Copyright George Carter 2000

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

By George Carter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tiger?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'...because you weren't.'

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

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

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

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

'Nope.'

'Not David Mac?'

'Cold.'

'Wayne?'

'Colder still.'

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

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

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

'She's my lover.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'How so?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Ohh, yeah. And she said?'

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

'Sit down. We have plenty of wine.'

*****

'Are you hungry?' Angie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Thanks, Linda. I appreciate it.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What are you saying?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Yeah?'

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'That was quick...'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moments passed.

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I know. How's Angie?'

'Still asleep. She's working tonight.'

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Penalties?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

'What's that?'

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Angie's had her period.'

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

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

'You what?'

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

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

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

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

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

I told her.

Then she gave it to me.

THE END

(Written November - December 2000. Completed 27th December 2000)

NAME THE BABY - Your chance to have an impact on George's world!

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