23 comments/ 38792 views/ 1 favorites Our Epiphany, Our Mission By: Kennewickian The ecstasy and agony of a modern marriage Today Life had been good to Owen Anderson. At a young-looking 49, he was Managing Director of the Chicago office of Morgan Weinstein & Cie. Since graduating with honors from Ohio's Denison University, followed by an MBA in finance from the University of Chicago, his business career had been one of continual achievement. Concentrating on structuring high-tech IPO's in the halcyon days of the 90's, he was one of the few not seduced by the dot com craze before that bubble burst. In the new millennium, his focus was on developing and maintaining the senior relationships so vital in brokering corporate acquisitions by the firm. During his 26 years with Morgan, Owen had generated many millions in fees for the firm to spread among its partners. A one-company man since his business school graduation, his loyalty was unquestioned and he had every intention of remaining with the firm for his entire career. His many contributions had not gone unrewarded. His net worth topped one million dollars by his thirtieth birthday and that had multiplied many times over the next two decades. He looked forward with relish to a comfortable retirement of relaxation and travel in five or six more years. But on this warm day in mid May, his thoughts were only two weeks ahead. He and Barbara, his beloved wife of 23 years, would be back at Denison for the graduation of their only child, Julia. Tall Julia, with her sandy hair and blue eyes. They loved her more than life itself. How the three would enjoy the celebration of her last college days! How they were looking forward to seeing her many school friends and their parents again! The company car pulled to the curb at the Anderson town home on Beldon Place, that quiet near north side enclave just minutes from the snarled traffic of Michigan Avenue and Lake Shore Drive. "Thanks, Charles and don't forget to get something at Toys R Us for your grandson's birthday tomorrow," he said as the driver opened the limousine's door and accepted the twenty-dollar bill surreptitiously passed to him by his employer. "Thanks Mr. Anderson. And don't worry, my wife and I can't forget his birthday. The whole family is getting together for the party. Good night, sir." "Good night Charles. See you in the morning," Owen answered as he strode up the stairs to the second floor entrance of their century-old brownstone. "Hi darling," Barbara smiled with the elation she always felt when her husband returned from another day in the jungle of those damn financial markets. "We have a hundred things to do before Julia's graduation. I made a list to go over with you after dinner to make sure I haven't missed anything. I'm so excited I already have to go to the bathroom every thirty minutes and the big day is still two weeks off! And I know you're not as cool as you look ...you're as anxious as I am to see her in cap and gown! C'mon now, admit it!" As always, Barbara's enthusiasm was infectious and he confessed his own excitement with a smile. The Early Years Owen had been as successful in love as in business. His first date as a Denison freshman 31 years ago was with Barbara. In truth, it wasn't really a date. As a planned mixer between that year's Kappa Sig pledge class and the pledges from Alpha Phi sorority, it was heavily chaperoned and nothing more that a Sunday afternoon get together at the sorority house. The late September weather was glorious and the hilly countryside of Licking County was alive with the full reds of an Ohio autumn. Barbara and Owen were just two of the group but their attraction was mutual and immediate, Just emerging from a rather late maturation, Barb was still carrying twenty more pounds of adolescent weight than most of her new classmates and at just over five feet, that led to a small sense of insecurity. She was very conscious of both her 130 pounds and her horn-rimmed glasses, which were somewhat out of style and old fashioned. At 18 years of age, the personal poise she would know in the future was lacking. She was sure she was going to be the proverbial wallflower at this event and at all the rest of the school's socials for the coming year. Her full auburn hair flowed to her shoulders in a manner that lacked the sophisticated styling of her later life. Her deep auburn hair and brown eyes complimented her soft olive complexion, which was darker than most of her pledge mates. In total, and despite her totally German ethnicity, Barbara resembled a woman of the Mediterranean. Indeed, in later years, she was occasionally mistaken for being of Italian or even Greek origin. In contrast, Owen was tall and thin. His Scandinavian heritage was clearly evident in his blue eyes, light sandy hair and fair complexion. Each of the students was invited to introduce themselves, their hometown, a bit of their background and personal interests. No one was asked about their planned major because in this small liberal arts college, it was assumed that at least two years would go by before an academic focus would be decided upon. Certainly neither Owen nor Barbara had dedicated themselves to any course of study. Both were content to let their first year be filled with the college's core courses that were required of all students. In later years, Owen often thought back to his carefree freshman days. Academics had always come easy and he earned top marks in all subjects with a minimum of study. The fraternity was pleased that he produced many A's to boost the house's academic average and he had more than ample time to go out for varsity lacrosse. A major sport on the east coast, lacrosse was virtually unknown in his suburban Chicago hometown. While he practiced hard to learn the skill of the sport, he never progressed beyond being a rather bumbling substitute at midfield. He was not a party animal but regularly attended all of the fraternity's social events. Little realized by him at the time, the disciplined life style that was to mark his later business career was becoming visible. By his third year, Owen's ambition and his desire for financial success led him into a business curriculum. Again, his talents were quickly visible and he graduated from Denison cum laude with a Phi Beta Kappa key as a keepsake. Introspective and serious in most matters, Barbara was a bit of a bookworm. Not that she lacked native intelligence but her learning process was more dependent on rote that Owen's and she spent many more hours than he ever did studying in her dorm room. Their introduction at the freshman mixer really didn't expand into anything that could remotely be described as a romance until their junior year. They did double and triple date a few times during their first two years at college, often ending up at raucous fraternity beer busts at Jimmy Rizzo's sleazy Broadway Niteclub on the road to Newark. They also dated once in her hometown of Perrysburg during their sophomore spring break while he was visiting the nearby Toledo home of his Kappa Sig brother and close friend Carl Gebhardt. Always interested in meeting their daughter's classmates, Barb's parents invited him to Sunday brunch at their Heather Downs Golf Club. The introduction went well and it was quite obvious they approved of him as a friend of their daughter, if not something more significant in the future. In short, Barb and Owen were college buddies, nothing more. Both