Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Donor

   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, www.cartoonnetwork.com was
probably what you were looking for, young lad.

   Chapter 1

   Jonathon Wetherall knocked on the front door of number 12 for the final
interview before selection.  He waited somewhat nervously for the door to
be opened.

   `Jane' admitted him into the front room that was being used as an
office. As usual the other woman `Margaret' was already seated at the desk.
"This shouldn't take long Mr.  Wetherall," `Jane said, "we just need a
couple of more things".

   Jonathon hadn't quite figured out what the relationship between the two
women was.  `Were they living together in a lesbian relationship?  Or were
they just friends?' He couldn't tell.  For the last three weeks he had
absently studied the 2 for some sign, but their attitude had been entirely
businesslike.

   "...So you've studied the contract... ah, Mr.  Wetherall?" He became
aware that `Jane' was talking.  "Sorry," he said, "lost in thought for a
while." "I asked you if you agreed to the conditions in the contract?" She
repeated somewhat peeved.  "Oh yes, no problem." "Good.  So if you are
selected you should expect to hear from us by Friday.  Did you bring your
test results?" "Yes, here," he replied, handing them the brown envelope. 
"Good.  We'll be in touch, that's all, you can go."

   As Jonathon walked back down the path he began to wonder whether it was
such a good idea after all.  All this carry-on just to donate a little of
his sperm.  Psychological tests, IQ tests, DNA profiling, medical history
and, of course, tests for STD's.

   When he'd answered the ad in the local paper he'd hadn't expected it to
be such a demanding process.  `Jerk a little semen into a flask', and a
quick $500.  Good money for something he'd be doing anyway.

   The contract though had run to a couple of pages.  `If `Jane' conceived
he would have no claim of custody.' `He would forgo any parental rights. 
In return there would be no maintenance order.'

   He walked back to his tiny one-room apartment, he shared with his cat.
It was in the usual disorder, clothes strewn about, dishes in the sink.  `I
really need a housekeeper,' he thought to himself.

   He searched through his CDs scattered haphazardly next to the stereo. 
Bic Runga, Kristin Hersh, Kim Deal, women singers, pleasant voices, good
melodies, but with an edge, a certain something.  He chose Kristin and put
her on, settled into his armchair and closed his eyes.

   On the verge of 40 Jonathon had never really stuck at anything in his
life.  He must have had, what, about 40 jobs so far, one for every year of
his life.  He made a bit of money writing copy for a local radio station
and the occasional `voice over' work.  `Voice overs' was where the real
money was but it was hard to get regular work.  Once your voice became
associated with a product other advertisers were reluctant to use you. 
It's a reality of the business.

   `What other jobs had he had?' Salesman, truck driver, mechanic, TV
repairman, none of them had held his interest for longer then a few months.

   Women?  He'd come close to marriage once but he'd screwed that up.  As
the day was coming nearer he'd suddenly got cold feet.  A bad case of the
jitters.  Sue had finally gotten fed up with his erratic behaviour and
walked out of his life.  A fine woman she was too.

   He wasn't that bad looking.  He'd always worn his blond hair long but it
was beginning to thin out alarmingly.  He now kept it in a ponytail.  He
described his features as `Nordic' looking.  His body was well proportioned
and not showing any middle aged `spread' yet.

   `Two more days and I'll know whether I'll earn myself $500,' he thought
to himself.

   On Friday morning the phone rang about 9.30.  It shook Jonathon awake.
He picked the receiver up struggling to clear the fog from his brain. 
"Yeah, whatizzit?" he said.  "Mr.  Wetherall?" it was `Jane's' voice. 
"Yeah." "I'm pleased to tell you that you've been selected." "Good,
thanks," he replied.  "I want to start this weekend," she went on, "is that
convenient?" "Um, sure." "Ok, 2pm, Saturday?" "I guess that'll be ok," he
said wondering what game was on and whether he'd miss it.  Hell!  $500 for
a wank, he could afford to give up an afternoon.

