–by Derek Alan Wilkinson
Her soft, lotioned legs held me—leading me into a womb that I never wanted to escape. We laughed, while my semen dripped out. “I have to clean up!” she’d exclaim.
I’d had this hunger—this craving for wanting to be inside of someone soft and fleshy and wet. Why? Because I was and am human, and mimicking reproduction, over and over, was my way of quelling the need—which was deeper than anything I’d ever felt.
She, and dozens of others. I didn’t want it like this. I never just wanted to “bang some chick.” But they came, I came, and they went.
Help me…feel like I once was.
The whole thing was always—the repetition of these things—just some dream I’d wanted to relive, without realizing it. “Born again” was a Christian indiscretion. Those zealots didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. But there was this girl, and this other girl. And I wanted to be a part of them—of their lives. Of who and everything that they were. I wanted, desperately and with unheeded caution, to be inside of them. This wasn’t just to fuck them. I wanted to listen to them talk about things—everything. To know them.
I wanted to listen to their heartbeats when we were done—to hear the drums of that old human effort, over and over. I clawed at the double-helix of what it was to be a person. But, in all this, I knew what it meant to succeed: to reproduce. And, all in all, I just didn’t believe in it—to replicate such a wretched thing as life.
Yet, I craved it from someplace I couldn’t grasp. It was something that was a deeper part of who I am that I wanted to believe. I wanted to transcend this natural selection shit. But, if it weren’t for the old algorithm, I wouldn’t be here to talk about it to begin with. I wouldn’t be here to bitch.
So, the girl, she cleaned off my semen. My worthless slime. I’d had a vasectomy years back. I didn’t believe in life. I still don’t. “Ugly thing! Life!” I’d exclaim this, to myself. “I’m not having kids. I don’t want to give this wretchedness—this need—to anyone!”
Yet, here I am—the unwilling participant in a game that disgusts me, and from which I cannot escape.
And I still, despite it all, want inside.