“Low motility.” That was the diagnosis. My sperm sucked.
The news was disheartening, for sure. Felicia and I had been trying to conceive for over a year. When we didn’t have any success, we both got checked out. She was fine. I wasn’t. Typical me.
I followed the urologist’s instructions: boxers instead of briefs, avoided temperature extremes, and even changed my diet to a more Mediterranean one. Every follow-up visit brought the same result: low motility. My name’s Larry Mangold. We even have the same initials.
As always, Felicia was supportive. She insisted we should keep trying, and we did, but it’s hard for me to enjoy sex when I know I’m dumping a load of disappointment into my hopeful wife. I started associating our lovemaking with failure. The stress was too much. My anxiety brought on erectile dysfunction. My dick was officially worthless.
Our discussions shifted to topics like adoption and IVF. Neither of us were enthusiastic about either option. IVF was expensive and our insurance wouldn’t cover it. On paper, adoption seemed like the perfect solution. We knew we’d be able to give an adopted child a great life, but something about didn’t feel right. It felt like we were giving up.
Like you might have gathered, I’m not shy when it comes to discussing my problems. Ever since the issues started, I’d been telling the guys at work what was going on. Like most guys at job sites, they met all the news with moderate support and a lot of jokes. They referred to my wife as “Barren von Uterus” when we thought the issue might be with her, then when we learned I was the problem, I became “Flaccido Domingo.” Lovely, I know.
I was offered a variety of advice and opinions. It wasn’t exactly scientific.
“Your dick would probably work if Felicia was a dude.” – Jamaal
“You gotta hold your balls vertically when you’re f*ckin’. Like one on top of the other.” – Dan
“Maybe I can come over and help Felicia out. You guys don’t have to tell people I’m the dad.” – Andy
“I’m telling you, all you need to do is eat more *ss. Don’t ask me how it works, it just does. I think it has to do with hormones.” – Antonio
Well, I don’t want Felicia to be a dude. And my balls are fine where they are. And Felicia thinks Andy looks like the personification of dog vomit. And I’ve been eating *ss since high school. Even the bad advice sucked.
Months went by and the subject faded. Felicia and I decided to revisit the the whole thing in another year to get the ball rolling on the adoption process. We wanted to take a break from the stress it was causing us. Still, it weighed heavily on my mind.
A couple weeks before last Thanksgiving, another one of my colleagues, Eddie Laurent, took me aside during lunch. Eddie’s from Montreal and has a thick accent. I couldn’t understand a word that came out of his mouth when he started working with us. I’ve gotten better, but it’s still a challenge. Anyway, he had something for me. A yellow powder in a plastic bag.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It will help you,” he replied.
“Help me with what?”
“Your p*nis,” Eddie whispered. He pronounced it like “PEEEEnis.”
“I don’t want to take any drugs, man. I’m already on enough stuff for my cholesterol and blood pressure.”
“All natural!” my coworker insisted. “Totally safe and healthy. Makes it hard. Makes it good. Old family secret.”
I studied Eddie’s face. I could tell he was serious. Of all the guys I worked with, Eddie’s one of the worst at making sh*t up. I sighed.
“Are there side effects?”
Eddie grinned. “You might feel a little over stimulated. And expect a lot of good sperm. A lot.”
I looked at him, briefly confused. Then I got it. I thought of Felicia and how happy she would be if this worked. I nodded. Eddie handed me the bag and told me how much I should take.
When I got home, I knew I had an hour before Felicia arrived. I took a pinch of the powder with a glass of water, like Eddie had instructed, and waited the twenty minutes he told me it would take to start working.
Twenty minutes. Twenty five. Thirty.
I looked at the clock. Another half hour before Felicia was home. I was about to take another dose when I felt a stirring in my jeans. Holy sh*t, it was working. I sprinted to the bathroom and took off my pants. Talk about a rager. I won’t bore you with details of color and vascularity, but needless to say it was quite a specimen.
I gave it a test rub. Boom. My knees buckled and I fell on my back as the most powerful org*sm of my life tore through me. Once the world came into focus again, I groped for a towel to clean up. But there was nothing. Nothing it all. It was an entirely dry firing.
“Well that’s not going to help get my wife pregnant,” I thought, mildly dismayed.
I called Eddie and explained the problem.
“That’s not how it’s supposed to be,” he told me. “Just keep taking it over the next few days. It’ll work. Trust me.”
I didn’t trust him. But I knew I’d keep taking it.