   Saturday, 1.55pm Jonathon was outside number 12.  "You're prompt," said
`Jane,' "I like that."

   `Jane' was in her late thirties, he figured.  She wasn't bad looking, `a
bit plain', he thought and she'd always wore conservative business suits
when he'd seen her.  He thought maybe business executive or a lawyer. 
Certainly a professional type.  Jonathon assumed she was a lesbian whose
biological clock was ticking and wanted to have a kid before time ran out.
Her hair was always tied back giving her a rather severe look.

   `Jane' talked briefly to her friend `Margaret' standing in the hallway
of the rather expensive looking house.  "Do you want to stick around?" "Do
you want me to?" "Margaret' asked.  "I think he'd be alright, he looks
pretty harmless to me." "Ok, I'll be off, I'll see you on Monday." With
that `Margaret' left.  No peck on the cheek, no lingering expression of
affection, `Just friends,' Jonathon thought.  `This whole set-up is looking
a bit weird.'

   `Jane led him through the house to a door down a short passageway.  "You
can get ready in there," `Jane' said.  "Ready?" Jonathon queried.  "You
know, do what you have to do, I'm sure you don't need instructions," she
told him with a wry grin.  "Oh yes, of course." He flushed in
embarrassment.

   Jonathon opened the door to find it was a spare bedroom.  A double bed
dominated but for the most part the room was Spartan.  "Er, just a minute,"
he called to `Jane' retreating down the passageway.  "What do I do with
it... er... you know.  Don't you have a test tube or something?" "Test
tube?" She asked in surprise, "oh, I see...ha ha, that's funny.  Did you
assume... oh... we didn't tell you perhaps... I'm so sorry." Jonathon was
confused.

   "No test tubes, I'm afraid.  We'll be doing it the natural way.  I
thought you knew.  It's not too late to back out if you want.  Although it
would be a pain finding another candidate on short notice.  You were the
outstanding applicant, believe it or not.  All the characteristics I would
want for my child." "I was, I mean, I am," Jonathon was flustered. 
"Natural way, you mean like... together... I mean..." "Unless you can think
of some other natural method.  `Together,' would seem the only way," `Jane'
smiled.

   "Do you have some sort of religious objections Mr.  Wetherall?  You
know, it did ask that question in the form we sent you.  You should have
stated..." She continued.  "No, no objections, it's just... a bit of a
surprise... I assumed I would be using a test tube and..." "We believe that
intercourse is the more effective way, Mr.  Wetherall.  So, if you don't
have a problem, shall we get on with it?  I do have a dinner appointment."
"Ok... sure... no problem... I'll just go back there and... get ready,"
Jonathon stumbled out the words.  "Please." replied `Jane' continuing up
the passageway.

   Jonathon sat on the bed with his trousers down and his limp dick in his
hand.  `Get ready,' he thought, `get ready?  How?  This whole situation is
about as erotic as mucking out the stables.' He tried to think of porno he
had seen, girls he'd lusted after.  He even tried to remember girls that
had turned him down way back in school.  Now he was the dark avenger,
stalking them, giving some payback for the humiliations he'd suffered as a
teenager.

   Abducting them and taking them to a cabin in the woods, in his
imagination, over the next week he would turn them into his willing sex
slaves.  They would call him `master' and be ready to accept him anywhere,
anyway, anyhow and anytime.

   Jonathon squeezed and stroked his unwilling penis as first Melissa, then
Annette and Joanne took him into their willing mouths.  He tried to imagine
their budding teenage breasts bobbing on their chests, their eager young
faces.  So eager to please and grateful for every compliment.  "Mr. 
Wetherall?  Are you ready yet?" `Shit' he thought.

   "No, not yet... sorry." "Look, what do you need?" `Jane' said, "I
haven't got all day." "I'm not a machine," Jonathon said in exasperation.
"I can't just turn it on and off." He heard her sigh outside the door. 
"Can I come in?" Jonathon quickly pulled up his pants and said, "Sure."

