Procreate

It was called procreating.  Pro creating. It seems like such a fun word doesn’t it?  Like two people working together to create something else.  Its seems like it should be beautiful.  It isn’t.

I live in a world that is small.  I started in the infant pits, with no mother, and no father.   Yes, it is actually called the infant pits.  It is a not a good time.  You stay there until you are three years old, and then you are transferred to an area called the toddler stage.  You stay there until you are ten.

Once you are ten, the boys and girls are separated.  I don’t know where the girls go, but the boys go to an area where we are trained and taught about procreating.  That Is all there is.  When we are fifteen, we are tested for our “fertility level” whatever that means.  If we pass that test, we go to the pro creating pit.  There are still no women.

We stay in this pit until we are thirty five years old.  A bunch of sweaty men, whom don’t care about you.

My first time in the pit was scary.  I was placed there at fifteen, and given the number 1005.  Twenty times a day, a number would flash upon the screen, and if it was our number, we had to climb the long stair case.

The first day my number flashed, I almost passed out.  I had learned about procreating, but I didn’t know what to do.  I barely  understood what it was.  I only knew I would be rewarded if I did  a good job.

I walked up two hundred and ten stairs, and arrived at a door.  Not knowing If I should just go in, or knock, I knocked, and waited.  After a moment, someone opened the door, and let me in.  I could feel my legs trembling.

There was only me, and the man that had let me in the room there. He pointed towards a chair, and told me to sit and wait.  I did just that, not understanding.  After another few minutes, there was a knock on a separate door.  He opened it, and she walked in.  I don’t know how old she was, but I knew she was pretty.

I looked down at myself, and a felt myself going hard.  She was beautiful, and this was supposed to happen, but I was still embarrassed.

The man who had opened the door spoke to the two of us.  All he said, “procreate.”  I looked at him, and felt my throat tighten.

“right here?  In front of you?”  he nodded, staying silent.  She walked over to me, and started to undress quietly.  When she stood before me naked, my mouth dried.  She was a little pudgy, and had some stomach and leg fat.  But she was still beautiful.

I undressed myself as well, and stood before her naked.  She studied me, and I could feel the fear radiating off of her.  She lay down on the floor, and spread her legs before me.

I didn’t know what to do, but I kneeled down in front of her, and she helped me do the rest.  I guess her class had taught her this.

It felt dry, and painful.  I could see her wince at me, while I thrusted in and out.  I could tell it hurt, but she wouldn’t let me stop.

I knew, at that moment, that procreating didn’t sound right.  It didn’t feel right.

When I felt myself finish, I quickly moved away from her.  The guard spoke again.  “please dress, and exit from the door you came from.”  I looked at her, but didn’t know what to say.  I dressed and left, leaving her behind.

Procreating, was not right.

 

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