I wanted a baby, badly. I wasn’t sure what it was that drew me to the idea of being a mother. Maybe it was the fact that I had no real mother figure of my own. Maybe it was that all of my friends, neighbors and colleagues were getting knocked up. Whatever it was, it ran deep. The envy that filled me on a daily basis was enough to make me dread going to work each day. If it weren’t for rent and bills and car payments and train tickets, I’d probably have left a long time ago.
I was stuck.
The bell on the door rattled, and I looked up to see a familiar face—one that I looked forward to seeing each month. His name was Alexander Preston, and I was certain he had no clue what my name was. As far as he was concerned, I was just the girl at the front desk of the clinic he visited each month to donate sperm.
To me, he was the hunkiest sperm donor I’d ever seen at the clinic. He was also number one on my list of dream sperm donors for my imaginary future child. With dark waves of hair that could make any guy envious, he looked like something straight off a magazine cover. Add in his perfectly-chiseled arms, his mess of tattoos peeking out over his starched white business shirt, his charming grin, and let’s just say I’d conjured up some pretty sexy fantasies with him in the lead role.
“Welcome to 6th Street Fertility Clinic,” I said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. How on earth could one human be so beautiful?
“Hello. Good to see you again,” he said.
Again? He remembered me? I tried not to go into tween girl obsession mode as I asked him to take a seat. I didn’t know what the hell he did for a living, but he was wearing a suit—a form-fitting suit, I might add—that probably cost more than two months’ rent at my studio apartment. I’d never been able to figure out what exactly it was that brought him, rich and handsome as he was, to donate sperm each month, but I was thankful.
I imagined saying, “I want you inside me,” and blushed bright red just from the thought of it.
Alexander stretched his arms over his head, each bulge of muscle moving gracefully in sync. Damn. Now those were some genes I would pay good money for—if only I had some.
Chapter 2
Alexander
I made my way down the street toward the clinic, looking down at my smartphone to avoid the faces of strangers on the street. I had grown accustomed to the confused looks I got as I walked into the clinic each month, a single man with no pregnant woman—or woman at all—by my side.
“Excuse me,” I said to a man as I squeezed around him on the packed sidewalk and ducked into the clinic.
The secretary at the front desk smiled as we exchanged pleasantries. “You can take a seat,” she said. “We’ll be ready for you in just a minute.”
“Not a problem,” I said and offered a cheeky smile.
God was she perfect, with sexy curves she wasn’t afraid to show off. She wasn’t stick thin like the women who usually threw themselves at me. She was womanly, with breasts I imagined sucking on, and an ass I imagined sliding my cock into.
She was half the reason I came here every month. Just one look at her and I was spilling my cum into the plastic cup they gave me. It was the highlight of my month.
The faded blue chair embraced me as I regarded the two pregnant women and one couple seated beside me. There was something about this place that always had me reflecting on my life and what I wanted for the future. Seeing these people who so badly wanted families pulled at my heartstrings. After all, that’s why I was here in the first place. With no prospective girlfriends or wives on the horizon, I wanted to be sure that my DNA was passed down to at least a few children by other means.
With the athletic build and blue eyes that ran in my family, I’d been told more than a handful of times—mostly by happily-married housewives—that my future children would be gorgeous. I suppose that’s what led me to Google search for sperm donation banks in the first place. Though it wasn’t exactly charity, it was my way of doing something for other people. And that was good enough for me, at least for now.
I sat and watched the expectant parents rub their baby bellies and read literature about having a healthy pregnancy. I wondered if I would ever have that experience, or if I was destined to keep my routine of working, gyming, sleeping and eating for the rest of my life. I glanced out the window behind me and saw a homeless man begging for change on the busy Atlanta streets and decided there were worse things than being a bachelor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johansen,” a nurse called.
The man and woman next to me made their way behind the double doors I’d become all too familiar with. They nearly trampled a scraggly twenty-something who hurriedly dashed straight out of the clinic. I pegged him as a sperm donor, probably looking for some extra cash.
I suppose I wasn’t their normal clientele. When I first mentioned sperm donation to some of my buddies over drinks, they laughed so hard that tears fell from their eyes. It went something like, “Dude, you’re the CEO of a giant company. You have, like, a billion dollars! What the hell do you need to go jack off in a cup for?”.
“Mr. Preston,” the sex-kitten behind the desk called, jolting me from the same thoughts I pondered every time I visited. “We’re all set.”
The way she looked at me gave me an instant erection. She was sexy, but not the kind of sexy that everyone would see. There was something about Casey, whose name I read on her badge as I followed her to the back, that just floated my boat, so to speak.
On one of my visits, I’d accidentally brushed up against her, and I’d inhaled the scent of her intoxicating perfume. The smell drove me wild. I went straight to a department store afterwards and tried to find it. I wanted a bottle so I could smell her whenever I wanted, but it was no good. I must have tried over 200 bottles before finally giving up.
