The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception

by Brother Dash

  “Ooh Chase,” she moans as he stumbles onto one of her pleasure spots.

  Rayne’s thick, chestnut brown and mustard plumes of hair, brush his nostrils. A divine odor of mango butter and Moroccan argan oil sifts through him. Her scent is the aroma of Aphrodite herself.

  “Damn, you smell good," he whispers between neck sucks.

  “Chase, I want you.”

  Chase smoothes his sexy oven mitts over her surprisingly peach bottom. She shivers at his commanding touch. He continues down to the back of her thighs and seizes them. Chase catapults her legs up and around his waist.

  “Oh. Strong…so…you are,” she says as she is so aroused that she is unable to form a proper sentence.

  He doesn’t merely kiss her. He cradles the back of her neck, pressing his thumbs on each temple. It’s like her head is a bowl, his mouth is the spoon and her tongue is the ice cream that will melt unless he devours it. So he does. And she loves it.

  Chase slams her back against the wall causing the teddy bear to fall face forward onto the floor. He suctions her neck and embeds his fingers into her rump. The moist mound between her legs feels like it is tingling. And she can feel his hardening. Still clothed, he grinds into her as they do a different kind of dance.

  “Oh God…off, off. Take this off,” she says as she hurries her fingers through the buttons of his shirt. Chase is as motivated as Rayne. He yanks her spaghetti straps down her arms. They dangle at her elbows; he pins her to the wall.

  “Stand there,” he orders.

  She complies.

  He backs away. Rayne’s hair is a glorious mess. Her sweat makes her exposed cleavage glisten to a golden brown. She stands with shoulders bouncing, and lungs panting, in her wrinkled sun dress. Chase unbuttons the rest of his shirt, winds it up and tosses it at her feet like a chippendale. Rayne bites her bottom lip. She admires, and desires, Chase’s sculpted, shiny physique. Next he whips his belt off and unzips his jeans. As he slips his beefy legs out like a thick package, his pocket beeps and buzzes. Holding the black denims in one hand, he digs in the front for the phone.

  “You’re really going to check your messages right now?” Rayne says, staring at the bulge in his thigh-length stretch boxers. It makes her eyes pop.

  “I know, mood killer, I’m sorry. I’ll shut it off,” Chase says as he takes it out. The text message is already displayed on the illuminated screen:

  ANDREA

  Chase. What are you doing?

  Pick up the damn bear!

  I can only see the floor.

  Rayne wrings the fabric of her dress as she ogles Chase’s firm, curved outline. Her mouth drops and her tongue flops. As Chase reaches to sit the bear upright, Rayne stomps over and grabs his wrist. The stuffed animal falls flat on its face again.

  “I can give orders to,” she says. “Kneel.”

  Chase drops to his knees. Rayne stands over him and squeezes each of her two ripe breasts.

  “You’re thirsty,” she says. Chase screws one eye. “That wasn’t a question,” she says. Chase opens and sucks both soft mounds into his mouth like they were balls of juicy juice.

  “Oh God, Chase…Oh Ch-Ch-Chase.”

  He suckles. He savors. And no part of her body goes unattended. He sloths his lips up the center of her cleavage to her neck, then her shoulders, and back down again. He stands tall, slaps his long, thick fingers between her thighs and massages the hot moistness. Chase slides his trunks to his shins. Her breaths quicken; she shakes. He hooks her knees by his inner elbows, lifts her off the ground and spreads her thighs. He braces her high above his waist before initiating her slow descent.

  “Oh, oh…okay…uh…wait. Chase please wait,” she says. He sucks on her neck and kisses his firmness right up to her shimmering gate. She gasps.

  “Chase please…honey wait, wait. Chase please don’t.”

  Chase stops sucking and freezes her above him. ”Huh, what? What’s wrong Rayne? Are you okay?”

  “Um…nothing…um…I’m, I’m fine. I just…I just need a quick minute. Please put me down.”

  Chase gently stands her on her own feet.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” she says and gives him a quick smooch. She scurries into the bathroom. Chase’s lungs start pumping. The bathroom faucet squeaks and swooshes. Okay, don’t think anything of this Chase. Don’t assume something crazy is about to happen. She probably just needs to freshen up. He attempts to convince himself that all is fine. He tries not to worry. Just take it slower when she returns. Show her how much you want her but be cool, smooth, don’t take command so much. Sixty seconds passes, his phone vibrates. As he reaches for it Rayne returns from the bathroom before he can answer it.

