The Giver's Gift Pt. 01

Once more, he looked down at his watch, then over at the barren desktop and the pristine white cabinetry above it. He followed this with yet another glance over the paper-covered examination table, before dropping his eyes back down to where his hands rested in his lap. The tiny room felt lifeless. Sterile. Strikingly opposite of his reason for being there.

In fact, of the parts of the clinic he had been in so far, it appeared that not a single one had been designed with comfort in mind. The bite of the chair he was sitting in was proof of that. Shifting had proven endlessly futile in his search for a position that saved him from the hard plastic digging into his backside.

His own impatience frustrated him. He watched as the second hand on his watch continued to stubbornly match the pace of his bouncing knee, and reminded himself there was no reason to be nervous. The new laws had made this completely safe and legally sound. Still, he couldn't stop the sole of his shoe from tapping a muted, anxious rhythm on the tile floor.

Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of waiting, the door swung open. In swept the long-awaited, white-coated doctor, chased by the sharp scent of antiseptics and a welcomed, cool draft from the hallway. The Doc was surprisingly young; somewhere in his mid-thirties and maybe only a year or two older than his patient. His bright white coat contrasted dramatically against his dark hair in a way his patient's blond locks could never. Despite the closeness in age, however, much deeper lines formed on the Doc's face when he offered a stoic smile as greeting.

First, the Doc rolled the tiny swivel out from under the desk. Instantly all of the air deflated from the tiny black cushion as he settled himself on it. He paused for a moment to check the clipboard in his hands.

"Right, Ryan. Sorry to keep you waiting. Why don't you take a seat on the examination table, and we'll get started."

While it was more comfortable than the hard seat of the chair, Ryan found the examination table even more unsettling. He grimaced each time the thin paper covering crinkled underneath him. If the Doc was put off by the noise, he didn't show it. Instead, he launched into a series of questions, first confirming Ryan's date of birth and then continuing down the list with polished professionalism.

"Any abnormal complaints about your physical or mental health in the last month?"

"No."

"Good. Are you feeling healthy today?"

"Yes."

"Have you ejaculated in the past 48 hours?"

"No."

"Perfect. Alright, we'll do a quick physical examination and then you're all good to go."

The Doc was right when he said it would be quick. One swift rip of Velcro, a few soft probes with latex-covered fingers and the cold nip of a stethoscope later, the Doc was back in his seat and recording his findings in the chart.

"Completely healthy," he mumbled, evidently more to himself than to his patient from the way he didn't even bother to look up as he delivered his diagnosis. Only once he had stopped writing and set the clipboard onto the desk did his brown eyes land once more upon Ryan. This time, they lacked the impartial coldness they had held during his examination.

"You're new here, aren't you?" he asked softly.

Unsure of what to say, Ryan nodded.

For the first time since entering the room, the Doc offered his patient a truly reassuring smile before giving his advice. "She'll be even more nervous than you are. Don't let on that you're a rookie. She'll get even more nervous if you do. She needs to relax for the procedure to have the best chances of success. That's your job, more than anything else. Help her relax."

The procedure. That was the word they used for it. Every aspect of this experience had some strange, clinical jargon name that they claimed helped to maintain professional boundaries. To remind everyone of their reasons for being there. Although he couldn't fault the logic, Ryan still cringed to hear it used.

"Thanks, Doc," he said, wondering if he seemed nervous and that's what prompted the sudden advice.

The Doc nodded, his head bouncing a few times before he reached for his chart and stood up from the stool. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

--

Finally, a feeling of comfort. This room was unlike any other in the clinic that Ryan had seen so far. The first thing he saw after walking in the door was the massive headboard against the back wall. Nearly twice the scale of the queen-sized bed in front of it, the matte black colour contrasted sleekly against the dramatic red of the room's walls. The bed was made up in sheets of a similar red, save for the two fluffiest pillows. They stood out boldly in their immaculate white pillowcases.

Before the bed was a low, quilted settee, on top of which sat a variety of intimate toys. A brief glance over them found a well-stocked selection offering everything from vibrators to anal plugs. Any tool imaginable that one might need to pleasure a woman.

Looking at them, Ryan couldn't help but wonder what made him any different from being just another tool in this equation, if anything at all.

After the exam had finished, the Doc had called in an attractive, young woman to guide Ryan deeper into the clinic. She had said little as they walked, simply thanking him for his patience and then urging him to follow her. The steady click of her stilettos against the corridor flooring had done enough to fill the silence the rest of the way.

