Searching for Swimmers

By Casey Claunch

“There's also a twenty percent chance you'll contract herpes. What's the chance you'll contract love?” At age 37, Jason Purdue is done with sex in general and romance in particular. He’s even happy that the sperm he sent to a cryogenics lab to be frozen is set for termination. Or is it? When an email informs Jason that his sperm is missing, he begins a frantic, cross country search for the possible recipient. Is it free spirited Sheila, enigmatic Christina, or serious Gabrielle, who is carrying Jason’s future baby? And why does he need to find out anyways? Searching for Swimmers is a story about birth, bewilderment and bibacity for the cynical underachiever in all of us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casey Claunch
• Release date: Aug 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310976292

Casey Claunch

I enjoy long walks on the beach but sadly live landlocked in Austin, TX. To compensate I enjoy long walks pacing my hallway while figuring out what the hell’s going to happen next in my book. I also like to juggle, mainly while pacing the hallway, oh, and barbecue is good too–in the hallway and elsewhere.

Book preview

Special Thanks to:

Yvonne Dougherty

James Noblitt

Sam Ray

Mindy Reed

Douglas Brown

Scott Kimbrough

Russ Royalty

Danielle Bardgette

Danielle Donohue

Danielle Hartman Acee

Yeah, I know a lot of Danielles.

1

Jason Purdue swallowed his shot of Tezon and skipped the lime. Now that women were present, the cheap shots of bourbon had been upgraded to expensive shots of tequila. What the fuck did Jason care? It was his birthday so all of the drinks were on the house, aka on Ross, although Jason and Ross were such regulars, that due to the celebration, a few of the drinks were actually on the house.

Jason smoothed back his wavy brown, gray tinged hair, leaned back in his chair, and did his best not to audibly sigh. He didn’t care what the women thought or what Ross thought for that matter. He was just trying not to be a horrible wingman. Ross had repeatedly chastised him for chasing women away and tonight Jason was trying to comply with Ross’ wishes.

In a word, Jason was average. He wasn’t a particularly attractive man—neither ripped nor flabby, neither tall nor short; but he wasn’t unattractive either—full head of hair, nice eyes, no facial scars, plus, according to Ross, he had the aloof attitude required to attract women. Jason didn’t buy that, but it didn’t matter because he didn’t give a shit either way.

Isn’t that right, Jason? Ross asked.

Jason snapped back into the conversation. I’m sorry. Is what right?

That I’d still be a Formula One race car driver if it wasn’t for that horrible crash that nearly killed me two years ago? Ross’ eyes pleaded with Jason to back up his lie.

Oh yeah, sure, Jason said with disinterest. Again, he tuned out the conversation. The two women who Ross had managed to corral to their table were both attractive. Maybe not centerfold material, but Jason knew that type of beauty didn’t really exist beyond the newsstand. Still, to Jason, all women had physical attributes that made them beautiful. Sometimes it was as obscure as a wrinkle in a smile, or a unique, if awkwardly placed, birthmark. Other times it was pronounced, large shapely natural breasts or a firm bulbous ass. Both of these women were younger than him so, from a purely physical standpoint, it was a plus. One was blond, the other brunette. Neither had standout physical features, yet both were slim, and based on appearance alone, were suitable mates. Of course, Ross was only looking for a mate in the strictest definition of the word. For a change of pace, Jason considered playing the role of the pickup artist, but then quickly decided he had no interest, none at all.

So, what is it that you do? Are you a former race car driver too? the blond skeptically asked.

Ross nudged Jason from his catatonic daze. Me? No, I’m a program coordinator.

Oh? What is that exactly?

If you ever figure it out please tell me. Apparently, it means doing bullshit and taking bullshit. So, do you like bullshit?

We all have to deal with bullshit, said the blond.

Absolutely. Bullshit may not be what our society was built on, but it certainly has become our number one commodity.

And what would you prefer? A society of pure honesty? Her laugh was tinged with sarcasm.

Yeah, not possible, but at least it would sort through some of the riff-raff.

How so?