had an equal number or more dates with other classmates. By her junior year Barbara had blossomed. With a conscious effort to concentrate on a healthy diet and exercise, she had slimmed to less than 110 pounds, which was perfect for her small body. Because Denison students were not permitted to have cars on campus until their senior year, and because the campus was perched on a series of sharp hills, everyone became fit from nothing more than trudging to their daily classes. This was true of Barb. Not voluptuous, her legs became well shaped and her stomach flat. She fretted that her 34 bust was a bit less than ideal but that did nothing to flaw the physical beauty that she began to project. She experimented with many hairstyles, from an overly short gamin cut to pageboys before finally settling on a lightly curled short style that perfectly haloed her somewhat oval face. Her large brown eyes were her most striking feature and she learned to emphasize them with a touch of liner well applied. She discarded her heavy glasses in favor of contact lens. It was her dark eyes that attracted the attention of everyone. Sparkling with a total joy of life, they mirrored her every emotion and mesmerized Owen. As their friendship grew into affection, Barb and Owen became an acknowledged twosome to their classmates. At the beginning of their senior year, Owen went through the ancient college ritual of giving her his fraternity pin with its crescent and star design and they pledged to date no one else for the balance of the year. Barbara had chosen psychology as her college major, an ill-defined curriculum that didn't offer much of a career path but wasn't intellectually challenging. By Christmas, she had dedicated herself to Owen and was more interested in preparing herself as his life mate than academic attainment. Still, her inherent intelligence earned her the same cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa recognitions he received upon graduation. Starting that year, the hormonal exuberance of youth expressed itself. From affectionate hugs at fraternity parties, soft and hard kisses led to experimental petting. Their inexperience showed as they awkwardly displayed their fondness for each other. Both were technically still virgins, although Owen had twice enjoyed thirty seconds of bliss as twenty-dollar prostitutes in nearby Newark mouthed him to teenage paradise. They secretly conspired to return to school early following the year's Christmas break. In Barb's empty dorm room on the Saturday preceding the start of the second semester, they had a "tell all" session of past romances. Barbara laughingly confessed to kissing her classmate Billy Bedoe in the fourth grade. "God, little Billy was so cute and so shy. I kept picking flowers from my Mom's garden to give him ... what a waste he's made of his life," Barbara sighed since it was common knowledge in Perrysburg that shy little Billy Bedoe had morphed into a raving homosexual predator. Giggling, she added, "I hope my kisses won't turn you into one too!" More seriously, she went on to describe two incidents in high school. The first was when that jerk Alvin Best passed the point of no return in his car and roughly grabbed her breast without warning. "Gosh, we were right in front of my house which sure wasn't smart on Alvie's part. One scream from me and Dad would have come storming out with fire in his eyes," she smiled. "There's a warning there for you, Owen," she teased, "whatever you do to me, don't do it near my father! He's overly protective. He really is. It's stifling!" Her second experience with Alvin shamed her. Despite her better judgment she had somehow warmed toward Alvie as the handsome football star during their senior year of high school. One night, parked car kisses encouraged him to open his trousers and expose his erected penis. In the dim light, it bobbed with youthful energy. "Look Barb, see what you've done to me," he whispered. "Feel it. Feel how hard it is." With a gentleness that was not like his usual brashness, he reached for Barbara's wrist and moved her hand to his column. Not without hormones, Barb watched as he skinned back the foreskin of his uncircumcised erection to expose its glistening dark head. Without thinking, she extended her fingers and circled the shaft while he slowly started to move her wrist up and down. Together, they masturbated him to climax in less than a minute. With a thrust of his hips and a quiet moan, warm semen leapt onto his chest and streamed over her fingers. Staring at the deposit in her hand and seeing his smug smile of conquest, Barb felt nauseous. That was that and neither said another word as he started the car and drove her home. "Good night Alvin. I'll never do that again," she said as she slammed the car door and stalked back into her comfortable safe world. From that moment, Alvie was erased from Barbara's life and thoughts. Years later, she heard from a hometown girl friend that he had taken a job in the local post office immediately after high school. A year later he had been caught stealing checks from the mail and served an eight-month sentence as a first time offender in the federal penitentiary near Columbus. Nothing more was ever heard of the amorous Mr. Best. Even though his sexual exploits were nothing to boast about, Owen started to snicker over her experiences with Alvie but quickly muffled himself when she frowned and said it wasn't funny then and it's not funny now. Mentally, she kicked herself and wished she had thought of some imaginary but more scintillating escapades to impress him. That snowy January evening in Barbara's dorm room marked their first intimacy. Freely giving herself, she had gone to the adjoining bathroom to brush out the hair that Owen's kisses had mussed. Looking into the mirror, her eyes told her it was time. Quickly stripping before she could change her mind, she put on a terry cloth robe embroidered with her initials. Not at all seductive, it was the only covering available. No one was more surprised than Owen when she returned and quietly said, "I love you more than I love life. I want you to love me as a man." It was a memory that would remain fresh in their minds forever. In later years, Barbara often repeated the same words as the mantra that helped keep their love fresh over three decades. Holding her breath in the hope she would please him, she silently opened the robe and dropped it to the floor. She stood deathly still, eyes closed, head high, hands at her side. Her delicate small breasts thrust forward. Surrounded by deep rose areolas, the swollen centers of her large nipples screamed for his caress. Her stomach was taut. Her hips flared outward and her thighs tapered gracefully. Her vulva was shielded with a rich thatch of dark hair. She was magnificent. There was no hesitation. There was no shyness. They loved. They shared themselves. She opened herself and he filled her. Their first coupling was awkward and only he climaxed. The second was more relaxed and she grimaced with open eyes and teeth bared. His face filled her vision as she approached her moment of petite mort. In her orgasm, she inhaled with a hiss through clenched teeth, a sound he later came to know well. They explored their bodies. They caressed. They kissed. They combed their fingers through each other's hair and held their heads back smiling. Barbara's deep sensual eyes teared with the depth of her new sensations. Owen