I don't like them. Did I ever tell you about the time I mixed up my folders and started sending my stories to people who had just written to say "Wow" and didn't really want the stories showing up on their machines at work? Funny thing is the people who *wanted* the stories and didn't get them were even more pissed!
Hey, and how about the time I mixed up folders with my neighborhood garden club newsletter? I don't even want to talk about it!
Computers. Except for this free smut, who needs them? Like spreadsheets are fun or something. Like they make you smart or something. I'm sure you know the richest guy on the planet is a nerd who runs a Seattle software company that's trying to take over the world. And sometimes he even smells bad! Hey Bill! It's easy! TAKE A SHOWER! You'd think his computers would tell him how to fix his dandruff if they're so fucking smart.
At the very least these machines should be able to tell me your age, and if you're over 18. You're supposed to be if you're reading this stuff. Over 18? Computers can't tell me shit about you. Hell. They don't know shit about me! I just got my AARP card.
Computers are fucked up, you know?
Some of our best friends in the neighborhood are Pete and Mary Sikes. They live about 4 doors up in the little green house on the corner. We've been friends for a few years, ever since we moved into the neighborhood. Pete and Mary stopped by to introduce themselves on the second or third day we were in the house I think. They thoughtfully brought over some pizza and a few beers; I guess it was obvious that we weren't exactly ready to entertain yet. Hell, we'd barely found the silverware.
Over the past couple years we've gotten to know them pretty well. We see each other every couple of months for a movie, or to go bowling, or to rent a video, or just for dinner. We've known they've been trying to have kids for several years. June and I don't want any of the little buggers, but Pete and Mary are just the opposite. They'd make great parents, you can just tell.
It was last Friday when I stepped in it. I mean, I didn't know. I casually asked how "the project" was going. That's how we referred to their attempt to have kids. The four of us had talked about it for many months and they weren't shy about telling us what was going on. They had progressed from making love whenever they felt like it (no pregnancy) to making love on the day when she expected to ovulate (nope) to taking her temperature to know when the egg dropped (nada) to going to a fertility clinic (nothing).
We hadn't talked to them since their appointment last week. And that's when, as I say, I stepped in it. We had Pete and Mary over for cards. The four of us sat in the game room. June was across the table from me; Mary was to my left. "So how goes the project?" I asked. Silence. Suddenly I noticed Mary's eyes welling up, a tear pooling at the pocket at the bottom of each eye socket. She waited for a moment to try to regain her composure, then excused herself and walked into our kitchen.
"Oh shit," Pete said.
"Whad I say?" I asked. "Hell, I'm sorry, I..." Mary was dabbing at her eyes in the next room. June pushed back her chair to get up and help, but Pete motioned her to stay.
"We went to the clinic on Friday. They checked both of us out. It seems, ah, we can't have kids. Ever."
"Oh no," June exclaimed. Her hand fluttered to her mouth. "What did they tell you?"
"Well, she's fine. It's, ah, me. They tell me I'm shooting blanks. A natural born, perfect vasectomy poster boy, that's me. Sperm count, minus 14 or something."
"I don't understand," June said. "You had a vasectomy and you're trying to have children?"
I turned to my wife, who can be a little thick at times. "No, dear, he didn't have a vasectomy. It's just as though he had a vasectomy, but it's natural." I didn't want to say it, but I wasn't sure she understood. "He's sterile." I turned to Pete. "Isn't there anything they can do?"
"Oh sure. For $7000 I can have an operation which has a 10% chance of being successful, and has a 10% chance of leaving me impotent. No thanks. For $15,000 we can get in vitro fertilization, 5 tries. If I have $15,000 lying around somewhere, wop me in the head, OK?" Pete was bitter.
Mary returned to the table. Her eyes were reddened. Now we knew why. "Isn't it terrible?" she said. "No children."
"You could adopt," June said, trying to be helpful.
The tears came back in Mary's eyes. This time she stayed in her seat and dabbed at the moisture with a napkin. "We've talked about that, and we probably will. But we really wanted to have our own. Now we never..." Her voice trailed off.
