooh, Ooohhoo, gooood, Oh Nick, Oh Francis,
Unnhuu, Unnhuu, givvve  ittt ttto meee, givvve  ittt ttto meee,
Mmmmmmnnnoh, Mmmmmmnnnoh."

I was riding on top of the world. I had become a good
choreographer of sexing. "Nick," I said, " now pullout all the
way, yes, all the way out, and just rest the rod on pussy lips,
just barely touching pussy lips." Blindfolded Nick did exactly as
I bid him.

Nicole screamed, "Oh, Shit," she sucked air in through her teeth,
"Oh, give it me, damn it, give it to me, Fuck me, Fuck me, quick,
now, I mean NOW" she was howling. She was in full heat. Her egg
must had been released and traveled to where it was expecting to
meet a suitor!

I put my hand on Nick's buttocks to make him hear me, "OK brother
Nick, she is ready. Resume your deep penetrations and
retractions, but slowly, slowly, okay that is the way..." Moaning
sounds of approval and pleasure emanated from the bed. Also, the
mound started to jump up to meet the incoming thrusts.

"Nick, now gradually increase the speed of your pushes and pulls
and hold it at a pace comfortable to you," I instructed and
looked around to meet beaming faces of my mother and sister.
Mother gave a thumbs-up sign. Sis made an approving hole sign
joining her index finger and thumb.

Nicole started moaning and moving her head from side to side. She
was also making sounds of sucking air, thrusting her mound upward
meeting halfway the downward thrusts that were coming to her.
Then she came. She cummed with a great 'OOOmmmmfffffffffff' and a
quake, quiver, jolt; Head turning quickly and jerkily this way
and that way. She pulled off her blind fold, looked at me for a
split second and half closed her eyes; she was still coming. Nick
was pounding his thrusts at a steady pace, not yet ready to
finish off. Nick kept on fucking her at his steady pace. I
marveled at his staying power. Nicole had a second peaking of
climax. Her body quavered and quivered, trembled and shuddered,
with sounds of thrill, delight and relish escaping from her mouth
and nostrils.  Nick was still carrying on, still in a blindfold.
I thought it only fair that his blindfold should also come off.
My able PROCTOR sensed my thoughts and went and undid the knot of
his blindfold. VICTOR sensed something had changed, and opened
her eyes. NECTOR and VICTOR, now eye to eye, continued the
seeding operation. I realized that somewhere along the process of
discharging my role, my hands had also been making movements like
that of a music conductor. Now that Nick was off his blindfold I
repositioned myself where he could see my hands and perform
according to my hand movements. With appropriate hand gestures
and histrionics I instructed him to lower himself breast to
breast, grab the headboard and change his up-down thrusts to
forward-backward pubic rubbing motions that would also make his
balls rub her pussy lips. I just wanted to maximize my wife's
pleasure to the max. 

Nick followed my signals. The bed began to rock and make creaking
noises. That only served to increase the binding of the bodies on
the bed. The sheets had all come off now. Nick's gown now covered
only a small part of his back and shoulders. Mother's housecoat
had opened at the front and she had one hand with its middle
finger doing what Nick was doing to her daughter-in-law. Sis was
standing open mouthed enthralled by the performance she was
witnessing. Her gown was soaking wet in the front, and she was
unmindful of her juices running down the inside of both of her
thighs. The gown I was wearing backwards had long ago acquired a
protuberance from inside, small it may be, depending upon the
benchmark utilized, but it was at its max. 

The dance at the uptown Bedrow was taking place with an approving
and admiring audience of three. As its patron, architect and
sponsor I could feel nothing but pure joy of achievement. The
horizontal dancers were gazing into each others eyes, breathing
each other's breaths, feeling each other's body heat, sharing
each other's passion in lustful lock, engaged and bound in a
covenant that was sanctified by their mother/mother-in-law,
brother/husband and Sister/sister-in-law. Given these blessings
the tempo of forward-backward motions increased to warp speed,
the creaking went to a crescendo. The shaft released the seeds;
the sheath sucked them in and milked for more. The donor and the
donee bodies, locked together, rumbled, tumbled and thundered in
ecstatic satisfaction. My wife had had a joyful sanctified
fornication, received a sacred secretion and hopefully her egg
had met with a superior suitor sperm.  

CHAPTER 6: THE CURTAIN CALL 

The next morning I woke up with a good feeling about myself. I
had gone to bed in an euphoric mood because I had discovered a
new talent, that of conducting phalharmonics (or I could say
phallus-hormonics or pussharmonics). From a DOCTOR role I had
moved to a TUTOR role and then to a CONDUCTOR role. My sister, My
wife, my own mother had all paid compliments to my choreography,
direction and humor. It was like attending the Los Angeles
Philharmonic they had said. I am not usually given to flattery.
But in this case I had myself felt I had performed exceptionally
well, over and above the call of duty. It had given my wife
ecstatic pleasure that I had not seen her experience before, and
I felt good I had given her that kind of pleasure that I had
always wanted to, but had been unable to. Nick and I had
performed as a team. He had followed my directions very closely,
had acted as a remote extension of my shaft. My mind and his
shaft had functioned without a seam. We had become what they call
as a 'high performance' cohesive team. I felt good. 

