insemination is a process of introducing semen into the vaginal canal or cervix with a device for the purpose of fertilizing an egg and achieving pregnancy. Fresh or thawed-out frozen semen can be used.
Its safety and effectiveness have been well established.
Currently in the U.S., 15–200,000 children a year are conceived by insemination. Since WWII, well over 300,000 children have been born as a result of this method, and since 1776, when the technique of freezing sperm was developed, over a million children have been …
Shuddering, she put down the brochure. Frozen sperm during the Revolutionary War? Where had that happened? Valley Forge? Brian had been right about one thing, at least; 1984 was almost here. Something had gone haywire if science had advanced to the point that babies could be made without sexual intimacy.
No. She couldn’t do it.
If this was the future, she wasn’t ready for it.
She would tell Brian the truth. They would go somewhere for the weekend. She would be gentle and loving and he would accept it. Maybe not at first, but eventually. He would have to accept it; there was no other way.
It was dark by the time she got home. As she fumbled for her key in the entrance alcove, she spotted yet another manila envelope, propped on the ledge above the buzzers. She was ready to scream when she realized it was addressed to Mouse. Taking it with her, she went upstairs and knocked on Mouse’s door.
“Come in.”
He was leaning over his sofa, arranging clothes in a suitcase. “Hi, Babycakes.”
“Hi. Somebody left this at the front door.” She laid the envelope on a chair.
He glanced at it, still packing, “Must be Ned’s bon voyage package. He said he was dropping something by.”
“Ah.”
“Sit down,” he said. “Talk to me.”
She sat down, noticing another suitcase on the floor. “You’re taking an awful lot for a month, aren’t you?”
“Just this bag,” he answered.
“What about that one?” She pointed to the suitcase on the floor.
“Oh.” He grinned. “That’s Simon’s. He left it here a little while ago. He’s having dinner down at Washington Square.”
“I see.”
He gave her an impish sideways glance. “Why didn’t you tell me what a hunk he is?”
She shrugged, commanding herself not to blush. “You didn’t ask.”
“I was expecting one of those horse-faced dudes with big ears and crooked teeth. This guy looks like a skinnier version of Brian.”
“You think so?”
“Now, don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.”
“No,” she replied. “Not really.”
“Well, look again, woman.”
“Are those jeans new?” she asked.
“These?” He held up the pair he was packing. “I got them today.”
“They look black.”
“They are. black. All the rage. See?” He pretended to model them. “The Widow Fielding Goes to London.”
She giggled. “You are the worst.”
“Well … I figure they haven’t got them there yet. I might be able to barter with them in an emergency.”
“Sell your pants, you mean?”
“Sure.” He folded the Levi’s and placed them in the suitcase. “I remember when American kids used to pay their way across Europe that way.”
“Ages ago, Mouse.”
“Well …”
“When were you last in London?”
“Uh … late sixties.”
“Late?”
“Nineteen sixty-seven.”
“Right,” she said. “And they called it Swinging London,”
“O.K.”
“And Twiggy was around.”
He pretended to be shocked. “Twiggy is still around, and don’t you forget it!”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” he replied. “It was sixteen years ago, and I was sixteen. Half my life ago.” He turned and smiled at her. “I came out there, too.”
“You did? You never told me that.”
“Well … had my first sex, anyway.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“Does Brian get along well with Simon?” he asked.
“Wait a minute. I thought we were talking about London.”
He patted a side pocket of the suitcase. “I already have my instructions.”
“What?”
“Simon
Its safety and effectiveness have been well established.
Currently in the U.S., 15–200,000 children a year are conceived by insemination. Since WWII, well over 300,000 children have been born as a result of this method, and since 1776, when the technique of freezing sperm was developed, over a million children have been …
Shuddering, she put down the brochure. Frozen sperm during the Revolutionary War? Where had that happened? Valley Forge? Brian had been right about one thing, at least; 1984 was almost here. Something had gone haywire if science had advanced to the point that babies could be made without sexual intimacy.
No. She couldn’t do it.
If this was the future, she wasn’t ready for it.
She would tell Brian the truth. They would go somewhere for the weekend. She would be gentle and loving and he would accept it. Maybe not at first, but eventually. He would have to accept it; there was no other way.
It was dark by the time she got home. As she fumbled for her key in the entrance alcove, she spotted yet another manila envelope, propped on the ledge above the buzzers. She was ready to scream when she realized it was addressed to Mouse. Taking it with her, she went upstairs and knocked on Mouse’s door.
“Come in.”
He was leaning over his sofa, arranging clothes in a suitcase. “Hi, Babycakes.”
“Hi. Somebody left this at the front door.” She laid the envelope on a chair.
He glanced at it, still packing, “Must be Ned’s bon voyage package. He said he was dropping something by.”
“Ah.”
“Sit down,” he said. “Talk to me.”
She sat down, noticing another suitcase on the floor. “You’re taking an awful lot for a month, aren’t you?”
“Just this bag,” he answered.
“What about that one?” She pointed to the suitcase on the floor.
“Oh.” He grinned. “That’s Simon’s. He left it here a little while ago. He’s having dinner down at Washington Square.”
“I see.”
He gave her an impish sideways glance. “Why didn’t you tell me what a hunk he is?”
She shrugged, commanding herself not to blush. “You didn’t ask.”
“I was expecting one of those horse-faced dudes with big ears and crooked teeth. This guy looks like a skinnier version of Brian.”
“You think so?”
“Now, don’t tell me you didn’t notice that.”
“No,” she replied. “Not really.”
“Well, look again, woman.”
“Are those jeans new?” she asked.
“These?” He held up the pair he was packing. “I got them today.”
“They look black.”
“They are. black. All the rage. See?” He pretended to model them. “The Widow Fielding Goes to London.”
She giggled. “You are the worst.”
“Well … I figure they haven’t got them there yet. I might be able to barter with them in an emergency.”
“Sell your pants, you mean?”
“Sure.” He folded the Levi’s and placed them in the suitcase. “I remember when American kids used to pay their way across Europe that way.”
“Ages ago, Mouse.”
“Well …”
“When were you last in London?”
“Uh … late sixties.”
“Late?”
“Nineteen sixty-seven.”
“Right,” she said. “And they called it Swinging London,”
“O.K.”
“And Twiggy was around.”
He pretended to be shocked. “Twiggy is still around, and don’t you forget it!”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” he replied. “It was sixteen years ago, and I was sixteen. Half my life ago.” He turned and smiled at her. “I came out there, too.”
“You did? You never told me that.”
“Well … had my first sex, anyway.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“Does Brian get along well with Simon?” he asked.
“Wait a minute. I thought we were talking about London.”
He patted a side pocket of the suitcase. “I already have my instructions.”
“What?”
“Simon
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