“He wouldn’t be very proud if he knew what dirty thoughts you were having,” I countered.
“There’s nothing dirty. Don’t you get it? I’m thinking about getting it done, and you’re thinking about HOW it’s done. Doesn’t Dad always say ‘Get it done!’ whenever I come whining about something?”
“That’s different. You don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t believe you want to have sex with your own mother! Do you know how creepy that is!”
“It’s not sex. It’s making a baby. The sex part is just how it needs to get done because we can’t think of any other way. C’mon. You know there’s no other way.”
I did know there was no other way. But, I also knew THIS wasn’t the way either. “I won’t talk any more about it.”
“Then Dad should know.”
“Know …?”
“Know you’re not pregnant. I’m gonna let him know. You don’t even have to do it. You can be a coward and not say a word. I’ll explain how you made a big mistake by being on the phone and screwing up the test. And then not telling him and being dishonest for two weeks. And that if it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t know. You know Dad, he likes when people lie to him.”
Ronny’s sarcasm tore a hole through my heart. When he said it like that, it made me feel like the worst person in the world. I lost it and burst into tears. I rested my head on my arm on the table and sobbed.
“Mom. This isn’t the time to fall apart.”
That sounded exactly like something Greg would say. He brought loads of his Marine mentality home with him and used it in daily life.
“We can get through this. One step at a time, like Dad says.”
“This is different,” I wailed through my tears. I felt Ronny knocking his hand against my arm and looked up at a few tissues he was handing me. I took them and blew my nose. “You’re not making this any easier for me. Don’t you see that?” I pleaded.
“I want it to be the easiest thing in the world. When do you ovulate? That’s an important part.”
I shook my head and kept silent.
Ronny must have taken that as a cue to keep talking. “On my part. Mom, I don’t know if you realize it, but I cum a lot. But, I haven’t cum in a few days, so I should be all set.”
“Ronny!” I was shocked to hear my own son talk so candidly about his solitary sex life. I knew he had no girlfriend, so that’s what it must be. I, unfortunately DID know about the amount he ejaculated. There was plenty of evidence on his sheets and in discarded tissues. One time, I even found what must have been an experiment of his. There on his nightstand was a medicine cup used for measuring a dose. In it was a whitish/yellowish glop of gelatinous substance. I had picked it up to examine it before I realized I was holding my son’s semen and sperm. The scent that wafted up was unmistakable.
Curiosity made me look at the volume measurement on the side of the cup. It was over 10 ml, almost half the container’s volume. So yeah, I DID know my son could produce sperm.
“The first step is for me to know when you ovulate. That’s the mission date.”
Again, he was talking like his father.
“I’m not telling you,” I blubbered.