I got the hobby room after replacing the oil burner and 3000 liter oil tank with a simple connection to the municipal central system which only needed a small box on the wall. I had painted the whole room and laid a new floor. I had packed all the junk in different garbage bags for transport to the recycling station when I needed a small bag for some plastic jars and bottles.I went up to the kitchen and took a grocery bag from the cupboard where we kept used bags. Those plastic bags are perfect for such use. Nothing strange with that bag I had taken, it had the usual big colorful logo from the supermarket chain where we did our shopping. But when I laid the first item in it I noted a receipt on the bottom of the bag. I can't to this very day explain why I took up that receipt because I never cared what we paid for groceries.However, it was now that the shit hit the fan because I noted that the receipt was from a supermarket in a town 35 kilometers from our hometown and my wife Lisa. "I'm...I'm yours, Brother Dexter," I said out loud again. I'd emphasized the word 'yours' deliberately.Then I said: "My wife is carrying your baby. I've watched it grow inside of her everyday since you and she conceived it together. I remember that day so clearly. You were wonderful with her. And your fertile seed is now about to bear fruit. I am excited for that day."I stood there stroking my cock for a while longer in silence, and then I said: "I'm going to come. As I do, I want to reaffirm my original vow of never passing on my own genes, and instead, giving you my wife's womb to pass yours on; just as God intends; just as you have patiently explained to me many times."Every time I did a libation, either with Brother Dexter, or alone, as I was then, there was such a wonderfully intense form of excitement, and pleasure, in the act of giving back to God, and to Brother Dexter, the sperm that was never to find it's way into my wife's womb, or any other woman's womb, for that matter..
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