  “I’m sorry Chase,” she says.

  “It’s okay Rayne. I just—“ Rayne smacks a delicious kiss on his thick lips and SLURPS “—Mmph—Mmph—Mmmm,“ he says with a moan. Okay, I guess cool and smooth just went out the door. He lassos her tongue with his. Her arms swoon around his neck. Chase roams from her mouth to her ear. He savors her left lobe. It causes her to do a quick, jolting arch of her back as if she were poked by a needle. An erotic one. She lets out a piercing moan. Sensing her readiness Chase tugs at the bottom knot of her dress. It cascades to the floor revealing her swelling bosom. He morphs into a masseur. He kneads and kneads and kneads each doughy hill. He nips at her cocoa peaks with his two front teeth and plucks. She winces. He sucks. She smiles. He plucks. She whines. He engulfs. And she wants more. The anticipation is too much for him. Chase lifts and carries Rayne by her bottom and lays her with care onto the floor. He rocks her back in order to remove her panties. With her legs spread, he slides his tight boxers all the way off. His stiffness plops with a thud onto her moist warmth. He plants his arms on either side of her shoulders like tentpoles in the sand and braces himself over her. He gazes into her eyes, arches his back and thrusts his—

  "Wait. Wait. Chase. I'm sorry stop. Please. Stop.”

  Chase’s face looks like a WTF emoji. If there is such a thing.

  “Stop? Rayne.” Chase searches his frustrated mind, and aroused body, for the right words.

  “Chase, I’m sorry…I’m…”

  Rayne’s eyes flood and her cheeks turn red. Chase removes his heavy frame from between her legs and she immediately bolts into the bathroom. He hears her whimper uncontrollably as water streams from the sink. His mind races with competing questions of doubt and fear. Did I hurt her? Did she feel pressured? Is she afraid of me? What did I do wrong? Did I trigger something? These questions repeat in his mind until the faucet shuts off and Rayne emerges, patting her damp face with a towel.

  “Are you okay?” he says in a velvet tone.

  Rayne can see the anxiety in his eyes.

  "I'm sorry Chase.” Her voice drops as if she swallowed a lump.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you," he says.

  "You didn't hurt me," she says, sobbing and dabbing the bath towel on her tears. Chase smoothes a thumb over the tiny stream falling over her cheekbone. She cups his hand in her palm and presses it to her face. She kisses the underside of his palm. Chase kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her shoulders. She sinks into him. They lounge in silence for several minutes as Chase strokes her hair. The corners of her mouth curve up.

  "Why are you smiling?" he says.

  “Because, I’m lying half naked, with a man I just met. I get all emotional and run away—twice—just as we’re about to have sex, and he doesn’t freak out. He just looks at me with his sexy, sensitive eyes and holds me.”

  Chase presses her cheek to his shoulder.

  “This is not how this was supposed to go,” she says.

  He plucks a spindle of hair from over her eye.

  "So what happened?" he asks.

  Rayne bows her head and laughs at herself.

  "You're going to think I'm so silly and childish," she says.

  "Really? This coming from the woman who accepted a teddy bear?" he says glancing at the bear an
d seeing that it’s lying face down.

  Rayne chuckles.

  “So what happened?” Chase says.

  “Well, it was something you did."

  “Damn, I knew it. What did I do wrong?"

  "I didn't say you did anything wrong I said that it was something you did. Well everything you did. You’re so strong but you’re tender at the same time. You’re dominant and very manly but you’re also gentle and aware of a woman’s delicacy.”

  “Well, you are quite the delicacy,” Chase says.

  “Hahaha…and you’re funny. Delicateness I should have said, okay English professor? But what I’m saying is you take charge and you make me feel so…well…charged myself. So alive. It was how someone used to make me feel.”

  “What someone?”

  Chase turns so they could mirror one another; he clasps her hands.

  "My boyfriend, or whatever he is right now. He’s a musician. Plays an awesome guitar.”

  “You have a boyfriend,” Chase says with bulging eyes.

  “Yeah and you have a fiancée,” Rayne shoots back.

