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