“Uuhhh, uuhhhh, uhhhh,” the hushed and needy panting of the naked woman who was spread before Andrew Madigan like a sexual smorgasbord was getting a rise out of him. Literally. Drew--eyes glazed over, breathing shallow--stared, mesmerized, as she pressed her full breasts forward toward his nearby face. The carnal sounds of her pleasure coaxed him on. “Fuck me, Drew,” he could almost hear her whisper throatily in his ear. “Fuck me, harder.”

Drew closed his eyes, abandoning himself to the fantasy, as the woman in the tacky porn flick yielded to her on-screen mate, their voices rising, the crescendo of their sexual chorus a series of moans and high-pitched screams.

Drew, the silent partner, joined in their heated frenzy, cup in hand, his release spurting in wave after wave of blind lust. In the moment, barely able to remember or even care about the reason for his actions, he frantically directed the Styrofoam cup--the same kind he remembered drinking stale coffee from while waiting at Jiffy Lube earlier in the day--to contain his cache. Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, he thought. I'd hate to lose that.

Sated, he grabbed a wet wipe and a couple of Kleenex from the well-supplied countertop, wiped himself clean of sticky residue, zipped up his Levi's 501s, stood up, and slipped out the door, handing his prize to the waiting lab technician.

“Thanks so much, Mr. Madigan,” she smiled, her two front teeth overlapping adorably in a sort of dental plate tectonics. She secured a piece of masking tape to the outside of the cup, and used her black Sharpie marker to write the number 629. “We'll see you Thursday, then?” She was like some perky ticket taker at the movies or something.

“Sure, Amy. See ya' then.” Drew said, embarrassed that she knew exactly what he'd just done. He suspected that she too felt a bit flushed with the knowledge, despite her nuanced air of professional disconnect.

She raised her hand close to her head, cupped her fingers and gave him a little wave goodbye.

What a nice man, she thought. He's going to make some girl a lucky bride someday.

“Push!” the nurses cajoled her. “One more push, Lucy, that's all it'll take!”

Lucy McSweeney, weary from hours of exhaustive labor, bore down as two nurses grabbed her bent knees, her doctor poised between her legs to receive the impending delivery.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!” She screamed. To Lucy, that primitive carnal Tarzan yell could not have arisen from her lungs, it was so foreign a sound.

“Luce, Luce, wake up!” Lucy opened her eyes, mercifully blanketed from embarrassment by the cloak of darkness. She was naked, and unfortunately, she knew why.

“Luce, what the hell was that all about?” Mike asked as he shook her shoulder. The hunky six-foot tall former college football wide receiver stared at her looking confused.

Lucy was mortified. Not only had she fallen back in with her old standby, Michael Kramer, her long-time fuck-buddy, but also she had the misfortune of having that damned dream yet again, in his very presence.

“What?” She feigned ignorance.

“Jesus, Lucy, first you were muttering something about pushing something, and then you were screaming your head off like a lunatic.”

Lucy was awash in a bath of humiliation; she was glad he couldn't see her blushing crimson in the dark.

“Geeze, I don't know. Must've been some nightmare. You woke me so suddenly--”

“Man, just as well, I gotta get out of here. I've got a big shipment coming in first thing in the morning.” Here we go, she thought. Once again, abandoned in the middle of the night. Wham, bam, fuck you, ma'am.

Mike got up, flicked on the overhead light, leaving Lucy to draw the duvet over her head against the brightness. He stepped into his boxers, hopped into his jeans one leg at a time and tugged on his black t-shirt. Grabbing his keys from the dresser, and ever so thoughtfully picking up his tissue-wrapped used condom from the nightstand, he gave her head a quick pat like she was his faithful dog. Or his faithful fuck. “Call me any time you need me to scratch your itch, babe.”

He winked at her as he slipped out the bedroom door and through the front door of her townhouse so quietly it was as if he'd never been there.

Lucy felt a trickle of moisture escape the corners of her eyes. She closed them tightly against the threatening flood, and drifted off to sleep with visions of babies swirling about her.