The Donor

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I do hope you enjoy this rather long story. If you do. or if you don’t, then please tell me. I want to make my story telling better for you, my readers.

*

It was quite late on a Friday evening when Trudi knocked on the door. My wife showed her to the room where I was working. I hardly recognised her, but it had been a few years since we had last seen her. Trudi asked to talk to us.

Trudi had lived, with her parents, a few doors away. It was her Father that was the problem. He worked in the building trade, and whenever his team had finished a job they would celebrate, and when he had had a few drinks his temper emerged. It was his wife and daughter who were the targets.

The first time we were aware of this was one evening when we were sitting in our back yard and we heard shouting and breaking crockery. Some time later I saw them sitting under a tree. They were both weeping. My wife and I had a quick conversation, and so she went to them, and they came back into our home. They spent the night in our spare room.

We assured them that they were welcome, and later, after we had housed them a few times in similar circumstances, we showed them where we hid a spare key. Of course, we kept this arrangement secret. We did not want to attract the attention — or worse – of the Father.

Trudi wanted to talk, but she saw that I was busy. She apologised and said that she would not disturb me. I needed to finish what I was doing, so my wife took Trudi through to the kitchen and they drank tea and chatted for a while. When I had finished my work, I joined them. I could tell that something interesting had been said. My wife had a smirk and a twinkle. Trudi was blushing.

“Darling, I don’t know what you will think of this, but Trudi…”

She was choosing her words carefully.

“Trudi, would like to…”

She paused.

“She would like us to … help her to … to … to make love.”

Its not the sort of thing that you hear every day! At least, I don’t.

At first I thought that Trudi was asking if she could bring her boyfriend to our home. I said as much, but soon realised that she was asking me for more than discrete accommodation.

Trudi.

I remembered Trudi as a young child. She, and other kids used to play in the field behind our home. I sometimes worked at home and my desk overlooked the field. Some of the kids were noisy, or got into mischief, but not Trudi. I think she was a bit older that most of the others, and that she seemed to calm things, to set limits.

I remember her growing up. She grew up deliciously. Her figure developed in all the usual ways. She did not become one of those stick-thin types beloved of the fashion industry, no, she became a real young woman. If she was on the field then I would find myself distracted from my work.

I never saw her with a boyfriend. I did hear that one lad had tried to befriend Trudi but had been threatened by her Father.

When she left school she had a job in a shop somewhere. It was at this time that they started to use our spare room quite frequently. Then I heard that the two of them had moved out. We had a card from them thanking us for our help, but with no contact address.

A few months later the Father stopped being seen around the street. Some time later his house was occupied by another couple.

Now Trudi told us the story. One night her father had come home in a worse state than usual. Food had been ready hours before, and they had kept it hot. This was not good enough for him, and he had thrown the pan across the room. It had hit her mother, and the stew has scalded her badly, and some of it had burned Trudi. She pulled up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal an angry red scar.

Her mother came off worst. Trudi told me that her father had stormed out of the house, and she had phoned for an ambulance. Her mother was in hospital with the burns for some time, and they never returned home, except to collect belongings.

Since then, the pair of them had lived in cheap rooms. Her mother had needed a series of skin grafts, so they both had to live off what Trudi could earn.

Now her mother was seriously ill again. One of the grafts had become infected, and the infection had spread; she had suffered serious blood poisoning. This had hit her kidneys and other organs. She was on dialysis, but needed a transplant.

“I want to give Mum one of my kidneys.”

“The doctors have talked to us. They have explained the operations, and told us that it is not risk free. Kidney donors can have problems. In a few cases they have died.”

“I accept the risk — it is just that … “

She stopped, and thought.

“I’ve been talking to Mum a lot. She’s been telling me things about herself. Did you know her before I was born?”

“No love.”

“Well, it seems she was a bit of a tearaway. She liked the boys, and she loved … going with them.”

“Mum has been comparing my life now with hers then. She says I have not had a chance to live. It’s important to her.”

What could escort ataşehir we say?

“You don’t mind me telling you this, do you?”

“It’s fine, Love.”

“No, It’s OK.

“Well Mum needs my kidney. But she says that she won’t accept it until I have had a bit of fun in my life.”

“You mean …”

“She wants me to have some of the fun that she had.”