"How can it cost that much to get some sperm from a sperm bank and, uh, put it in, or, I mean, do whatever they do to, you know,..." I was fumbling my words.
Pete answered me. "It's not the sperm. It's all the fucking doctors, and the tests, and the hospital, and the lab, and the specialists. It's ridiculous. If I had the money, you know, I'd probably do it. But I don't. So now our option is to let her loose on the street and hope she gets lucky."
"Peter," she screamed in mock anger, "Stop that!" She slapped him on the arm, but at least she cracked a little smile on her face. "Anyway, I couldn't just 'do it', you know, with a stranger. I mean what if he had some terrible hereditary disease, or his father was a serial murderer or something. I'd have to know the guy and be comfortable with him. And know his medical history, and all.
"I have my records right upstairs," I said gallantly. Mary blushed a deep red and let out a little yelp. June kicked me under the table. "Hey, hey, it was a joke. For god's sake, take it easy you all. Where's your sense of humor?"
It was Pete who thought about it and spoke up. He said, "You know, Mike, you may have something there." Mary's blush got even a deeper shade, if that was possible. "No, no, listen to me. I don't mean that you, uh, you know, I mean, you could be a sperm donor. You could be the father, sort of. I mean, we do know your medical history and your personality... but we can overlook that... and, well, it sort of makes sense on a lot of levels."
It was my turn to be uncomfortable. June looked at me with that "What the fuck is this?" look in her eyes.
I didn't respond. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My wife was going to kill me after they left, I just knew.
Mary said, "You know..." and her voice trailed off.
I tried to change the subject, but both Pete and Mary wouldn't allow it. Grasping at straws, I thought. Desperate, I thought. Crazy, I thought. They talked about it for the next hour, back and forth across the table. I sat quietly, only speaking when directly spoken to. June didn't contribute much either. But Pete and Mary were transfixed with the idea, and a short 60 minutes later were practically begging me to help them. June nodded, giving me permission.
The plan was that I would jerk off in a cup, give the sperm to them, and they would, uh, apply it. No doctors, no hospital, no lab tests. Just neighbors helping neighbors. Sort of like the United Way.
A week passed, and June and I went over to their house. This was going to be weird. We socialized, and the subject of our mission for later that evening scarcely came up. We joked about all the things we usually joked about, drank a bunch of wine, and had a good time. About 11:00 Pete announced that it was about time to "get started."
Mary said her goodnights, and went into their bedroom to change. Pete followed her, and returned a moment later in his PJs. He had a plastic cup in his hand. "Here, fella," he said, offering it to me. "The bathroom is just down the hall."
June just smirked at me, as if to say "See what your big mouth has gotten you into." I knew she'd never let me live it down. I walked to the bathroom. I unzipped my pants and let them drop. Pete had thoughtfully provided some pornographic magazines, and I leafed through them as my tool began to enlarge.
Dicks in pussies, dicks in mouths, dicks in assholes. Pretty girls with cum on their face. Girls with two guys fucking them. I turned page after page of porno pictures, getting an erection and stroking myself. But I wasn't here for pleasure, I was here to do a job. And I had practiced for this since I was 12! I came in the little cup, cleaned myself up, and pulled up my pants.
I knocked on their bedroom door. Pete cracked the door open and looked out at me. I offered him the cup. I could see Mary sitting on the bed in a see through nightgown, but I couldn't see all that much in the dim bedroom light. I tried, but I couldn't tell if she had her panties on because the blankets were bunched up in front of her.
"Wow," Pete said, looking at the cup. "Good volume. Good job." He winked at me. I didn't know if he was going to use a turkey baster or what. I didn't want to know.
"I feel like an idiot," I said. "And you're welcome."
June chimed, "We'll see ourselves out. You guys have fun." We left.
A couple of weeks went by, and June called Mary. Nothing yet. We got together the following weekend, and everyone decided it was too soon to tell anything. But as more weeks passed, it became apparent that the experiment had failed.
.... There is more of this story ...