Nicole had been up much before me. She was cooking a fantastic
breakfast. As I noted before she is a fantastic cook. All through
the morning she was beaming a smile, kept complimenting me and
thanking me, and showed her affection for me in new ways that I
had not known before. When I was reading the newspaper after my
Sunday morning chores of attending to the lawn etcetera, she came
to me and had me put my hand on her tummy and asked if I felt
anything? I didn't want to disappoint her and said, "Yes, I think
I feel something." She knew I could not feel anything that early,
but she was happy with my answer. She curled next to me on the
couch. "Darling, do you know you made me have fantastic sex last
night?" she asked with a blush. I looked at her feeling flattered
and nodded a simple agreement. "You know I climaxed at least
three times," she said, "I have never had that kind of super sex
before." 

I put the paper down, putting my professorial cap on, I went into
an explanation, "You see darling, there were some factors in the
equation yesterday. You were expecting a sterile hospital
procedure. But there was an audience that was rooting for you,
and you simply felt their supportive energy in your pussy. Their
presence in effect was what social psychologists call as 'social
facilitation'. Then there was your husband's reassuring and
enthusiastic voice directing the operations of the donor Nick.
This encouraged you subconsciously to shed all inhibitions and go
for the gold. Third, there was Nick who put himself entirely in
my hands and melded his penis with my mind. So it was your loving
hubby sexing through him. Fourth, Nick has a tool that is a
diamond. He seems to have a lot a staying power. And don't forget
that he was acting for a cause - the fertilization of your egg.
So, your initial perception of a sterile hospital atmosphere
quickly melted away by these other factors, and you had super sex
experience." 
 
Having given a brilliant explanation I looked at her for an
appreciative expression. But she seemed to be on the verge of
dozing off; still she managed to say, "Yes, Nick has a diamond, a
real diamond... she trailed off to sleep. She was quite tired
from the excitement and exhaustion of the previous night. I went
back to my newspaper hoping that she had heard all of my
explanation. She woke up after about an hour from a bad dream.
But went about cheerfully. She cooked a great Italian lunch. 

I watched a ball game in the afternoon and she was busy on the
phone and on the Internet. For dinner she put a rump roast in the
oven. As it got cooked its smell wafted through the house. It was
my favorite as she had developed a secret ingredient of her own
to cook it with. We sat down for dinner with our favorite wine.
She looked very happy and very relaxed. From time to time she
turned pink and I could tell a tinkle went through her spine each
time. Obviously she was going over her mental tapes of the
previous night. 

After dinner we relaxed comfortably in the living room with some
more wine. I asked her why she had blushed again and again during
dinner. It took some coaxing to get it out of her. She said she
was mentally acting out sexing it up with me via the diamond that
belonged to Nick. She asked me if I minded if her thoughts dwelt
upon the great sex she had. She said the sex she had, had made
every cell of her feel like a woman. She snuggled close to me and
ran her fingers on where my bulge would have been had I bulged. I
don't bulge much due to my limitations in that respect, which I
believe I have mentioned in an earlier chapter. I felt empathy
for her and wanted to ask her if she would like to have Nick come
for a sleepover, but I restrained myself thinking it might become
habit forming to her. 

We watched some TV, but nothing was interesting. Flipping
channels we caught the tail end of Ally McBee show.
Coincidentally the story line had a couple trying to have a baby
except that it was taking numerous attempts and they were having
a hard time to arrange privacy and time as they were both working
shifts. She was on day shift and he was on night shift. It was
quite a hilarious show. The show prompted Nicole to say that it
had taken 6 attempts to conceive Nick where as it had taken only
four for me. She said she got it straight from the horse's mouth,
meaning my mother. I hadn't known that. Boy, the kind of stuff
women talk among them is amazing! It triggered something very
significant in my mind. It came out as a question to her. "Do you
think you have become pregnant last night?" If she hadn't, all
that footwork she had done, and the leg-and-thigh-work I had
coordinated did not make didly-winks. I could tell both of us
were perturbed. But neither wanted to let the other know their
perturbation. Nothing more was spoken, only physical movements to
comfort each other and hands on each other's private anatomies
declaring our love for each other. Her hand that had come to rest
nonchalantly on my private anatomy had gathered intelligence and
interpreted it in a way favorable to her inclinations. She is a
smart and sharp lady in addition to being shapely. She concluded
we had made a decision, a decision by anti-flaccidity. (Yet we
went through the motions of rational thinking and decision making
as you will see.)

Monday was a workday and I got up late. So I had to rush off to
work. When I touched base with Nicole at lunch hour, she did not
sound happy. She sounded huffy and puffy, and said something
about my sister that I did not quite understand. She had good
reason to, after what I heard when I got home.

