The Donor 8


By Katzmarek.


Jonathon found himself standing next to a garrulous, slightly greying man in his fifties.
“I hear you’re the chap who put a smile on the old bat,” he said, indicating Joanne.


“Yes, I guess that’s me,” Jonathon answered.


“And put one up her, so they tell me?” he said.


“Yes, we found out two weeks ago.”


“Good job,” the man said clapping an arm around Jonathon, “serves the old bag right. Mind you, now she’ll 
come to work grumpier than ever, eh?”


“Probably,” Jonathon replied trying to ease away.


“Here, she’s coming over. Time for a refill I think,” he said advancing on a waiter.


Joanne approached Jonathon, her eyes still scanning the crowd.


“What did he have to say?” she asked in a low voice.


“Just congratulating me, and us, I think.”


“God, it’s got around, I might have known.”


“Who is he?”


“You’re kidding me, right? No, I can see you’re not. He’s only your Prime Minister, leader of the country.”


“Oh, he looks different from on TV.”


“Shorter! They stand him on a box, I think.”


“How are you coping?” Jonathon asked her.


“I’m a bit gassy. I’m snacking often and not having big meals, like the doctor advised. And no booze, of 
course.”


“I could do with a cigarette. Anywhere you can have a quick puff?”


“Follow… that man, he’s the Minister of Finance, smokes like a chimney. He’ll be ducking off soon. See 
his eyes flicking around? He’s hanging out already.”


“Got it.”


“Get him to offer you one, they’re duty-free anyhow.”


“I will.”


“There he goes… quick follow him.”


Jonathon followed the Minister out a side door. It led to a stairwell that reeked of stale smoke.


“Can I trouble you for one?” he asked the man.


“What? Oh yes, help yourself,” he said proffering the packet. “You’re Joanne’s man, aren’t you?” he said 
as they lit up.


“Yes sir,” Jonathon answered.


“Congratulations to the two of you. I suppose she gets you to smoke outside?”


“Yes, or the garage when it’s raining.”


“I suppose she put you up to ask me for a cigarette?”


“Yes, she did.”


“Bitch! She’s always on at me. You know, we all complain about her… her style and manner… but we all 
love her you know. Couldn’t be happier for her. Thought you’d shut her up a little… forlorn hope I guess.”


“I couldn’t imagine anything shutting her up,” Jonathon said, chuckling.


“How was the Minister?” Joanne asked when Jonathon returned.


“Nice guy, good sense of humour.”


“He needs it, the job he’s got. C’mon babe, I’ll have to go, I’m exhausted.”


“Ok, do you need to kiss anyone’s butt first?”


“I couldn’t think of anything I’d like less, at the moment. Even your buns! Let’s just go!”


They waited outside a few minutes for the Government car to pull up. Being an official engagement, 
Joanne was entitled to an official car, and driver. Jonathon was slightly embarrassed by all the fuss,
‘You’ll get used to it,’ she’d told him, ‘just don’t spit in the ash trays, ok?’


The car pulled up and the driver leapt out and opened the door for them.


“Miss van Wettering, Mr. Wetherall,” he intoned, as they got in. 


“Step on it Freddie, and easy on the corners. Unless you want me to throw up over you.”


“Sure thing, Joanne,” the driver replied, “I hear congratulations are in order?”


“Not you too!”


“Haha, yes, the PM’s driver told me the news. I’ve got 6 you know, 2 girls and 4 boys.”


“Well, do your wife a favour and buy a Television, ok?”


“Haha, don’t worry, Joanne, morning sickness only lasts a couple of weeks, three maybe.”


“The next person to tell me that, I swear… I’ll… and wipe that grin of your face Jonathon. Next time 
you’re having it, got that?”


“C’mon, deep breaths, wait until the feeling passes.”


“Jonathon! Shut up!”


“You can stay up, Y’know,” Joanne told Jonathon as they prepared for bed. 
“Just make sure you get in the other side. Leave me a clear route to the bathroom, ok?”


“I might get up for the Cricket later. I just want to make sure you’re ok,” he told her.


“You’re such a honey, are you sure you weren’t a woman in a past life?”


“Why?”


“Such consideration! I don’t expect that from guys.”


“Well. I just figure its part of the bargain.”


“Which one?”


“The ‘love’ one.”