Now she lingered in the doorway to the room as he neared the centre of it.

"Everything you need should already be in here. If there is anything else, don't hesitate to use the call button on the panel next to the door," she instructed. Her voice was dulcet and her tone uninterested. It did nothing to ease Ryan's building nerves. "Your client will arrive shortly. Please make yourself comfortable."

Following the soft latch of the door as she shut it behind her, Ryan was left alone. For a moment, he hesitated where he stood, his knee twitching, then freezing in place before he lifted his leg without direction. He stood there a second longer before he abruptly paced to the side of the bed and sat down. No, that wouldn't do. He didn't last even two seconds before springing back to his feet and sweeping the room once again for any clue of what he should be doing.

On one of the side walls was an open door to a dark room that he knew from the training would be a bathroom. Chest tight, he made a beeline for it. As soon as he entered, he slammed the lights on then grasped the edge of the vanity with both hands and leaned over the sink.

What had he been thinking getting himself into this?

His gaze trailed over the white porcelain to his reflection in the mirror and where found two narrow green eyes looking back at him.

"Fuck."

This is what he got for leaving his house two weeks ago without his ritual morning jerk-off. Decisions made with his cock instead of his brain.

Ryan reached for the taps, cranked the cold water on and then cupped his palms underneath the cool stream. The bristles of his sandy-coloured beard scratched at his palms when he splashed the tiny pool of cool water over his face. Then he turned the water off and reached for the small, black towel hanging next to the sink to pat himself dry.

If he had hoped that a splash of cold water would give him the courage he sought, his hopes were sufficiently dashed. Resigned, he made his way out of the bathroom, only to stop dead just outside of it when he saw her.

She was young. Maybe in her early to mid-twenties. A tiny waif of a woman. If he had to guess, he'd put her at barely five foot two and weighing nothing more than a feather. At least, that's how she seemed compared to his towering six feet and sinewy muscle. Slight in every way, save for the thick mane of chocolate brown curls that fell over her shoulders and accentuated the heart shape of her face.

She was looking right at him, standing still in the middle of the room, just as he had a few minutes ago. Her hands were folded together, resting against the front of her sundress. The off-white colour and blue flower pattern clashed with the red of the room, making her look even more out of place than her expression suggested she felt.

When she saw him, her plump, ruby lips spread into a shy smile. Tentatively, she took a step toward him and held her hand out, her long, slender fingers, and thin wrist looking fragile as they hovered in the air before her. As she began to speak, her voice trembled, her beautiful brown eyes wide as saucers.

"Hello," she began, then stopped to clear her throat and force a little more confidence into her volume. "My name is Rebecca."

Rebecca's eyes both fell to the floor, a soft red tinge spreading over her freckled cheeks as she added in a soft, timid whisper, "I will, hopefully, be the mother of your child."

If there had ever been a time in his life when words had failed him, none had been quite as remarkable as then. Ryan's mouth gaped, every synapse in his brain firing in search of some response to the delightfully beautiful woman before him. Finally, his autopilot kicked in, spurring his first step forward and lifting his arm to grasp her waiting hand. The Doc's words echoed in his brain.

Help her relax.

"I'm Ryan," he answered. Her small, warm hand fit completely inside of his palm.

Rebecca's eyes stayed grounded, the corners of her mouth turning down to meet them as she returned his gentle squeeze with a weak grip of her own.

"I know," she said softly, "It's nice to meet you, Ryan."

Of course, she knew. She had, after all, picked him from one of the hundreds of men in the catalogue. For safety reasons, the identities of the women remained hidden, but his detailed personal information, everything from his medical history to his favourite childhood cartoon, was readily available to be browsed and judged.

She had scrutinized it all and, of all the men the clinic had to offer, she had picked him.

"Right," Ryan mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and stopping himself from wiping it on the front of his jeans to rid himself of his nervous sweat. "The pleasure is all mine, Rebecca."

God, her name felt strange to say. Like the incantation of it was what made this moment finally become real. Too real. He didn't want to think about the fact that his lips would soon be feeling a lot more of her than only her name.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just so nervous."

Her words were muted, wistful and with the thoughts that inspired them a million miles away. She glanced up at him, then back at the floor before blurting out much louder, "Of course, my husband knows!"

