A Professional Collaboration Ch. 01

As she edged toward my desk, I noted that she seemed to be trying harder to make a physical impression than she usually did. She was wearing a navy dress, short-sleeved, just above the knee, with a modest V-neck and a gauzy mesh flair at the hem. She had on matching pumps with a little heel, in place of her typical flats, and her usual natural look had been accented by reddened lips and touch of blue eyeshadow. She had simple gold studs in her ears. I detected the faint aroma of a musky perfume. This was a side to Jennifer I had never experienced before.

I let her stand there, silently, for a few ticks of the clock. She fidgeted, apparently tongue-tied, and avoided my gaze. At last I decided I had better break the silence. "So, what can I do for you?," I asked, genuinely curious.

Her freckled cheeks flushed and she stammered. "Um, this is hard..." She folded her arms on her chest. "OK, so, I want to ask you something... a favor... but it's OK if you say no." I was silent and managed to catch her gaze for a moment, before she glanced away again. "OK, well, you know what we've been going through, Pete and I. And... well... I think I have figured out a solution. But the thing is, I would need your help... t-to do it... OK?... So... you see, what I'm asking is... is...," and then in a sudden rush, "would you be our sperm donor?"

I honestly had not seen that one coming. Yet, even before I had had time to process the words, my body found the idea physically arousing. Not so much in my dick, as in my chest, my face, my brain-stem. I guess Jennifer's, uh, proposition had engaged the 'urge to procreate,' if perhaps not the 'sex-drive.'

I didn't know what to say, and after a beat she stepped in to fill the gap. "OK, here's the thing: I trust you, and you look a fair bit like Pete... so, what I was thinking was this: if he and I keep trying, and then I just 'happen' to get pregnant, well... then it would be like our miracle baby, and he would get his confidence back, and our marriage could get back on track."

OK... so, if I was understanding her correctly, my 'donation' was to be kept hidden from Pete? That was an added wrinkle. "Oh, uh... wow... that's a lot to process...," I stuttered. "God, uh... I-I'm honored that you would ask..."

"So, look, I'm sure you can understand," she half-interrupted, clearly wanting to make sure she had communicated everything she had to say, and that she had laid out the issues fairly, "that it would always have to be a secret. I hate to ask you to keep a secret like that, and to have a secret like that from your wife, but we could never tell anyone. Not anyone. 'Cause if Pete ever found out, then things would be ruined. I know I can trust you with this, but I also know it's a lot to ask, and I want you to feel you can say no."

By now the gears of my cerebral brain had begun to catch up to my hormonal brain. The idea of making a baby in Jennifer was appealing, in its own way, but God what a shame to have to do it with a turkey-baster. Was there some way I could leverage this situation to get what I really wanted—that is, to remove her clothes and insert myself between her legs?

I toyed, briefly, with manipulative lies (my religion forbids artificial insemination? my sperm are special and can't live outside a human body?), and then with sheer emotional blackmail (you want something, I want something?). But none of these ideas seemed plausible, and nor did any of them feel like how I wanted to treat Jennifer. I wanted to fuck her, true enough, but we were also friends. I guess if I had to jack off into a cup in order to make her life a little better, I could endure that sacrifice. "Yeah, I mean, I think I could..."

"Wait James," she again interrupted, "... see, there's one more thing... Look, I've been thinking about this a lot, and... really, if we were going to do this, we'd really... what I mean is, there's no way we can go to a clinic for this—it would leave too much of a paper trail: bills, insurance, medical forms... it just won't work. So, what I'm saying is, we'd need to, uh... make the baby ... you know, the old fashioned way. I think that's the only way it would work. And I know that's a lot to put on you..."

In an instant my dick was rock-hard. Oh my God. So, what this woman was doing was actually asking me to fuck her—almost begging me to fuck her—so that I could impregnate her, and then her husband could raise my child? I could hardly even hear her last few words over the blood rushing in my ears. My face was red-hot, and I only hoped the bulge in my pants wasn't too obvious.

I tried to calm myself enough to compose my response properly. Apparently she was so naïve that it had never even occurred to her that I'd been fantasizing about getting into her pants for years now. Presumably, it was better to leave it that way.

On the other hand, I did not want to play coy either. What if she changed her mind? Best to seal this deal up right now. "Wow, Jennifer, this is really unexpected... [that was true enough]... but, yes, you can count on me... I'm really happy that you trust me with this, and that I can have the chance to help you and Pete out. This does seem to be a brilliant solution to your problems... And I absolutely agree that it would have to remain our secret. Not only your marriage would be at risk, but mine could be too. We know this is innocent, but it would be a hard thing for some people to understand."

No doubt I should have thought a lot longer and a lot more seriously about all the ways in which this harebrained idea could blow up in my face, but I never for a second considered saying no.

She looked at me with a wavery smile and slightly watery eyes. An expression of gratitude played across her face, overlaid with the stress and anxiety and uncanniness of the moment. "Thank you," she got out in a low voice.

I allowed a quiet pause in the conversation, and then broke it. "So... how should we do this?"

"I've been doing the ovulation tests," she said, slowly and quietly, "and the next three days are supposed to be the best time. There's that guest lecturer speaking tomorrow evening, and I already told Pete I was going. Suppose we skip that and meet at the Westin?"

Wow, she had waited until she was in heat to come to me—either she couldn't get up the nerve to ask me ahead of time, or it was the hormones that had pushed her into action.

"I'll be there."

To be continued...