Freeing Kirsty Ch. 06

SO FAR: Divorcee Merrick Jamieson (35) visiting New York comes into contact with the moll of the mysterious Spiro. The spirited Kirsty Fallon (25) finds she has become attracted to Merrick and follows the photo-journalist to his homeland and begins working with him. Merrick deals with a retriever sent to find Kirsty and travels to New York where he wins her freedom from Spiro. The couple now head to Los Angles for their wedding, with Kirsty eager to become pregnant. Merrick is unaware that his prospective mother-in-law has not accepted him but her husband immediately bonds with the New Zealanders.

* * *

As soon as the film on the aircraft finished, Merrick selected a classical music channel and said with a yawn, "Night-night darling."

Darling leaned over and received the sweetest of kisses. "Sleep safely," Kirsty purred. "I'm reading this fashion mag for a while; it's interesting to read critically what other journalists write."

Kirsty concluded that was a rather significant thought because it reflected her blossoming maturity as a working journalist. On the flight to New Zealand four months earlier she'd red magazines hopefully expecting to be titillated. If the writer had disappointed Kirsty would have bailed out early, mentally giving that journalist the fingers. Now she was interested in dissecting the reasons why the writer had failed to hold and even fire her interest.

The critical task was to find if Kirsty herself the problem or was the writer off-beam? Even better, when the writer gripped Kirsty from the outset she would read to the very last word and sigh, sob or smile as appropriate, her emotions barred. Then, after a few minutes respite she would return to find what techniques, skills and command of language had been engaged to draw Kirsty headfirst into such a superior article.

It was, of course, impossible to determine the contribution of good editing, but then one is reminded of the saying about a silk purse and a sow's ear.

Understandably, Kirsty didn't do this analysis with everything she read; just occasionally and selectively, when she had the time to work her mind leisurely in that manner.

Take this article she was reading, she thought, It was dumped on to pages 59-60. Even the heading to the article was third-rate: 'Despite the Fags and Booze I Conceived'. What a disgusting thought. However, the word 'conceived' had snared her attention. The writer was a subeditor on the magazine and for some weird reason the editor had allowed the woman to wallow in her desire to share her story with readers.

Kirsty had to admit that it was written a notch of two above the work of a hack journalist. But she knew had she been assigned to write the article she would have interviewed the expectant journalist to extract more emotional comments and then would have tried to produce a very much more captivating account

The silly idiot, though Kirsty; fancy filling her body with alcohol and nicotine while shagging away trying to get pregnant. I do hope that baby is all right, she sighed. Perhaps the writer had curbed her excesses as soon as she was declared pregnant. Now that was a serious omission from the story and there were others.

Kirsty had cut back on alcohol drastically and limited herself to two cups of coffee a day. Those were major sacrifices and the mind battles not to yield had mostly ended positively. That's why this article had attracted her – she'd been wracked trying to be good whereas this weak-minded cow of a subeditor probably had a glass in one hand and a fag in the other while being poked the very time she was impregnated and now was telling the world how lucky she was.

Thanks to the one pre-dinner glass of wine – her only alcoholic drink for the day – and diligently including those nice foods designed to boost her intake of folic acid to try to help increase her chances of getting pregnant, Kirsty had not been unduly upset by the appalling behavior and slack attitudes of this woman she was reading about. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the woman's child as a smiling, gurgling little tot who absolutely radiated good heath.

The aircraft was roughly in line with Fiji when the sleeping bride-to-be began to dream, a dream that she would mostly remember in the morning simply because it was so astonishing.

* * *

Kirsty dreamed herself into a rather large cave. Not a rock cave, because its walls, floor and roof seemed to be heaving membrane, colored white through to red with perhaps touches of purple.

Fluid of varying viscosity was dripping off the roof and walls and surging up and down on the sloping floor like a white-water rafting river where it swirls into a whirl pool, or that's how it seemed.

Suddenly a counter-flow of thick lumpy white fluid gushed through a smallish opening downstream.

By some strange manipulation Kirsty found her vision cycled up enormously in magnification. She'd not managed to focus on the first white wave in time, but a second wave followed and then came four or perhaps five more.

Focusing into the second wave Kirsty could see they were cute little tadpole thingies; Hundreds of thousands of them, perhaps millions.

