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.
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.
"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?"
"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,
'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.
"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 'sword-crossing' 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?"
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.
"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.
"Are you doing anything at the moment?" 'Jane' asked.
"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 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.
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.
"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.
"What? How the hell did you get this number?"
"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?"
"Unsuitable. Is that all?"
"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."
"Don't you ever do that to me again."
"What?" he asked.
"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?"
"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."
"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..."
"... So much as call me to ask the time..."
"... We're a State Corporation Wetherall, do you know what that means..."
"... 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."
"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?"
"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."
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.
"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..."