Sis had calculated that Nicole was at the peak of her fertility
cycle on that Saturday. Hence it had been arranged on that
Saturday for Nick to put his penis in her. Nicole had done some
recalculations of her fertility cycles. Her calculations had
shown that Sis was dead wrong. The recalculations showed that the
start of her fertility cycle was still two days away. So, the
sexing that had taken place between the doner and the donee had
been a non-starter. Her research during the day, on the net, and
on the phone to the Washington Head Office of the 'Proxy
Pregnancies Council of America', had revealed the reasons why
pregnancies are unlikely to take place in just one attempt. They
had said that for fertilization to take place the Ph factors and
Rh factors in the vagina should complement the same factors
present in the precum of a penis that enters the vagina. But in
the case of a proxy penis, not being accustomed to the Ph and Rh
factors, the female's factors fight them rather co-mingle and
create a smooth passage like a 'luge track' for the stranger
sperms to glide on forward. That in bottom line simply means that
if you are using a proxy penis, use it a number of times so that
the chemistry factors in the female's vagina become friendly
rather than hostile towards the Ph and Rh factors in the precum.
Thus, new research knowledge had made Nicole distraught, by the
time I got home. She had looked crest fallen because all her
thorough research had overlooked this one aspect. The erroneous
calculation by my Sis served only to add to our perturbation of
the previous night, our 'onetime seeding' assumption had been
rather na ve.

During dinner, (I must say that she mad managed to cook up a
special dinner despite the anguish she had experienced after her
said recalculations), we put our heads together and took stock of
where we were now, and where we wanted to be. We exchanged some
views but mostly mulled in our own heads. After I did the dishes
we sat down with some wine to loosen and share our thoughts. It
was obvious we could not accuse and lash out at my sister. Math
was never her strong suit. Rumor was that she passed math by
familiarizing her birthday suit to her math teacher.

We could not let my mother know that my sister had miscalculated.
She would naturally defend her daughter and ask why Nicole did
not do her homework. We were already feeling guilty for not
having done our homework. 

We couldn't tell Nick, "Oh oops Nick, your labor just went down
the tube." He had wanted all that hospital-like, antiseptic
environment, for planting a new life. He would feel he had been
made a fool. And he might say phooey to any new favor we may
request of him. 

So, the only sane and sensible way for us was to play the 'times
it took to conceive Nick and Francis'. That way we could induce
Nick to make some 'house calls'.

Nicole felt that Nick would not go for it. Probed further, she
said it was her intuition that he would not, based on the
elaborate ritual he had prescribed for the Saturday seeding. I
counseled that she might be jumping to conclusions because of
sheer pessimism she was feeling just then. I said that perhaps if
she had run a 'inclination test' of his body language when she
had given him the physical exam, we would have some real data.
She did not know what an inclination test was. She asked, "What
is an inclination test?"

I readily explained, "An inclination test is simply one where we
are sensitive to the inclinations of another's body language. You
see, each part of our body has its own consciousness, and its own
communication system. If we tap into this communication system,
then we can predict one's future behavior." She could only say,
"I lost you! I don't know what you are talking about."

"OK, look, when you gave him that physical examination at
mother's house, when you tried to measure the circumference his
manhood making your mouth the measuring calipers, did you sense
his body wanting to incline towards you or away from you," I
asked very matter of factly.

"If I recall correctly, I believe I sensed something incline
towards me, not away from me," she said. 

"Good. That is a partial predictor. Then, when you were testing
him in the simulation of the rough and tumble passion, did his
dickhead manage to slip ever so slightly into your pusscave?" I
asked as a follow up question, again in an academic unemotional
tone.

She strained to recall that distant memory, "Yes, I believe so. I
did not attach much importance to it at that time. How does that
help us now?"

I was relieved that my need, my obsessive need to know all the
crucial details of the physical examination Nicole had given to
Nick was now fulfilled. I breathed a sigh of relief. Naturally
Nicole had felt bashful to tell me all at that time. Now that we
were on an increased level of trust, she had comeforth with the
information. I felt like a detective that had cleverly discovered
the real facts. I did not let this success gloat on my face. I
answered her question ponderously, "yes, tidbits of information
tell us much about the world. These last two bits of information
you have provided are the two main components of the
'inclinations test'. They reveal his behavioral inclination,
should we ask him to make house calls. Based on what you have
told me, I predict that his response would be in the
affirmative," I looked at her triumphantly feeling good about my
ways of drawing out information and making data based scientific
deductions.

"The proof of the pudding is in its eating," she responded in
disbelief.(Did she mean Nick eating her? I didn't know  if Nick
was into eating pussy. I thought that is something she had
reserved for me. Or, did she mean she wanted to be eaten. I was
in a dilemma, not knowing what she meant. I looked at her with
squinted eyes to discern what she wanted from me. Having resolved
my doubts, and discerning in her voice no hostility towards me. I
resolved to act for her.
  
I got on the phone and probed mother the veracity of what she had
casually mentioned to Nicole about x attempts for conceiving him
and only y attempts for me. When she admitted it was true, I
feigned anger at her for not enlightening us with that
information. I put it to her that she implicitly led us to
believe that one seeding was all that was necessary for Nicole to
become pregnant. I asked her plainly what if Nick did not agree
to do some more follow up seedings, and what if he demanded each
seeding be done as a theatrical performance. [Nicole had told me
that just because she was not embarrassed on Saturday does not
mean She would not be embarrassed if the situation were be
repeated. She had been emphatic in noting her conviction that
nature intended a new life to germinate in the privacy of the
ruff and tumble of passion between a male and a female,
particularly of the human kind, the highest of nature's
evolution.] 

