Angel Of Mercy 9

Author:

Camille Ames w/a Gene Majors

Description:

Handsome undergrad fixes relationship problem, 3.5k Words

Male POV, past tense, 1

st

person

Key Words:

Coed, grad student, MILF, pregnant, first time, orgasm

My sister has known her friend, Macy, since high school. They graduated together, then attended junior college and a 4-year together over there a hundred miles away from home. Sis went on and earned her Masters, but Macy graduated in something that never made sense to me, then went to work instead.

Of course I knew Macy after all those years she chummed around with my six year-older-than me sister, but I always viewed her as

older.

Aloof, I guess you might say, although that six year difference didn't change how her appearance affected me. Tall (imposing), slim (imposing), poised (imposing), brunette (imposing and very business-like), well dressed (imposing), and attractive (imposing) with a manner that made me feel like a barely qualified business acquaintance at best.

Out of the blue, one day, my phone rang as I returned home from my last four-hundred level class for the day. I expected it to be another junk phone call. With my part-time job and a 18 hour college senior class load, I had little time for gas-bagging on the phone—nor social life—so didn't expect any sort of social call. Oh, well, I kept telling myself: Just finish this quarter, graduate, get a job, then hopefully have time for some sort of social life. But not 'til then.

I picked the cordless phone off it's stand and pushed the ANSWER button. "Hello?"

"Randy, this is Sis."

"Oh, hi."

"You sound surprised."

"I am." I don't think she had ever called me, even once—at least not since I moved away from the folk's place.

"You

do

remember having a sister, right?"

"Yeah, sure. So what's up?"

"You remember my friend, Macy?"

"Yes?" Where was she going with this?

"She's coming over to visit. You got time to help her with a question she has?"

"Question? What sort?"

"Oh, I guess a guy would call it a

girl

kind of question."

I didn't have time for this, or the inclination. Keep things in their proper time and place, that was my streamlined plan toward graduation. But I could hardly be rude to my sister. If I did, I'd hear about it from our folks.

"Career? Job? Car? Love and marriage? Finances? Where to live?"

"Marriage, sort of."

Hell, I knew damned little about that, except my parents seemed happy after thirty years and spawning and raising us kids.

"I don't know, Sis. That's way out of my expertise." Hell, I hadn't had a date yet this year, and it was late April already. Sis thought I was going to give love and marriage advice to woman half a decade older than me?

"Please, Randy. She needs something I'm sure can help her with."

"Well, okay. When's she gettin' here?"

"She said she'd be over here tomorrow night. Staying with me. "

Crap! I couldn't spare an evening so soon. Mid-terms for Physics 407 fast approached—two days, in fact—and I still needed to get fluent about Laplace transformations, otherwise I'd never understand solar radiation and the universe. Our prof loved the universe, and it was bound to be on his test—somewhere or somehow.

"I'm really awful busy, next couple days. Physics mid-terms, you know. Will she be here next week?"

"I'll check."

"Okay."

"And is it okay to give her your number?"

"Sure." I mean, what else could I say? This woman was my sister's best friend, even if I hadn't seen her in years, didn't know her, and didn't have time for her problem. Sis called me right back. Was this some sort of an emergency?

"I gave Macy your number. She'll call you when she gets in next Friday, like you said."

"Sure."

"Friday night, now. Remember?" Obviously, Sis and Macy weren't wasting any time.

God! This sounded like a blind date, the last thing I needed right then! Well, better hit the books hard between now and then, so all this mid-term stuff didn't put me behind in my other classes.

***

I'd barely returned to my apartment after my last class the following Friday when my phone rang. Another junk call? Yes, I planned to vote for Ronald Rump for president, but no, I wasn't donating to help him beat the other candidate. No, not even five dollars. I punched the phone's END button; that made me feel better about having just wasted thirty seconds of my life.

My phone rang again, before I had time to savor my mastery of the END button.

"Yes?" I'm sure I sounded annoyed.

"This is Macy? Your sister's friend? Boy, who pissed you off?"

"Oh, sorry. Just hung up another junk phone call. Okay, I'm settled down now. Hi. How are you?"

"Your sister said I could call you about a situation I need help with. You free if I come over now?"