“Are you saying that she won’t accept your kidney while you’re … well … still a virgin. Is that right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

I started muttering something about someone her own age, but she said “No!”

“Mum and I have talked a lot about things, and I don’t want just any pimply kid. I could go onto the street, and get money — I’ve thought of that — but that’s not what Mum means at all. To lose it, yes, but to have fun as well. I want someone I care about, someone experienced, someone loving.”

My wife and I looked puzzled.

“You two were the only people who seemed to care about us. Mum and I saw the way you loved each other. Your walls are not that thick, we heard things too. Without knowing, you taught us stuff. You gave us the strength to stay away from him. Mum thought that you … “

She paused, and made a decision. She continued.

“And I used to see you watching me through the window.”

My wife laughed. I blushed.

“You watched me, yes. But you respected me. It felt nice. It felt right.”

“The boys at school just wanted to stare, to grab a feel. You just liked looking at me. You made me feel beautiful. Thanks!”

Beneath the table my wife’s hand sought my own. She squeezed it most eloquently. She was happy.

“Lets not hurry things,” she said. “It’s late. Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yes please, if that’s OK.”

“I’ll go and make up a bed for you. Let’s we talk again in the morning. Decide then?”

She left the room. Trudi and I tried to avoid each other’s glance, but of course, our eyes met. We sat in silence. I have no idea what she was thinking, but I felt a glow. This young woman was so trusting, caring, loving. I felt a smile creeping onto my lips. I saw it reflected on hers. At the same instant we both lifted our hands and reached forwards and touched fingers.

“I promise. We’ll do the best we can for you.”

“Trudi!” My wife called down, breaking the spell. “Come upstairs. I’ll find you anything you need.”

That night my wife and I lay in each other’s arms, and we whispered. We made plans. We made suggestions. We both wanted the best for Trudi. The poor lass had had not much luck in her life. We both wanted to give her all we could.

Let me tell you a bit about my wife. When we met, at college, she had shared a room with another student called Cathy. We all thought Cathy and Kim (my wife is called Kim) were an item. I was most surprised when the pair of them let me know that they enjoyed my company. Yes they had both enjoyed their own company and each other’s bodies, but it soon became clear that it was not to the exclusion of males. I was the lucky male.

I might have got better qualifications had I not met Cathy and Kim.

After college, Kim and I got jobs in the same town, and so we agreed to share housing, and one thing had led to another, and we became very happily married. Cathy’s done many things, but she still visits us occasionally. I could tell you some stories about the three of us.

Breakfast. I asked Trudi what she wanted for breakfast, and she asked for porridge. She said that she’d only ever had porridge on the mornings when she and her mother had sought safety with us. It was a good memory for her, and so porridge it was. Porridge, coffee, and wondering what to say. We weren’t silent. We asked for milk, salt, sugar. (Well I asked for salt. I like a bit of salt in porridge.) We offered and asked for refills. But none of us knew quite how to start the conversation we knew was pending.

Eventually, over empty mugs and bowls, Trudi said it.

“About last night. If you don’t want to … Just forget about it.”

“Do you mean that you don’t want to …”

“No, no, no,” she spluttered, “That’s not it, it’s just that if you don’t think you can … should … you know.”

“Trudi darling.” Kim spoke and smiled at her. “If you want to, then we’d love to.”

There, it was said. It was agreed. Why had we felt so awkward about it? We all laughed at the release of tension.

“It’s Saturday. I have to do a couple of things … ” I had to check the work I had finished the previous evening, and to email it to a colleague.

” … and I need to do some shopping.” Kim said. “Do you need anything love?

I wasn’t sure who she was asking.

“Either of you. Do you need anything?”

“Well, I need to go and see Mum sometime, to take her some stuff, and to tell her about how lovely you’re being.”

“Where is she?

Trudi named a hospital several miles away. It would take her ages on buses, so we soon agreed that I’d send my emails, and then we’d all kadıköy escort bayan go shopping and hospital visiting by car.

“Tom?” That is my name. “Would you cook something nice this evening, we can share some wine, and then …?”

“OK, I’ll cook something.”

I planned a meal. At the supermarket Trudi sat in the car while Kim and I shopped. The trolley became stacked with ingredients. Kim detoured into the clothing areas, and bought nightwear for the two of us, and then, as an afterthought, something for Trudi. “Just in case she needs it” she whispered.