Mother told me to calm down, to stop worrying and be happy! That
is mother's universal formula. She told me to give Nick more
credit than I had given. In fact I was happy that she said, 'he
may be stupid, but not that stupid'. She said to sit tight and to
say the right words when the time came for such words. She was
being mysterious. What words? What time? Well that is mother!

Nicole was proud I had acquitted myself very well on the phone.
She gave me her glass to sip wine from and comforted me, saying
that hopefully she had become pregnant and that time will tell us
so. We relaxed and got absorbed in the courtroom drama on TV of
Ally McBeal.

In less than half an hour it was Nick on the phone calling to
inquire how we were and how Nicole was feeling. In between he
thanked us for the honor that had been bestowed on him to father
our child. I casually slipped in the news of mother taking six
attempts to conceive him and taking only four attempts for me,
and the fact that we, Nicole and me, were so na ve to assume that
all it took was one seeding for Nicole. I also let it slip out
that otherwise we would have asked multiple seeding from him,
'cluster seeding' I called it, to add a tone of humor. 

He must have been in a great sportive mood. He said, "Any time
brother, if you want me to come for the next ten days, I will.
Anything to make you couple get what you want. I was about to
say, "How about starting to-day?" but Nicole who was listening
with her ear close to the earpiece made signals to tell him
"Starting tomorrow". She was gesturing to her hair and nails,
meaning she wanted to get her hair done and her nails pained and
polished for the occasion. Women are fussy in those things.  They
are from Mars as the book says! For men, anytime is fucktime.

CHAPTER 7 : CLUSTER SEEDING

The next day saw Nicole bright and up early. She had had a sound
night. When I got home, she had her hair in golden ringlets,
wearing a sexy satin dress I had not seen before. She had gone to
the beauty salon to get her waxwork, hair and nails done. She was
glowing with anticipation of the seeding to come. The short dress
showed off her healthy smooth pink thighs. She smelled divine and
looked ravishingly beautiful. She was all ready for being
ravished by Nick. I smiled and complemented her, "Looks like the
lady is ready to kill my poor dear brother," and she responded
jovially, "You better believe it mister!"

Inviting smells were wafting from the kitchen and my stomach
pulled me there. Dinner with wine was soothing to my system. I
did the dishes while she relaxed in the living room with a
magazine. I joined her and watched some TV. Soon we heard a car
in the driveway, and she said good night and went upstairs. I
answered the doorbell and let Nick in. After a pleasant greeting,
I said, "Nicole is expecting you upstairs," I added smiling, "Go,
get her Tiger!" He went up the staircase, climbing two steps at a
time. My brother is a go-get-her.

Soon I could hear some muffled conversation, chuckling and
laughter. He must have started telling his fish stories again to
put her at ease. The voices subsided and soon I could hear the
sound of bedsprings creaking, and a muffled thudding of the
headboard against the wall, and a soft cry of my woman. I hoped
she was not hurting because of his size, a size she was not used
to. I imagined a big male creature on top of my delicate little
female. I wondered whether Amanda and I had made all the right
decisions that had brought us to this night. I heard her again,
"Oh god!"  And the headboard pounded into the wall with a heavy
thud. "Oh!" And another thud. I felt myself perspiring. Told
myself not to listen, to concentrate on the TV I was watching. My
left hand went to clutch something less than rock hard. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. My brother must be in final thrusting, I
thought. Thud. Thud. There was a creaking of bedsprings, and
little gasping moans. Moans of conception I thought. Yes, there
was an immaculate conception going on upstairs. (Immaculate means
without sin, because it had been blessed by me as well as my
mother who was also Nick's mother). Thud. Thud. The man was still
thrusting, from the sound of it. Why was it taking so long? It
only takes a minute or less to spurt and make an emission, unless
one can and wants to beat around the bush. The rhythmic pounding
continued for several minutes as well as guttural sounds such as
oh! oh! oh! Ohooooouuuh! Mmmuuuooooo! Hhhaaaahhaaa!  Yes, the
insemination, impregnation was taking place. I could only hope
that the Ph and Rh factors were making a friendly acquaintance.
It was too warm in the living room. So I went to the basement and
watched TV until late and fell asleep on the  sofa there.

I was wolfing down another delicious dinner next evening and
Nicole was pampering me with much affection. She was bubbly and
glowed like a goddess. She had that 'I am a Woman' feeling that
most wives have briefly the morning after a night of good sex.
But Nicole's feeling had not worn off even by dinnertime. She
must have gotten super sex I thought, and felt proud of my
brother. She was all smiles and so was I. Quite casually I
inquired, "So, what time did you go to bed last night?" 

