by Gregory Wilde  /  fiction  /  7 Sep 2007
While standing above her, looking at my semen on her thighs, I thought then, and for the first time then, that I wanted a child, a real child, with this girl, and to feel what I have never felt before and to believe in what I never had believed. This is, and was, the only thought and true feeling that I have ever known, that a child must be born and thrown into this world, become a reality, and something I need to achieve. The girl, whoever she was, a nice enough girl, may or may not be a genius, savant, simpleton, revolutionary, inventor, charmer, goddess, lunatic, murderer, a mother, she, this girl, must have my child. And when I told her of my destiny, to bring another person into this world, she laughed and said I was mad. I was a joker, and to think I could join her, in creating another world for another person, that, she said, that, must be the strangest, most absurd, crazy, sensible sentence anyone had ever spoke. Then she pulled me down and I grabbed her legs and we relaxed our minds and imagined a child, and let go our fruitless passion, for it was thrust, born, created, and star-born, when we climaxed, I felt my seed rushing through her body, and my men swimming through her skin, to her woman, and for the first time in my life I knew I was here for a reason, and I was going to be here for a reason, for much longer than anyone might have known or thought, and that my woman, she was in bed, relaxing with a daredevil smile, staring through space with my child, ready for the absurdity.
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