Chapter 2: Vanessa and Caitlyn

"He can't have babies? Why not?" It was the Saturday morning two days later and I'd just told my girlfriend Adam's news. We'd spent the previous night in my bed. She'd been angling for months to get invited to move in but I'd been delaying, mainly because I knew that I was about to move.

"They're not sure, they're still testing."

"I'm not marrying you if we can't have babies," Vanessa said, surprising me completely. It had never crossed my mind that she'd immediately see it as our problem. In fact since Adam had told me his news I'd never asked myself if I might have the same problem. I'd been too worried about Caitlyn and him.

"What, this isn't about me." Who the fuck does she think she is I wondered, then added, "who asked you anyway?"

"I'm serious Dave, it won't work if we can't have children."

I'd been going out with Vanessa for the previous year and we'd been slowly winding our way towards marriage. I'd been debating for weeks whether to ask her to come with me when I moved. As soon as I heard her words something clicked in my brain and I knew I wouldn't be taking her south with me to Miami.

I backed off. "It's probably just a fuck up. He's going to get tested again, this week, I'm sure he'll be fine," I answered.

"You should go too," she threw back.

And I did get myself tested. Not because of her but because I, who'd never even considered it at first, was all of a sudden scared shitless that maybe I was infertile or whatever the hell they called it. But I didn't tell anyone else what I was doing.

Ten days later I got the results. By then I'd broken up with Vanessa. I passed with flying colors. I had a high sperm count, my little sperms were shaped perfectly and my motility was in the top two percentiles. My cock was a fully certified baby making machine.

And yes, as soon as I got the results, I couldn't help thinking about pushing a thick, heavy, creamy load of healthy Montgomery sperm deep into Caitlyn. Of putting my baby inside her.

"You've been ignoring us again," my brother's wife chided with a welcoming smile when she opened the door. It was Friday night and they'd insisted that I come over for dinner. It had been just over two weeks since Adams and my talk. We hadn't discussed it since. I had my 'sperm report' in my pocket.

"Hi hon," I answered as I gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. My sister-in-law always smelt better than other girls.

Ten minutes later, with the three of us settled in their den with beers in our hands, I told them my news.

"WHAAAAT!" my brother demanded.

"You can't," Caitlyn protested.

"I am, I'm leaving the company," I repeated.

"No fucking way," my brother insisted.

"I have to. It's not working," I said softly.

"Of course it's working."

"There's not enough for me to do. Christ, Dad doesn't trust me to empty the waste basket."

And he didn't! My father loved me, always had, and I'd known it growing up, but I'd also always known I was number two in his eyes. Adam had always been held up as what I could be. I'd never quite made it!

Looking back on it now it's a miracle I didn't end up hating my brother. Being continually compared unfavorably to him. It was just an unending stream of comments, comments like: 'Why can't you be as good as your brother', or 'but Adam got ninety in math his first year', or 'Adam scored fifteen touchdowns', and on and on. No matter what I did, dad immediately compared my accomplishment unfavorably to my big brother. And he'd never realized how much it had hurt me.

So I shoulda hated Adam. Except I never had. I'd started off worshipping the big brother who always had time for me, who always invited me along on excursion with his friends. Who'd always complimented me on my accomplishments.

And by the time I joined him at university we were best friends. Even if he was dating Caitlyn Reagan.

I'd debated joining Dad's company when I'd graduated. I'd been afraid that I'd be the extra, and unneeded wheel. Adam had talked me into it even though I'd been ninety percent convinced I'd be better off trying something of my own, even if only for a few years. I'd been right.