“You’re too mushy to be true. Hold me, ok? But be prepared to let me go in a hurry.”


“Ok.”


“Jonathon?” she said as they settled down, “you don’t mind us not having sex for a while?”


“Of course not, we’ll make up for it later, won’t we?”


“It’s just… I don’t feel particularly sexy, Y’know? At the moment, anyway. I haven’t gone off you or 
anything.”


“I know, babe. It’s not the only reason I’m here. Y’know?”


“No? So you like washing my underwear?”


“Of course! I get to have a little sniff.”


“Ugh, you’re disgusting, you’ll make me throw up.”


“Hey! You can have a whiff of mine, anytime. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”


“Jonathon! Shut the fuck up!”


Some would-be mothers are nauseous from the moment of conception to the birth. Others claim they have 
never felt better in their lives the entire 9 months. Most slot in somewhere along the two extremes.


By the end of the first trimester Joanne was not only overcome with a feeling of wellbeing, her hormones 
had re-arranged themselves in such a way that it was Jonathon who found himself worn out and exhausted.


“Aw, it’s all shrunken and miserable looking,” she told him one morning.


“Sorry,” replied Jonathon, “ it just doesn’t know what hit it. It’s in trauma.”


“Poor thing,” she continued, pushing his penis around with her finger, “can’t handle the pace, can’t we? 
Like your owner, you go into a sulk.”


“I do not!”


“Oh you do, Jonathon! Even your blasted cat runs away and hides. Y’know in 6 months you’ve got a few 
changes coming.”


“I don’t need reminding, I’ll manage.”


“You’re not too old for the job?”


“Others have become fathers in their fifties and sixties.”


“Let’s see,” Joanne pondered, “when junior starts dating you’ll be, what, late fifties?


“Probably.”


“Will you be able to beat off the pack?”


“C’mon Joanne. They’d hardly be measuring me up for a Zimmer frame at that age. How old is 
Gascoigne?”


“61, I think.”


“See? And he’s running the country.”


“He thinks he does.”


“So, he still has to stand up in front of the cameras and smile, doesn’t he? Give the odd speech without 
falling asleep…”


“Everybody else does.”


“…And cut a ribbon or two… open a school… stand up in front of Parliament and give a State of the 
Nation address without losing his place... and, and… make weighty decisions about the sales tax on… 
cattle feed or something.” 


“There’s no sales tax anymore. Really, your ignorance of the country’s affairs is…”


“Ok, ok.”


“So you reckon you’ll still have what it takes?”


“Absolutely.”


“And so will this shriveled thing?” she asked prodding his cock, still lying defeated on his stomach.


“Just drop your knickers, honey, and show it the way,” he said in his mock-macho voice.


“Ooo, promises, promises. Lacking a bit of steel at the moment though, isn’t it?”


“It’s been doing a bit of overtime lately, early mornings, late nights. With no penal rates I might add.”


“Penile rates, you mean? So what do you want? Time and a half with a day off in lieu?”


“Yes, plus clothing allowance, dirt allowance and an on-call rate, of course.”


“On-call? Try calling you up in the morning…  I’ve tried everything, save hitting you with a brick.”


“I was there for you this morning. Wasn’t I?”


“Sure! I’d only been sitting on your dick for half an hour. It was only when I twisted your nipples did I get 
any action out of you.”


“I was awake! And it was only 5 minutes, don’t exaggerate. I saw you climb on.”


“You didn’t open your eyes! You used to be so raring to go. It was me that used to put you off. Now I have 
to beg you for sex, or rape you, what happened?”


“You happened! Twice a day for the last two weeks. Before you go to work, when you come home and you 
still want to fuck when we go to bed.”


“Never heard a guy complaining of too much sex before?”


“I’m not complaining, well not much. But could we just hold hands and watch television one night?”


“Good idea! We can move the TV into the bedroom.”


“Then it wouldn’t be my ‘hand’ you’d be holding.”


“Well, it’s hardly a handful at the moment! Hey, I’ve just had a thought. Your dick’s given up but your 
tongue hasn’t.”


“But you’re all smelly.”


“No I’m not. While you were dozing I had a shower.”


“Oh”


“Oh,” Joanne replied sliding up Jonathon’s chest, “There it is. Tongue out… now you know what to do 
with it. Cut to the chase, Jonno… I don’t need foreplay.”


