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Subject: {ASSM} The Donor (part 2) By Katzmarek (Verbal Abuse, Rom?)
Date: Sat, 22 Feb 2003 22:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "The Donor 2.doc" begin>

The Donor 2


By Katzmarek


This is entirely a work of fiction and to my knowledge original.
If I have plagiarised any part it is accidental and the author
would appreciate the pointing out of the error of his ways.
Please! I am not the British Intelligence Establishment.
It is written as a work of erotic fiction so, obviously, if you
have an issue with that then, <a
href="http://www.cartoonnetwork.com">www.cartoonnetwork.com</a>
was probably what you were looking for, young lad.


Jonathon's cat lay across his legs. He tried to move her so he
could sit up. The cat hung onto his leg with her claws.
"Roxy, ow! Cut it out."
"Whose Roxy?" Said the woman on the phone. "Have you got a
girlfriend there"?
"No," said Jonathon, "my cat... she dug her claws into my leg."
"Be grateful it was your leg. Now! Do you need time to consider?
Don't take all year though."


"I would like to re-negotiate some of the conditions," Jonathon
said.
"Such as?"
"Well, kissing?"
"What?"
"Kissing! And a bit of cuddling, chat... and stroking. That sort
of thing," replied Jonathon. "And call me Jonathon, not Mr.
Wetherall."
"Oh good grief! What does a lady have to do to get knocked up?"
"Perhaps you could start by not treating me like a prick with a
piece of meat attached?"
"The question was rhetorical, Mr. Wether... Jonathon..." 'Jane'
answered.
"See? You're getting the idea."
"Don't push your luck, buster. I'll be in touch, bye."


Jonathon stretched back on his bed and began to chuckle.
"Good God Roxy, I never thought I'd hear from her again." The cat
ignored him.
"C'mon get off me, I need to take a leak."


Afterwards he walked through his devastated lounge and began to
pick up his scattered laundry. Roxy followed him with a confused
look on her face. In the end she headed for the cat-door, having
satisfied herself her human had lost his mind.


In the afternoon, Jonathon settled down to watch the game, as he
did every Saturday afternoon during the season. The phone rang,
he hit the TV mute button and picked up the receiver.
"It's me," 'Jane' said.
"Yes?"
"Are you doing anything at the moment?" 'Jane' asked.
"Why?"
"We need to talk."
"Do we?" Jonathon replied.
"Don't get cute. Can you come over?"
"Just a minute, I'll check my diary," he replied.
"Cut the games Mr. We... Jonathon, perhaps we can work something
out."
"Perhaps if you said please"?
"Listen, Wetherall, you're really getting on my nerves. Now give
me a fucking answer and stop wasting my time."
"No, the answer's no, until you show me some respect," Jonathon
bristled with anger.
"Oh! Fuck off, then." The phone rang off.


That evening Jonathon was listening to Kristin on the stereo and
was attempting to learn the script for a job he had on Sunday.
There was a knock on the door.
'Jane' stood framed in the doorway dressed in a long woolen coat.
A hood framed her face.
"Can I come in... please."
"Why?" Jonathon answered.
"Well, to get out of the weather for a start."


'Jane' walked through into the lounge.
"It's a pig's sty," she said.
"I tidied up."
"You needn't have bothered."
"If you've just come to insult me some more..."
"Ok, ok... no I haven't. I want to talk."


'Jane' settled herself in his favourite chair. Jonathon decided
to let it go and took the sofa.
"I'm not a kissy, kissy, touchy-feely kind of person, Mr. W...
Jonathon," 'Jane' told him.
"I got that. Can I ask you something?" he asked.
"Depends on the question. I'm a very private person...
Jonathon... I prefer not to... get too close. I like my distance.
I prefer it that way."
"That's sad?"
"That's not a question."
"Ok," said Jonathon, "two questions..."
"You said one."
"This is not a contract negotiation," Jonathon said firmly.
"Ask your questions."
"What's your real name?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"That's not an answer."


