Once upon a time, long long ago, a single sperm emerged from from a tribe of billions.
Armed with nothing more than a puffed chest, retracted shoulders, and a fledgling sense of direction, he came to win.
Fresh from the trials of being launched at breakneck speed, washed, spun, and launched again, he emerged victorious.
The first, and only to reach the summit of the tallest mountain in the promised land.
There he did feast, make merry, deliver his genetic cargo, and in his wake left the beginnings of another leaf to the great tree of humanity.
In that very spot, now grows a human. Feet and ears and forehead and ribs and future wobbly bits.
In that very spot, he or she sits and grows and waits.
in that very spot, he or she listens and watches.
My question is, what does it see?
More to the point, what does it see when ET loses control of her passions and has her wicked way with me?
Does it float there, gumming on its little fist, watching all-too-infrequently deployed shoals of man-milk flurry aimlessly around its environment?
Do little groups of sperm mange to find their way through the cervix and up into the kidlet's playground?
Is it sitting there with an incomprehensible sense of déjà vu as it watches hundreds of replays of its own previous adventure?
Is the wee one aware of the genetic genocide taking place just millimetres away?
Are there dozens of redundant sperm warriors sprayed across its amniotic sac like insects on a windscreen?
Will we even need to bother with 'the birds & the bees' lessons?
Cold shower time, methinks.