“So I’ve noticed! Just don’t sit down on my face, ok? You put a crick in my neck last time, remember?”


“Baby! I’m not that heavy… get yourself in condition… C’mon… don’t tease… me… ah… bastard! Stop 
it… ah… lick me… don’t keep stopping… oh… that’s better… ah… yes…”


“Mmm… Mmm,” Jonathon hummed against her clitoris.


“Eek, it tickles… oh… Jonno, don’t stop…”


“My tongue’s getting tired.”


“Use you lips then… hum some more… just there… ooosh… oh… uh… like that…. You got it… keep… 
oh… oh… going… yes… suck it… harder… harder still… yes… oh… oh… keep… uh… going… 
ooOOH… OOO… UUUHHH… BBABY… OOOOOHHHH… AAAARRRGGG… Oh Jesus Jesus… 
uh… fuck…”


Joanne ground herself against Jonathon’s face, riding herself to a climax. She grabbed the bedhead for 
support, but even so, much of her weight ended up on top of Jonathon.


“Gerroff, can’t breev,” he complained.


“You’re… such a … romantic… Jonathon,” Joanne panted, moving off his face to settle on his chest.


“Is my nose still there?” he asked, “I think you flattened it.”


“No damage… just a bit bent… it’ll straighten,” she grinned.


“Sputt… I’ve got a mouthful of hair.”


Joanne lay along Jonathon’s body and began to search his mouth with her finger. She began to pluck a few 
errant strands of pubic hair from his lips.


“That one’s from your head, Jonathon, you’re shedding,” she told him.


“Let’s see?”


“Look, it’s blond and long… and straight, not dark and crinkly. You’ll have to cut your hair short… or you 
won’t have any left in a few years.”


“I guess! I just don’t want to feel my age, yet. My hair’s all I’ve got left of my twenties,” he told her.


“I know, babe. But look at it this way. You maybe can’t control the outside, although we all try. But you 
can control what’s in here.” Joanne tapped his chest, somewhere over his heart.


“Unusually Oprah-ish of you my dear. Are you going soft in your old age?” Jonathon told her, grinning.


“I catch it off you! And I guess a baby kind of changes you a little. Well! A lot actually… Y’know, I’ve 
never felt closer to anyone in my life than I do with you, now. I never thought I’d be saying this to anyone, 
let alone a scrawny, idle, half-brain of a man.”


“Hey!”


“Just kidding you. Don’t get your boxers in a twist… ok you’re not wearing any… Hmm… Don’t get your 
dick in knot, ok?


“Ok, it’s lying straight.”


“Good. Honey, I think you are the sweetest man… the most loving person… I have ever met, ok? I 
despaired of finding anyone like you. 
Anyone who would put up with me… 
Shut up a minute! 
I need to know you’re not going to bug out on me at the first sign of adversity. 
To be honest, Jonathon, I don’t know what I would do without you.
Don’t say anything yet! 
Sometimes I lie awake at night just watching you breathe in your sleep, did you know that? 
No, of course not, you’re dead to the world, a Mack truck couldn’t shift you. 
You’ve shown me heaven, Jonathon… 
Stop grinning you smug bastard! Be serious for a minute will you?
I would just like to say that… I love you and adore you and if I give you a hard time, well…it’s not that I 
don’t care for you, ok? 
Maybe it’s because I do.
Now you can speak… 
Just don’t say anything stupid, ok?”


“Well… you’ve shown me… that I can believe in myself… ok? Um… that I feel stronger now than I’ve 
ever felt in my life… That I don’t have to screw up everything… I can attract the love of a beautiful 
woman… and love her in return. And if I hate you for 90% of the time… that other 10% is not only worth 
it… but part of me I can’t do without.”


Jonathon looked up at Joanne to see she was crying. Not only that, he became aware of a tear running down 
the side of his own face.


“Jonathon! That was beautiful,” she said, “I didn’t know you had it in you.” She put her head against his 
chest. Jonathon put his arm around her and they lay like that for what seemed like ages.


“I’m late for work,” she said, eventually.


“Take the day off. I’ll ring and tell them you’re sick.”


“Ok! Fuck them! The number’s in my diary, but not yet. Just hold me for a while, ok?”


“Ok.”



























