Author's Note: I'm not perfect, so with humility, I appreciate critical reviews--both positive and negative--it's how we learn and grow. However I'll add this caveat. Let's entertain an agreement between us--I write what I like, you read what you like. We are both good, yeah!
I would like to thank two alpha readers who provided pivotal feedback, insight and suggestions to improve this work. You know who you are and you have my deepest, heartfelt thanks.
Obligatory all characters in a sexual situation are over the age of 18.
c2025 Verisimilinude
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The details about me and my life are unimportant. What you need to know is that I've been married to my husband for a little under two years and I loved him so much that I cheated on him to make him happy.
We married in our early 20s, just as I was beginning my nursing degree. My husband came to me, eager to start a family right away. After a year of trying to conceive, we made the decision to seek medical help to understand our failing. Several consultations and tests later, we determined that I was quite capable. My gynecologist, in her light-hearted manner, said, "You'd better be careful during your most fertile time--even a small amount would do the job."
Sadly, my husband wasn't as fortunate. Turns out he had a low sperm count, due to a childhood injury--an unremarkable incident back then, but one that would have lasting impact now that he was desperate to have children. His doctor tried to give us hope, encouraging us to keep trying, but cautioned the chances were low.
Each month that I told my husband my period had arrived, I felt so crushed. My heart would go out to him seeing the look of defeat and hearing his dejected sigh at his perceived failing. I was in this with him, our shared desire for a child. The words of a loving and supportive wife were meant to give him hope, to cheer him up. "Next month, Baby." I would say, forcing a hopeful smile. But after six more months of disappointment, it was hard to stay positive. My words of 'next month' encouragement began to ring hollow, even to me.
As I entered my second year of nursing and started clinical rotations, I found a passion for pediatrics. The irony of being surrounded by kids but not being able to have my own didn't escape me. The little buggers rarely failed to put a smile on my face, but my heart ached with melancholy for the reminder of what I couldn't have.
What broke me was seeing the fatigue of failure wash over my husband, depression had set in. We shared our feelings, and he confessed that he felt useless, less than, because he couldn't provide for us in the way he believed a husband should. This doubt pervaded him and our love making sessions suffered from it. Our time in the bedroom became less frequent and less connected, even when he felt up to it.
In frustration one day, he admitted with a defeated sigh, "What's the point if I can't make you pregnant?" I pleaded with him, assuring him that he was more than enough, his love was all I needed. We could shower our affection on nieces and nephews. The lament in his eyes told me what I didn't want to hear--he had given up.
I admit, this hurt me to my core. His sadness was fraying our emotional connection, dragging us towards a future I didn't want. His lack of interest and desire left me desperate for the emotional pleasure I craved from sex with him. Yes, I too, felt the sting of being unable to conceive, but more than anything I wanted my loving husband back--the one who brought me such joy in all areas of my life, including the tenderness we shared in the bedroom.
In all other respects he was a skilled lover, and our time together had taught him how to play my body like a fine instrument. An instrument that wanted to sing and to dance to the thrill of the pleasure he brought me. But that was fading with each new moon. I found myself often wondering what the future would bring, if things didn't change.
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This need in me, to be fulfilled, was likely the catalyst for the illicit plan taking shape in my subconscious. Truthfully I had never been tempted to stray, he was my world and I never wanted to hurt him by betraying my vows.
Trying to divert myself from acting on this plan, we discussed alternatives. Medical insemination was costly. He was not pleased at the mention of a natural donor; the thought of someone else touching me was too painful to consider. Finally we talked of adoption. He was initially against it as he wanted a child of his own. He relented when I eventually persuaded him to at least explore the idea. Unfortunately, we weren't in a financially stable enough position to meet adoption criteria.
Months went by with at most a peck on the lips and a cuddle at night, I was determined to have him touch me again to return the man I married to me. This thought of mating with a donor grew inside, fostered in the deep recesses of my mind. I needed solutions to achieve these goals.
How does one even do this, have a one night stand with a stranger? I wasn't naïve to the concept, it was just so foreign to me, something I didn't really want. I had only dated one other man, a jerk from high school, before marrying my husband. Furthermore I was a virgin on our wedding night, so my experience with other guys was limited.
It started innocently enough--searching the web to look for solutions. Maybe there were other couples who faced the same problems. Perhaps they could provide answers. I was too afraid of getting caught to reach out directly, but reading their stories I learned most had been successful.
Even friends and family couldn't help; their platitudes of 'Maybe it wasn't meant to be,' added to my frustration, but strengthened my resolve to fix this. Soon enough all my efforts lead back to the same result--a natural donor.