Then she realized that she was watching sperm being deposited into a vagina. How remarkable! It astounded her that she was in this privileged position.

Then, absolutely unbelievably, out of those zillions of tadpoles in the second wave one stood out as it washed by. It was the only one with a gold aura around it. It called out - "Hi Kirsty, Tiger's doing his best for you. This one is what surfies call the seventh wave - the really big one in a set."

Then it was gone, diving with the mass into the creamy fluid to enter what Kirsty now realized must be the cervix.

Little Goldie as Kirsty called him, as he'd not given his name, had flashed past so quickly. She was doubly staggered, not only in being able to witness this remarkable happening but also because Little Goldie had referred to Merrick as Tiger. Until now only Kirsty and Merrick had been privy to that most intimate of nicknames, being bestowed by Kirsty the first time Merrick had gone down on her Muzzling around he'd growled and growled until she was so tingling with anticipation that she screamed, "Go Tiger" and she continued using Tiger as an intimate appellation.

A mind-switch instantaneously had Kirsty witnessing the action in the uterus. She'd already been aware of the carnage happening outside with fatalities already apparent within the waves and huge number failing to make the narrow opening into the cervix.

It was bedlam in the uterus so Kirsty though 'egg' and found herself in a fallopian tube.

"Hi mother."

The soft form Kirsty deduced was one of her released eggs didn't look feminine at all, but not male either she noted with relief.

"I'm hoping one of the Ricky's will be the one to penetrate me; there are two hundred and twenty thousand Ricky's out there struggling into exhaustion to try to get to me first. That sounds a lot, but I understand there are five million Johns in this lot."

"Goodness gracious, how many tadpoles in total?"

"Well, thanks to you lying on the floor with your feet raised twenty-eight degrees and a reasonable sperm count because you have been feeding and exercising Merrick very well, according to my information he managed to ejaculate 66.37 million."

"He pumped that many into me? No wonder I felt so full."

"It wasn't that which was making you feel full," she was answered with a giggle.

"Darn it, here comes a Bruce."

"Oh, not a Bruce," Kirsty wailed.

"It's OK, he's been caught in a back-suction so has gone."

"Look, look!" screamed Kirsty. "There's Little Goldie."

"Little Goldie? No, he's a Ricky and there's another Ricky just ahead of him. But they are too far back. Here comes a Marvin."

"A Marvin; oh yuk!"

"You don't want a Marvin, mother? Well, I'm not supposed to do this but you are so cute I will."

Just as Marvin was about to attach to the egg it suddenly moved sideways and Marin went headlong on.

A Ricky was coming up the tube and the egg said softly to Kirsty, "I think I'm going to be the successful egg. It must have been a worrying time for you?"

"Yes, and I've now decided to accept my fate. Oh look, it seemed as if something flicked Little Goldie - I mean Ricky - over the heads of the others. There is a chance he'll make it, isn't there?"

"I'm sorry, Kirsty, but he's back too far back to sprint home first. If I swing out of the way again I'll not get back in time for your Little Goldie and the next one is one of those Bertram idiots– you'll not like arriving home with him in nine month's time."

As the leading Ricky was almost home, he did a victory barrel roll and lost momentum. Little Goldie applied last-gasp acceleration. As he went past he flicked his long tail at Kirsty, his golden aura disappeared and he penetrated the egg to fertilize it.

Kirsty wasn't sad because she knew that although the job of Little Goldie was over, she knew he would live on in spirit.

"Goodbye mother. I must move along and attach myself to the uterine lining."

"Goodbye, darling. Will I be having a boy or a girl?"

"Chemical changes have to take place before anyone will know that. But don't worry, either one will be lovely. Why don't you wait and be surprised when your baby is delivered?"

Everything went black.

* * *

Kirsty stirred as she felt a soft hand in hers. "Are you all right Miss Fallon? You have been crying out a name - Little Goldie. I think you have been having a nightmare."

"Oh no, not a nightmare. Could you please get me a glass of milk and a whisky for my fiancée? I'm about to give him some wonderful news."

"Of course," said the cabin attendant. "I will be right back."

Kirsty went to shake Merrick awake but she found his eyes open and he was smiling at her.

"What are you about to tell me that's worth a whisky?"

