My Struggle: One Sperm's Story

by Steven Seven

Copyright© 2017 by Steven Seven

Humor Story: Every ejaculation produces on the order of 250 million sperm. Only one of them can fertilize the egg cell waiting enticingly at the end of the journey. She waits for the lucky winner to arrive. This humorous story is a monologue by that one lucky sperm talking to the young man he has sired. The sperm talks about his struggle, and the whole mating game itself. It's funny, and frank, and an affirmation of the value of married life and parenthood.

Caution: This Humor Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Humor   Pregnancy   .

Look, I’m a lucky guy and I know it. Out of 250,000,000 sperm that shot out of the guy’s wad, I’m the lucky bastard that beat ‘em all to that big, sexy egg cell! Hold you applause. I already admitted I’m lucky, and I know it. Any one of those guys could have beat me to the punch. I know I’m not the smartest, or the most athletic, or the best looking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not too bad either! Not like those shrimpy, deformed little sperm guys. They never had a chance. But, yeah, I know that some Brainiac sperms, and some potential Olympians, and a Lothario or two could have gotten there before me. But they didn’t, see? And I’m gonna tell you why.

Pull up a chair and sit down, my boy. ‘Cause you are my boy, ya know? Yeah, that’s right. I am the sperm who delivered the goods to your Momma’s egg. I made you what you are. So show some respect. Who’s your Daddy?

Here, have a beer and let’s talk. Hey, wipe that look off your face. You look like you just got called into the principal’s office. It’s nothing like that, son. I’m not gonna lecture you. I just want to set you straight about some things. I’ve got only your best interests at heart.

See, here’s the thing. Sex ain’t what it used to be. You young guys got all this Internet porn, and birth control, and—what do they call ‘em?—”friends with benefits” and fuck buddies and god-knows-what.

We didn’t have any of that in my day, back when I made you. A guy and a girl got together and if they liked one another ... then, well, nature took its course. Know what I mean? Look, I don’t need to paint ya a picture, do I? We did the deed, whether it was in the back of a car, or in the woods, or at home when her parents were out. And if she got pregnant, we got married.

Now don’t start lecturing ME about how it ain’t done that way anymore. It wasn’t always done that way in MY time either. Some girls who got knocked up went and got an abortion. Back alley abortions were really dangerous. ‘Never wanna go back to those bad old days. But you guys today have got birth control pills, and cheap condoms, and IUDs, and IEDs, and ... what’s that? You say an IED is an Improvised Explosive Device? Well, we didn’t have those.

What we did have was a code. A code of honor. What a man should do. If a man got a girl pregnant, he married the girl and took care of her and the baby. None of that single-motherhood business. Any guy that didn’t live up to his responsibility to take care of his family was a bum, plain and simple.

Sure, some guys were bums. And if the girl’s father or brothers caught up with him, he’d either take up his responsibilities or he’d be spending a long time in the hospital from getting the hell beat out of him. The girl’s family didn’t want to kill the guy. They wanted him to be what a man is supposed to be. After a good fight, he might even earn their respect. But only after he put a ring on that girl’s finger.

Don’t give me that look! You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. Show some respect.

As I was sayin’, a man had to do what a man had to do. A man does the honorable thing. He marries the girl and he makes himself into the best dad he can be.

Being a dad ain’t a walk in the park. Ya got to work to earn a good living, and when ya get home from work, ya gotta make sure the little woman is OK, and the kids do their homework and chores and stuff. It’s a lotta work. But let me tell you, there’s nothing better in the world than looking into your kid’s eyes and seeing a little version of yourself and your wife lookin’ back at you. You’ll never love another human being as much as you love your own flesh and blood.

OK, let’s talk sex. You think that’s what I’ve been talkin’ about all along? No. Not really. I’ve been talking about making babies. That’s the result of sex, when it does what it’s supposed to do. When it accomplishes its purpose. But sex is a lot more than that. Sex is fun. Right? It’s what turns you on about girls. Sex, sex, sex. And some sex never had a chance to make a baby. ‘Cause you use a rubber, or she’s on the pill. Or ‘cause you cum in her mouth, or up her ass. That’s all good fun and games. But it doesn’t connect all the dots, see? It doesn’t make you immortal by passing along your genes to the next generation.

The genes are behind this whole game, see? You think you’re an independent guy with free will who makes up his own mind about everything. Ha! You’re nothing of the kind. You’ve been duped. You’re little more than a big meat machine that those little tiny genes use to make copies of themselves.

It doesn’t seem that way, does it? Of course not. That’s the beauty part. The genes make you THINK that you’re the one in charge, making your own decisions, free and unfettered. Hogwash! That’s all an illusion. Or maybe a delusion. Anyway, you aren’t the free agent you think you are.

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