Tim

I'd started my first small business at seventeen, months after graduating high school. It was the first of a few small businesses that I'd owned over the years. The real trick to surviving a small business wasn't only about being good at what you do as much as being good with money. I learned early on, when it didn't matter as much, that you were always going to have good times and bad times in any small business, so you needed to put money aside. The rainy day fund, as some call it, really needed to be a rainy month fund.

Unlike many of my peers, I grasped the concept early and worked my butt off through those early years when everyone else I knew was pissing away their time and money. This also meant sacrificing time for a social life, which back then didn't bother me all that much. I was very much an introvert and understood women about as much as particle physics, so dating wasn't my thing. But, over the years, I made several friends as small business people do, because that's the best form of advertising.

Many of my friends tried in vain to set me up with the 'perfect woman' for me. However, very few understood my drive. Among those that I considered a close friend was a married neighborhood woman, Janice. It was rare that I had a female friend since most women my age seemed to be looking for a husband with a house, which I had at a young age due to my business acumen. It was a nice neighborhood of varying ages and although I wasn't home much, I did enjoy chatting with my neighbors when the opportunity arose.

Janice was a few years older than my twenty-eight years. She had been married for nearly ten years and had recently begun trying to get pregnant with no luck. She and her husband went to get fertility tests to see if that was the problem. It turned out that his sperm count was almost imperceptibly low. They suggested several lifestyle changes to help increase his count, and the two of them worked on that for nearly a year before she approached me.

I knew of their issues as Janice was not one to hide such things from those she considered close friends. It was on a Sunday that she stopped by during her morning walk when she asked a most interesting question.

"Would you consider having your sperm count tested for me?" Janice inquired.

I looked at her quizzically, much like a dog that didn't quite get its latest command.

"Where are you going with this, Janice?"

"I think that it's pretty clear, don't you?" she responded with a blank look on her face.

"So you want me to impregnate you, assuming that my count is high enough to do so?"

"See, you got it," Janice answered before turning away and continuing her walk like she'd just asked me to grab her some milk at the store.

I stood there for a few moments, watching her walk away in a bit of a daze. As the fog began to clear my mind, I recalled that deep down, I'd always wished for a shot at that perfect ass of hers, especially as it jiggled its way away from me.

Janice

Henry and I had been doing everything the fertility specialist had suggested to increase his count, but several months later, I was still not pregnant. It was time to take things upon myself to rectify this situation. I wasn't going to go the science route. I'd made up my mind at the beginning of all this that it had to be natural and drug-free or not at all. The only alternative in my mind was to find a suitable donor without my husband's knowledge and let him think that it was his doing.

The name that crossed my mind over and over was Tim's. He was quite mature as men go, and he had no ties to anyone other than his family. Hell, even I had tried to fix him up with some of my girlfriends, but he was still too laser-focused on his work for now. Yes, I thought that he would be the perfect candidate if I could work up the nerve to ask him. First things first, though, I had to know what his sperm count was like to see if he was even viable for the task at hand.

I was on my Sunday morning walk as usual, and it was on this walk that I often crossed paths with Tim inadvertently. So, as my mind tried to work out how to talk to him, the opportunity suddenly occurred. Tim was outside mowing his lawn when I saw him and waved. Scared to hell, I put on my business face and asked. He questioned my statements, and I quickly left after asking him to get tested for fear that I'd blow the whole thing by saying something stupid. I walked home, running the conversation through my mind, and decided that it came out better than I imagined and waited for him to get back to me.  

It was the following Sunday that I saw Tim outside again doing a little yard work. I moved his way and asked, "Did you get any results yet?"

"Hello to you too," Tim countered.

"Sorry. Hello Tim. Did you get tested for me?"

"Yes, I did."

"And?"

"They said that my count is 194 million per mL."

"Holy shit, Tim!" I said a little too loudly.

"What?" Tim questioned nonchalantly.

"They had to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Tim replied just before he lost his poker face.

"You fucker! You know exactly what that means. You could probably get me pregnant by jerking off on my jeans. You've got superhero sperm, able to fertilize chaste nuns with just a single spurt from five paces. How are you not a father already? You have had sex with women, yes?"

Tim laughed hysterically at my improvised fable before answering, "Yes, I've had sex with women, but always used protection."

"Are you using titanium condoms? Because I'd bet that your sperm could probably eat through the regular latex type," I continued.

Still chuckling at my earlier remarks, Tim added, "All of my prior partners were also on birth control, having no interest in getting pregnant. So I guess with all that, I managed to maintain my bachelorhood and non-father status."

"You do know that if you help me, you will keep all of that and make a friend for life, right?"

"That is what you say now, but what if your hubby realizes that our baby isn't his? What happens then?" Tim questioned seriously.

"I have a close friend who is a manager at a fertility clinic. She owes me big-time for saving her marriage and will happily falsify the DNA results for me."

Tim thought hard for a minute before asking, "Okay, so how do we go about doing this?"

I couldn't help the smile that breached my face and the need to hug him tight for agreeing to help me this way. Fortunately, there was a fence separating us, so the hug didn't happen in such a public forum, but there was no washing that smile away, no matter who was looking in our direction.

Finally, getting my voice, I stated, "I'll set it all up. I'll get us a hotel room downtown, where we'll be fairly anonymous. Steven is going to a three-night convention out of town this coming Thursday, which will give us from Thursday through Saturday to get the deed done. You just let me know when you have the time to do me," I added rather sexily at the end.

"Friday evening or Saturday morning is good for me, but how do we communicate if something changes?" Tim asked.

I reached out with my business card and said, "Call me at the office from your work and tell them that I'm working on a case for you. They'll put you right through to me. If you get my voicemail, just state your name and company info and leave a number as you would with any other business call."

"Aren't all of your calls recorded?"

"Yes, but we'll just keep it all about business over the phone. Our cover will be that I'm looking into the acquisition of another printing business for you. I regularly meet clients after hours to review cases and get signatures for things so no one will be the wiser. We'll meet at the hotel under the guise of reviewing your case at the restaurant, but I'll have a room under an assumed name."

"How do you get a room under an assumed name these days?" Tim questioned.

"I have a friend there that I helped as well."

"You're a regular Don Corleone," Tim teased.

"So anyway, we'll sit at the table and do our business with a drink or two and then part ways. I'll slip you a key at the table, and then we can meet in the room after being seen leaving the hotel. I'll go to my car and change into normal weekend clothes and suggest you do the same. Also, take the stairs. There are no cameras in the stairwell."

"Wow. How many affairs have you had?" Tim inquired with a goofy smile.

"None, but I've handled too many divorces because of spousal stupidity. I don't have a problem with infidelity on occasion, but be smart about things so that you don't hurt your partner unnecessarily. Honestly, I think that everyone should have an open marriage that allows for a little strange every now and again."

Tim

With everything said, Janice walked away, still sporting that shit-eating grin that wouldn't go away. I let the thought of getting another man's wife pregnant and pretending that it wasn't mine circulate in my brain while I finished some weeding. The more I considered it all, the harder I got.

That is how all of this started.

To be continued...