How to Make a Baby - 2

By Robert Levin

Then, reasoning that a change of scene might turn the trick, Connie came up with the idea of spending a few days in the country together. When I agreed, she arranged for us to stay with our friend Betsy who ran a little print shop out of her ramshackle house in a Catskill town not far from Kingston.

With Connie's patience rapidly dissolving it was, I knew, something like now or never for me and I geared myself as best I could. Scrupulously adhering to a plan we devised - a month of wholesome foods and regimented exercise; no masturbation for a fortnight - I made ready to win a war with myself."

But arriving upstate, I felt like a German soldier must have felt upon arriving at the Russian front. It was the middle of winter, the sky was low and gray, the snowdrifts were thigh-high and the temperature was near to zero. This was not exactly an atmosphere conducive to a successful completion of the undertaking at hand - especially not when in the back bedroom to which Betsy assigned us (and which she used to store old printing equipment and bound stacks of yellowing posters and flyers), you could see your breath and needed to wear a coat.

But as inopportune and unlikely as the setting may have been, it was on our second afternoon there that a child was conceived.

I should say, first of all, that I was feeling physically ill - and it wasn't only that I was on the edge of a cold. A city apartment dweller, I've noticed that country people who pay for their own heating oil tend to be flinty about using it, and Betsy was no exception. On this day, however, in a generous but woefully misguided demonstration of support, she had pumped the thermostat up to steam bath levels. The oppressive heat, coupled with an effluvium of musty furniture and nasty chemical compounds, threatened my ability to both keep my lunch AND remain conscious.

In any case, with Betsy at work out front, Connie, after giving me a thumbs up sign, took off her clothes and arranged them carefully over a chair. Deliberately presenting her bottom to me as she bent to the bed to pull away the quilts, she followed this maneuver by abruptly turning around and flopping onto the bed on her back. Then, reaching for a pillow, she propped it under her buttocks and spread her legs.

"Stevie, do you feel it too? It's as though there's a spirit hovering near us waiting to be born again."

"Great," I said, removing my pants. "I hope it's the spirit of a heavy-duty bond trader who happened to have a coronary while he was up here for a weekend. Please don't let it be one of the local yahoos who ran his pickup into a tree."

I entered her immediately - it had, after all, been two weeks. But just as quickly I knew I was going to wither. My deprived penis's rote reaction to a welcoming vagina notwithstanding, the gravity of the occasion continued to undermine me. Still, I'd made a compact which I had to honor and I began to leaf through bodies, shuffle through poses, postures and configurations in my personal mental Kama Sutra file - then, beginning to panic and sweating obnoxiously - to ransack my memory and imagination. But no one and no thing I could remember or think to want would keep me up, let alone elicit the participation of my gonads. I tried, with my hand, to STUFF it in. I would happily have settled for a premature orgasm.

"Stop." Connie said. She squeezed out from under me and, her hair trailing along my chest and stomach, ran her tongue down the length of my torso to the numb thing between my legs.

A determined virgin into her early twenties - she had not permitted a man inside her until she was twenty-three - Connie'd had more than a little experience keeping boyfriends with her mouth. In seconds, my mental state notwithstanding, she got it half way up and we tried again. But once more I evacuated her ignominiously and she was obliged to root in me again. Ten minutes must have passed before she raised her head. I was expecting an expression of scorn. Look, I was prepared to say, I'm sorry. This is really out of my hands. But Connie was grinning at me. Crawling backwards a little, she reached her arm under my legs and lifted them until they were almost perpendicular to the bed. Then, holding my haunches up and steady with both of her hands, she lowered her head to my starkly exposed ass and drove her tongue as deep as she could into my rectum. Lingering there for a while, she finally came out from under me and, brushing it against my nostrils en route, brought her mouth to my ear.

"You little Jew bastard," she whispered. "I wish you'd be the lesbian you are right now because what I really want to do is eat your pussy."

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