I'm sitting in a cramped little room while a man squirts a dollop of jelly on my wife's stomach.
My two sons watch closely, simultaneously fascinated and repelled.
One of them wants to know if you can eat that stuff.
A picture pops up on a screen over our heads, a picture of the alien-human hybrid flapping around in mommy's womb.
"Is that a penis?" I blurt out, then immediately regret it.
The boys loudly echo me. "Is it a PENIS? Is dere a PENIS? Does it have a PENIS? Where's that PENIS?"
It reminds me of when one of my beloved boys happily chirped "BAGINA! BAGINA!" as we walked our way through a large parking lot and into a church.
Though I had heard the word bagina before, during a sex ed class at the group home.
Our instructor used two stuffed dolls for illustrative purposes.
The man-doll looked like Robert Smith from the Cure and had bizarrely exaggerated genitalia.
The woman could have wandered up from a day of snorting glue deep in the city dump.
She had a Velcro pouch in her belly where you could store her gift of life, a felt potato with a disconcerting smirk drawn on its little face.
"Who can tell me what sexual intercourse is?"
"Its when you go to a dance and you're in love."
This bothered me, because I had been to many dances with these young men, often with very few females in attendance, and they had lined up to dance with me.
Another boy proudly stated, "Sexis whens da man puts his seed in the womens bagina, and she goes to the hospital."
He had a right to be proud, as he had only recently learned the meaning of sex, and had taken it to heart.
Only a week before, this boy was riding in the car with his social worker, headed out to make a rare visit home.
She noticed he was uncharacteristically excited.
"You happy to go home?" she asked him, smiling.
"Oh yeah, I can't wait fo toonite." He did a little clap with his hands.
"What's going on tonight? Your family have big plans for you?"
"Yep! I'm gonna have sex wit my mom and my sista."
She slowed the car down, short of the highway entrance ramp, and pulled onto the shoulder.
It turned out that he had learned you only have sex with people you love, and he had done the necessary calculations to determine who were his suitable sex partners.
I guess it made an awful kind of sense.
But she straightened him out, and the following week, as a room full of developmentally disabled young men pointed in wonder at the monstrous proportions of the sex ed dolls, he was able to bring his expertise to bear.
"Dere it go, wite dere, he gonna put that in her stomach and a little baby comes out da bagina."
Why does the world obsess so much about such a simple thing?
It permeates most of our popular culture, especially here on the Internet, and yet it boils down to the tiniest of events; a frazzled social worker, glasses askew, trying to wedge the stuffed penis of one doll into the bagina of another, and an audience of boys with special needs, rocking in their seats and losing interest.
Seen that way, sex becomes such a silly thing to preoccupy the minds of so many.
The man freezes a frame of the ultrasound and highlights a conspicuous protuberance with a little white arrow.
"You're having a boy."
I so badly wanted a girl.
I wanted to be one of those cranky, eccentric fathers who like to scare away potential suitors.
The plan was already in my head:
He would come to the door in his white tuxedo, bearing a corsage, his hair slicked back with a handful of Pomade.
Blurry in the background, the elegant lines of the Cadillac borrowed from his father.
"Hello, Mr G."
"Hello, Arthur. She'll be down in a minute."
I take Arthur by the arm and lead him into the den.
"Let's have a little talk, Arthur."
He swallows nervously, and pries his collar a bit off his throat with one finger.
I reach into the lowest drawer of my desk and retrieve a shoebox.
Arthur's discomfort is like a third person in the room.
The sex dolls from those days of long ago now stand before him, one in each of my hands.
In falsetto, I start speaking as the woman first.
"Arthur, you're gross. My dad is going to kill you because you have no pants on."
I switch to the man.
"I'm sorry, I am going to run away and be a monk and stay away from everyone's daughters."
"Good idea, freak."
I am so sad when my wife walks in on my little puppet show and sends me to my room.