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through to their bedroom. Somehow, she’d
found the time to lay out a sterile plastic syringe by the side of the bed. “What’s the drill?” Lindsay asked grimly.
    â€œPeter will bring the sperm through in a glass. It starts to thicken once it leaves the man’s body, so we have to keep it at blood heat for about ten to fifteen minutes so it’ll liquefy again.”
    â€œToo much information,” Lindsay muttered.
    â€œThe best way to do that is to put the glass between your breasts.”
    â€œ My breasts? What’s wrong with yours?” Lindsay demanded.
    â€œI’ll be lying on my back with a pillow under my hips, Lindsay,” Sophie said impatiently as she began to undress.
    â€œGreat,” Lindsay muttered. “Then what?”
    â€œYou take it up into the syringe and inject it as far up my vagina as you can get.”
    â€œAnd that’s it?”
    Sophie, by now stripped down to her underwear, had the grace to look embarrassed. “Not quite. There’s strong anecdotal evidence that an orgasm around the time the sperm is introduced increases the chances of success.”
    Lindsay looked appalled. “You’re not suggesting we . . . ?” Then she suddenly saw the funny side and burst out laughing. The release of the tension that had them both clenched in its grip brought them together again like a stretched elastic band snapping back into shape. “I really don’t think I can do it,” Lindsay spluttered.
    Sophie finished undressing, slipping quickly beneath the duvet. “I don’t think I could keep a straight face now. Probably better if I do it myself.”
    Lindsay closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids with thumb and forefinger. “I think that might be best,” she said, shaking her head incredulously, a final snigger escaping her lips.
    Before she could say more, there was a tentative tap at the door. “All ready, girls,” Peter sang out from the hall.
    Lindsay opened up and stared down in disbelief at the glass being proffered to her. A large gob of off-white mucus clung to the bottom of the Edinburgh crystal, as viscous and slimy as phlegm. Wordlessly, she took it and closed the door. “You gave
him one of my whisky tumblers,” she said plaintively. “How can I ever drink out of them again?”
    Sophie snorted with laughter. “That bloody dishwasher’s about as hot as an autoclave. Trust me, you’re not going to catch anything.”
    â€œIt’s not a matter of hygiene, it’s a matter of taste. And I’m not talking flavour,” Lindsay growled, thrusting the glass down the front of her shirt to nestle in her bra between still firm breasts. “Oh God, the smell,” she moaned as the sharp tang of the sperm invaded her nostrils. “It’s like municipal swimming pools. Jesus, I really thought being a dyke meant I’d never have to deal with this gunge again. This is so disgusting, Sophie.”
    â€œYou think I don’t know that? Listen, you’re not the one facing the prospect of having it inside you.”
    Lindsay gave a savage grin. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
    â€œVery funny. Come and give me a cuddle, please?”
    Gingerly, careful of her cargo, Lindsay edged alongside Sophie. With her free hand, she stroked Sophie’s hair, letting her lips brush against the top of her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt less sexual,” Sophie said, her voice wavering on the edge of tears as she struggled for arousal.
    You and me both, Lindsay thought grimly. But she kept her thoughts to herself and dropped her head to Sophie’s breast, gently nuzzling her nipple. She licked it harder, sucking it into her mouth and tonguing it firmly. She was rewarded, as she knew she would be, with a soft moan and the arching of Sophie’s spine.
    Then suddenly it was all action. Lindsay had to pull away to draw the sperm