  “Okay. You got that one. Good point. Continue,” he says.

  “So Ilyas and I have been in a relationship since we were fifteen. So that’s almost twenty years now. We’ve been friends, cuddle buddies, friends with benefits, boyfriend/girlfriend, I hate you, I hate you too, engaged, old flames, new flames, old flames again, back and forth and round and round, but he’s never been committed one hundred percent to anything but his guitar. That guitar is his woman, his wife, his mistress, his damn mama, everything. I’ve wanted a child for years but the man I love doesn't have the time, or the desire.”

  “Well, have you two had a heart-to-heart about it? Maybe he doesn’t know how you really feel.”

  “Chase, I can't have another conversation about how I need to wait for him to get back from tour, or he has to be in the studio again, or he’s joining some late night talk show’s house band so he doesn’t have time to be a dad. It just ends in an argument about how I knew what I was signing up for when we met; how he’s married to his music blah, blah, blah, but oh…wait for it…he still loves me.”

  “So why don’t you simply leave?”

  “Because love is never simple Chase. Love is always complicated. You should know.”

  Her comment hits home.

  “So do you feel guilty? Being here with me?” he says.

  “Guilty? No. I made a decision to do this because I wanted a child. And I wanted a child in the most natural way. You should have a fairly good idea as to the kind of person I am. I want a child conceived with someone I could say I knew. I touched. I felt. I loved. Even if that love was only for one night. You reminded me of the man that should be here. That I wished was here. You didn't do anything wrong.”

  But Chase feels as though he is doing something wrong. Rayne’s comments about her relationship only reminds him of Jenae.

  “Honestly, Rayne I don't understand why anyone would really want to do this. I mean I have my reasons but—“

  “Chase, have you tried to understand? Tried to understand why these women would want to make a baby with you?"

  Chase pauses. It is a question he hasn't thought to even ask himself. His entire focus has been on his predicament.

  "The look on your face answers my question," Rayne says. "Listen, I told you my reasons right? My clock is ticking and I want a baby. I'd love to have it with him but I am not going to let a man dictate whether or not I can have a child. And you see what I’m about. My spirituality, my philosophy. I'm not into the cold and mechanical approach of a clinic. I want my child conceived naturally. I believe in two people's energies coming together in a holistic way to create the most beautiful of beautiful things…life itself.”

  Chase's face softens.

  "Starting to get it now?” she says. "Other women have their reasons. Why would that lesbian couple come to you? They wanted a child as a couple. They wanted to share the experience of creating life but they needed a man for that.”

  “You know about those two?” Chase asks.

  “Oh yeah. My cousin Gregory…well Man-Man to you…he tells me everything. I’m up to speed on this whole arrangement between you and Eugene.”

  “I just want to get this whole crazy thing over with. Eugene is making me do this. I want my life back."

  “Hmmm. I don't know if it's as forced as you're making it out to be though. I aroused you right? You did things you didn't have to do. You engaged in conversation. You treated me like a woman and not as a piece of meat. Not as a transaction. You were tender, affectionate, sensual. And those were choices you made. You have always had a choice, Chase. But there’s always a price for your choices. You decided that being here with me tonight, even though you’re engaged to Jenae, is a price you’re willing to pay. Maybe you need to embrace that truth. Maybe that's why it's been difficult. You're fighting yourself and you’re fighting Eugene. You need to pick one.”

  “I feel like I’m on a couch and you’re in a chair with a pen and pad.”

  “No, I’m not your therapist. I’m just being a friend,” she says.

  Chase looks down. Her words put him in a place of discomfort. That place where a stranger has removed our eyelids and dumped us in a room with four walls and a ceiling of mirrors.

  “Okay so why choose me? Why this arrangement?”

  “Women aren’t like men. You guys can sleep with anyone, zip up your pants and then go eat a bologna sandwich and have a brew. Women? We actually want to know the man we are sleeping with. Sure you can go to a doctor and they’ll give you background information on the guy. But a sperm donor is still anonymous; he’s just a donor. But you? Chase, you’re someone whose skin a woman can touch, cologne we can get drunk on, lips we can lick like a popsicle. We can be mesmerized by your intellect and feel protected by your confidence. You can’t get that in a fertility clinic."