"Not too late. I hope we were not too noisy," she beamed, "I had
a great time, thanks to you, honey. I hope you were worm enough
in the basement. I should have left a few blankets there," she
apologized. I protested, "No, it was not cold, it was all right,
but just to ease your mind I will take a blanket today, okay".
She beamed and I beamed back. We were almost finished dinner, but
she came and pulled me towards the living room, saying, "Fran, I
must share it with you, I am bursting to tell you." She sat on
the sofa and made me lie down with my head in her lap. She kissed
me on he lips and said, "Fran, I don't want you to feel jealous,
but I really saw his penis yesterday when it had become soft and
limp, and it hung down quite long and it was quite thick even
then." Keeping her locked to mine she blurted with an amazed
expressin, "I didn't know that a man's penis can be that long and
thick and not totally shrivel up when it is limp". 

I didn't know where her sharing was going, so I decided to remain
unthreatened, "Yes, unlike our hands and feet, our penises vary
in size, the differences can be as pronounced as the difference
between a buxom woman's large breasts and a plain jane's flat
chest. But nipples are nipples, penises are penises". But I guess
my response was not required. She went on, "He has a lot of
staying power too. It took many fuckings to come down to a soft
and limp condition. And when hard and inside me I felt it go down
to my very depths, and he could have used some more depth," she
looked at me exuding pleasure and amazement. I didn't respond
this time. I gazed at her in equal wonderment at her sharing. "Do
you think I will get permanently stretched in my pussy," She
asked. I sensed a tone of concern in her voice. Obviously she was
worried on my account, whether my penis would give her any
rubbing sensation at all when our life returned to normal.  

She continued, "You know sweetie, the extra large size condoms
they keep in the drug store, they had always made me wonder how
an extra large penis would feel inside me. Whether it made a
difference, whether it would make its way inside me, whether
fuller and longer thrusts would give more pleasure, more
ecstasy." I realized she just wanted me to listen. So I listened,
nodding or a listening "uh hunh." even though I felt that this is
not the sort of thing she should be sharing with me. She
continued glassy eyed, "I found out! Yes, it does make a
difference, a whole lot of difference". In her enthusiasm to
share her joyous experience she was oblivious to how I could feel
by what she had said. But I was equanimous. One should give merit
where merit is due. 

She continued to share, "Your brother is a gentleman. He was
afraid that I might hurt or get torn at the edges. He was very
gentle. You know what he asked, he asked if it had hurt me last
Saturday. I was too keyed up on Saturday and you guided him
gently, so I had not felt any hurt. But yesterday I was initially
afraid, but he kept his thrusts short at first until finally he
was in all the way. Then he asked me how I felt. I felt full, to
the brim, and at the same time it was a strange intense feeling
that thrilled me more than any sensation ever before. Then when
he started pumping slowly at first, and then faster and faster, I
felt fireworks go in my pussy, in my clit, in my tits, in my
brain. I felt as if the whole world was revolving on the axle of
his hard penis. I think I kept saying 'Oh, god,' 'Oh god.'  I
think I may also have said 'Fuck me, fuck me' a few times."
Nicole kissed me again, and inquired, "I hope you don't mind,
Fran. I was caught up in the rough and tumble of passion to
create a new life in my womb." 

"No, I don't mind. You are my wife and he is my brother. Both of
you were engaged in a mission. Remember the analogy you gave of
us Americans going into Afghanistan and Panama? What you are
describing is what Panama Canal would have said if it could
speak, when it was being widened." I laughed a bit at the analogy
I had created. 

"Not a bull in your China shop?" she said cracking her own joke.
She continued, "To finish my story, the wonderful pleasure
sensations cascaded upward and upward and eventually, I don't
know when, I felt a roaring sound in my ears. I could feel the
throbbing of the veins in his big hard penis; I felt his warm
semen gush and squirt and shoot into my vagina. You know what
else? I could feel my spasms of joy starting at the center of my
clit, flow as ripples over my body again and again. I felt it
even in the hair on my scalp. Oh, darling, it felt like I had
died and gone to heaven, it was too good," she said, adding after
a little while, "Oh Fran, it was so good, you would understand,
if you were a woman!"  I was not a woman. So I was not going to
comprehend the magnitude of her joy. But I understood it was
magnificent, awesome!!

"Do men feel anything like that?" she asked, forgetting that the
question was not appropriate on account of my not having proper
qualifications or equipment. But I had to answer on behalf of
mankind as a whole, and I ventured to speak for all men, "I think
not. But it is a wonderful feeling, especially the 'goal
gradient', the closer you are to the finishing line, the faster
you want to get there. Then there comes about a wonderful sense
of mastery or conquest, a sense of accomplishment and
achievement. Yes, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world
for men too, but I think men experience it differently than
women."

She pondered on my response; her eyes gazed something distant,
but not for long. 
"Now that I have shared my last night with you, Fran darling, can
you leave the house all for myself and Nick tonight? I would want
him to knock me up in every room and on every sofa. And with us
running around the house you won't be able to catch any sleep.
But it would be nice if you stayed for a while and took some
pictures recording my road to pregnancy." 

I excused myself giving the reason that I would take pictures on
a later day and that it was more important for the insemination
process that they be in a rough and tumble in a natural
environment without a photographer.

