I have a recurring fantasy that I hope will someday become a reality. There is only one thing that would be necessary: a cure for my husband's infertility.

Every time we make love, there is that minuscule chance that I might become pregnant. However, that chance is so minuscule that, well, it just isn't going to happen. He doesn't produce enough sperm for them to even make it out of his body and into mine, let alone travel inside me in sufficient numbers to impregnate me.

On the other hand, someday there may be a cure. If there is, he has my blessing to seek the treatment without my knowledge and make the decision for both of us about having children.

All that I ask of him is that he tell me before he enters me - or as he enters me - so that I know that I am - or might be - conceiving a child. I want to know that it's happening.

I gave him that permission a couple of years ago when we were still both sure that we wanted children. Since then, I've had second thoughts. He knows this, of course.

With the difficult decisions that would have to be made for us to get pregnant by current medical means, I've had to think hard about what kind of parent I would be and if I really want to give up my current life in order to raise children.

The truth is, for me, the price is too high for me to have children by another biological father or for us to adopt. I'm also not sure anymore if I would want to have children even if it were possible with my husband.

Actually, I think that may be the first time I have spoken (or written) those thoughts out loud and unequivocally. My spoken thoughts have always been along the lines of, "I don't know but..."

I have never told him that he shouldn't do it if he could. The door is still open to him. But if he were able to find a cure - to produce sperm of his own and get them inside of me - I might not be a willing participant in the process.

In fact, I would want him to take the decision out of my hands.

I know exactly what it would feel like. He almost did it to me a few years ago, when we thought that we could get pregnant by ordinary means. However, he pulled out at the last second - a decision that made me furious at the time; a decision for which I have chewed him out many times in the intervening years.

But - as much as I hate to admit it - it was the right decision at the time.

Now, however, he knows that I really do want him to take the decision and that I will gladly live with the results. As long as it's his child, if he wants it for us, if he feels that we could be good parents, if he is willing to make the decision for me, that would be enough for me. I would accept his judgment - after the moment was over.

But if it ever happens, in the moment I will be scared out of my mind. I will have all of my fears and apprehensions at the forefront of my thoughts.

He would have to rape me.

I imagine that it would begin like many of the special nights of passionate lovemaking we've had over the years. It would be on that day of the month when I'm most submissive and at my absolute horniest — the day when I am most fertile.

He would take me out to dinner and maybe a carriage ride through the city. Maybe we would see a play. At the end of the evening, on a weekend or during a time when school was out, he would take me home. I would want it to happen at home.

I would want it to last all night and into the next day, with nothing to rush us. I would put on a nightgown and put up my hair, thinking that it would be a night just like others we have enjoyed over the years. I would wear Opium in very small amounts on all the warm points of my body.

We would spend hours in foreplay, touching, kissing, hugging, caressing, talking, and sharing our hopes and dreams. He wouldn't let me come but he would take me to the edge several times until I couldn't stand it anymore.

I would lay back and beg him to take me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I would wish that it could be "real" - that he could get me pregnant on a special night like that - but I would be resigned to the fact that it wasn't going to happen.

And then he would lie over me and kiss me, teasing me with touches on every part of my body. He would press the head to the top of my entrance but pull back as I arched my hips. I would feel it on my lips but wouldn't be able to get it inside them.

He would take my hands from around his neck and put them beside my head, gripping my wrists and holding me down. I would smile in excitement, knowing that he was about to take me forcefully, when force was not necessary.

His knees would pry, his body would press and my whole body would be held in place.

I would see the glint in his eyes. The curl of his lips would be almost pirate-like. He would squeeze just a bit tighter than usual, knowing that I was about to resist him, even though I still had no clue.

At first, I wouldn't understand. I would be prepared for a hard fuck, a firm application of masculine force to a willing feminine form.

And then, as I anticipated his first thrust, I would see something more in his eyes. His hands would be too strong; his body pressed too hard, his eyes full of more than lust and love.