  Chase nods.

  "Even if it's just for one night, a woman wants you to love her, nourish her, and respect her as much as you please her. She wants to be taken. She wants to be coddled. She wants love and she wants lust. She wants a picnic on the beach and she wants sex on the sand. This is why you’re the donor. But it’s a choice, Chase. Your choice. Just like having a child is my choice. And it’s one I don’t want dictated by a boyfriend that can’t be bothered with a child even though he loves me.”

  Rayne's words force Chase to dig into the well of inconvenient truths. Sharing why women want him to be the donor, makes him question his own motivations.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he says.

  “And you’ve helped me vent. I feel so refreshed. You gave me a safe space to share my feelings Chase,” she says.

  They sit, listening to the wintry quiet. The fires of the candle wicks on the kitchen counter cast dancing shadows on the walls. A warm glow flickers on her skin. She smiles at her palms.

  “You realize we’ve been holding hands this whole time?” Rayne says.

  “Yes, I have,” Chase says with a smile.

  His fingers massage the insides of her palms. Time is paused. She rises to her knees and kisses the top of Chase's bald head. Her lips move towards his temple and then to his cheek. Chase palms the nape of her neck and pulls her to his lips. She places her finger on them and moves back.

  “I want to wake up in your arms,” she says.

  “So you still want to do this?” Chase says softly.

  “I didn’t say that. I said I want to wake up in your arms.”

  Rayne rises. Chase does so as well. He peers into her brown irises and cradles her face in his palms.

  “Then wake up in my arms you shall,” Chase says.

  He stands behind her, as naked as she. He angles her in the direction of the bedroom. He cloaks his arms around her shoulders in a protective shield. They waddle towards the bedroom like conjoined twins. The gentle sounds of sheets turning back, and the creak of a sinking mattress, are the only noises i
n the still of the night. And the only open eyes are the plastic discs of a forgotten teddy, left face down, on the floor of an empty room.

  13 Pebbles and Bam…Bam…Bam

  

  THUMP BUH BUMP BUMP

  “Whoohoo, sorry ‘bout dat suh. I didn’t see dat deah pah-hole. No suh I didn’t. No suh, no suh,” the cherub faced driver says with a southern drawl. The rickety Jeep Cherokee rumbles down the final stretch of Highway 301.

  “It’s fine,” Chase mumbles from the backseat as he squints from the hazy Georgia sun. He wipes the perspiration from his brow. The last bit of comfort was from the cool air in the arrivals terminal at Savannah airport.

  “Sorry again about the air conditionin’. Damn thing went out just before the dispatcher sent me out to git ya’”.

  Chase doesn’t respond. It’s only the third time the chatty man has mentioned this fact.

  “And dat deah is the Jesup waffle house. Best scrapple in the south yes suh, yes suh it is. Oh and look right over yonder. Out yo left winduh. Bet y’all ain’t got no two dollar drive-ins up norf now do ya’? Yes suh, yes suh.”

  Chase gives a fleeting look at the Jesup Drive-In theater. It is the kind of glance you give to something you see, but have no real interest in. The journey from LaGuardia airport to the backwoods of central Georgia has been a smooth one, potholes aside. The chunky, sweat bathed motor mouth driver, wearing the nipple baring black mesh shirt, has been the only irritating part of the trip. The man seems to be allergic to silence. And he reeks of ripe B.O., in a Georgia summer. Only it’s still Spring. Chase pokes his nose out the window of the backseat. The hot breeze bakes his nostrils. But heat is better than stank.

  “So what was y’alls Wintuh like?” he says without pausing for a response. “Ooh Lawd we had us a rough one. I mean not rough like y'all yankee boys, but we did have us some snow a-a-and, er, ruh-uh, what y'all call a…a…a…hmmm—

  Oh spit it out already, Chase thinks to himself.

  “Wintry mix! Yeah, yeah a wintry mix. Oh, and we had to close schools and…” The chatterbox continues on a stream of consciousness that Chase ignores. His subconscious listens only for keywords related to what has amounted to an hour long drive. It isn’t totally the driver’s fault. He is a blend of southern hospitality and the drunk uncle at the barbecue. To Chase, he’s like a bobblehead on a dashboard. A mild, oh look at that, curiosity that gets old after the first minute or so.