   `Jane' had changed into a long silk nightdress.  It hugged quite a slim
figure with well-proportioned breasts.  The way they jiggled when she
walked across the room revealed she was braless.  Her hair was still tied
back severely from her face, though, giving her a stern, authoritarian
look. She sat on the other side of the bed.

   "Listen," she said, "I'm not looking for a bell-ringing performance
here. I just need you to produce the goods.  I'm not interested in you as a
husband or date.  All I want is what you have down there and I'm willing to
pay for it.  That is what we agreed to.  I'm sorry I don't have any porno
here, I'm not interested in the stuff.  I don't read romance novels,
they're not worth my time.  I'm a busy woman with a successful career and
no time or inclination to have men come in and screw up my life.  I don't
know what turns you on, or care, but I've only got one hour so you'd better
find the trigger soon or the deal's off and I'll go look for someone else."
" I want to play my part," Jonathon said, "But this whole thing, the
atmosphere, it's so clinical and businesslike.  I need a bit of tenderness,
attraction, chemistry, perhaps a bit of lust.  Perhaps a bit of romance,
even though it's being paid for.  A fantasy of a romance even." "For
heavens sake," she said, "men!"

   `Jane' came and sat next to Jonathon.  "Take down your trousers," she
ordered.  He shyly pushed down his pants.  Almost instinctively his hands
covered his genitals.  "Good grief, we're a nervous wee thing, aren't we?
You're not a virgin are you?" "No," he replied.  "Good.  Would it help if I
rubbed it for you?  But I don't want you groping me like a like a two-bit
lay in a back alley, understood?" "Sure, yes... I mean... go ahead..."

   `Jane' set to work stroking and manipulating Jonathon's dick.  She
seemed to know what she was doing and soon had him semi-rigid.  She would
pause and run her fingertips lightly down over his balls and along the
inside of his thighs.  They were cool and smooth to the touch.  "Better?"
`Jane' asked.  "Much, thanks.  If you don't mind me asking, you must have
had some pretty disastrous relationships in your past.  To make you so...
against men." "One," `Jane' replied, "I do mind you asking, it's none of
your business.  Two, I'm not against men, I just can't be bothered with
them.  Three, I don't need the chat, thanks."

   "Ok, ok... whatever you say." Jonathon lay back and closed his eyes. 
For once he tried not to think of England, or sheep, or mucking out
stables. "Think about this," `Jane said, " how many chances do you get to
get a piece of arse that's willing to pay for it, no strings, and won't
come round the next day with her big brother?" " It may help," he said, "if
I got a look at the piece of arse I'm getting." "Sorry, I don't do strip
shows."

   Despite himself, Jonathon found he was getting hard.  "That's better,"
"Jane' said, "Let's get on with it then, shall we?

   With that `Jane' lay back along the bed and pulled up her nightdress. 
Nice, well-shaped legs emerged, which she bent up and spread.  She held the
nightdress between her thighs, concealing her crotch.  "C'mon, hop up," she
commanded.

   Jonathon knelt between her thighs and edged his way forward, dick in
hand.  "Now don't charge in like a bull, ok?"

   As he neared her crotch she reached out and grabbed his penis.  Taking
some KY from the nightstand she squirted a little on her hand and smeared
it on him.  With another squirt she reached under her nightgown and did the
same to herself.  Jonathon got a tantalizing glimpse of her black bush. 
"Ok, come here... that's right... I'll guide you.  Men never find it on
their own... there... now be gentle."

   Jonathon eased himself slowly into her, with `Jane's' hand firmly
wrapped around him, controlling the action.  "Ok, come in... a bit more...
you can go right in now... " `Jane' instructed.  "You're tight!" "Oh
please?" She reacted, "don't give me that macho bullshit.  You're as big as
a stallion, ok?" "That's some attitude you have lady." "Hard won!  Now shut
up and push."