Well, on average, there are about ninety to ninety-five suicides a day. If we had a society of pure honesty, I bet we could triple that number in the first week alone. And two hundred and seventy less people a day, well, it’s a start.

Wow, Ross, your friend’s cheerful.

You should see him at an abortion clinic, Ross joked.

Ross’ remark silenced the conversation, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh. Ross didn’t need him to sabotage the situation; he was doing just fine on his own. The roll of her eyes made it clear that the brunette, Diana, was disgusted by the remark, whereas the blonde, Robin, seemed to act disgusted if only for her friend’s benefit. Jason used the silence to flag down the waitress. He was off the fancy tequila and ordered a shot of Wild Turkey and a Titan IPA. To his surprise, Robin made the switch with him.

So, Robin. That is your name? Jason asked.

Yes.

What are you after in this conversation with us?

Robin hesitated, a bit unsure of how to answer the question. I guess what everyone is after, a good time.

Well, I’m pleased to hear that a conversation with us is a good time, Jason said and paused to take his recently arrived shot. Well, it’s that or the free drinks.

Ross punched Jason in the arm. Uncalled for, man.

No, he’s right. Honestly, it’s a combination of the two. Some might like to come to a bar and get plowed, Robin said, her eyes directed at Jason. I enjoy meeting new people…and getting plowed. She took her shot of Wild Turkey. If the drinks are free, all the better. More than anything, I like the conversation to have something from a fresh perspective.

See, Ross, Jason said, we have a rapport going here. This Robin, she’s smart, savvy. That, and we have the getting plowed thing in common. So, does your friend also enjoy conversation? he asked Robin.

Diana looked like she’d prefer a jail cell with electrified walls to her current situation. On the surface, her French bun, tweezed eyebrows and full glossy red lips made her appear the more attractive of the two. Her wardrobe from purse to skirt looked as if it came straight from Vogue Magazine. She was the culture’s image of perfection. However, Jason preferred more natural women, like Robin, who wore her hair in a simple ponytail and had no more than a touch of mascara and clear lip-gloss on her face.

I get bored by drunk asses who just want to fuck me, Diana said.

Jason laughed. Really, me too. Rest assured, I don’t want to fuck you. Don’t know if I can say the same about this guy, Jason said, gesturing to Ross.

Ross just smiled, as if to say, I’m guilty, you caught me.

Diana took Jason’s recent comment about as well as she took Ross’ about abortion, but Robin’s sly eyes smiled. Since we’re talking honesty here, is that because your end game is to fuck me?

Robin, while I’m sure you are more than fuckable, I don’t want to screw you either.

Ross threw his hands in the air then flagged down the waitress.

Robin leaned forward with a seductive stare. Really?

Really. I mean—you are lovely—beautiful. The fact that you are even willing to converse with me at this point in our conversation makes those slight wrinkles at the edges of your eyes vanish. But what would really be the point?

Come on Jason, Ross was pleading for him to stop.

"I’m not saying that I would sleep with you…but the point? I don’t know, a good time?"

Ah, a good time, the answer that everyone gives, especially younger folks. Let me ask you this, could I give you a better time than you could give yourself? Jason queried.

Wow. Robin leaned back in her chair and smiled. Hmm—maybe.

But in your estimate, what shot do I stand against yourself? Jason leaned in, Fifty-fifty, thirty-seventy?

She gave him a once over. Twenty-Eighty.

Damn. Especially with chances that low, why take the risk?

Well, there’s always that twenty percent chance.

There’s also a twenty percent chance you’ll contract herpes. What’s the chance you’ll contract love?

You never know with that.

What’s the percentage chance that, if you do contract love, it will be felt by the other party; and if it is actually met by the other party, that it’ll last?

No one can calculate those numbers.

Exactly. Why take the chance?

Because of the alternative.

What, a life free of nonsense?

No, a life absent of love.

Oh, you’ll still have love. You love your mother, right? You love your girlfriend there. Love is there. It’s all around us, but romantic love, nah, just a mediocre moment.

You can’t honestly believe that.

How could you honestly believe the alternative?

There’s no reasoning with you. Robin laughed in disbelief. You’re like one of those fundamentalist crazies. Think you have all the answers.