teased her firm nipples between his lips and kissed downward toward the scent of her splayed vagina and its halo of soft hair glistening with moisture. Deeply, he orally pleasured her to a shuddering orgasm, again with a sharp hiss. They slept. In the morning, their joining was tender, perfectly suited to the soft early light. They slept again. The next week Barbara visited a gynecologist twenty miles away to be fitted for a diaphragm. Pregnancy did not result from their unprotected first union. Life was idyllic. College graduation came and went. Meeting at the ceremonies for the first time, their four parents gravitated to each other with ease. In their own pillow talk the following week, both sets of parents agreed they had met their future daughter and son-in-law. They were correct. The Middle Years Well before college graduation, Owen had decided to invest in a postgraduate business education. With his excellent undergraduate record, full or partial scholarships were available to him from several prestige schools. Choosing the University of Chicago over other offers, his future looked bright. Owen went on to his studies in Chicago and Barbara returned to Perrysburg to join the local public school system as a probationary junior high guidance counselor. Only 185 miles apart, they saw and loved each other often. After his business school graduation and employment at Morgan & Weinstein two years later, they were engaged. Barb moved to Chicago and they settled into their first home, a small apartment in a renovated brownstone on Sedgwick Street, four blocks from Lincoln Park. Just starting at Morgan Weinstein, Owen's salary was stretched tight to meet living expenses and the rent this upscale neighborhood commanded. To supplement his income, Barb took a clerical job reviewing residential title searches in the loop office of Chicago Title Company. Not surprisingly, she was very good at her mundane task and the salary she drew following promotion as assistant to the department manager six months later exceeded his. The firm quickly recognized Owen's skill in structuring innovative junk bond offerings and a series of increasingly responsible mid management assignments soon came his way. With two years of double incomes, their finances improved considerably. With deepening adoration, they agreed there was no reason to delay marriage. Neither felt a need to pledge fidelity. Their love was so deep that fidelity was assumed and neither ever gave the other cause to question their faithfulness. Of course, they both flirted outrageously with friends at private parties and afterwards compared notes on who said what to whom. They left their flirtative nature at home for all of Morgan's social events, which, in reality, were staid company affairs void of the opportunities with neglected executive wives that young employees dream of. Theirs was a traditional June wedding in Barbara's Presbyterian Church in Perrysburg followed by her parents' reception at Heather Downs that they both felt was a bit ostentatious. Well over 100 guests attended, many of whom were Barbara's high school friends. Twenty or more of their Denison classmates also made it and they endured the boasts of unbridled professional success by the men and claims of social triumphs by the girls. At one point, Barb leaned to Owen and whispered "What crap ... don't you dare make one mention of our life in Chicago." He didn't and many of the guys thought he must be flipping burgers for a living. Well maybe not flipping burgers, but it doesn't look like Owen is very proud of his accomplishments since college. Owen's best friend throughout college was Carl Gebhardt and there wasn't a second's thought about who would be his best man. Carl had gone from pre med at Denison to dental school at Northwestern University in downtown Chicago while Owen was at the U of C on the south side. They frequently met for a beer or two to gossip, bet on sports and keep current on mutual friends. Graduating near the top of his class, Carl was invited to join a top-flight dental practice in Lake Forest on the Gold Coast 20 miles north of the city. Barbara often joined them to make a foursome when Carl added a new girlfriend to his considerable stable of models and other assorted morsels. "That guy is going to screw himself into senility," Owen predicted to Barb as he enviously fantasized over unending orgies with bevies of naked nymphets in Carl's Lake Forest bachelor pad. Carl's dark hair, eyes and complexion were similar to Barbara's Mediterranean appearance and they occasionally laughed over this as both were of pure Teutonic lineage. Carl once opined that "Someone in the old country must have jumped over the ghetto wall one night in both of our cases," and that was the birth of a family fable for the young Andersons. It was true that Barbara and Carl had a certain physical resemblance, not as close as brother and sister but perhaps cousins. Owen, on the other hand, was slimmer and taller than Carl with sandy hair, blue eyes and the fair complexion that matched his Nordic ancestors. Our Epiphany, Our Mission At the time of their marriage, Owen was a mature 26 years of age and Barb was 27 as her birthday preceded his by six months. To her irritation, he frequently boasted to their friends of his skill as a lothario in landing an experienced older woman as his sex toy. Maybe Barbara wasn't yet fully experienced but she was well on her way. Returning to Chicago after honeymooning in the Canadian Laurentians, their lives became fuller by the day. Owen's further promotions at Morgan represented financial security and Barb left Chicago Title to become a fulltime home maker, albeit to the moans of her department manager who appreciated how valuable she had become to the company. Thanks to more than a little behind the scenes lobbying by his firm's senior Chicago partners, Owen was able to secure a seven figure jumbo mortgage from "The Gray Lady of LaSalle Street" and they bought their ivy-covered brownstone on Beldon Place. Their social life blossomed. Their circle of friends grew exponentially. Their devotion to each other deepened. Sexually, the fumbling couplings of their early experiences grew into skilled harmony. With their willingness to experiment and the aid of a few tasteful books on alternative positions, nothing was off limits. Sex was glorious and they reveled in their compatibility. Both were committed to do everything possible to keep their marriage fresh and to avoid the suffocating predictability of many unions. Owen learned that Barbara needed to be cared for and cared about daily. While accepting that his work required long hours, Barbara made sure that their time together was devoted to sharing intimate communication on all things. They had no major secrets and the minor ones weren't important. Arguments arose from time to time but they were usually resolved quickly without recriminations. They became one with each other. The Epiphany Two and a half years into their marriage, Owen's career was accelerating and Barbara found great satisfaction in being a home maker and an active volunteer in several of the charities they both felt worthwhile. They deserted their joint Presbyterian upbringing and became confirmed Episcopalians. On an average of twice a month, they attended Sunday service at the imposing diocesan cathedral on Huron Street, especially when Bishop Frank Griswold was officiating. "Remember," Owen