As I walked behind her, I took in every angle of her curves. Today, she looked sexier than ever. I could see the shape of her ass perfectly through her pants. I imagined what she looked like beneath the fabric. Her two perfect cheeks, separated by a delicious crack that I just wanted to run my tongue down. I wondered if she was wearing a thong. Maybe she was going commando. The idea made my boner surge with desire.
I cleared my throat as my eyes followed the top of her pants. There it was, a little peek of panty line.
“We have the usual selection,” Casey said. “Magazines, movies. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you,” I said, glancing around the familiar room, complete with the outdated television and stack of sticky porn magazines.
She was still standing in the doorway when I turned back toward her, and I drank in the voluptuous cleavage that poked out of the top of her blouse. I licked my lips and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
I raised an eyebrow, as if to suggest she might want to give me a hand.
She turned and practically fled.
“Alright,” she said. “The room is yours, Mr. Preston.”
As she closed the door behind her, I walked over to click the lock in place. In the months I’d been coming, I’d used all sorts of materials as a source of inspiration—the magazines, a few of my favorite porn movies, my imagination. I walked over and picked up a Playboy magazine. Flipping through it, all the women seemed to pale in comparison to the real-life bombshell that had just left the room.
I pictured her sweet face, her soft, bouncy breasts, her generous ass with the black lace of her thong barely protecting it.
I turned and leaned my back to the door and ripped open my slacks. I let them fall to my ankles, my boxers falling after them.
My cock was long and hard, throbbing with desire already and I grabbed it in my fist and gave it one solid pump.
“Casey,” I whispered. “Bend over and slide that pussy onto this cock.”
I closed my eyes and imagined her in front of me, naked but for a black thong, black lace stockings, and a tight corset that forced her breasts out over the top.
I imagined grabbing her by the ass and pulling her dow
n against my cock so that I slid right into her.
As my hand slid back and forth along my long shaft, I imagined it was sliding in and out of her pussy. I imagined she was squirming against me, grinding her ass back against my torso, my cock deep within her pussy.
I wanted to grab her hair and wrap it around my fist. Then I’d pull her back, riding her, her hair forming a rein that gave me ultimate control.
As my orgasm rose to the point of climax, I imagined thrusting firmly into her, shooting my cum so far inside her that it would make her scream with pleasure.
My cock throbbed in ecstasy and in a daze, I remembered what I was there for.
I grabbed the clinical little plastic cup from the table and jammed the head of my cock into it. In an instant, I was cumming, pouring myself into it like a hose. The entire cup was full in seconds and I almost felt like fainting from the pleasure of the orgasm.
I leaned back and lost my balance, narrowly avoiding falling by grabbing the door handle. I managed to support myself but must have somehow unlocked the door in the process without realizing.
Oh god, that was a good orgasm, I thought.
I held up the cup and examined my handiwork. It was full to the brim. I screwed on the lid and thought what a waste it was I wasn’t giving that load to Casey. I longed to pour myself inside her.
I sighed, taking notice for the first time of my increased heart rate. I was gasping for air. No wonder I’d almost fallen over. I felt like fainting. This had only ever happened in the most extraordinary of dirty nights for me. Where had this captivation by the receptionist come from? I’d never noticed just how hot she was until that day.
An unenjoyable sexual encounter a few weeks earlier must have been the breaking point for me, I decided. The mere fantasy of Casey was far more pleasurable than the actual sex I’d had with a woman I’d met in a bar downtown. I never had any trouble finding a woman to sleep with, but I was getting to the age where I wanted more than that.
I placed the container on the countertop beside the sink, just as I’d done plenty of times before. My pants had a few stray drops I had scattered in my excitement, so I wiped them off with a paper towel and pulled my pants back up.
This infatuation with the girl at the front desk really had my head spinning. I wasn’t even sure if she was my type, but I suddenly wanted more than anything to find out. I had always been the tough guy, the alpha male, the popular guy who all the girls flocked to. I was modest about it, but I was aware. The problem, however, was that most of the girls who had shown interest in me were airheads, dense, and unmotivated. They just wanted some man candy.
I barely knew this Casey girl. We’d exchanged small talk a few times and she’d walked me back to this room to let me masturbate on each of my visits.
Romantic, right?
My friends had all started to settle down with wives and kids. Meanwhile, I was still galavanting around, spending my nights lifting weights and my days meeting with clients and dining in fancy restaurants. I’d been thinking it might be time for me to grow up and settle down.
After my disastrous bar encounter, I had sworn off meaningless sex with strangers—at least for a little while. I thought it was a way to show myself and my friends that I was serious about settling down. I decided, however, that I would make an exception for Casey if given the chance.
I was lost in my thoughts when the door suddenly shot open.
“What the hell?” I cried, thankful that I’d just done up my pants and belt.
“Oh, Mr. Preston, I’m so sorry.” It was Casey. “I heard a crashing sound.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I must have cum a little harder than I anticipated.”
I looked at her, trying to be charming, but she wasn’t looking at me at all. Her eyes were riveted by the plastic cup, full to the brim with my semen.
Her eyebrows rose. She must never have seen it so full before.