   Try as he might Jonathon just couldn't get there.  He even tried rapidly
working himself at her entrance, but then he'd look up and see the look of
impatience on `Janes's' face and he'd wilt.  Finally he sat up.  "This is a
waste of time," he told `Jane'.  "That is the first thing you've said I
agree with," `Jane' replied pulling down her nightdress.  "I guess you're
just not up to it.  You'd better pull on your pants and go.  I'll find
someone else." "You'd better look elsewhere than the human race," replied
Jonathon.  "I'm not paying for the sarcasm, Mr.  Wetherall, go home and
feed the cat." "You're not paying me at all.  How did you know I have a
cat?" "I'll send you a cheque for $80.  As for the cat... it figures, Mr.
Wetherall, it figures.  Good bye."

   Life pretty much returned to normal for Jonathon.  By the second week
he'd managed to successfully delete all thought of `Jane' from his mind.

   In some ways she reminded him of his ex-fiancé, smart-mouthed, too sure
of herself and arrogant.  Sue had finally been one over because Jonathon's
wit and sarcasm exactly matched hers.  By the end of the `swordcrossing'
they would dissolve in laughter and wrestle on the bed and then...

   But `Jane' was as cold a fish as he'd ever come across and a complete
turn off.

   Three weeks later the phone rings at 9am, Saturday.  "Mr.  Wetherall? 
This is `Jane'." "Whatdayawant?  I left my balls there?" "Are you still
interested in a job?" "You're kidding me?" "No... Well?"



   Chapter 2



   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 with action.  "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.



   Chapter 3



   HIGHER SALARIES COMMISSION Jonathon read, INCOMES OF OUR TOP CORPORATE
EXECUTIVES.

   Jonathon scanned down the screen until his eyes settled on, NATIONAL
TELECOMMUNICATIONS CORPORATION.  Chief Executive, Joanne Van
Wettering..................$1,000,000+ pa `Mary mother of God,' he thought,
`plus what?'

   It had been three weeks since Joanne had stormed out of his flat, again,
and he'd not heard from her since.  At times he thought about using her
phone numbers he knew but decided against it.

   Jonathon began to take walks past her house.  He knew he was playing a
potentially dangerous game.  They had laws about this sort of behaviour but
he was sure Joanne wouldn't call the police.

   He had just turned her corner, on the third day, when he became aware of
a car behind him, slowing down.  He kept walking until a toot from the
car's horn caused him to stop.

   Turning he saw a white BMW, stopped, but the sunlight reflected in the
windscreen obscured the driver's face.  It moved opposite him and he saw it
was Joanne.  "Are you stalking me?" she said, lowering the window.  "No, I
was just passing," Jonathon replied.  "Oh sure, and yesterday?  You were
just passing again?" "Yes." "I don't have the energy to chase away lost
little puppies.  Can you do me a favour and go home?"

   "If you really want, I don't want to bother you." "Of course you do...
Look, get in for a moment," she said.  Jonathon slipped into the passenger
seat.  Joanne started the car moving with a squeal and headed for the main
road.

   "I'll be honest with you Jonathon," Joanne began.  "I have kept my
private life out of the press for 10 years.  Yesterday, I came close to
calling the police but I didn't want the hassle of laying a charge.  If the
papers got hold of the story, and start digging then I might end up with a
big mess on my hands.  I don't need the distraction, Jonathon.  So I'm
asking you to go home, forget you ever met me, and sleep with your cat."
"What private life Joanne"?

   Joanne spun the car into the park gate and brought it to a screeching
halt.  "You have some nerve, you know.  What gives you the right to talk to
me that way," she bristled.  "You can talk!  You've used nothing but
sarcasm and put-downs since we met." "We didn't `meet'.  I hired you. 
Unsuccessfully too." She said.  "And came to dinner..." "To get you to stop
calling me.  YOU thought you could waltz me off to bed." "No, I thought I
could `massage' you off to bed.  I don't waltz."

   Joanne sighed in exasperation.  "I should have let you.  Perhaps it
would have been a lot less trouble." "There's still time?" "I was joking,
fool!" "I'm not," replied Jonathon.  "Yes, that's a problem," she said
starting the car.  "C'mon," she said, "At least I owe you a dinner."