"Don't be an impatient, Tiger. Wait till you get your drink."

They clinked glasses.

"You're giving me an after-midnight whisky and you're only drinking milk?"

"For the next nine months, daddy."

"What? When? Where? Who said?"

"I'm telling you. I don't need medical confirmation because I saw it all happen."

Merrick groaned, thinking the pressure to conceive was turning Kirsty neurotic.

Then he saw the magazine folded on Kirsty's lap. Picking it up, he began reading, was disgusted and stuffed it into the seat pocket.

"I am absolutely certain I am pregnant from last night."

"Oh yeah? Well I happen to know it will take some days before a doctor can tell you that, and they are experts.

Ignoring that comment, Kirsty said, "I also believe it will be a boy, he will have golden hair and he will look like a Ricky."

Merrick grinned and gulped down quality whisky.

"I tell you what, darling. If it's a boy we'll call him Ricky."

"Thank you darling. I'll remind you of your confidence in me when you first hold little Ricky. I think he'll be even a better athlete than you darling, as he's already shown great potential."

"Yeah, yeah. One in a million winner, no doubt."

"That's rather clever of you Merrick. But actually it was one in 66.37 million in his first competition.""

Merrick took the empty glass from her hand, pulled her blanket over her and said, "Go to sleep darling. You are over tired."

* * *

Bess Fallon had organized a cocktail party to welcome home her daughter with her betrothed; the invitees in the Fallon's adopted city of Los Angeles had not met Kirsty with the exception of the McLean's. Murray and Shana were the Fallon's best friends on the East Coast and had shifted to the West as well to retire. Murray was Sam's regular golfing partner and Bess and Shana went shopping and had their hair and nails done together.

Expensive jewelry dropped from Bess's ear lobes and encircled her neck, wrists, fingers and one ankle as she entered the decorated entertainment room to join her husband, daughter and Merrick to welcome the first arrivals – the McLean's, who'd announced their arrival with a distinctive toot of an old-fashion car horn Murray had fitted to his latest Mercury.

Not only were the best jewels receiving an airing but Bess was dressed to party in a tight, finely pleated Gucci dress ending three inches above her knees and barely an inch above her surgically enhanced breasts.

"Wow!" was the genuine response from Merrick as she entered the room.

"Why thank you, Merrick," she said, arching an eyebrow at her husband sampling his huge jug of martini mix.

Merrick whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "She wants recognition that she's a princess."

"You look – er – like a princess, sweetie!"

"Oh, really? Bess said, moving across to the passage leading to the front door with a hip sway, reminiscent of a Marilyn Monroe walk, but wound back fifty percent due to age. Sam continued looking at the doorway through which she'd disappeared, a thoughtful expression on his face as he scratched under his left armpit like an ancestral primate.

"She's looking hot tonight," Merrick said, winding up Sam a couple of more notches. Sam looked at Merrick sharply as Kirsty went out to the kitchen to check the warming drawer temperature.

"You appear to know something about babes," Sam said to Merrick. "Perhaps I should ask was that act all for me or is she strutting to warm herself up for someone she'd invited here this evening?"

Without hesitation Merrick said he had no idea although his instinct told him that she had Stan in her headlights.

"Her what?"

"She's dressed up for you, is focused totally on you and wants you to know it."

"Holly cow!"

Merrick asked Sam if he'd he been ignoring Bess a bit.

"Of course not. Oh – well, you know. She'd getting older and less responsive when I slam my hand on her hip. I haven't lost my drive you know!"

"If you don't mind me saying so, Sam, she's your wife, for better or worse, and she'll still be around when the younger butterflies catch the next breeze and flit away. You have to learn to keep her happy, even if you find it necessary to find a little attention elsewhere."

"Huh? Are you suggesting that I'm unfaithful?"

"Who am I to speculate on such a thing, Sam? That's your personal affair. All I'm suggesting is that you don't let her slide away from you to be towed in your wake like a forlorn dinghy."

"Christ, mate, I wouldn't do that. That will be callous. She's been my buddy all these years and her contribution to our business success and this family has been massive."

"Good on you Sam. Your comments indicate that you care; there's no need for a twit like me to give you advice. "It sounds like you've got everything under control."