So the fortnight of her fertile period passed quickly with me
sleeping at home only on few of those days. Our kitchen saw much
activity and creativity during this period, and as the saying
goes, Nikhole made her way permanently into my heart through my
stomach. I put on 15 pounds at least. Oh, yes, at the end of the
period Nikhole announced that she had become pregnant. We had a
family party. Nick proudly showed off Nikhole's tummy, and even
autographed it with a marking pen. As a would-be legal father I
was cheered much with wine and words. The party ended with Nick
carrying the would-be-mother to her bedroom to tuck her in. I
guess I had a bit too much wine and I fell asleep, sort of rocked
to sleep by the creaking of floorboards due to mother and sister
walking about cleaning up the party mess.

I must say that Nikhole remained an ideal wife all through this
period. She pampered me like she did when we were newly married.
She was very affectionate, and held me and hugged me and kissed
me all the time. She was genuinely proud of me for not being
jealous because she was sleeping with and sexing with her
brother-in-law Nick. She continued to confide in me her sex life
as if I was her girlfriend. It felt like we were bosom friends in
addition to being husband and wife. I had developed a good
feeling towards Nick. I felt secure, strong and confident by his
being around. I wondered why I had hated him so much before my
wife enlightened and straightened me.   

CHAPTER 8: NURTURE IN AID OF NATURE

It had been two weeks since the celebration party. Having done
his job, Nick had disappeared. Nikhole seemed to have forgotten
him. Neither mother nor my sister mentioned his name in a couple
of phone talks I had with them. It was a Saturday night. My wife
and I were in bed. She took my hand and put it on her tummy like
she had been doing every night since she had become pregnant, for
me to feel the consecrated conception that was in there. In he
sweet voice she whispered, "Fran, I have been thinking," opening
a conversation. When a wife opens a conversation with such a
phrase, husbands instinctively know they are about to become
reoriented about something or someone. A good husband though,
takes time to ponder on his wife's thinking before he admits to
himself the merit of his new conviction.

"Thinking what?" I said. She continued, "Fran, do you know that
nature and nurture are the twin factors in a child's development
and growth?".  No one can disagree with that, so I acknowledged
with a simple, "Unhu." 

"Do you know that it is all nature before birth and mostly
nurture after birth?" she persisted. "That sounds right," I
agreed. 

"The baby in there," she put my palm on her tummy, "is all nature
now, that is it has only biological consciousness. It is
conscious in its every cell of its biological mother and father.
It will acknowledge you its nurturing father only after birth if
you bond yourself to it by feeding, changing, playing etc.,"

"That sounds scientific," I said not to get into any controversy
in the bedroom."

"But when you put your hand on my tummy, the biology of the child
senses that the hand is not of its biological father. It senses a
stranger's hand and that does not give the kind of security it
would get if the hand on the tummy was that of its biological
father, would it?" she asked. There was a challenge in there for
my academic mind to give the right answer.

I searched my brain as to what could be the correct answer. I was
unable to find what would satisfy her. When a wife asks a
question or opinion of a husband, she wants him to come out with
her preferred answer that she has in her mind. For me, there was
no point in defending the fort after it had been penetrated; no
use locking the barn door after the mare has been laid. Who was
it that said, 'When you are hit below the belt it's better to
push your pants down and let it all hangout'. So, in response to
her question I hazarded a wild answer, "The biological father too
should rum his hand periodically on the tummy in question," I
looked at her as I spoke to gauge her reaction to my answer. But
spoken communication is slow. She had already received a faster
non-verbal communication through the tactile sensation from her
hand that fortuitously was on my small man, and the small man had
gotten all excited for no reason. She was delighted by the spoken
and unspoken words and complimented me, "No wonder you come up
with the right solutions, you professor," she beamed. She went
into silence for a bit and said, "Yes, you are right. If the
biological father slept with the biological mother, the
biological child in the tummy would sense total security, That's
what you are saying isn't it?" She had now put the balls in my
court. Nicole is a smart and sharp lady. Her hand had gathered
intelligence and interpreted the tactile sensations reaching it.
She had mastered the art of us making joint decisions by
non-flaccidity.

The decision having already been made in principal, I had to go
on with its implementation logistics, "I could ask Nick to come
and sleep here put his hand on your tummy". I also planted a
doubt in her mind, "But he might be reluctant, it might disrupt
his free floating life style." 

"Why wouldn't he? He gave me such good sex? I was all but in
seventh heaven. And he himself enjoyed it so much that he
wouldn't let me sleep much." Then she added with a concerned look
at me, "You didn't mind, did you? Or feel threatened?" 

I was quick in denying, "Oh no, as they say, a thing of beauty is
a joy of all".  I went on to alley the doubt I had just raised,
"You know, we could have guesstimated his reluctance or otherwise
if we had some more data from your first physical examination of
him. I continued to elucidate, "A man's bodily inclinations at a
given time are good predictors of his behavioral tendencies at a
later time".

"How do you mean, Haven't I already given you all details of my
observations from that phys exam?"

"Yes, you gave all your objective observations. But here I am
talking about your subjective observations. For example, when a
woman plants an admiring soft kiss on a stranger's manhood, the
man's body inclines itself either forward or backward. The
inclination may be very subtle, just a few millimeters. The same
inclinations are evident if she were to wrap her lips around his
penis head, in an act of homage to mankind in general or man in
particular. If in both instances her subjective observation is
one of forward inclinations, we can safely predict the man would
respond positively to the idea of 'putting-his-hand-on-the-tummy'
as you put it," I said.