I don’t even begin to pretend that I have all of the answers, just the facts. You can make up your own mind. I know that I have. Just because I’ve made up my mind doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.

I didn’t say ignorant, just short-sighted. Some woman must have really fucked you up.

Jason’s eyes flashed with anger. He took a gulp of his beer then leaned into the table, his elbows firmly planted. Years of Lifetime movies, rom-coms, and soap operas have blinded you to the point that you think picking up some middle-aged guys in a dive bar might lead you to the happily-ever-after you’ve been yearning for since you got your fucking Barbie dream castle when you were five. Jason shot up from his chair. I’m getting another drink, he said. He then strolled over to the bar, a lazy limp in his step.

You know, Ross, your friend is really fucked up. Robin swallowed the rest of her beer and slammed the empty glass onto the table.

Birthdays make people crazy, Ross responded.

True, but they don’t normally make people assholes! Robin stood up. Come on, Diana, time to move on.

About time, Diana said and stood up.

Ah, Robin, Diana, don’t let Jason spoil our evening, Ross shouted at their backs. How about another round before you go?

Good luck, Robin yelled as she passed Jason and stormed out of the bar.

Ross slid up to Jason with an unusual mixture of disgust, disappointment and pride on his face. Shit, Jase, you’re killing me.

You’re killing yourself. Should’ve known better. Leave me out of your one-night stands. Jason took a shot and chased it with a beer.

I know, I know. Just thought maybe you might actually want to get laid on your birthday.

Ross, I’m thirty-seven. I don’t need to get fucked, I need an exit strategy.

Exit strategies should be reserved for the morning after and maybe to end a wartime occupation, not for the end of your life.

I’m sorry. I tried, I just couldn’t—

But, they were hot?

Yeah, they were hot.

2

G et over it already, Ross. I did you a favor. That Robin chick was too smart for you to hang onto the whole night. And there’s no way she’d let her friend slum it with you. Besides, there are plenty of other women in here that are dumb enough to go home with you, and luckily for you, the later it gets, the drunker they get, Jason said as he hit the triple twenty on the dart board.

And the drunker I get! Ross raised his hands in the air but his enthusiasm dampened when he saw Jason’s shot. Fuck, you win.

Ross turned to collect his beer and collided with a petite brunette woman, nearly knocking her down. Sorry. Ross straightened himself and met the woman’s eyes. Oh, should’ve known it was you. You really should watch yourself, Jess, he said with mock sternness, followed with a fake shove.

You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass, Jessie laughed.

Well, you’re lucky I wasn’t holding my drink, cause if you spilled my drink, you’d be buying me a fresh one right now.

Ooh, thank god for that, Jessie sneered, "especially since you’re buying me a drink."

Me too, said John, as he slid up to the group. Ross reluctantly agreed and walked off to find the waitress.

Happy thirty-seventh, Mr. Purdue, Jessie said, followed by a friendly hug.

You’re getting old, John said.

Fuck you, Jason replied.

And drunk. We better catch up, honey.

Better make that a round of shots, Jessie shouted to Ross. She walked over to the dartboard, erased the old scores off the chalkboard, and pulled out the darts. Jessie handed the red darts to Jason. Don’t think just because it’s your birthday I’m going to take it easy on you.

Alcohol consumption eventually forced the friends to give up their dart play once they realized more of their darts were hitting the wall than the board; and most agreed a game that requires you to throw sharp objects should not be included in an establishment that makes their bread and butter from getting people drunk. Ross was the only one who disagreed. He believed that only drunk people would want to throw sharp objects at a wall.

In the later hours, when the bar had begun to fill with both neighborhood regulars and one-timers, making conversation almost unbearably difficult, they had slipped into a corner booth where the hum-drum was slightly muted and continued their consumption. Their table became littered with empty glasses because their fresh rounds often arrived before the old ones were finished. Jason and Ross sat on one side of the booth; Jason was on the inside, left to lean into the cleft of the corner, and Ross was on the outside to let his long legs hang loosely in the aisle while his eyes darted for potential one night stands. Jessie and John took the other side of the booth.