Well, I wasn't, and didn't want to be, but what else could I do? "Sure, come on over. You need my address?"

"Got it. Any specific instructions?"

"You driving or cabbing?"

"Driving my SL-350."

"A Mercedes? Then you better park that off somewhere away from the maddening crowd when you get here. Got a big ding in my truck last week. You don't want one in your expensive toy."

"I sure don't, at least not until I get it paid off next month."

"So?"

"Let's see. Just took shower, so gotta finish that and dry my hair. About two hours from now, maybe?"

"Sure." Well, about a

sure

as I was likely to get tonight.

The woman who rang my doorbell had aged a few years since my last glimpse of her, but she looked every bit as good—and just as imposing, maybe even more so, than before.

"Come in," I said, hoping my bachelor's housekeeping didn't offend her.

"Hi. Remember me?" I sure did. I had perfect recall now, with her standing before me. I nodded. "Please, come in. Have a seat?" I motioned in the direction of the couch.

"So, how you been?" I said. Now there was a weak conversation starter if I'd ever heard one!

"Oh, you know. Graduated, and working. Got a good job, like my job."

Must have a good job if she was paying off a ninety thousand dollar car. Of course her folks could have just given it to her as

an any excuse

present—they could afford it—but somehow that wasn't what I expected from Miss Macy Independence here.

"So, what else?"

"Your sister tell you?"

"No."

"Divorced. Twice." Her voice held up as she said this, but the rest of her being didn't. So now, coupled with Sis' one word prelude, we were getting to the gist of whatever Macy wanted from me.

"Painful, I gather?"

She nodded.

"So? Today is a new day, right?"

Macy looked up, the thunder cloud on her face dissipated to drizzling overcast.

"Want to talk about what happened?"

She half shook her head, half nodded. I waited, figuring the ball was in her court. After a minute, she looked up once more.

"Simple," she said after a long moment. "I decided I wanted kids. Neither of them did."

"Didn't you guys talk about this before you got married?"

She shook her head. "My fault as much as any. I figured we had plenty of time and they'd come around once we were married. Stupid, I know. They never did. Too much golfing, yachting, entertaining, watching sports from the five hundred dollar ball park seats, but no time for a family."

Yes, big mistakes, but where did my meager experience fit into this? I gave her my

So?

look again.

"I decided hell with men. I'm going to have babies on my own. I can afford it, I want them, and I'm going to have them. My parents will be pissed as hell, but that's their problem. If they want to enjoy their grandchildren, then they just better get over it!"

I figured, the way she spat that out, I better say something

supportive

.

"How many?"

"Three, maybe four. Yes, I know that's a six year commitment—if I spread them out some so each gets a good start."

I nodded. I knew even at twelve months birth to birth, the mother's body likely suffered, and often the later children did, as well.

"So where do I fit into this grand plan?"

"I need a sperm donor, Randy. I can't imagine one better than you. You're good looking,

healthy, tall, HWP—as they say in the person ads—look strong, and dark haired so we know pretty well what my kids will look like. And your sister likes you."

Gulp!

"Well, don't look so shocked! It would only take a half hour or so each time, and I'd really appreciate it. I'm not so bad looking, am I?"

No, not bad looking at all, even looking at the situation from a fatherhood basics viewpoint.

"Don't you want someone to love those kids, love you, too? I mean ..."

"Piss on men—I mean men in general, not you. Your sister says you're okay, although a little immature. She figures a few rolls in the hay with a grown woman wouldn't hurt you, either."

Thanks, Sis! Is that really what you think of me? I shook my head.

"So?"

I still shook my head. I think the applicable term was

numb

. Was this one of those lesbian situations where the woman wants a child, but only if there's little or no sex with a man involved to trigger it? Was my sister bi with Macy? Sis

was

married, after all.

"What do I get out of this/" I said, thinking I might, sometime in the far future, want a family—along with all its complications. Would having kids out of wedlock become a case of burning my bridges before I even got to the considering bridges stage? What would my prospective bride think of a guy who knowing full well the consequences, knocked his sister's best friend up four times?

"What you want? A car like mine? I'll give you one, no questions asked. Money? $25k per kid. Nice house? Big yacht? Fancy place at the lake? You name it."

I suppose I looked shocked. "What if I want more than that?"