joked, "Good Anglicans do everything in moderation and it wouldn't be proper to be seen in church every Sunday. Besides, I sure don't want to be known as a Bible thumper in the office. That wouldn't set very well with the brass. Don't forget, those guys are into God's wrath and atonement and all that stuff. Episcopal tolerance just isn't their bag." On a cold November evening, the decision was made. Their marriage needed one more adornment for fulfillment. A child. It was time. Surprisingly, they sealed the agreement with a chaste kiss and went hand-in-hand to bed, foregoing sex. Barbara had long ago replaced a diaphragm with monophasic estrogen pills as her birth control of choice. The first step was for her to discard the daily regimen of pills prescribed by her gynecologist, Dr. Benjamin Leventhal, and out they went the next morning. Conception did not occur the first month as the residual effects of the oral contraceptive were flushed from her body. Neither did it occur in the second month despite intensive couplings during Barbara's ovulation. In the third month, she started to track the timing of her menstrual cycle more carefully and they loved frequently during her three days of fertility. Nothing. With growing frustration, she took temperature readings twice a day and again they loved each other to distraction during her fertile period in the fourth month. Conception continued to elude them. For the first time in their marriage, Barbara did not tell Owen her plans in advance. Quietly, she met with Dr. Leventhal to discuss their repeated failures and ask for his advice. Approaching the consultation with some uneasiness, she agreed with the doctor's recommendation that both she and Owen undergo a battery of fertility tests. Her visit with Dr. Leventhal was difficult to bring up that evening but with the strength of a second large glass of Pinot Noir, she proceeded. Owen was surprised that she had seen the doctor without telling him but listened carefully to her fear that they may be incapable of conceiving the child they both wanted so much. He tried to calm her by citing the many advances in female fertility that had been developed over the last decade. "I'm sure the tests will show that some hormone injections are all that are needed to put you on the road to motherhood" he lightly said and Barbara basked in the certainty she always placed in her husband's words. The next morning she called Dr. Leventhal's office and scheduled her tests. The tests amounted to nothing more that an internal examination, blood and urine samples and a pap smear. Everything would be analyzed and reported within 24 hours. The next afternoon, Dr. Leventhal called and cheerily said, "Barb, Ben Leventhal here. The results are back. You're A-OK in every respect and there's nothing preventing motherhood for you." He went on for some time suggesting what might be the next action for them to consider. "Discuss all of this with Owen and let me know your decision. I'll set up everything and please take my word on this, Dr. Bradburn is first rate and Owen will like him." Her first reaction of relief was followed by dread. "Did this mean that something is wrong with Owen? Never. It can't be." Visualizing his penis straining upward in lust, he was the vision of virility. No, not just the vision! He WAS virility incarnate! Waves of negative emotions swept over her. This will kill him. Him, not me, being unable to conceive a child. Before her mood darkened, she willed herself to remember the doctor's assurance that men as well as women can be medically assisted with fertility problems. She paced repeatedly through their home that cheerless afternoon, waiting in agony for his return and the evening's conversation. He immediately recognized her depressed mood, marked by near silence during dinner. "Oh God," he thought. "She heard from Dr. Leventhal and the news is bad." Over coffee in the den, he softly said, "Out with it Barb. Tell me how bad it is and how I can help you." "It's how I can help you," Barbara thought, fearing the effect of the news on her husband. Breathing deeply, she said, "Yes, Ben did call today. Nothing was found in the tests that might indicate I'm unable to conceive." She sat back and waited for his response, knowing what her words implied. "What did he say we should do next?" Owen asked warily. "Did he say it's my fault? That I'm sterile?" "No, no, he didn't say that at all," she quickly answered. "He's an OB/GYN, not a male specialist. He wasn't talking specifically about you, just in general terms. What he said was that there are many hormonal treatments available for men that have proven very effective." Pausing, she continued, "He also said that in vitro fertilization is always an option if the hormones don't work. But first of all he wants you to see a Dr. George Bradburn at Northwestern University Hospital. Ben said that Chicago is lucky to have him here because he's one of the top male fertility experts in the country. Please Owen, see this guy. I'm sure he'll prescribe something simple and we can get on with having a family. Ben will be happy to set up an appointment and explain our problem to Dr. Bradburn in advance." Shyly, she added, "If you want to know a secret, Ben asked my opinion about your libido. You can imagine my response to that! I blushed when I called you my stallion, but that's exactly what you are to me! He laughed and said he was pleased to hear that your desire level is obviously not our problem! Isn't that good news?" They slept fitfully that night. At breakfast the next morning, Owen showed his lack of sleep. "OK, I'll go ahead. I'll call Ben today and have him arrange an appointment for me with Dr. Bradburn. I want to get this over as soon as possible." Darkly, he continued, "If I have to find some stud to fuck you into pregnancy when I can't, I have to know that too!" Barbara was thunderstruck. "Fuck" was simply not in Owen's vocabulary. Even in his deepest lust while thrusting her to orgasm he had said the word no more than a dozen times during their entire marriage and never outside their bed. But now, his depression was palatable. "Oh God," she silently pleaded, "don't let this effect this man I love so much. Show us a solution." Owen called Dr. Leventhal who arranged his appointment with Dr. Bradburn for the next Monday afternoon. During the week before the appointment, he was withdrawn and silent at home except for small talk or when a question from Barbara needed a reply. Respecting his mood, Barbara was equally quiet and their evenings were spent reading, watching television or listening to music. They went out for dinner with Carl Gebhardt and his latest girlfriend on Saturday but they didn't care for her very much and the evening was dull. After seeing Dr. Bradburn on Monday, Owen returned home without going back to the office. "Sit down Babe, we have to talk," he dourly announced. Pouring a neat scotch, he started without preamble. "I'm sterile. No, that's not quite correct. I have what Bradburn calls a marginal sperm count. Do you want to know how he knows that? I had to jack off into a dish to give him a sample. Can you believe it, me sitting by myself choking the Bishop in his goddamn examination room! He didn't even have the courtesy to have his nurse slap the monkey for me! It was humiliating! After 10 minutes Mr. Ugly wasn't cooperating so he gave me a sleazy porno magazine to stimulate my imagination. God, what a shitty experience, jerking off to a picture of some bimbo blowing Ron Jeremy! What a fat slob he is. How could anyone gobble his dork? Money I guess. To top it off, the bastard wouldn't let me keep the magazine as a souvenir." Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Barbara patiently let her husband rant until he ran out of steam. She then quietly asked what the doctor suggested as a solution. "I shouldn't slam Bradburn. He's a good guy. Ben Leventhal said he would be. Businesslike and no hypocritical crocodile tears. I liked that." Taking a deep sip of the scotch, he continued. "As I get it, I'm not totally hopeless. I do produce a small number of fertile sperm and they can cause conception under certain ideal circumstances. He gave me a pamphlet describing some positions for us to try that may improve the chances." Pausing again, he went on. "Then you are suppose to carefully monitor your temperature during your ovulation. I guess the drill is that when the temperature is right I drop whatever I'm doing at the office and race home for a quick fuck in some ridiculous position. Maybe you should practice standing on your head. Maybe I should set up a goddamn trampoline in the bedroom. Jesus Christ, what a mess!" Barb could take no more. Holding her ribs she rocked with laughter at his raving. He looked up in surprise before seeing the humor. He laughed and wrestled her to the carpet. That night sex was fantastic. They followed Dr. Bradburn's instructions during Barbara's next cycle. She took her temperature every eight hours and twice Owen answered her call to return home for a midday romp. And a romp it was with Barbara positioned flat on her back with pillows under her hips and her head and shoulders hanging downward over the edge of the bed. This isn't romance he complained. This is a chore to be completed when the thermometer demands. Somehow they managed to awkwardly join and he quickly climaxed. Barbara cooperated fully but needed a lubricating jelly to accept him. There were no orgasms for her during their six exposures over three days. A tube of Ben Gay ointment and Owen's massaging was needed to iron out the kinks in her back. No conception resulted and they continued the prescribed positions for another month. Still nothing and Owen fell into depression. Never a heavy drinker, he started to need a second scotch each night to help him fall into a fitful sleep. His mood at breakfast was dreary. In the office, his trusted sansei secretary Tomoko asked him if he was facing a problem because he had started to bark at his assistants. Snapping back, he had her sobbing before realizing he had to grab onto himself or this sterility thing was going to hurt those he cared for and himself too. Apologizing and soothing Tomoko down before she quit and added an additional burden, he called Barb and the in vitro appointment was scheduled. Again, he masturbated into a dish in one room of the clinic while her egg was withdrawn in the next. The egg and sperm were introduced to each other but they chose not to dance and conception failed. It was time to look at other options. First, adoption. To Barbara, adoption was something to deeply respect ... for others. Both she and Owen fully appreciated the nobility of a caring couple nurturing an unwanted infant. Indeed, one of their favorite philanthropies was the Episcopal Charities of Chicago and their adoption center. But Barbara wanted more than simply raising another woman's child. She wanted the full experience of pregnancy, the feeling of movement as the fetus grew and the pain of childbirth. Emotionally, she desperately needed all of this for her sense of fulfillment as a woman. She tried to explain her needs to Owen who, as a man, could not fully comprehend but could accept. They put adoption aside as the last resort. In vitro conception using donated sperm was the next alternative. Barbara would play no role in the process other than receiving the fertilized ovum. However, all of her instinctual wants in pregnancy would be satisfied. While never identifying the donor, the clinic went to extreme lengths to match the male's genetic characteristics, intellectual level and personality profile with the recipient. Also, there would be no health danger as the history of every donor was carefully investigated. Barbara favored this alternative but it gnawed at Owen's self-esteem. "We'll have no say in the selection of the donor," he said. "Christ, when you buy a car you look over the lot but here you get what you're given. I'm sorry Barb, but I have a real problem with that because I'll always stew over his identity. Would I have liked him? Would I have respected him? Could I have accepted him as a friend? I need to know these things. This is important to me." They slept that night without arriving at a solution that was acceptable to them both. The next Saturday morning was gray and wet. Not a day I would have chosen for an epiphany, Owen thought. Yet that is precisely what had occurred. Maybe a dream last night. Maybe a vision. Maybe a message from a higher power. No, I'm not going to credit or blame God for this. It's a solution. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was his epiphany. Owen's standard Saturday morning treat for Barbara was to prepare breakfast and everything was ready as she shuffled into the kitchen in her comfortable flannel robe and fur lined booties that she liked so much. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she was squinting because she hadn't put in her contacts. She was beautiful! Owen's heart swelled with love for this glorious creature. "Eat, woman, eat! Once again your Superman husband has solved the problem! Burlesquing, he beat his fists on his chest and made an off key rendition of a Tarzan yell. Barbara stared in disbelief. What's going on in the mind of this madman now? What was going on was that Owen had arrived at a very logical solution to their fertility problem. A way to satisfy Barbara's need to experience pregnancy and his need to know the donor who would give them the gift of parenthood. The solution was simplicity itself. It was perfect. He would select the donor and the donor would insemination her. It would be a natural conception. A conception designed by Mother Nature. The Mission To say Barbara was stunned would be the understatement of the decade. She had come to accept the need for donated sperm. However, from the first she assumed that the traditional in vitro method of surgically implanting a fertilized egg in her uterus would be used. Not for a second had she ever conceived they would know the donor, much less that a natural impregnation would be involved. It was insane! Crazy! Bizarre thoughts raced through her mind. Would they see the man afterward? What would they feel if they did see him again? Could they live with themselves? Could they live with the child the union produced? Barbara immediately dismissed the last thought as unworthy of her. The child would not have been involved in the decision. Of course the child would be welcome. The child would be holy. Barbara was ashamed that her thoughts had included the child. But Owen's idea meant adultery pure and simple! There was no other word for it. Adultery! The whole idea was impossible. He rattled on. "Don't you see it's the perfect solution? Not only will you experience pregnancy but I can choose the donor. And I would be satisfied in knowing the father as a man I