An even darker, warmer red swept across her cheeks, nearing close to the natural ruby tinge of her lips. Her hand chased it in a flash to slap over her mouth and embarrassment widened her eyes.

"Oh god, that was weird," she groaned through her fingers. "I just... I don't want you to think..."

"I think you're beautiful."

Maybe that wasn't the most tactful thing for him to say in that moment, but it was true. With the heat of her blush making her freckles stand out brilliantly and a bashful look in her eyes, Rebecca was gorgeous. She wore her timorous embarrassment with a distinguished grace that made Ryan want to pull her into his arms and whisper in her ear that everything would be alright.

Slowly, carefully, those brown eyes lifted from the carpet. A tiny streak of confidence flashing through them as they focused on Ryan's face. Gradually, Rebecca lowered her hand to her side.

"You look like him. Like my husband. He's handsome, too."

"Tell me about him," Ryan suggested. He tried to make his voice soft, putting careful effort into adding a feeling of warmth. To tell the truth, he was still floundering just as much as he had when he first saw her, but he felt desperate to ease the worry that radiated from Rebecca. Offering her his kindest smile, he sat on the side of the bed and patted the empty space beside him.

Rebecca didn't hesitate. She quickly took her place, the compression of the mattress briefly bringing their shoulders into contact before Rebecca shifted further away. The blush on her cheeks continued to burn adorably bright.

Ryan reached his arm out in front of the small woman beside him as a welcoming invitation. He felt compelled to touch her. To bring her any form of reassurance he could offer. "Can I hold your hand, Rebecca?"

Again, she nodded wordlessly, settling her small hand into his palm for the second time.

"Tell me about your husband," Ryan encouraged once more. "What is he like?"

Rebecca inhaled one deep long breath, then let out a slow, quiet exhale. He could feel her hand trembling as she spoke. "He looks like you. His hair is blonde, like yours, but his eyes are a lighter green. No one matched exactly. I knew that would be impossible, but I wanted someone who looked like him, so that the baby..."

She trailed off, both eyes squeezed closed in the momentary pause before finishing her thought. "So that the baby wouldn't look so different."

"Is that why you picked me?"

"Yes. Well, mostly. There was a bunch of other stuff, too. Someone healthy, of course, no history of addiction. Someone who has a lifestyle similar to ours. We had a list that we discussed, and we told the agency to only send profiles that matched what we wanted."

She was babbling, lost in her feelings. Ryan was content to keep on holding her hand while she got out all of her anxieties. Her need emboldened him, the call for a protector helping him to set aside his own nerves in a valiant endeavour to make her feel safe. At least, he hoped he was making her feel safe.

Rebecca kept talking, her words fast and pressured. Ryan couldn't tell if she was actually speaking to him or simply airing the complex myriad of feelings that swirled and clashed in those immense, beautiful brown eyes.

"He said he didn't care about what you looked like. I didn't tell him I only wanted someone similar. I knew he would say it didn't matter about how the baby looks and I should pick the person who matched the list best, but that wasn't my only reason."

"It wasn't?"

Rebecca shook her head. Her small fingers squeezing his hand as her confession rose to the tip of her tongue. Again, she cast her eyes down before admitting her secret motives for picking him as her donor. "I thought it would feel less wrong if it was easier to pretend you were him."

Her words gripped Ryan's heart. This wasn't wrong. How could such a selfless, desperate act be wrong?

"There is nothing wrong with what you're doing," he insisted. He wanted nothing more than to coax her gaze back up. "I'm not your husband, but you're here because of the love the two of you want to pour into a child together. It's not wrong to want to be a mother and to give your husband the gift of fatherhood."

At first, it was unclear if he had been successful. He watched in hopeful anticipation as she peered at him out of the corner of her eye. Finally, she took another deep breath, her posture straightening once more. "What about you? Why do this?"

Ryan had asked himself that same question a hundred times in the last two weeks and had failed to come up with any kind of answer he could truthfully tell her. It probably wouldn't comfort her to know that he had signed up because his too-full balls were aching after he'd spent the morning at a café full of beautiful women in revealing, summer clothing. When he saw the recruitment table for the clinic, his horny brain had had a shamefully easy time convincing him that being paid to raw dog fertile women was his calling in life.

So, instead, he took a page from the training book they had made him read and lied a little.

"I don't want to be a father," he started.

That part was true.

