SPERM REQUEST SEEDS DILEMMA


I'm hunting for a friend's address when I stumble across a
letter from a stranger.

Again, I feel a pang of guilt.

I remember the letter vividly as the first written reply to a
personal ad I ran in a newspaper.

Seeing it makes me hope the stranger's torment has ended -- but
not at the cost of reliving my own at her hands.

Fresh off an intriguing voice response to my ad, I had opened
this letter all pumped for some more enchantment -- but
no such luck.

What I got was a deeply personal request from some poor soul
asking me to consider becoming a sperm donor.

As I reread it now, each weighted, handwritten word rattles
me -- I'm privy to the intimate details of her and her husband's
infertility nightmare.

My good mood turns into an existential brood. I feel twisted for
being put off by this genuine plea for help. She even offers
compensation for my time -- if not my seed.

Why am I so deep into this simple request?

While I feel sorry for this lady's childless plight, I go to bed
bitter that I've done nothing all evening but deal with her
reality messing with my head. And this where the mind-fuck truly
kicks in because, of course, I can't sleep.

The intermittent nods into dreamscape are relentless, 
cosmic checkpoints.

I'm haunted by an ejaculatory highlight real playing in my
mind -- hardcore flashbacks to days spent spraying more samples
than fragrance-counter workers during the Christmas crush.

The scene shifts and I start to wallow in thoughts of ex-lovers
who now have kids, and at one time wanted to have them with me.
It's a perfect set-up -- my parents' own jest-lightened but
palpable queries about grandkids start hitting their mark.

I'm emotionally beat up.

But I'm compelled to fish that letter out of the garbage -- the
karmic dilemma remains.

BY sigcino moyo 
original publication NOW