can relate to and respect. When you think about it it's not really different from in vitro. The donor would be nothing more then that, just the donor. It's the perfect solution." Hesitating, he softly said, "And I can live with this, Barb, I really can. Yes, another man will be involved but it's not adultery in my eyes. I don't know what it is but it's not adultery. It's just a way for us to have the child we both want so much. Look on it as a mission. A mission to bring a child into our lives." "Let me think, Owen," Barbara said. "This is a bit much to chew on on a Saturday morning." To lighten the mood, she continued, "and speaking of chewing, where's that wonderful breakfast you made for me? It's probably cold by now but your love is the only warmth I need. Thank you for that love ... but I need time to think about this alone. Let's talk tonight." Anxiously waiting for the evening, Owen's mind was busy reviewing his opinion of his many male acquaintances that might quality as the donor. He rejected all but one. By evening he was ready to introduce Barbara to the future father of her child. "It's Carl darling, Carl Gebhardt. Let me explain why. First, he's a dentist and these days dentists are every bit as careful in protecting themselves from disease as doctors are. Obviously, his health is a consideration and I will discuss that with him but I'm sure there'll be no problem there. Second, this will be a surprise for you but Carl fathered a child with a girl back in Toledo while they were both high school kids. I never knew her name. The child was a boy. The girl went to some out-of-town clinic for the delivery and the baby was immediately put up for adoption. Both of the families cooperated in keeping everything quiet. Anyway, that proves he's fertile ... but never say anything about his son for God's sake. It would devastate Carl to know you knew. Third, and most important to me, I have known Carl from my first day at Denison. We are as close as two men can be. I respect him. I know he would keep our secret forever. Finally, I think he could live knowing that he produced a child that he could never recognize. At least I'm pretty sure because he knows our problem and would do anything he could to bring happiness into our marriage. I suppose it would be a good idea to have some kind of document assuring his confidentiality in case anything happened to me. Maybe a written pledge of secrecy on all matters between us without specifically mentioning his paternity of the child ... something like a gag order. I can check the details with a lawyer." Our Epiphany, Our Mission "Look, I know this is a shock to you, but think about everything I've said. I know you will worry about the morality thing, but listen, it's my idea, not yours. And I can live with the knowledge that you ..." he paused before continuing ... "that you and Carl will have to mate. It would just be the necessary act to produce our child, nothing more. I'll be the father in spirit." Intellectually, Barbara understood the logic behind his words. Yes, it was a rational solution but emotionally she was in turmoil. Could she willingly allow Carl or any man other than her husband enter her? Could she accept his thrusting? Could she permit his sperm to flood into her? And Owen, what about him? He says he can live with this now, but what about later? She asked him to leave the house for an hour. She needed time to think, think deeply, and to be alone. Maybe it's time for a short prayer, she mused. By the time Owen returned, Barbara had reached her own epiphany. "This is killing me," she said softly, "but I want a baby so much that I will do it ... with one condition. Dr. Bradburn told you that under certain ideal circumstances it's possible for you to conceive a child even with a low sperm count, isn't that right?" Accepting his nod as a confirmation, she continued. "Then here's the condition and it's not negotiable." Owen waited silently. "I will accept Carl as the donor. But each time that he and I ..." she hesitated before finding a neutral word "... meet, I will also do it with you, either immediately before or immediately after, that doesn't matter. The point is that if I conceive, we won't really know if you or he is the father. Remember, you could be fertile under certain circumstances and I will always be convinced that you are the father." Pushing her dark hair behind her ears, she sadly smiled at her husband and said "And I definitely think this qualifies as a certain circumstance, don't you agree?" So it was decided. The next step was to bring Carl into their plans and Owen did this over several beers in a quiet neighborhood pub. For two hours, Carl demurred, repeating every objection that Owen and Barbara had already resolved between themselves. Finally, to summarize the conversation, he breathed deeply and said, "Owen, I hope you will believe me when I say that I would do nothing in this world or the next to hurt you or Barb. I love you both you know that. And I would do anything I can for either of you at any time. But I'm having trouble with this, big trouble with the morals of the whole thing. Whatever you say now, your attitude could change after ... well, just after. I don't want to do anything to hurt our friendship. I'm afraid this could hurt all of us in a lot of ways. Let me sleep on it overnight. I'll consider all of your arguments and I'll call you tomorrow with my decision. But no promises, right?" Owen nodded, "Right." The next day Carl called. With a deep breath, he simply said, "OK Owen, should the three of us meet to settle details or will you just let me know?" Hanging up, Owen stared at the phone. A long-forgotten phrase came to him ... We are all actors on the stage of life and God is the audience. How would God judge their drama? That night, minutiae arose that neither Barbara nor Owen had thought of before. Where should they meet? Should dinner be planned or should it be nothing more than an hour in the afternoon? How many times should they meet? Should Carl or Owen be the "first" each time? Obviously, it had to be during Barb's peak of fertility so the calendar came into play. "Christ," he snorted, "this is like planning the Normandy invasion." He scheduled a short consultation with Dr. Bradburn to explain the plan and get his medical advice on any special protocol that might improve the chance of pregnancy. Next, they discussed the child that Carl was likely to produce. Compared to Owen's tall lanky frame, Carl was shorter and stouter. Not fat, just a bit on the burly side. His black hair was thick and probably would be curly if fashioned longer than the short cut he preferred. While clean-shaven, he suffered from a heavy five o'clock shadow on his rough-hewn face. His complexion was darker than Owen's and in this he mirrored Barbara. His teeth were impeccable as every dentist's should be. Owen begrudgingly faced the fact that the child would probably resemble Carl since his dark complexion and brown eyes were genetically more dominant than his fair appearance and blue eyes. He rationalized this by hoping people would simply think that the child favored its mother's olive complexion more than his. He wasn't totally satisfied with that rationalization but it was the best he could think of. They both categorically refused to consider using their own bed for the meetings and agreed that the familiarity of Carl's Lake Forest apartment would be less stressful than a