I mean, if we have a baby, we’re going to miss out on nights like this, Jessie said to John, frustration touching her tone.

No offense, John said to Jason. Then he turned his focus back to Jessie and said, "But I don’t know how many more nights like this I can handle. Shit, if we don’t do it soon, we’re never going to be able to do it at all."

You’re talking like we’re holed up in the geriatric ward. We’re not even forty.

I thought women were supposed to worry about their fertility diminishing as they got older.

Fuck you. I can always freeze my eggs. Besides, if I do let you impregnate me I’m going to have my parents giving me their passive aggressive guilt trips about not being married, Jessie said.

They already do that. John hesitated. …and we can get married if it’ll make things better.

Jessie’s flare of anger became a flame. Woe, woe, back up. It’s one thing to give up our carefree drunken nights out. It’s entirely different to sacrifice what we believe. Marriage is for suckers. Are we suckers?

No, I was just making a suggestion. John sighed.

Keep your suggestions to yourself and get me another beer.

The couple had been having this argument on and off for the last few months. Jason turned his attention to Ross who was distracted by a fresh group of women who’d just walked in the door. He slunk back into his corner and sipped his drink.

The table grew silent as Jessie waited for John to return with her beer. John returned with a pitcher and some frosted glasses. He poured Jessie a drink. He tried to give her a kiss on the lips but she turned her face away from him. Jason decided it was time for him to intervene. He slugged back the rest of his bourbon and said, You know, I’ve considered the same thing.

What, Jessie sneered, marrying me?

You’re a doll, but no, you’re right on that. Fuck marriage. Jason’s eyes turned to John. Sorry. Then he refocused with the two of them in frame. No, freezing my sperm.

Jason’s comment seemed to wake Ross from his female focus. Fucking is more fun than jizzing into a cup. Ross laughed and said, You know I can help you get laid.

Jason ignored him as he spoke to the couple. Christ, the last thing I want is a kid, but what if the day comes when I change my mind about all of this? I’m happy…

Jessie raised an eyebrow at him.

Well…I’m content right now. I mean…I’m not getting any younger.

That’s my point, said John.

Jessie ignored the comment and drank her beer. She wondered it the two were having some kind of midlife crisis.

What if I decide down the road I’m ready, Jason said.

Ready for what? Ross asked.

Ready to perpetuate my genes. What if by then my stuff is all dried up, kaput, doesn’t work? Jason paused to run his hands through his hair and was disappointed to find his drink empty. I think I’m gonna freeze it.

What? Your dick! Shit, it’s already frozen, certainly neglected, Ross shouted.

Jessie reached across the table and gave Ross a swift slap to the head. His sperm, you idiot. She gathered herself while the men laughed. I don’t know, Jason. This is just your typical shit. You’re so terrified of something going wrong with your life that you don’t have a life. You just trot around allowing life to come to you, but it doesn’t work that way. We make our lives, and this is just your way of making peace with the fact that, well, that you’re a fucking pussy. This way you have all of your bases covered, but you’ll never actually use that frozen sperm, unless one day you man up.

Shit, Jess. Could you maybe give me your honest opinion? Jason always appreciated Jessie’s no-nonsense approach to friendship, but was a bit taken aback by her outburst, especially since she was the one who mentioned freezing her eggs. Granted, he had given serious, private contemplation to what he had said, but had mainly brought it up to clear the funk out of the air that Jessie and John had started.

Well, I think it’s a good idea, John said. I think one day you’re going to grow up, and find out that you want all of the things that normal people want. In that case, it’s not a bad idea to have a backup plan.

This time Jessie slapped John’s head. You would! Normal? What the fuck is that? John scooted further away from Jessie.

Fuck freezing it! Ross exclaimed, I say set it free! Let it flow! Sell that shit and create your own spunk army of anonymous bastards. Once they’re grown, we’ll have nailed the whole mind control thing, and you can tap into their DNA to control them and take over the world!

Jason laughed. He loved Ross. He was always around to make light of life. Everyone needed a pal like Ross. Unfortunately, John and Jessie hadn’t even heard Ross’ suggestion and were back to their original argument.

