It was 5:30 on a Tuesday evening in May. The doorbell rang.

"Jess, will you get the door, please?"

On the front steps stood a college girl with a clipboard -- the classic set-up for door-to-door canvassing for some worthy cause or other. However, there was also a younger girl beside her -- 12 years old, maybe?

Being a 16-year-old boy and as horny as any, I noticed these two. The older girl was tall, willowy, and beautiful in a classic Nordic fashion. The younger was also beautiful, but shorter and more of a Mediterranean type -- big brown eyes.

"Hello. We're from the Support Services for Survivors of Sexual Slavery, and we're here today raising funds."

"Um, OK, let me get my mom."

"That's great, but we'd like to talk to you too."

That was unusual. Grown-ups write checks; kids don't.

My mom is more friendly to these sorts of people than I would be. She says she was an activist when she was young, so she knows what it's like.

"Oh, come in, come in!" she said, ushering the two into the foyer.

"Hello, my name is Kristen and this is Maria. As I told your son here, we're from the Support Services for Survivors of Sexual Slavery, or '5-S' as it's often called. Across the world there are millions of girls and women held in sexual slavery..." She went on at length about the terrible conditions and the evil men who ran the enterprises. Then she said, "When law enforcement agencies are successful in liberating them, the girls have emotional scars. The partner agencies of 5-S provide them with a supportive environment and therapists to work through those issues as best they can. But then the girls face a grim economic future. Many were sold into slavery by their very poor families; others are orphans or don't know how to find their families. In many cultures, the girl's history of sexual exploitation would mean she isn't welcome back home. So we're here today raising funds for these girls."

Kristen indicated the girl next to her. "Maria is actually a former sexual slave."

"Oh, my!" said my mother.

"She's an example of what we can accomplish."

"I like helping collect money to help out all the others like me," said the younger girl.

"Well, that sounds like a wonderful cause and I'm so glad you're doing it. Do you take checks?"

"Yes, we do. We're happy to. But I'm also looking for sponsors. You know, like when people get others to sponsor them for a walk for hunger? A certain amount per mile?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with that. And how far are you walking?"

"Oh, I'm not walking. I'm collecting instead, something that many people are happy to give away."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"Sperm."

"Sperm?" My mother's composure flickered. I was shocked.

"Yes, semen actually. I've pledged to collect a pint of semen, and people are paying me for every teaspoonful I collect."

My mother prides herself on being open-minded. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'm afraid I can't help with that, but my husband might when he comes home, and Jess here might be willing."

"Well, yes, of course it is only the men and boys who can help with that side of things."

"OK -- look, here's my husband now." Dad's car was pulling in the driveway. "I'm sure Fred will be happy to masturbate for you, and maybe Jess here. Do you have a receptacle for them to ejaculate into?"

"Yes, we can provide that if they'd like. But we actually prefer it if they ejaculate the sperm into my vagina. The donation is usually bigger that way, and what's more, I provide 'matching funds' in terms of lubrication, you know? It's part of the pledge arrangement."

My mother seemed totally unfazed now, as if this happened every day.

Blood had started surging into my loins the moment Kristen had mentioned that word "sperm", but when she suggested delivering it into her vagina, I got painfully hard. I worried a little that I'd waste my donation in my underpants. I was a virgin and Kristen was very hot. I thought I must be dreaming.

"So, how do you get the sperm and lubricant out of your vagina again?" asked my mother, always curious.

"It's a technique we're taught by Mr. Jones, the one who started the program. We squat on the floor over the collection container. I reach up inside with my finger and swish it around, and the stuff dribbles out into the dish."

"Oh, that's very clever!"

"Yes, Mr. Jones gives us sample donations over and over again until we get it exactly right."

My father came in.

"Fred, welcome home!" said my mother, and they exchanged a brief hug and kiss.

She said, "This is Kristen, and she's doing fundraising for this organization that helps survivors of child prostitution."

"That's a good cause."

"Yes, and she's looking for money, but not just money -- she's pledged to collect a pint of sperm. I said you'd probably be willing to contribute."

My father didn't miss a beat. "Oh, sure! I probably have some stored up -- I know I do."

"Sure you do, honey. I could have relieved you of that one of these days, but it seems like Kristen has a better use for it than I do."

"OK, so you have a container for me to masturbate into?"

"Well, Kristen says it's better if you can ejaculate it directly into her vagina -- she says she gets more from you that way, and she can contribute 'matching funds.'"

"Matching funds?"

"You know, vaginal lubrication."

"Oh, that makes sense. I see."

Kristen said, "But only if you'd like -- we are happy to take it from masturbation too."

He looked her up and down. "Oh, I'd be delighted to ejaculate it into your vagina, that would be no problem at all."

My mother turned to Kristen and said, "I didn't think he'd mind -- you are really a very lovely young woman."

"Thank you," said the college girl, who had obviously heard that before.

"And what about you, Jess? Would you be willing to donate too?"

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess, but I'm a virgin, you know."

"Oh, that's fine, I don't mind!" said Kristen. "It's always sweet to take a donation from a virgin. You don't have to worry about lasting a long time or anything. Even if you don't get your penis into me, we can scoop up the sperm. But I bet you'll make it inside." She winked. "But let me take your father's first. Where would you like to go?"

"Use the bedroom, of course," said my mother.

"OK, let's go. Maria can wait out here with you two."

"Very good," said my mother.

Kristen followed my father to the bedroom, taking her shoulder bag with her.

"So, Maria," said my mother. "Kristen said you were a sex slave. I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Oh, that's nice of you, but as you can imagine, I get sick of talking about it."

"Oh, of course, dear, I'm sorry. So is this what you do? Go around with Kristen collecting money?"

"Yeah, when I can. They say we make more money when one of the girls comes along. But mostly I'm in school, and living with a foster family."