hotel room. Carl wasn't happy with this demand but he finally acquiesced and that settled the matter of location. The next issue was far more difficult ... the question of how active a role Barbara should play in the process. While agonizing for them to ponder, it was clear that adequate moisture would be needed for her to comfortably receive Carl. With a dry mouth, Owen realized that meant either artificial lubrication or Carl's foreplay. A sensual person, should Barbara try to fight off any feelings of enjoyment or just let herself go? All of these painful questions begged for an answer. Up to now, they had concentrated on the logistic aspects of the plan and neither had thought deeply about the emotions Barbara would have to face when the moment came. Yes, of course she must be physically able to accept Carl. But enjoy it? The question defied them and they cowardly retreated from discussing it further. Finally, each pledged never to discuss the details of the act with each other. Owen reminded his wife that there would have to be a plural number of "acts" since several meetings would enhance the probability of pregnancy. She nodded glumly. "The devil is in the details." Neither Barbara nor Owen nor Carl had ever realized just how terribly apt that old phrase was. Barbara's menstrual calendar dictated that she and Carl be together on the three days of Thursday, Friday and Saturday two weeks hence. In an uncomfortable phone conversation between the two men, the schedule was finalized. They would arrive at Carl's apartment for dinner on Thursday evening and stay through the following morning. The same sequence would be repeated on Friday and Saturday. During the days, Barb and Owen would leave to lessen their torment of having to be around Carl any more than necessary. The cruelest blow was when it was decided that Owen would be first each night followed by Carl followed by Owen the next morning. Owen winced as the reality of the coming three days hit him. He remembered how hard he had to argue to convenience Barbara and Carl to accept the plan. Now, scheduling the exact hours for them to be together tortured him. Twice he came close to canceling everything. Once in the office he visualized Carl thrusting himself between her spread legs and raced to his private bathroom to vomit his lunch. He wrestled with the very real possibility that he would loose control and rage into the bedroom to tear Carl from his wife. "God, what have I created?" He was tormented during the day and dreamt terrible dreams at night. All three grew increasingly fretful as Thursday approached. Carl had a moment of panic when he realized that his tenseness might result in impotency. What a hoot that would be, he thought, and he asked Bob Duncan, a medical colleague down the hall in the professional building, for a sample packet of Viagara as a precaution. With a grin, Dr. Duncan said, "With all of your girlfriends, I knew you'd be needing these sooner or later." Carl snarled back, "They're for a friend, that's all." Barbara went about her daily chores in a demi world of worry about the effect this whole ugly business might have on her husband's love for her. On Thursday evening, Carl prepared a simple Greek salad for dinner. All three picked over their food, sipped his excellent voignier and avoided any reference to the purpose of the meeting. At nine o'clock, Owen and Barbara mated in the bedroom while Carl watched an inane television program in the den. An hour and a half later, he joined Barbara while Owen aimlessly walked the tree lined Lake Forest streets battling the demons that were consuming him. At seven the next morning, he rejoined Barbara and Carl left on the same walk that Owen had taken the previous evening. The sequence was repeated on Friday. Pleading exhaustion, on Saturday morning Barbara told her husband that she did not want to return that night as scheduled. They were silent on the drive back to the city and for most of the day. That night they slept together in their own big bed. Neither made a move toward intimacy. The mission was completed. The Aftermath A week passed. Owen did not call Carl and Carl did not call him. Barbara busied herself around the house and, thank goodness, with the diversion of a planning meeting for the Episcopal Charities annual fundraiser scheduled for later in the month. Each evening, she steeled herself to greet her husband with a smile when he returned from the office and he responded as best he could. Not a word was said about the two nights in Lake Forest. The two nights had been surreal. After dinner on Thursday, the men idly chatted about their college days and the dismal showing of the Chicago Bears in the last NFL season while Barbara added a few comments about her philanthropic work. Carl made no mention of his many girlfriends. The wine they shared did little to relax them and each preferred silence as a defense against the emotions they were wracking with. Barb and Owen showed no affection toward each other. No hugs. No kisses. No smiles. Nothing. Carl looked like he would welcome a hole to crawl into. At nine, Barbara stood up, said it was time and walked to the bedroom. All of them silently feared the mission would end their friendship. Barbara prayed it wouldn't damage her marriage irreparably. Owen rued the day he had thought of the idea. The two nights passed. The mission was to conceive a child and the mission was paramount, regardless of consequences. The mood in the Anderson home was one of watchful waiting as husband and wife searched for a hint of each other's emotions. Owen drank scotch each night to relax. Barbara couldn't abide scotch but she joined him with a brandy. Uncharacteristically, when she described her day, she babbled over trivialities, smiling unnecessarily in a pathetic attempt to appear tranquil. Owen was no better. He tried and tried hard to put on a good face but failed. One night listening to an old Edith Piaf tape, they looked at each other in irony when Piaf sang Non, je ne regrette rien. It was not the same as before. Both knew it but neither spoke. Something had to give. Somehow the two nights had to be disinterred and dealt with before the memory could be reburied in peace. It was Owen who finally broke the silence and he broke it badly. On Friday evening he quietly sat with his chin on his chest. He looked at his wife and bluntly asked, "How was it?" "Owen, please don't" she responded quietly, instantly knowing his meaning. "No, I want to know how was it?" he pursued. "Tell me. I'm adult enough to hear." "I don't want to talk about it." "Sooner or later, I'll find out. If you didn't conceive last week, we have to repeat the whole goddamn ritual next month. I can't stand waiting another month to know what you and Carl did. Do I have to ask him?" "Please don't make me do this." Barbara started to tear. "Damn it, I said tell me, I've got to know because I've got to know, it's that simple! There you have it woman! Now TELL ME!" Owen's cruel words slashed at his wife. She winced and dropped her head into her hands. "It was sex. Just sex. It was sex because sex is needed to have a baby in case you've forgotten ... and I want a baby so very much." Her tears flowed. "We both agreed to do this. We both agreed not to talk about it afterwards. I thought I could trust you not to ask what you're asking. Please stop." After a long silence, she raised her head, looked defiantly at her husband and