You’re just not going to let this go, are you? Jessie asked.

No, I’m not. This is our future, Jess.

Jason and Ross didn’t even have to look at each other. Ross immediately slipped from the booth, followed by Jason, and both went to find a couple of empty stools at the bar.

sperms-hi.jpg

Yeah, but you’re not the one who is going to have to carry the bastard for nine months, or take care of it once it’s here, Jessie said.

Hey, that’s not fair! John’s facial features flared to anger then recessed to empathy. Of course I can’t birth the baby, but I’m going to be there for you every step of the way, during and after.

That’s bullshit. Jessie slammed her hand against the table, took a gulp of her beer, then turned away from John toward the wall.

John placed one hand on her shoulder and the other lightly on her waist. Hey, what’s the matter?

Jessie tried to shrug off John’s comfort. Nothing.

Come on, Jess.

Jessie turned around and looked John in his eyes. What if I really am too old? What if I can’t give you what you want? What if I decide this is something I want, get my hopes up, only to find out I can’t have it, that I waited too long? It’d just be better if I stick to my guns and not have to face that kind of disappointment. She wilted into the table.

John propped her up and smoothed back her bangs. Come on. You know that’s no way to live your life, our life. Don’t be Jason. If this is something you want, we’ll make it work, regardless of how it turns out. No matter what, we’ll figure it out together. John’s sincere eyes penetrated hers.

sperms-hi64.jpeg

You really want to freeze your spunk? Ross asked in disbelief.

I’m thinking about it.

Ross stared into his beer then jerked his head up. Hell, do what you want.

Thanks. Jason meant it too. He also noticed Ross’ averted attention. Just go, Jason said.

What, what are you talking about?

You’ve been checking out that woman, the blond, since we sat down.

So, it’s your birthday, man. I’m hanging with you tonight.

Go.

You sure it’s cool?

Go.

Cool. Order what you want and put it on my tab. I’ll be back.

Jason ordered another beer and watched with amusement as Ross sidled up to the woman who was way out of his league. It was like watching a silent movie with all the actions over-amplified to compensate. The slap the woman put on Ross had so much force that it busted the metaphoric silent movie into the present. Charlie Chaplin couldn’t have made him laugh harder.

He glanced over to John and Jessie. They were getting up and seemed in a far more pleasant mood than when he’d left them. Jason wasn’t capable of admitting it to their faces (accept when really drunk) but he loved them both dearly. Because of them, he hadn’t completely condemned the idea of two people interlocked forever. Where everyone else failed, John and Jessie seemed to make it work, and for bonus points, they did it minus all of the pomp and circumstance of tradition. Jason gave them a B for staying together for the last twelve years and an A++ for doing it with their convictions still intact.

Hey, Jase, it’s getting late. We’re taking off, Jessie said as she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Happy birthday, man, John said with a pat on Jason’s shoulder.

Thanks. Later, guys.

Jason watched them walk out the door and then turned his attention back to Ross. He had to give it to the man, a slap in the face and he wasn’t even fazed—he just moved on to his next potential conquest. It had been a long time since Jason had a conquest in any definition of the word. But that was okay. He was good with his drama-free, complacent life. He stared into his beer for a few moments, then finished it off in a couple of gulps and ordered another round—a strong beer and a shot of bourbon.

3

Jason stumbled through his front door a little after two in the morning. Fortunately, his home was just blocks from the bar so he didn’t have to stumble far. His place was a small, comfortable, two-bedroom row house that provided ample space for a single inhabitant, despite its small size.

Since Jason was a single male with no interest in impressing women, his home lacked any discernible theme. In fact, it lacked style all together. He’d had most of his furniture as long as his siblings had had children, and nearly all of it was hand-me-downs, a fact Jason was proud of. He didn’t believe in spending a lot of money unnecessarily, a function over fashion sort of guy. And if his home furnishing had a theme, that was it. The one distinct exception to this philosophy was his home theater. Unlike most people, Jason did not rush out to replace his robust television for a slimmer, flatter model. He finally broke down when his television broke down. He decided if