"Name it. I'll borrow from my folks if necessary."

"Why me? Any guy I can think of would gladly shag you."

"I want you because you're pretty much a know quantity—genetically, at least."

I had to chuckle over that! It took me a minute to get my head screwed around for that idea.

"I don't know, but suppose half way through one of your kids I decide having a family of my own sounds better than it does right now. What about that?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

I shook my head. "No, that didn't work for you before, so let's don't start off with another mistake."

The look that came on to her face puzzled me. Was that surprise? Revulsion? Acceptance? Simple refusal? Or WHAT? in capital letters.

"Tell you what, Randy," she said after a moment. "I think first you should find out what I'm asking you for, no strings attached."

She made to stand, took my hand, and once both of us where up, pulled me away from the couch.

"Where's your closest bed?"

***

I lay there alongside her, my mind a haze from what we'd done over the past several hours and thoughts of Macy. Her hand played with my penis and massaged my scrotum. Every once in a while, she rose up and kissed my neck. I wished she'd suck me, but that conflicted with her stated goal for us being in bed for the sixth time this weekend. So far the half-hour per kid she'd mentioned at first hadn't played into the game.

"You ready again, Randy?" she said, accompanied by another kiss.

"Only if you get me hard enough." I knew I couldn't for a while, yet, but having her work toward that goal was better than anything but being inside her.

"I don't know what to think, you know? Must be 'cause you're younger that me. They say women are sexiest in their thirties, men in their twenties. What you think? Is that why I feel better than usual?"

"I think you're sexy, no matter what your age is."

"You want to try other things?"

"Like what?"

"Fuck my ass? Suck my titties? Hell—fuck my titties! Let me suck you off—almost? All you gotta do is promise no matter what happens, all your spunk goes in my pussy."

This didn't sound lezzy to me. "Don't know if I can manage that."

"I'll bet you can. You just let me know when you get close, and I'll help you put your little wigglers in me so they work like they're designed for. Okay?"

Sounded as if she'd bought the

Intelligent Design Theory

of Universe's origin.

"Macy? Can't we forget the athletics and just make love? Plenty of people get pregnant that way. How about us?"

"That's sweet, Randy, really sweet. But you knocking me up is what's most important right now. That's my goal for this weekend, so sooner the better. I ovulated on the way over, and don't want to waste it. You validate me on that, and I'll give you whatever you want for the following nine months—and the car, too!"

"I don't want anything from you but you."

"Oh, Randy. Got to be careful. I could learn to like you."

"How about love?"

"Maybe later, but you gotta fuck me lots first!"

She certainly was

goal oriented,

as the business buzz-phrase went, and her goals were fun, even if looking a little shallow for the long run.

"Come on. Please? Let's put more of you inside me, then we'll play your little

I love you

game

again if you want, okay?"

Her invitation involved pushing me so I ended up lying between her thighs, her breasts under my chest, my lips just a little too far up to kiss her. If she'd just smile, she'd be beautiful. But no. That look on her face said

get in me, get off in me, and get out

. How can you really enjoy sex with that attitude driving the woman you're about to endow with the best you've got to offer?

"Am I really that terrible?" I said.

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you hate this."

"I do."

"Why? Doesn't anything I do inside you feel good?"

"A little."

"Have you ever enjoyed making love?"

"No, not really."

"Not even with your husbands?"

"You're better than either of them. But no. It's awful, you're just less awful than them. Sorry."

"

That

is awful!"

"I don't know what to do about it." She shrugged her shoulders. "I hear what other women say—what girls say about liking it—but I never feel it."

"Does it hurt sometimes? Is that why? You afraid of getting hurt again?"

"Only hurts sometimes, like when you get into me real hard. But if I want a baby, I guess I gotta live through it. I don't really mind, with you. You only hit me hard when you're coming. Rest of the time, you're gentle enough."

I didn't want to hurt her at all, only figure out some way to make her love it. In fact maybe if she loved it, we'd arrange something long term. Over the past few days I'd discovered studying sex with Macy certainly beat the hell out of studying physics by myself!

"Now you look sad," she said. "Want to suck my breasts?"

I did, but not if she didn't enjoy it.

"Here, scrunch around so you can get hold of this one."

