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
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