   They traveled in silence to an up-market local restaurant.  Joanne rang
ahead to book a table.  "Somewhere discrete." "Hmm romantic!" Jonathon
said. "So I won't be noticed, actually.  If any person asks your name,
don't give it and tell the restaurant, ok?" "I'm the `mystery man', ok."
Joanne sighed again and said, "Just keep your mouth shut."

   They were seated at the back of the restaurant, but off to the side of
the kitchens where it was quite dark.  "Nice food," said Jonathon.  "It
should be," replied Joanne, "at these prices.  Jonathon, that music, what
CD was it?  "Limbo, Throwing Muses, do you want me to get you a copy?"
"I'll find it, thanks." "I have lot's of others you'd probably like."
"Don't bother.  Just that one, it sort of grows on you."

   "Can I pay a compliment?" Jonathon asked.  "No!  This is not a date. 
And stop staring at me, I told you before." "Question!" "What?" "Have you
had many boyfriends?" "None of your business." "I'm picking no.  Maybe...
one or two.  A childhood one perhaps then... someone who really hurt you, a
real love."



   "Have you finished?  What are you?  Pushing 40 maybe?  Never married? 
Have you been leaving hearts on the side of the road or is there something
more, some dark side to your nature.  Is there a little bit of horror in
your past, Jonathon?

   Jonathon paused, deep in thought.  "Um, horror no," he said, "I screw
up..." "Why is that, Jonathon?  People screw up for a reason.  Usually
because they never wanted to do it in the first place, and weren't honest
enough with themselves." "Honest?  Maybe..." "I'll tell you Jonathon.  You
are afraid of life, afraid of success.  You set yourself goals you'll never
reach so life can tell you what a useless lump of shit you are.  Then what
happens, Jonathon?" "Um, No." "Mummy comes along and hugs you and tells you
everything is alright, except!  There's no mummy anymore, or maybe she
never did that anyway and you're still looking for the hugs..." "Ok, ok...
Lay off... Maybe you're right in everything you say...I don't know..."
"Here's the deal, Jonathon.  We leave the psychoanalysis to Freud shall
we?"

   Jonathon was lost in thought for a moment.  Eventually he looked up and
said, "You know?  Your eyes really sparkle when you get angry..." "What? 
Oh for God's sa..." Said Joanne, burying her head in her hands.

   She started shaking and Jonathon's concern began to grow.  "Joanne?...
Joanne?... Are you alright?" Eventually, Joanne took away her hands to grab
a tissue.  She then dabbed her eyes.  "Are you crying, was it something I
said." Jonathon was confused.  She sucked in her breath and looked straight
ahead.  "I'm not crying... I'm laughing... `Sparkle' Oh ha ha..." And she
buried her head again.

   Later, while walking back to the car Joanne said, "I'll take you home
but I'm not coming in." "Ok." "And don't try to slobber all over me, Ok?"
"Ok." "Or `sparkle' wont be the word.  Think Mt St Helens on a bad day."
"Mt St Helens, got it."

   On the way to Jonathon's house, Joanne said, "You're the strangest
person I have ever come across." "Thank you, I think." "Totally
impossible..." "Impossible..." "I should take you down the coast and leave
you by the side of the road."

   They pulled up outside Jonathon's, Joanne turned off the engine.  As
Jonathon unlocked his front door Joanne stood behind him.  "Are you coming
in after all?" He asked.  "Just making sure you don't run after the car
when I leave." Joanne followed him inside.

   She walked over to his CD collection.  It was now in some order,
alphabetically.  "Where is she... here.  Good grief Jonathon you obsess
around one artist." "How so?" "There's a whole shelf of Kristin Hersh." "I
like the music." "I guess!"

   Jonathon came up behind her and lightly put his hands on her waist. 
"Don't," she said.  But she didn't move away.  "Question," he said. 
"What?" Her voice was a little softer now.  "You didn't come in here to
look at my CD's." "That's a statement." "So what did you come in for"? 
"Curious." "About?" "Curiosity." "Huh?  `Curious about curiosity'?" "Yes."
"Whose curiosity are you curious about?" "Mine... and yours." "Yours?" "Do
you need to repeat everything I say?"