Sam had a guilty look when he turned to eye Merrick, his confidence now appearing a little askew. He swallowed. "Look Merrick, we've been speaking like a couple of dames. I've needed to speak to someone but my mates and I don't really talk seriously about things like this. The truth is I've been seeing a couple of younger chicks at different times in recent months; it's been keeping me rather aroused, actually making me feel very much younger. Then I have to attend to Bess when she ..."

"Er, Sam. Don't you think this is getting a little too personal?"

"Nope, it's the truth and I want you to hear me out," said Sam, finishing testing the martini mix. "Bess is so dry these days that we have to slap lubricant about. Then she complains that I am twisting her hips or she neither has the strength nor the inclination to be so athletic in bed any more. In comparison both younger chicks like it rougher. That makes them excited and they bang away harder which gives them want they seem to want – multiple orgasms. When I leave them I feel I'm walking ten feet tall."

"I can understand what you are telling me. All I'm, saying is to make allowances; treat her beautifully, make her feel she truly remains your partner and you will benefit as well."

Sam looked a little happier. "So you're not saying to quit fooling around?"

"I'm passing on that. It's not my place to advise you on morality – you're a big boy, an educated man. You make your own decision. I hope it has helped you to talk about this."

Expelling a huge sigh and drumming fingers of both hands on the table top, Sam looked slyly at Merrick then asked the younger man if he would consider accompanying him on a double date on Sunday night with his friend Crystal and her younger sister Coral.

An inner voice shouted, 'Tell him no, no way!'

"That's when Bess is taking Kirsty bowling with friends, isn't it?"

"Yes, which is the reason why I suggested Sunday night."

"Sure, if you'd like me to go out with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a chance to bond with you, to see what type of chick appeals to you. But get this – I won't be fooling around."

"Well, that OK as I think Coral is almost only half your age. Actually I have to confirm that she would be available, but if she isn't we can still go out for some drinks as a threesome."

"You mean when she learns that I'm thirty-four she won't want to double date?"

"Er, I couldn't guess. But she's bound to ask about you. I know that she usually is home on Sundays as Crystal has told me they usually do each other's hair and nails on Sunday evenings. They can do that earlier, not doubt."

Merrick said anything was fine; he'd simply fit in.

The party to introduce people to meet Kirsty and Merrick was a great success and to the surprise of all three Fallons, their friends seem fascinated by Merrick. They said they found his accent appealing and liked his openness and directness in conversation and his humor.

In fact Sam had brought the subject up. "What's the fuss over Merrick?" he asked Kirsty. "Why are the folk gathered around him rather than you my dear?"

Kirsty said his natural charm seemed to appeal to women. One of the mean had learned Merrick had trained in martial arts and that seemed to interest them. I'm just the babe, daddy. Those who stay conversing with him find he seems to know something about almost everything they bring up of a general natural and that he seems to want to listen to them expound what they know about such subjects. His interest is genuine, and this comes through to them. It's the boyish charm that snuck through to me the first time I met him, daddy."

Sam kissed her on the forehead, well pleased. "Yes, he converses well and has a good way of delivering his viewpoint. I know – we've been talking," he said. "One feels he's intelligent, with a lively mind."

Sam was no sluggard himself, having led a varied life that had taken him around the world. Born in Dallas, the son of an oil drilling rig boss, Sam had disappointed his father by choosing accountancy instead of working his way up in the industry, starting in the oilfields as a rough neck as he'd done thirty-five years earlier.

Actually Sam worked as a driver, steel fabricators and assistant cook between university semesters. This allowed him to build up a good working knowledge of the industry.

When Sam completed his formal education he worked into project management work in oil exploration, being posted to several countries. He ended up running major exploration and field development projects from onshore and offshore.

He'd met Bess in Okalahoma. Two evenings after their first date they ended up in bed and married that same year.

Sam had never met a woman like her – she was soft, romantic and totally focused on him. She was genuinely interested in everything about him – everything.

The next morning at five-thirty Sam heard a now familiar noise in the kitchen. The reasonably trim 61-year-old yawned and slid out of bed and into the bathroom with an ease of a physically active person pegged back a little by advancing age. Sam felt good. A good session with Bess last night and some heavy thinking had apparently cleared his mind a little. That cheered him.