“There comes a time in every woman’s life when she must confess to the offspring that he or she was not the result of immaculate conception. In my case the reverse is true. The bubble burst for the spawn a couple of years ago. I spotted an article on the good doctor who had helped me conceive. (The brat came along a good eight years after we were married, thanks to my ovaries being awash with PCOD, and I still maintain that he is the best anti-ageing treatment ever.)
“Look, here’s the doctor who helped us to make you!” He morphed instantly into a porcupine with quills upright. “Mamma,” he stated, his voice all indignant quiver. “I am not natural reproduction?”
I spent the next hour explaining mamma egg and pappa sperm being introduced to each other outside the body and then being reintroduced into the womb and how he grew inside my body from two fused cells into a strong gurgling baby. He furrowed his brow. “Don’t people do sex to have babies? Or you can do sex even if you don’t make babies?”
It was an important question – The differentiation between sex for pleasure and sex for procreation.”
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