   Jonathon's arms now circled her waist.  Joanne was around the same
height that meant his chin was practically resting on her shoulder.  "You
smell..." he started to say.  "Don't!  Don't try and sweet-talk me.  You
are too clumsy at it." "Ok." "Just put this on the stereo and we'll sit
down over there, ok?" She said, indicating the sofa.

   They sat down on the sofa.  Joanne accepted Jonathon's arm around her
neck.  He was acutely aware of her warm leg, pressed against his. 
"Jonathon?  If I hadn't had a few wines I wouldn't be here at all,
understand?" "Yes." "I'm not a cold, unfeeling bitch, you know?" "No."
"Shut up!  You don't need to answer." Jonathon nodded his head.

   Joanne slumped down so her head was resting on Jonathon's shoulder.  "I
didn't have the best of childhood's.  Dad was, well, an alcoholic and mum
was pretty much inaccessible to us kids.  Keep quiet, please Jonathon. 
It's hard enough to talk like this, without your sympathy..."



   She took a breath.  "I learned to rely on myself from pretty early on.
Studying kept me out of the way, too.  I never expected my parents to be
there at graduation and I was never disappointed."

   "Dad began to show interest in me when I was about 7.  Don't, say a
word, Jonathon.  I've never told this to anyone in my life, not even my
mother.  If you breathe a word Jonathon that breath will be your last.  I
mean it." "Ok," Jonathon croaked.

   "Dad began to touch me.  In the bath, first and then he started coming
into my bedroom.  He was usually drunk.  Have you got a tissue?" "Sleeve?"
"That will do," Joanne dabbed her eyes on Jonathon's sleeve.

   "Funny.  At first I liked the attention.  He was always gentle, you
know? I'd even miss it when he never came in for a few days.  Later I
became aware that he shouldn't be doing those things to me and it made me
angry.  And guilty too, I think.  Guilty because I liked it... he never
hurt me... never forced himself.  I know some victims of incest and abuse
were physically injured and stuff.  But it wasn't with me."

   "I've taped every Oprah show so, Jonathon, don't give me the
psychobabble, please.  Just understand why I'm the way I am." "Ok, um, I
don't know what to say." "Good.  Much better then your usual crap."

   "Doesn't answer the question though as to why you want a child,"
Jonathon said.  "No.  Because the answer's too simple, I'm 37, I want a
baby, end of story."

   Joanne rearranged herself so her head was resting in Jonathon's lap. 
She allowed Jonathon to stroke her face.  She lifted her head as he untied
her hair, then shook it free as she settled again.  "You know?  Your hands
feel pretty nice when you get used to them." "Thanks.  You're pretty nice
yourself." "No I'm not.  You don't need to answer every compliment." "Can I
say anything?" "Only if you're real."

   "May I kiss you?" Jonathon asked.  "Let me give you a bit of free
advice. Sometimes it's better if you're not so polite." Cradling her head,
Jonathon bent down and kissed her.  A light exploratory brush before
joining his lips to hers.

   Jonathon took his time.  He didn't want to break the mood this time. 
Everything appeared to be going his way at last and he was anxious not to
spoil it.  So he was nervous when he finally moved his hand down from
caressing her hair to her shoulder, then down her arm.  Joanne reached up
and held his head, increasing the pressure of their kissing.  Jonathon
moved his hand to her side, stroking the silken fabric of her expensive
blouse.

   "Jonathon?  Let me up?" "What's the matter?" "Nothing, I just don't
fancy you fumbling with my underwear." "Oh!" "Don't give me that `sad
puppy' expression.  Just show me where your bedroom is." "Oh, sure." "There
you are, that's brightened you up!  Through here?  You've picked up your
socks?"