"Macy? Will you like that if I do?"

"Not really. But if you like it, then that's what I want."

I must have looked skeptical.

"Go ahead, Randy. Suck it. I don't mind, really. Maybe it will feel like that new baby sucking, the one you and I are making inside me. I hope I'll like that, at least."

I slipped around on her until my penis lay completely inside her once again. Nothing. Oh, sure, she was warm and wet, but while I sure was no expert, I knew there was more to sex than this.

"You like that?" she whispered.

"Oh, yes. But you know what? I want you to hug my penis with those muscles you have down there. That would make it perfect."

I felt a couple attempts, and nice they were, but still a long way from what Matilda Jacobs had shown me in the ninth grade.

"Good, but more, okay?"

"I ..."

"Sure you can. Tense them up for both of us, then hold them like that." I began stroking into her.

"More, Macy. Let me have that tight virgin-like pussy of yours. I know it's going to feel wonderful." My instructions caused at least some of the desired effect.

"Do I feel better, now?" she said in a strained whisper.

"You bet. How about you?"

"Some. Want me to squeeze you more?"

"You squeeze me more down there and let me squeeze your beautiful breasts up here."

She clamped her muscles around me. I hoped that felt as good for her as for me. I kept it slow, not wanting to hurt her, although staying slow became progressively more difficult.

"Tighter, girl."

She took a hard breath and held it, the clamp around my dick was almost painful, but it sure felt good, too.

"You're smiling," she said. "I must be doing something right."

"You are. I think you're trying to prove I should make all your babies for you."

"You bet. Now what should I do when you come? I don't want to hurt you."

"Just ease up a little, I'll be fine."

"Please? Come now? My muscles are getting tired."

"Not yet, you selfish woman. Hold them tight until I know I'm coming, then you can ease off. But not 'til then, okay?"

She nodded more vigorously that before. Her breath had sped up, too, I noticed.

"Slow, slow, slow down. Take your time, Macy. Hold me tight as you can, and I'll massage these pretty titties of yours. Like that?"

She nodded again. Now we were getting somewhere! Not much of my journey up the mountain remained, but if I could just get her to the top first, I'd feel like I had earned the climax she was about to give me.

Her breath broke its crescendo, ramping quickly until her panting breath hissed trying to exit her throat. She writhed under me, she moaned and tossed her head from side to side. The only English she seemed to know sounded like a whispered chant: Oh, god, oh god, oh god!

Her trail back down took almost as long as her climb. I made sure of that! "What

was

that?" she gasped several times. At first I said nothing, but as her breath returned to somewhere near normal, I said softly, "That, I think my good lady, was an orgasm."

"Oh god!"

"You're repeating yourself, Macy."

"I know!" she giggled. "Can you do that every time?"

"Nope. You did that to yourself. I just helped a little."

"I did that?"

"Well, you sure didn't stop it!"

"Wow!"

"Wow, yourself. So now it's my turn."

"Sorry, Randy. I forgot about you. It's just that was so ... wonderful."

"Wonderful is more wonderful if we get there together, so pinch those muscles against my dick again, and let's go climb that mountain once more, together this time. Okay?"

I didn't have to ask twice, and although I reached the summit long before Macy, I helped her by using every mountain climbing technique I knew or had ever heard about. Once it was over, I lay there in my lover's slumber, while Macy mumbled incoherently,

oh god, oh god, oooohhh god,

until sometime the next morning.

Macy counted our weekend as successful, although we enjoyed a whole string of back-ups before her rabbit died. I counted it successful, too, because we got better and better at driving each other over the summit. Macy decided her first kid, and the three she planned to follow, should legally carry my last name. Sis stood up with us as bridesmaid—sort of for both of us, really—and Brent, my about-to-graduate lab partner did best man duty, much to his bachelor's chagrin.

How and why the world leaves its women with so little knowledge about enjoying life I'll never understand. Keeping the secret must be something the powers-that-be think is for the good of those who have yet to experience how wonderful life really can be. Anyway, they've got it all backwards.

I did graduate and get a decent job, but Macy and I spent most of our first nine months in bed. Why not? God, she was a fast learner! Looking back, we both considered it a shame we wasted so much of our lives getting to our first climax together.