“I’ll say,” she said, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
I smiled after her, then stopped when I realized my pants were still unzipped.
Chapter 3
Casey
My heart pounded out of my chest as I tried my best to calm it down. We saw dozens of patients each day, so why was I so infatuated with this one in particular? Maybe it was because he was a sperm donor instead of one of the expectant fathers who made up a large share of our client base. Maybe I’d just gone crazy working at this damn clinic and decided here was my best option to find a male suitor. Or maybe he was just as perfect as he seemed and I was fortunate enough to see him once a month.
I’d memorized the part of his medical file I could access after his third or fourth visit. Alexander Preston. DOB 9/27/87. Male. Blue eyes. 6’1”. Oh, how I wanted to add something like “chiseled arms” or “strong hands”, just for fun.
One of the annoying pregnant ladies came up to the desk to schedule her next appointment, which I begrudgingly did with a fake smile plastered across my face. It wasn’t that I hated my job. It was just tough at times to see women like these. They were the ones who came in and spent thousands of dollars to have a child who would probably end up being raised by a nanny anyway.
As soon as the woman walked out the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. The last patient of the day—well, at least, my day— was with the doctor. Alexander and one other sperm donor were in the back doing their business. It was almost time to go home, heat up a microwave dinner, and sit on the couch in front of some trashy TV for the rest of the night. Oh, what a life.
The door connecting the waiting room to the back hallway opened as Alexander ran his hands through his hair. He looked pleased with himself. Hell, I would be too if I knew I was giving someone’s future child those killer genes. I offered up an awkward grin and a “Have a nice day.” I felt so lame compared to Alexander. Every move he made seemed so calculated and suave, and I was just so ordinary. At least I had his occasional visits to look forward to, and I could fantasize about him all I wanted in the meantime.
Expecting him to walk toward the door like usual, I was surprised when Alexander turned and made his way to the front desk. Sure, he had made that remark about not needing any masturbation material, but I figured he was just being funny. After all, it was sort of an awkward situation for both of us. I’d heard my fair share of inappropriate jokes from sperm donors in my time at the clinic.
“Miss Casey,” Alexander said in that sexy voice of his. The fact that he even knew my name sent me into an internal fit of giddiness. I’d never heard my name sound more wonderful coming from someone else’s mouth.
“Mister Preston,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to be equally as funny or simply trying to remain professional. “What can I help you with?”
His response caught me off guard. “What’s your favorite sports team?”
“The Yankees,” I said, deciding not to question why he was asking.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I said. I knew people weren’t used to hearing that in this neck of the woods. “My mom was from New York.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I’m a big Yanks fan, too.” After a quick pause, he asked, “Would you rather eat a cheeseburger or a salad?”
“Cheeseburger,” I said matter-of-factly.
He laughed. “Fair enough.” I hoped with everything in my heart that he was laughing at my reaction to the question and not at my response. Even though my friends constantly told me I was wrong, I considered myself a bit pudgier than the average person. It was something I was extremely self-conscious about.
Still unsure of what kind of game we were playing, I caved. “What’s your favorite type of food?”
“Italian,” he said.
“Damn, I’m more of a Chinese food gal,” I laughed.
“Chinese is good, too.” His goofy smile had me grinning like a fool. “You married?”
I answered in the form of a chuckle and a resounding, “Nope.”
“Me either,”
he said.
“If a hottie like you can’t find someone, there’s not too much hope for the rest of us.” I couldn’t believe I’d just blurted that out. It didn’t seem to faze Alexander. He didn’t miss a beat. The more we talked, the more I was absolutely smitten with him, and, the more we talked, the more I wanted to keep talking. I hoped I wasn’t misreading him. He definitely seemed to be flirting, but maybe I was naïve and he was just a friendly person. It couldn’t be small talk, I told myself. He would’ve been long gone by now. We continued blabbing about all sorts of random current events—wow, was he intelligent—until finally Alexander halted the conversation.
“Can I join you?” he asked, gesturing to my desk. I nodded. He walked back through the door and through the nurse’s entrance into the administrative area. Before I knew it, he was sitting in a rolling chair just inches away from me.
I felt lame, like the nerdy girl who was talking to the homecoming king. What did he see in me? Why was he even talking to me? I wondered why this visit, out of all the trips he’d made to the clinic, was the one in which he decided to talk to me.
“So why do you donate your sperm?” I asked.
“You don’t hold back,” Alexander said, making me blush.
Yet again, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
“To be honest, I’m not getting any younger. I don’t have any prospects on the horizon, so I figured I’d do my share of service by giving my good genes to the kind people of Atlanta who need them more than I do.”
There was an unusual combination of pride, humor, and seriousness in his voice. I had to admire his honesty. I had figured it was something like that, some sort of need to pass on his genes in case he never had kids. I’d seen his car, and it didn’t seem like he was hurting for money like most of the men who came in here.
“How nice of you.”
“How about you? How’d you end up working here?”
That was a loaded question, one I’d been asked before but never bothered to come up with a suitable answer to. There was no good way to say,
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