   Jonathon was glad that he had resumed the habit of making his bed in the
morning.  He thought it the ultimate in wishful thinking, but this time,
all that effort was not in vain.  "It's tidy!  What's gotten into you,
Jonathon, expecting company?" Jonathon touched her on the shoulders and
turned her gently to face him.  "Do you always have to have a smart remark
for everything?" "Pretty much!  Do you always have to be an easy mark?

   "Do you want help with those clothes?" "Still asking permission?" "Ok
then, I want this off," Jonathon said, reaching for the top button of her
blouse.  By the third button Joanne had circled his waist and was lifting
his T-shirt.

   "Jonathon?" She whispered to his face, inches from her own.  "Mmm?"
"Don't expect too much, ok?" "Too much what?" Jonathon whispered back.  "I
haven't..." He silenced her with his mouth.

   Between kissing they managed to shed her blouse and his T-shirt.  While
Joanne's hands were exploring his torso, Jonathon's were working their way
towards the contents of her bra.  Becoming bolder, he palmed one and felt
the stiffening nipple beneath his hand.  Her breasts were heavier than what
he imagined.  Womanly full with prominent nipples that left Jonathon's
mouth dry with anticipation.

   Panting, Joanne sat on the bed and reached behind to undo her bra. 
"You'd better understand....  I don't do... oh, oh, ohs," she said "I not
going to massage... your ego." "Like the strip shows you don't do..." "Just
getting comfortable... I can put my bra back on...if you prefer." "No! 
Don't!" "Jonathon...uh... Don't... slobber...."

   But Joanne didn't seem to mind when Jonathon squeezed and caressed her
breasts.  Following his hands with his mouth and tongue.  When she began to
urgently rub the front of his pants she said, "You... seem to be... doing
better... than last time." "You not lying... like ... your getting a...
cervical smear." Giggling she tugged at his trousers, "Get them off..."

   Soon they began wrestling.  The game?  Who can undress the other first.
Joanne was the winner, just, although her panties had been pulled down to
her knees.

   "What are you doing?" she said in surprise as Jonathon pushed his head
between her legs.  "Stop... uh... shit!... careful!... too sensitive...
uh... Jonathon!... oo." He probed her with his tongue, worked it up and
down her slit and sucked on her labia.  Jonathon stroked her legs and
thighs.

   Joanne's squirming became more urgent, growing in intensity.  Her
breathing came in gasps.  Jonathon looked at her from between her legs, in
response she looked down at him.  "What's wrong?  Keep going," she said.

   Joanne's pussy glistened in arousal, her musky aroma assailed Jonathon's
senses.  He watched her body heave itself at him, wanting him to do more,
wanting him to bring her to conclusion.  He thought it was the sexiest
sight he'd ever seen.  Her full breasts with their rigid, shining nipples
swayed on her chest.  "C'mon Jonathon, please?" Shuffling forward he needed
no guidance to find her entrance.

   Jonathon tried to pace himself as best he could.  He kept his movements
deliberately slow and deliberate and used every trick he could think of to
delay his orgasm as long as possible.

   On the other hand, he used his fingers to help Joanne build towards
hers. He stopped to tongue her breasts, rolled her over and massaged her
bottom, and played with her tongue with his own.  All the time Joanne was
gasping and moaning.  `For someone, who doesn't do `ohs' she's doing pretty
well,' he thought.

   Her gasping built in urgency and volume.  Jonathon was at the edge
himself and couldn't hold back any longer.  He increased his thrusting
until he was hammering into her.  "God, oh god..." Joanne cried,
"Jonathon..." Her body stiffened, she clung to him like a steel clamp,
holding him in her.  Her fingernails dug into his bottom cheeks leaving
them red afterwards.  She emitted one long primeval groan.

   Jonathon blasted his seed deep into her with an intensity that was
almost painful.  For a moment he saw spots before his eyes.

   Utterly exhausted they lay locked together as Jonathon slowly wilted
until discomfort caused them to change positions.  Eventually Jonathon
rolled off and lay beside her.  "Well...proves something," she said. 
"What?" "I knew you... had to be... good for... something," she answered as
she recovered her breath.

   The End