"Touche! It's... Joanne. I'm sorry you're not getting my last
name. Next question."
"Why do you want a baby? You don't seem the maternal type to
me."
Joanne sat thinking over the question for what seemed like an
age.
"I don't know how to answer that one, to you, anyway, I have my
reasons."


Joanne looked towards the stereo.
"Can you take off that music, it's so bitter," she said. 
"Some," replied Jonathon, "she's not all like that. Let me put on
'Serene', I think you'll like that."
"Ok, if you must. Can we get on with it please."
"Get on with what? Joanne," Jonathon asked.
"You really are aggravating me," she said as the music came up.


When the song finished, Joanne sat with her eyes closed for a
short while.
"Different," she finally said.
"I love it," Jonathon told her.
"I'm happy for you. Got any wine?"
"I rarely drink, but I have some sherry in the kitchen I use for
cooking?"
"It's alcohol. Can you fetch me a glass... please?"


When he'd brought them a glass each, she asked,
"Who taught you how to use sherry in cooking?"
"Cooking is one of my passions," Jonathon answered.
"You've surprised me. I'd never have picked it."


Joanne took a sip of sherry,
"Why is it so cold in here? Don't you believe in heaters?"
"I'm trying to keep the power bill down. Here I'll turn it on for
you.
Question?" Jonathon said.
"What?"
"Why me?"
Joanne sighed audibly,
"I'm afraid you're the last one. No-one even got as far as... we
did. I can't even buy a screw, apparently."
"A chink in your armour, Joanne."
"It won't happen again."
"A pity. For a while there you were almost human."
Joanne scowled at him.


"Question?" Joanne asked.
"Yes?"
"Why me? You could have walked out like the others?"
"I did. You threw me out, remember?"
"Yes, but you invited me in here. You didn't slam the door in my
face. Even though I've been such a bitch to you?"
"I like you."


Joanne's laughter bounced around the room. Eventually she
spluttered,
"Like me? Haha... are you serious? You don't even know me. Are
you Pavlov's dog? The harder you're kicked... haha. Oh Wetherall,
you're pathetic."
"Perhaps I see something in you that others can't see."
"Spare me the psychobabble."
"I see a beautiful woman just below the surface..."
"Yeah, yeah, waiting to get out, I know. And you're just the man
to set me free. Listen! I DON'T like trash novels, I DON'T like
men with mother fixations, I can't STAND amateur Psychologists
and I don't like YOU, MR. WETHERALL. And before you ask, I'm NOT
going to deal with my anger, it's well founded. Now I'm GOING."


Joanne got to her feet and spun around to leave. In doing so she
walked right into Jonathon's coffee table and crashed over the
top of it. Jonathon rushed over and put his arms around her
waist, to help her to her feet.
"Get your fucking hands off me," Joanne spat. She lashed out with
her arm catching Jonathon on the chin with her elbow.


Jonathon's anger rose and he held on tighter. Joanne continued
struggling in his arms.
"Calm down," he tried to say.
"Who the FUCK do you think you ARE. My fucking FATHER?" Jonathon
let go in shock.
Joanne's eyes were moist. Wordless she completed the distance to
the door and walked out, leaving it open.
Shutting it, Jonathon muttered, 'shit' to himself as he went to
clear up the mess.


While clearing up he noticed some cards scattered about. Picking
one up, he saw,


NATIONAL TELECOMMUNICATIONS CORPORATION.


..........................Chief
Executive..............................


....................Joanne Van
Wettering.............................


               (06) 293 5415      After hours (06) 245 1414    
                           Mobile (021) 635 2681



Jonathon smiled to himself and put one in his pocket.


Two days later he called. She eventually answered her mobile.
"Yes?"
"It's me."
"What? How the hell did you get this number?"
"Question?"
"Don't play games with me Wetherall. This is serious, you've
breached security."
"Van Wettering, YOU left your calling card at MY flat,
Question?"
"So that's what's happened. That's theft, Wetherall."
"I'm telling you they're here. You can get them whenever you
want. Question?"
"I'll have to change my numbers, Wetherall, what the hell do you
want? I'm a busy woman."
"Why didn't you get on the IV program?"