"But I'm lucky to have the ability to be one. Especially when there are people out there who would give anything to have kids and can't. So, I want to help those people achieve the family that would be wasted on me."

Was that totally a lie? Maybe not completely, but it would be a stretch for Ryan to claim his motivations were that wholly pure. Sure, it felt good to help Rebecca become the mother she wanted to be. But, the promise of other pleasurable feelings had been just as influential in his choice to go through with his spur-of-the-moment decision. It didn't hurt that Rebecca was so beautiful, either.

Regardless of his internal conflict regarding his own motivations, Ryan's words seemed to ease some of Rebecca's inner struggles. She smiled sweetly at him; her eyes softer than he had seen them yet.

"You're giving us an incredible gift," she affirmed. "Thank you."

A sweet, fruity smell was beginning to fill Ryan's nose. He slowly realized it was the scent of Rebecca's lingering shampoo that he was smelling. As they spoke, Rebecca's body had slowly leaned towards his, so close now that he could feel her body heat radiating from her. Side by side, they sat in a peaceful silence, the touch of their hands, and occasionally their shoulders, serving as conduit for growing comfortability between them.

Ryan was searching for what to say next when Rebecca beat him to it with another blurted question. "Can I kiss you during... it?"

Her question took him by surprise. He hadn't thought about a scenario in which she might not be inclined to having a romantic encounter. In his fantasies, he had always seen himself as being as loving as possible and his partner doing the same, even though they were strangers. The idea of not holding her as he flooded her body with his seed filled him with an empty sadness.

"I would like it if you did, if that's something you want," he replied, hoping she did indeed. "Do you want to?"

Rebecca chewed on the soft, ruby flesh of her bottom lip, contemplating her answer. Did she know that only made him hope even more for a chance to see if they tasted just like the strawberries they reminded him of?

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe? Probably? I don't know what to expect."

"We can take it slow," he promised. "We won't do anything you're not comfortable with. I'd like it if you enjoyed yourself."

"Do you think I can? Enjoy it?"

More and more Rebecca was leaning against his frame, her weight nothing, yet he burned where she touched him. He could feel her leg against his calf. A flash of boldness pushed him to lift her hand to his mouth and feather her knuckles with kisses.

"I'll do anything I can to make sure you do." He meant it. She deserved to enjoy this.

She didn't pull her hand away as he pressed a longer, lingering kiss against her thumb. Instead, he watched as her teeth worked even harder into her lip.

"Can I kiss you now?"

Her voice was stronger, more resolute than when they first sat on the bed. The wavering timidness that had filled her was rapidly being replaced by a determined seriousness. Still, her cheeks were flushed to an adorable shade of pink.

"Now?" He echoed, surprised again by her bluntness. It was enough of a shock for him to drop their hands back into his lap.

"Yes," she answered. She moved to better face him and Ryan found confidence streaking those big, beautiful brown eyes. "I want to know what it will feel like and then I can decide if we should kiss while we..."

A shrug filled in the word she couldn't bring herself to speak.

He hadn't even replied, yet the mattress was already groaning beneath them. He didn't need to answer. Autopilot bent his head down, her parted lips a target sweeter than honey. Her eyes closed as she tilted her head up and his own slid shut the second their mouths made contact. At the same time, every other part of him was sparking to life. His heart kicked up in gear, blood rushing to his cock and quickly hardening it along his thigh. It was impossible to ignore the forbidden act of kissing the soft, red lips of an attractive, married woman.

The kiss was short. Ryan wanted more the very second that they parted. Rebecca's warm exhale across his face as she pulled away clouded his head, and he fought against winding his fingers through her tresses to pull her lips back to his. She didn't pull back very far. Her face hovered only inches from his when her eyes fluttered open. He could see every last swirl of brown in her irises.

God, she was so beautiful.

"So," he said, hoping the breathy sound of his voice hid the way that it hitched, "What did you decide?"

Their still conjoined hands rested on Ryan's lap. Rebecca's other hand had joined it to give her support in the position their kiss had demanded. So very close to the part of him that ached and throbbed for her touch.

Her voice was just as airy as his when she spoke, her confidence turning into a smouldering expression. Ryan saw that the shoulder of her sundress had slipped slightly out of place, but she made no attempt to fix it. Her grasp on his hand tightened, her lips parted in invitation underneath two eager brown eyes filled with desire. An image that burned itself into Ryan's mind.

"I decided I want to enjoy it."