continued, "Yes, we had sex. He fucked me. I fucked him. Are you satisfied now?" He was breathing heavily. "No, I am not satisfied! Was it good sex? How many times did he fuck you? WAS IT GOOD? DID YOU CUM?" His low voice was harsh and menacing. He was determined to hear an answer. His jealousy had finally surfaced and he groveled in it. Drawing herself stiffly upright with her hands in her lap, Barbara sadly gazed at her husband and spoke in an unemotional low voice. "The first time I was too nervous to feel much of anything. He had to work to produce any moisture in me at all. Finally, his saliva provided it. Yes, Owen, he kissed me. He kissed me there." She exploded ... "HE LICKED MY CUNT TO GET ME WET AND THEN HE FUCKED ME ... is that want you want to hear, you bastard? Is it?" After her outburst, Barbara leaned back and silently sighed. "I didn't climax. I didn't come close. He finally did but it was almost by rote ... one, two, three, shoot. End of story." "How many times did he fuck you that night? There sure as hell was nothing wrong with your moisture the next morning! The bedroom smelled like a whorehouse. There were stains on the sheet and I saw his semen in your open cunt before I entered you. I could see it as plain as day! And I could feel it! I felt it squishing around my cock while I was in you. I had to grit my teeth and remember why I was there just to stay hard. When I pulled out, there it was ... his jizz mixed with mine all over my prick. I felt like puking!" He shuddered. "The next day it was the same thing all over again!" Barbara closed her eyes as she realized just how terribly vulnerable he was. "You're brutalizing yourself, Owen. This isn't you talking. Why are you doing this to yourself?" "Because I'm a goddamn caveman when it comes to my wife and I've got to know if some son-of-a-bitch can fuck her better than I can," he roared. "I don't give a rat's ass if that doesn't make sense to you, or if it's some kind of a guy thing, or if it's any other kind of a fucking thing." He groaned and whispered, "Just tell me, Barb. Please just tell me." While he was far from reveling in what he was hearing, something instinctively told him that a full accounting was needed as a catharsis to cauterize his emotional hemorrhaging and to keep his jealous rage from poisoning his love for this wonderful woman. Turning in pain to look unseeing at the far wall, Barbara's voice was flat and dull. "I already told you the first time was not good. We were both tense and he had to masturbate himself to get hard enough to enter me. I don't think he was ever fully erect. Afterward, he tried to cover up by saying everything was working according to plan but that didn't wash with either of us. No, it wasn't good but at least I had sperm inside me and that was the point of your plan, wasn't it?" She immediately regretted her words because they placed total responsibility on his shoulders and that wasn't fair to him. However reluctantly, she had agreed to the plan too. "Neither of us slept well," she continued. "Next morning it was just getting light when he started again. He had showered and smelled fresh. And he was erect. Yes, Owen, he was painfully erect. His penis was wet and bobbing as he leaned over me and kissed my breasts. I don't know, maybe he had taken a Viagara pill and can thank Pfizer for the result. Whatever the reason, he was ready. Very ready. And I responded. I do care for Carl as a person, you know that, and maybe that's why I responded. But have no doubt about it, he performed magnificently and I responded as nature intended. He brought me to orgasm that morning ... but so do you every time we're together, so do you! I tried to fight my feelings for a while, I really did, but I failed. You said something once about Mother Nature designing this conception. Well, Mother Nature was working overtime that morning. She seduced me and I surrendered to her design. It felt natural being with him and it was good, maybe very good." "How was he compared to me?" The bone was in his mouth and he wouldn't let it go. She sighed deeply. "It was different, just different. I don't know how to describe it any better than that. Remember, you're experienced with me and he isn't. He was rougher than I like but I did climax ... more than once. Maybe you can understand if I tell you it was like our first few times in college while we were still exploring each other and hadn't discovered yet what we like and what we don't like. He and I were exploring each other. We were reaching out to each other. I think he was very conscious that he was there to complete the mission we had agreed to. And I think he was trying hard to fulfill his role without becoming emotionally involved with me. There, that's the shrink in me coming out." Growing angry, she continued. "He treated me with total respect. Carl's a gentleman and I insist that you have the same respect for him! He is not a son-of-a-bitch and I don't want to ever hear you call him that again! It's important for you to remember that I was as nervous as hell. He was considerate and did his best to put me at ease. I didn't feel dirty then and I don't feel dirty now. As far as how he felt, well I didn't ask but I very much doubt if I was the best he ever had." Now livid, she continued the lecture with fury in her eyes. "One more thing, my jealous little boy. I want to put your covetous mind at ease once and for all. You have no reason to worry about your endowment. Carl's penis is no larger than yours. But I really couldn't care less how big or small it is. Here's a flash for all you goddamn Neanderthal men ... women don't go around measuring cocks, despite what you think! Sometimes all of you make me sick!" She glared daggers at her husband. Suddenly without warning she relaxed and snickered. "There was one thing I just thought of that was different. His is just straight without that cute turned up angle you have. And it's real smooth without all those kinky ridges that drive me nuts every time you're in me." Barbara took a risk saying this but she was trying to boost her husband's ego and her timing was perfect. It broke the tension and the agony of his emotional castration. Their feelings were beginning to mend and they both realized it. In spite of himself, Owen smiled thinly and said, "Cute? Did you say cute? Well, that's a new name for it ... a hell of a lot better than Mr. Ugly!" Barbara frowned. "One thing that definitely did not turn me on was his hairy chest, ugh! Carl's as hairy as a gorilla. I'm exaggerating but he does have hair all over and it scratched when I was lying on his chest." "Aha!" Owen perked up. "So you couldn't resist getting topside, huh? See, the truth always come out! You can't hide anything from me!" Barbara reddened with embarrassment. She hadn't intended to describe the details of those nights as much as she already had. Now her off-hand complaint about Carl's chest opened the subject even more. Now he knew she had mounted Carl and that was hurtful because that special form of lovemaking was deeply intimate between the two of them. She hoped he wouldn't feel betrayed that she had shared that intimacy with Carl. "As always you're very quick on the uptake Owen. You never miss a thing anyone says, do you? I wish I hadn't said anything about his hairy chest. One slip by me and now you know more than I was going to tell you." "And now that I know," Owen replied, "I want to know everything."