Jonathon could hear Joanne expel her breath in exasperation.
"Because... They wouldn't have me, OK?"
"Why not?"
"Unsuitable. Is that all?"
"Question?"
"Hurry up."
"Why haven't you hung up?"
"That's a mistake, Wetherall, I won't make again." The phone went
dead.


That night, around 9, there came a pounding on Jonathon's door.
Opening it, he found Joanne standing there in her blue business
suit, a look of pure thunder on her face.
"Give me the cards," she seethed.
"Sure Joanne, won't you come in?"
"No! I want those cards."
"Relax, I'll get them," he said.
"All of them."
"Ok, ok."
"Don't you ever do that to me again."
"What?" he asked.
"Call me."
"You don't like people ringing you?"


"PEOPLE yes, YOU, no," Joanne spat.
"I think that's all of them, do you want to check?" Jonathon
asked.
"Oh I will, don't worry."
Joanne carefully checked each one. They appeared to be numbered.
After a while, satisfied, she relaxed a little.
"They're all there, thank you Wetherall. I don't suppose you'll
forget my phone number?"
"Depends."
"Don't you dare, Wetherall. You don't know who you are dealing
with."
"Yes I do, Miss Van Wettering. Chief Executive of NTC, that's
pretty high powered."
"If you're trying to shake me down, Wetherall, I'll have the cops
over you before..."
"No, no, no Joanne? For god's sake, I'm not trying to blackmail
you, or piss you off, or make your life miserable...I'm trying to
invite you to dinner."
"Good God. Are you being serious? You are, aren't you? Oh for
God's sake. Now I've heard everything."


Later, Joanne had deigned to stand in the passageway.
"Ok, now let me get this straight," She said, " I come to dinner
and you'll forget my phone number and never call me again."
"Right."
"And your mobile? You'll clear the call log?"
"Don't own one."
"You'd better not, I can find out you know."
"Yes, CEO of NTC, I remember."
"You'd better not after dinner. Look I'm trusting you one hell of
a lot, Wetherall. If you so much as put a foot wrong..."
"I won't."
"...So much as call me to ask the time..."
"I won't".
"...We're a State Corporation Wetherall, do you know what that
means..."
"Yes."
"... It means I have some serious friends in Government and I
receive the same protection as an MP if I want..."
"For God's sake, Joanne, I GET IT."
"Good. Dinner then, tomorrow at six." And she was gone.


The next day at six, Joanne was prompt. She was wearing her
business clothes, evidently coming straight from work.
"You look lovely," Jonathon said as he let her in.
"Oh spare me. What's for dinner? I turned down the Minister for
this."
"I'm flattered." 
"Don't be, he's an idiot. I'm glad of the excuse."
"Glad to be of service," He replied.
"Just roll out the food, I'm starving."


"I hope you like Thai food? Wine?"
"I could eat Manchurian dog guts. Are you trying to impress me? A
Thai meal, with wine before?"
"Um, yes, yes and yes," Jonathon replied. He brought out a bottle
of wine and opened it. "This is not a bad drop. Not too
expensive."
"Yes, I know it, it's ok. Better than your sherry at least. Are
you putting on some music? That singer from the other night,
what's her name?"
"Kristin Hersh."
"Yes, that will do."
"She's good, isn't she?"
"She's ok. Grows on you a little," she replied.


They ate mostly in silence. The exceptions being.
Joanne: "Stop staring at me. I feel like a case study."
And.
Joanne: "Turn those lights back up, I can't find the soy sauce.
If you think I didn't notice you fiddling with the light dimmer,
you're more pathetic then I thought."
Jonathon: "Just creating some 'atmosphere'."
Joanne: "There's enough 'atmosphere' already. You should wash
your socks more often."