Here was my ritual for the next two weeks: I’d get home from work before Felicia, take the powder, and experience the exact same thing as the first time. Aside from the lack of ejac*lation, I was concerned about how easily I’d org*sm. I’ve never been a “two-pump chump,” as the guys at work would call it, and I knew that once I tried to have sex with my wife while under the influence of the powder, it’d be over way too quickly for her to enjoy it.
One afternoon, I had the idea that if I took a second dose immediately following my org*sm, I might be able to be ready for another round. I didn’t have much hope for that; usually I have the refractory period of a climate cycle. Lo and behold, however, it worked. And the second time I lasted much, much longer. Now all I needed to do was actually, you know, ejac*late. Apparently that’s kinda important when trying to conceive.
Later on, I asked Felicia if she was interested in a date night on Friday. She seemed surprised, but delighted. We made a dinner reservation and checked out movie times. In my head, I was planning my doses. If I surreptitiously took some powder right after we left the movie, I could get home and into the bathroom for the first round before any intimacy between us could start.
With the plan in place, I went to our date with confidence and pride. We had a lovely dinner and she liked the movie a lot. I thought it was just okay. I was too busy thinking about the events later on.
Right before the lights came on in the theater, I took a pinch of the powder and swallowed it with a swig from my water bottle. Felicia didn’t notice a thing. We drove home with her hand on my thigh.
Once we got home, my plan hit a snag. Felicia was all over me. It’d been a long time since we’d been physical and she was ready to break that streak. As she kissed and groped me, I felt the familiar swelling below my waist. The powder was taking effect. I needed to get to the bathroom before my hypersensitivity would bring a quick end to the moment.
It was no use, though. Felicia had my pants down and was lowering her face into my lap.
“Wait, Fel, hang on a sec…”
It was far too late. The moment I felt the hot wetness of her lips, my fate was already written. There was the familiar, intense rush, but at the same time, there was something else. Something new.
As I gripped my wife’s shoulders, I felt something much deeper and lower pulsing through me.
“Oh God,” I thought. “I’ve been firing dry for the last month and that’s about to change. Felicia’s gonna f*cking drown.”
I tried to move her head but she waved me away. The room started to spin and my abdominal muscles contracted. A wave of pleasure coursed through me and I leaned my head back, squeezing my eyes shut.
Inside my scr*tum.
My eyelids sprang open just as a searing wave of pain erupted through my t*sticles and p*nis. I screamed in agony and surprise. Felicia pulled her head back and made desperate, rasping choking sounds. I looked up at her through the tears in my eyes. Something was sticking out of her mouth. Something writhing.
I leapt forward and grasped the thing in my fist and pulled. Once. Twice. On the third time it exited her throat and fell on the floor.
Felicia, no longer choking, was screaming at the top of her lungs. I felt dizzy; my sight was blurry with a combination of vertigo and tears. I looked down, trying to identify the pain that was radiating from my crotch. The tip of my p*nis was gaping and bloody, as if someone had dropped a tiny firecracker inside.
“What the f*ck is that?” Felicia yelled, pointing at what wriggled and slapped at the hardwood floor like a panicked eel.
I looked at the thing. At its shape. And I knew. It was a single, colossal sperm cell. Two feet long with a head the size of ping-pong ball.
The pain in my dick was unbearable.
“I need to go to the hospital,” I told Felicia. “Now.”
Felicia took her eyes from the creature on the floor and looked at my crotch. For a moment, her knees weakened. Catching her balance, she ran into the kitchen to get her car keys.
At the hospital, we didn’t tell them what happened. All we said was “a sex act gone wrong.” I underwent some surgery, and, sometime late the next day, we went home.
As we drove, I confessed everything to Felicia. I told her about Eddie and the powder and how badly I wanted to make her happy. She was frustrated that I hadn’t told her what I was doing, not only because she wish she could have talked me out of it, but because I felt I had to hide it from her.
I nursed my surgically-repaired p*nis and grimaced as we went over every bump in the road.
“What are we going to do about, you know. It?” Felicia asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “We could flush it down the toilet, I guess.”
“Yeah. That’d probably work.”
We walked into the house and found the sperm where we’d left it. Its movements weren’t as frantic as they had been. It just flopped, wetly, back and forth.
We watched it for a minute or two in silence. Felicia was the first one to speak.
“I can’t believe you went through all that just for me.”
I sighed. “I love you, Fel. I wanted to start a family with you. I always have.”
Felicia grasped my hand. The sperm slithered and thumped against the hardwood.
She turned to face me. “I want to start a family with you too, Larry. So badly.” She turned back toward the sperm, eyeing it contemplatively. As we followed its movements, I realized we were thinking the same thing. Again, Felicia was the first to get her words out.
“This may sound crazy, but, well, do…do you think…it would…fit?”