"Yes, come to think of it, in both cases I think I sensed a
slight forward inclination. Is that good?" she asked, moving her
hand to me under the sheet. She must have seen the bulge under
the sheet.

I felt relieved that the questions that were on my back burners
had been answered at last. I said, "Yes, that is very good. It
indicates a high probability that Nick may make house calls," I
said. Her hand that had reached me where I like it best had told
her as much.  

"Sister has way with him, and I shall let her talk to him, rather
than you talking to him directly," She said. Women are indeed
intuitive in these matters. 


CHAPTER 9: SPARE THE ROD AND SPOIL THE CHILD? 

Nick started coming almost every day to place his hand on the
mother's tummy. He ended up sleeping next to the biological baby
still in the tummy, and giving his many benedictions to the
biological mother. These benedictions made Nikhole feel like a
woman in every cell of her body. As the tummy developed, I was
roped in to put my hands also on the tummy along with the
biological father. The king-size bed was large enough for all of
us. The would-be mother felt very happy sleeping between the two
would-be fathers. Sometimes she would ask me to kiss her tummy to
show her how glad I was that she finally got knocked up by Nick.
You know, when you are in bed one thing leads to another. We
started having a lot of fun before falling asleep all twisted and
tangled. Nikhole had reasons to be happy. She was getting sex
from Nick in a way I could only dream about. I was happy that she
was happy. No siree, we didn't spare the rods to spoil the child.
(I must say to her credit, she asked me first if I minded her and
Nick sexing it up a bit while the fetus was on its way to become
a baby; it was for keeping the biological connection with the
baby she had said.) 
 
I will have to write a separate story describing all the fun we
had. But a good story is one that stops before limpness sets in
for the readers. So, suffice it to say that as the months
progressed, Nikhole's stomach got bigger and bigger. Even though
expected, it always amazed me to see how big she'd gotten by my
brother's handiwork. (I was proud of him.) And she looked radiant
like never before. When we were out and about she was the perfect
adoring wife giving me all the credit for impregnating her.  That
really sent my self-esteem through the clouds even if it was only
until we returned home. But it sufficed to keep my marriage not
only intact but great. As I said before, the threesome at night
was more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Nick with his longer and
seemingly perennially hard shaft, had no problem reaching her
from the back and side. Sometimes we reenacted the first fucking
by Nick, with me guiding his boner into her. Sometimes I was
challenged to parallel what they were doing with an imaginary
partner. Sometimes I was blindfolded and asked to guess what they
were doing in real time. Sometimes Nikhole reached inside my
boxer shorts and held my little man in her hands while Nick sawed
away at her cunt. Sometimes I got to tongue kiss Nikhole while he
was checking her oil levels with his dipstick. Sometimes I rode
piggyback on Nick and pretended it was my rod that had gone
through Nick to her. On those occasions I also got a bird's eye
view of Nikhole's face going through the emotions of excitement,
pleasure, joy, bliss, ecstasy, and satisfaction.


CHAPTER X: BIRTH OF OUR SON WASHINGTON

Soon it was 'due date'. Nick had been coming in less and less
after Nikhole got past the eighth month. He started going for
bridge nights with Sis. Thus, he was not there when Nikhole had
to be rushed to the hospital when she started dilating. 

"Breath honey, breath, that's right."

"OK, Nicole, push now, push hard," said the doctor.  "That's
right, here it comes.  Push.  I see the head.  Come on, another
pu..."

The doctor hesitated, then regained his composure.  "Push Nicole,
push."
I heard the doctor stammer and looked up to see the nurses
exchanging looks.
"What's wrong?  What's going on?"

"Huh?  Something's wrong?  What?"  Asked Nicole.

"Nothing," said the doctor.  "Just one last push."  Nicole
grunted and pushed.

"There we go.  A perfectly healthy little boy."

"Let me see," I said.

"Ah, well we have to wash him first and run some tests.."  It was
clear the doctor was trying to hide the child from me.

"Let me see, God damnit." I went around and looked at the baby
the doctor was holding.  I felt the blood drain from my face. I
remember turning to stare at Nicole. I remember hearing her say,
"Fran, what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?" I
collapsed unconscious.

Later, I heard that frightened Nicole had asked the doctor,
"What's wrong with my baby?" The doctor had simply handed her the
baby, a brown baby with facial features that clearly proclaimed
his mixed racial parentage.  Nicole had started screaming
hysterically.  "That's not my baby.  That's not my baby.  What
did you do with my baby?  Francis, please Francis, this is a
mistake.  It has to be,  Nickkkkkkkkkkkkk! It has to be! It has
to be!!!

At that point she too fainted I believe. Mother who was there had
also stormed out calling Nicole, bitch, slut and a whole lot of
such other words.