Later Joanne stretched out on Jonathon's sofa and closed her
eyes. Jonathon took his favourite armchair, Roxy arranged herself
alongside Joanne.
"She likes you," said Jonathon.
"I'm warm! I better not get fir on my clothes. I charge you for
dry-cleaning," replied Joanne. But she didn't try to dislodge the
cat.


Joanne moved her head around, wincing. She put her hands on her
shoulders and squeezed. 
"Do you have a sore neck?" Jonathon asked, "I could massage it
for you."
"Don't touch me. I just get a little tense, during the day.
That's all," she replied.
"Let me help, I do great massages," he replied, coming around
behind her.
"Just watch your step, Wetherall."


Jonathon started by lightly kneading the flesh above the neckline
of her blouse.
"Is this alright? The muscles are very tight," he told her.
"So far. Just remember your nuts are within easy reach."
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For?"
"Calling you, I didn't realise what a problem that would be."
"You didn't. It's very serious. Most people on my phone list are
in Government or important clients. You had better not use those
numbers again."


"Feeling better?" He asked.
"Good. Watch those wandering fingers, Wetherall, unless you want
them broken."
"My name's Jonathon, Joanne. You don't have to be so hostile all
the time."
"Yes I do... Jonathon. Don't think you can..."
"You're the boss of a big Corporation. You must have people
skills..."
"Of course I have."
"Don't see many from where I am..."
"PEOPLE skills, Weth... Jonathon, not YOU. You're pathetic."


"You know you'd be more comfortable if you untied your hair.
Here, let me..." Jonathon told her.
"Don't touch... You have a lot of cheek... Jonathon. Don't push
your luck any further," Joanne replied.
Jonathon deftly undid the tie binding her hair back. Joanne
absently shook it out.
"That's better, isn't it?" he asked.
"If this is your idea of seduction..."
"So what would be your idea of seduction?"
"None... You can't..."
"A brush of the lips on your neck, perhaps? Like this?" Jonathon
pecked lightly on her neck.


"I can still reach your nuts..."
"Combing fingers through you hair...across your scalp...savouring
the aroma of your scent..." Jonathon followed words withaction.
"Get off... stop groping..."
"A caress is not a grope. You should know the difference."
Jonathon kissed her cheek.
"Stop it!" Joanne struggled to her feet and turned to face him,
the sofa between them.


"You are so pathetic," she fumed
"You keep saying that..." 
"Because you are. What makes you think you can tumble me into bed
with a meal and a few corny words? You are so stupid."
"Because I like you, fancy you..."
"Oh for God's sake... Why am I bothering..."


"Joanne?" Jonathon said, closing the distance. "You make a lot of
threats towards me but do you ever carry them out?"
"I can change that..."
"No you won't, because you are enjoying all this," he moved
closer. "You say you'll never call again, but you do..."
"That was different"
"I call you, but you don't hang up..."
"Like I said, I won't repeat that..."
"You come around yourself to get your cards, not the Police..."
"Big mistake..."
"And you accept an invitation to dinner. You could have got a
restraining order, or changed your numbers..."
"I should have..."
"A lot of mistakes for a big executive to make, don't you
think?"


"Very funny... Now! Do you have a point to all this?" Joanne
asked.
"I think you like me..." Jonathon replied.
"You're a lousy comedian..."
"And you like my company, perhaps even fancy me..."
"You're deluded."
"But you're terrified of your feelings and won't let yourself
go..."
"Why you jumped up, pathetic, little..." Joanne spluttered. 
"And you're running out of abuse..."
"That's easy with you around. How DARE..." Joanne turned to go.


"So who's going to call next? Me or you?" Jonathon said as she
opened the door.
"If you try to call me, I'll have you arrested for harassment."
"So you'll call me then," he replied.
"In your dreams," she said as she flounced down the path.
'Flounced! Yes!' thought Jonathon, 'they'd come a long way.'


Part three coming on a monitor near you!!












<1st attachment end>


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