23
The Collection
My sister bought a couple of home insemination kits, so Ray is now the proud owner of two semen collection pots. Ollie says she’ll supply more pots as and when needed. She thinks it’s going to take several attempts before she gets pregnant, but I daren’t tell her there’s no need to worry about that. Ray will see she’s “with child” in no time at all.
Although we only need the one pot, Ray has decided he’s going to split his emission between both pots and freeze one of the samples. Then if some accident should befall the main sample before it has served its purpose, we will have a spare. And if at some point in the future, we want to grow our family, we might as well have the best sperm available. We’ve already spoken to a clinic and made the necessary arrangements for one of the pots to get frozen in liquid nitrogen.
So now it’s time for Ray to complete his mission and yet he seems embarrassed about the task “in hand” and has hidden himself in the bathroom to perform the task. He’s been in there so long, I’m getting concerned. I knock on the door.
“Are you okay in there?”
The bathroom door opens and he’s standing there, the empty pots in his hand and a look of abject despair written across his face.
“I can’t get it to work,” he sniffs. “What is wrong with me? I can’t make it stiff.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I tell him with a reassuring smile. “You’re just putting too much pressure on yourself. You need to relax and get yourself in the mood.”
I hold out my hand. “Come with me. It’ll help if we set the scene.”
He slips his hand into mine and I grab my phone as I lead him through to the bedroom. Once there, I set my phone down on the bedside cabinet, locate the particular song I’m after and hit play. I turn to Ray. He carefully places the sperm collection pots on the bed.
“Remember this song?” I gather Ray in my embrace, ready for a slow dance.
A soft smile melts across his face, chasing away the earlier gloom. “It’s the song from your sister’s party.”
I nod. “Pretend we’re back there again. Except this time we’re invisible. No-one can see us dancing. It’s just you and me.”
“Just you and me, Blake,” he acknowledges as he slots his body tight up against mine so he’s like a second skin. It procures an immediate response in my groin and I’m sure he notices because I hear his breath catch. He avoids my gaze, instead turning his head to the side and resting it on my shoulder.
We begin to softly sway with Enrique Inglesias’ throaty whisper ringing in our ears, slowly building into a crescendo until it reaches the heart-swelling intensity of the chorus. And then Ray looks up at me again. “Blake.” My mind blocks out the music so I can focus only on his voice. He continues. “I think I was born to dance this dance with you. It’s just occurred to me what a pivotal moment this is in my existence. I’ve finally realised why I’ve had an empty slot where my heart should be. It’s there for you to fill. You are the missing part of me, Blake. Without you, I don’t function correctly.” He tilts his mouth up towards mine. “Kiss me,” he begs, his voice full of need.
Our hot breaths mingle as I lean in for an open-mouthed kiss.
His hand rakes through the hair at the nape of my neck as he kisses me back with fiery intensity, tilting his head to the side for a better angle. Our tongues knot together, enthusiastically expressing all that we have failed to say with words. When he finally pulls away, he throws his head back, exposing the long line of his throat to my waiting mouth. I kiss my way down, over his Adam’s apple, to the small hollow at the base of his throat.
He fumbles his shirt buttons open, exposing more of his naked flesh for me to explore. His shirt drops to the floor and I continue my southbound journey. I suckle on each of his jutting nipples in turn, while my hand explores the silky contours of his taut pecs. Then I head further south, down his beautifully-sculpted torso to a set of ribbed abs that are so well-defined I could play a tune on them. I get down on my knees to explore each individual peak and trough with the tip of my tongue.
He flicks open the top button of his jeans. I move his hand aside so I can take over, slowly peeling the zipper open and then tugging his jeans down to his ankles. He steps out of them and I nuzzle my face into his black boxer briefs, cupping his buttocks at the same time, pressing him closer. It gives me huge satisfaction to note he’s semi-hard already.
I lift my head and begin palming him through the soft fabric and he rolls his head back and moans softly. I tease his boxers down a couple of inches until the head pops out and I swipe the flat of my tongue across the slit. The head quickly becomes taut and bulbous and I taste the sweet and sour zing of precum. He shudders and cries out my name and it’s then I lose control. I yank his briefs down and his now fully-alert six inches twang free. His girth is thicker than mine, his shaft veinless and standing so perfectly to attention, I can almost envisage it saluting me.
I dive right in, gorging myself on the first three inches and he gasps out loud. I hold it at the base, while I ease another inch down the back of my throat and begin bobbing my head while massaging the root with my hand. If we were sprawled out on the bed together and I’d had a few drinks to relax my throat muscles, I could probably manage his full length, but I’m not going to attempt it now and spoil the moment by making an ugly gag face. Besides, the way he’s gritting his teeth and whimpering, I don’t think he can handle much more deep-throating than he’s getting already.
“Blake!” he cries out in warning. I jump to my feet and grab the pots, just in time. I hold one in place while he spills into it and then quickly swap it out for the other when the next spasm hits. He grabs hold of my shoulders, his rapturous cries ringing in my ears, and I feel him shudder as he dredges up every last drop of semen from his body, until both pots are filled.
“Boy, you needed that, didn’t you?” I grunt as I pop on the lids and carefully place the filled pots on the bed. “Your balls must have been aching like crazy.”
Ray ignores my comment until he finally comes down from his post-ejaculation high.
“Oh wow!” he sighs breathlessly. “Orgasms are so…”
“Orgasmic?” I offer.
“Out of this world,” he replies.
He scoops me into his arms and hugs me like he never wants to let go.
“You do realise that was probably the most important orgasm in the whole of history?” I say into his hair.
He laughs. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“We make a great team, don’t we?” I say with pride.
“Talking of teamwork, are you going to act as courier?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
◆◆◆
Half an hour later, I’m in Bermondsey, ringing the doorbell of the three-storey Georgian townhouse belonging to my sister and her husband.
Their daughter, Aimee, peers through the letterbox and then I hear her call out, “It’s Uncle Blake!”
She disappears and, soon after, my sister opens the door and invites me in. I decline.
“I don’t really want to hang around making small talk, considering the slightly embarrassing nature of my visit.”
She laughs. “Don’t start getting prissy on me, Blake. This is the easy part. Wait until you have to start changing nappies and wiping sick off your shirt.”
“You certainly know how to suck all the romance out of having a baby, don’t you?”
“Voice of experience!” she says with a grin.
“Here you go,” I say, handing her the filled pot. “Wanked, sealed and delivered.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she says. “I suspect I’ll be seeing you again next month, and the month after and the month after. These things take time.”
“There you go again, sucking all the joy out of it. Aren’t you meant to think happy thoughts when you’re trying to conceive? If you go in with a positive attitude, maybe you’ll get lucky first time.”
She rolls her eyes. “If only it was that easy.”
“Trust me.” I point at the specimen pot in her hand. “What you’re holding there is a whole arsenal of laser-guided egg-seeking missiles. Your poor egg doesn’t stand a chance.”
She throws her head back and laughs. She thinks I’m joking but I’m not.