Page 16 of Milk & Cookie

“With me?” I’m glad for the coverage of the table, when my over-sized and unbelievably hard-to-disguise dick lifts its head with interest.

“Are you offering to help me make them?” she asks.

My heart is beating a mile a minute. “I don’t know. I have questions.”

“Then I think you’d better ask them.”

“Morrissey’s dad…?” I leave my sentence hanging there.

“What about him?” she asks, not taking her eyes off me.

“Were you in a relationship?”

Her eyebrows dip in the center. “Paul was a kind man, who had worked hard all his life, but the orchards and the big house were getting too much for him, and there wasn’t enough help in town. We saw his ad in the classifieds and responded, and we were a perfect match. Mom took care of the outdoor labor, and I did the inside chores after school. Paul’s mobility declined fast, and once I was done with school, I mainly saw to his well-being.”

“And that included sex?”

Fred scowls, and I raise my hands in surrender. “You had his kid, Fred. I’m not judging; I’m just curious how it happened. It sounds like the man was in his seventies — and practically bedridden.”

“You’re making it sound like someone took advantage, and that’s not how it was. And if you think I was his whore, I wasn’t. I took care of him, and we talked a lot. He had no family, and his friends stopped visiting. We were all he had. We were his family.” She wipes a tear from her eye. “We used to talk about everything. He had wonderful stories, but he loved to hear mine, too. Said he enjoyed living vicariously through my adventures, because they made him feel young again.

“We’d talk about what he’d have done differently if he had his time over, and we’d talk about the plans I had for my life, how I dreamed of having a big family with loads of children…” She trails off. “He always regretted not having kids of his own,” she says softly. “He’d get tears in his eyes whenever it came up, and I could feel his pain.

“I was eighteen and wanted to start my family, but didn’t have any men I really trusted besides Paul, and he wanted someone to treasure his family history and carry on working the land he loved. Our desires were aligned, and the universe blessed our inspired actions with Morrissey. My family began, and Paul died a happy, fulfilled man, who was able to see and hold the daughter he’d always wanted.”

She wipes her eyes, smiling sadly, and I stare at her. In awe? I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling. I’m definitely relating to Paul Morrissey, and hoping like hell that I don’t have to wait until I’m in my seventies before I’m blessed with my first child. I’d rather be young enough to play games with them. “You made his dream come true.”

Fred shrugs. “We gave each other a gift.”

Her spirit feels so generous and pure, I believe her description of events wholeheartedly. “And the gay couple?” I ask. “Clyde and Dale? You exchanged gifts with them too?”

Fred takes a deep breath and nods. “Beckett, I carried like a surrogate. The guys are lovely. I made sure I did my research there before I agreed to do it, because I want every child to be safe. And I also knew that we’d become family through the bond. I mean, Beck was always their baby — even before we started — but we agreed that an open adoption would ultimately be best for all of the children involved. They live apart, but we make sure they spend time together, and they love each other like siblings should. It works, but it was definitely hard to carry him inside me, and then hand him to someone else afterward,” she says with an invisible weight on her shoulders. “I wouldn’t do it again.”

I nod and sip my tea, letting some quiet fill the space between us because it feels like she needs it.

Meanwhile, my mind wanders to how they all did it, because I know she likes things natural.

She reaches up, to tuck a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. There’s a sense of ownership in the natural way she’s touching me, and it’s as if we’re familiar, despite us practically being strangers. She’s not even remotely afraid of me, and that feels so good I want to purr.

“You’re thinking pretty hard in there,” she says, as her small fingers stake their claim on my scalp with a firm touch she then strokes down my neck and outward, to squeeze my shoulder. “Do you want to ask me something?”

I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “You didn’t want to start a family with a man you loved.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Is that a question?” She looks at me sideways. “I did love Paul. And I do love Clyde and Dale.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then you should say what you mean.” She folds her arms over her breasts, winces, and moves them under her breasts instead. It boosts said breasts upward and makes them look even more fantastic.

“Did you find them attractive?” I ask. “Did you want their children, specifically? Did they go out of their way, to make you happy and keep you safe?”

Her expression turns puzzled. “Safe? I mean, I wasn’t forced to do anything — nor did I force anyone else. The sex was unprotected for reproductive purposes, but I knew the health status of those involved each time. And I think Dale is probably the hottest of the three, but I wouldn’t say I’m attracted to him. I’m still not sure you’re asking what you actually want to know, Vincent. Why not come out with what’s bugging you?”

I press my lips together, as I consider the challenge in her eyes. “Did you make your babies the all-natural, old-fashioned way?”

“Did I have sex with these men, for the purpose of creating life?” she asks. “Yes.”

“But did you want the sex? Or was it only a means to an end?” I’m torturing myself, because I don’t want to know; I need to know.

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