Later, After she came from an extended stay at the hospital,
Nicole had researched the biology of physiological inheritance -
To be precise, Mendel's laws of inheritance. Then she accused
mother of having had Nick from a black man; just that he happened
to be one in a million case that exhibits only the mother's genes
but carry the father's genes hidden or recessively, which may
then show up in a later generation. The feud between the
mother-in-law and daughter-in-law had gotten quite hot for a few
days. I had been numb and dazed. The hospital had recorded the
baby's name as Washington. May be they thought we would wash him
and wash him to make him white! The social services department
had arranged for a 24 nurse to stay home and nurse the baby as
well as look after his physical safety.

Then things happened, you know, things that happen will happen
anyhow, as you may read in a sequel. The most puzzling things do
get unpuzzled if one thinks a bit, like the famous nine dot
problem. I am sure you can think 'outside the box' and solve
things for yourself rather than seek my help. 

Large hampers of baby formula and other stuff as well as flowers
for the mother, mostly yellow roses, kept arriving everyday for
months. We also got lots of baby sports equipment as gifts and
samples from sports stores. Washington was quite a cute baby. He
won us over.

I have to confess that I have been having deep thoughts lately.
Really deep thoughts, upending thoughts. Jesus said a better man
turns the other cheek when hit upon one cheek. Also, Jesus said,
'Do not covet thy neighbor's wife'. (But he did not say anything
about husband's brother, or brother's wife, did he?) According to
Jesus then, if another man hits on your wife, it is better to
turn her over to him - all four lips and cheeks. It has also been
said in all oily books that 'Man shall not fighteth another man
for his wife. For, he hath inherited the Earth that is full of
the wife-kind'. In the Eskimo book of Husbands, it is written
that a good husband shall lendeth his woman to other men, for
them to hold, to enjoy, to penetrate, and seed. The book advises
husbands to instruct the wife to be joyous in such sex, and make
the white milk spurt for world peace and harmony!!! 

Looked at in a different way we can take an analogy from the Old
West, where the Town Marshall deputized others, (a temporary
conscription) and organized a posse. I was my own Town Marshall.
I conscripted Nick. He was my posse for the pussy that wanted to
get into trouble. Nicole would have been a 'girl in trouble' if
it was not for my gentleman's ethics.  

Some of you readers may think I have fallen between the cracks in
the story.  And some of you may think that I failed to get into
the crack. But I say unto you that it takes nobility of heart and
mind to fall between the cracks. Didn't Gandhi teach that getting
beaten by the big stick increases one's moral fiber? I am proud
to say that my moral fiber has increased. Neither did I let wool
be pulled over my eyes. I just took the wool and ate it! 

Don't companies and corporations continue to merge (across oceans
and nations) and make common cause rather than compete with each
other? They do so all the time. There is more profit in making a
common cause. So Nicole and I invited Nick to make common cause
with us. The notion of one-man one-vote has in a twisted way
invaded the realm of man-woman relationship: It has become
one-wife one-husband. That is nonsense. Our modern society needs
a paradigm shift in order to live a safe and sane sex life.  

If a man can love and sex more than one woman, as most kings,
noblemen, and mythological characters have done through the ages,
why shouldn't a woman be polyandrous and love and sex more than
one man? Research is said to show that in polyandrous societies
there is more domestic tranquillity, and almost no harassment or
nagging of husbands. A sexually satiated woman is a non-nagging
wife. Polyandry infuses us with the notion of caring-sharing. The
sharing-caring elevates both him and her spiritually. It expands
and stretches, among other things, one's notion of I, me, mine.
It shrinks selfishness and makes it limp like a spent penis.
Through sharing of his woman, a husband learns to include more
people in his love-net. In fact in the Hindu sacred epic
Mahbharta, the heroine takes five husbands all at once. And she
is one of the holy deities that modern Hindus of today venerate.
Polyandry and polygamy makes society as a whole become a
temptation island. That would make reality TV shows just mundane
stuff not worth watching. So, polyandry has got to be a step in
the right direction for universal brotherhood/sisterhood. It is a
motherhood issue.

The moral of this story is that if you want to be a devoted
loving loyal husband you have to accept your wife the way she is.
True love wins over physical love every time. Some of you may be
thinking that I am a cuckold, I have been cuckolded by my wife!
It is not so, absolutely not! My wife has not humiliated me at
any time with respect to sexing. In fact she has been giving me
more affection and love. She respects my opinions and she takes
me into confidence in any decision that affects us. A cuckold
husband is one who likes to watch his wife sex it up with a
stranger. I have not at any time watched my wife sex with a
stranger. A cuckold husband is one who makes his wife dress
provocatively and takes her to bars and restaurants and makes her
pick up a stranger to go home with to get fucked. That has not
been the theme of my story, as you know. So, I am not a cuckold,
just a bit old, that is all. I am a guy with a heart that is a
bit larger and a penis that is a wee bit small and soft. You
can't fault me for that. In fact, according to a survey done my
Michael K. Smith that is supposedly archived, most men who love
to read wife stories are like me. 

THE END

Comments may kindly be sent to Meiraj@sify.com

The story above is a sanitized variation on the story by C.D.E.
Titled 'My Brother Made me a Cuckold' which is archived in the
ASSTR collections.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others
outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE*
unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. You
only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *




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