In the pharmacy section Kim threw in a large box of condoms. Shampoo, shower-gel, toothpaste and a spare toothbrush joined them.

We drove to Trudi’s home. She had just put her key in the door when a scruffy man grabbed her wrist. I got out of the car and walked towards them while the man spoke to her. He saw me, dropped his grip, and walked off, muttering something.

“Who was that?”

“The landlord. He wants us out. He’s hiked up the rent. He wants his money, or something, or else …”

The door was open. Inside was a squalid hallway. There were piles of junk mail and free newspapers.

“I’m OK. I won’t be a moment. Will you wait in the car?”

“Do you want me to carry anything?

“No, no, I’m fine thanks.”

Back in the car I talked to Kim. She suggested what I had been thinking. When Trudi returned, carrying a couple of carrier bags Kim got out of the car, and guided Trudi to put her baggage in the front seat. She and Trudi sat in the back. While I drove to the hospital, Kim argued with Trudi, who said that we were already doing too much, and that there was no way she could move in with us. I know better than to argue with Kim when she wants something. So it was agreed.

We visited her mother in the ward.

Of course, in stories the author always gives everyone a different name so as to avoid any confusion. Real life is not like that, for example, in our office if you shout “Tom” you get two or three replies. Call “Sarah” and almost half the office answers. Trudi’s mum was another Cathy.

Lets rename her Kate to simplify things.

Kate was obviously ill. If we had been surprised to meet a much changed Trudi, then we were shocked to see Kate. Her face was sadly scarred. She had been buxom, blonde and smiling, now she was gaunt and grey. She was clearly tired and ill, so we wished her well, and left her alone with her daughter.

Then back to empty Trudi’s room of her and Kate’s few possessions. They fitted in a large suitcase and a cardboard box.

Back home. We spent much of the rest of the day shifting stuff round to give Trudi space in her room, and clearing another room for Kate to use. We were all dusty and sweaty when we were done, and Kim suggested that first I should have a shower, and then start to cook supper. Then she and Trudi could clean themselves up before supper

I had half suspected what Kim really had in mind ever since the supermarket. I remembered that when Cathy visited, our triple activity would often start with us showering, and that Kim and Cathy would have been exploring each other in the shower long before I became involved. (I had considered rebuilding the shower in order to make room for three ‘bathers’ but it had not happened.)

Sure enough, when I returned to our room after my shower I saw that Kim had placed the newly bought pyjamas on the bed, together with a dressing gown. I took the hint.

I wish I had seen the look on Trudi’s face when I heard Kim suggest, “You scrub my back, and …”

“Oh no. I couldn’t. I’m too shy. I’ve never…”

“Too late to be shy, Darling. Remember?”

I started some potatoes cooking in their skins in the oven, and I made a couple of salads. When I heard the water stop in the shower I could not help myself. I had to know how Kim and Trudi were ‘getting on.’

“We’re in here, ” Kim called from our room. “Come in please.”

“Is that all right, Trudi?”

In just the one word, “Yes,” I heard the hesitancy of making a decision, and then the certainty of the decision she had made.

I went in. They were both wrapped in large towels. Kim was rubbing some oil into Trudi’s skin on her arms and shoulders.

“Come in. See what that bastard did to her.” Kim commanded. “Show him.”

Trudi obeyed. She loosed her towel, but hid her breasts with her arm. I saw how badly she had been scarred. She has shown us her arm, but a large proportion of the side of her torso was the same.

“Come and help.” Kim passed me the bottle of oil. Trudi stood. I stood behind her, and smoothed some of it into the scarred dry skin of her back. Kim worked in front. Trudi stood. At first she stood stiffly, unsure if she wanted this. I started to massage her shoulders, to give her a proper back rub. Kim moved Trudi’s hands so that they rested on her shoulders. With Trudi bracing herself against Kim I could press harder.

Kim loves my back rubs. (So, incidentally does Cathy.) It was clear that I had another escort bostancı fan.

Kim’s oily hands massaged Trudi’s sides and stomach. Then, working from the sides, she started on her boobs. At first I felt Trudi tense up again, but Kim’s gentle touch and quiet assurances comforted her. I soon heard Trudi murmuring. Her arms slid from Kim’s shoulders. She slumped forward, her knees giving way. Kim caught her.

“Come lie down darling.” Kim whispered.

Trudi was half carried to the bed, and encouraged to lie down. She looked into our faces, and there was a moment of fear. I think that she thought that I was about to jump on top of her and to do the deed — to get it over with.

“No love,” Kim told her. We won’t do anything until we know you are ready. It’s up to you.”

Trudi relaxed.

Kim continued. I’d like to explore you. We want to know what is good for you. Is it OK?”

“I was enjoying that.” She glanced to where we had been massaging her.

Kim gently touched her breast.

“And that?”

“Yes.”

“Can Tom play too?”

There was a moments hesitation.

“If we do anything you don’t like, just stop us. OK? … You’re sure? … OK.”

Kim pulled back the duvet, and urged Trudi to lie in the middle of the bed.

If you have never slept in a super-king sized bed then we must really recommend it. I can suggest a very good bed shop you could go to, but, no — that is probably not what you are interested in at the moment.

Trudi was in the middle of the bed now, naked but covered by the duvet. We knew that the sheets and duvet cover would pick up marks from the massage oils, but Kim, Cathy and I had seen a lot worse.

We crept under the duvet on either side of Trudi. I lifted it, and gently kissed her breast — not her nipple, just the side of it. Trudi gasped.

“Good?” Kim asked.

“Mmmmm.”

I took that as permission to continue. I cupped her breast in my hand, and as gently as I could, I explored it. From the way the duvet, and Trudi, was moving, I suspected that Kim was doing something similar at the other side of the bed.

Trudi lay there. She was tense at first, but she became more and more relaxed. She was not inert, she moved gently in response to our contact, sometimes breathing in sharply, sometimes just licking her lips. I just touched near her nipple with a finger nail, and she made a voiced gasp.

“May I kiss your breast again?”

“Please, please.”

I started kissing and licking. I think Kim did as well. After a minute or so Trudi was squirming as we both addressed ourselves to her now engorged nipples.

“Do you want to bring yourself, while we do this?”

“Bring myself?”

“Yes, rub yourself … down there.”

Trudi seemed to change when Kim said this.

We stopped kissing.

“What’s wrong, Love?” Kim asked.

Trudi found it difficult to speak. When she did, there was a sob in her voice.

“Its my bloody Father. He spoils everything.”

The mood was broken. We hugged poor Trudi, who wept. Then we lay in silence.

It was Trudi who spoke first.

“I’m sorry, I need to pee.”

We moved to allow Trudi to collect her towel, and she disappeared out of the room. I still had my pyjamas on, and Kim donned hers.

“Come down when you are ready Darling.” Kim called through the bathroom door.

I checked the potatoes — they were nicely cooked. I dressed the salads.

Trudi came in. She was wearing her new pyjamas.

“I’m sorry about that. I spoil everything, don’t I”

“Sit down there, now my love. Tea? Coffee? Something cold? Something stronger?”

“Open a bottle. Do you want red or white Trudi?”

She did not really answer, but left the decision to me. I found a bottle of nice rosé in the fridge.

“Best of both.” I said, opening it and fetching glasses. I started pouring, but Trudi stopped me when there was little more than a splash in her glass.

“Please, not too much. I don’t drink very often.” There was a look of sadness there.

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

Kim broke the silence. “Do you like ham?”

Again, Trudi did not really answer. She was not used to having choices. Her life had been always controlled by others.

“It’s not that wet pink fatty stuff from the supermarket deli, its some thin Italian ham.” Trudi did not know what to say. Kim tried again. “Will you try it?”

Trudi nodded to Kim. Kim unpacked it, cut it into pieces, and arranged it on a plate.

“Potatoes, salads, ham. Anything else?” I asked.

“It looks lovely Tom. Thank you. You have done so much work for me.”

“Don’t be silly. It didn’t take a moment.” It hadn’t. But then I remembered, I did have the advantage of well stocked cupboards and plenty of kitchen equipment. I remembered that meagre cardboard box.

“Butter for the potatoes.” Kim reminded me. “You cannot have a baked spud without butter, can you?”

“Oooh, butter, really?”

I fetched the butter dish. Trudi watched as Kim took a couple of potatoes, split them open, and knifed generous knobs of butter onto each. Trudi took a potato, and followed suit, but with a skimpy smear.

“No, that’s not enough. You’ll never taste it.” Kim used her own knife to add more butter to Trudi’s potato.

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