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Now they have gotten your eggs, what are you going to do about them?
• • •
Carol watched Zosia walking slowly in the room in only her underwear. Carol requested a show, so Zosia was performing one. Carol ogled Zosia's belly, navel, and then pubic hair. Carol felt significant to simply look at her.
"Does Zosia have kids?" asked Carol.
"Zosia tried to," answered the Others.
"Tried to," Carol repeated. "Does Zosia still want to have kids?"
"With you, Carol?"
"With me," Carol said.
The Others smiled reassuringly. "Then, yes."
• • •
Carol fucked Zosia in bed as nastily as possible. She was thinking about how to make herself feel good. Zosia must have felt unwell. This individual body was a vessel, and Carol was using this vessel, purposefully, maximally, disgustingly. Zosia seemed painfully elated. Zosia should have felt unwell.
Carol focused on rutting and coming inside of Zosia. Since they had her eggs, Carol could have a baby with Zosia. Zosia could become a mother! Carol envisioned Zosia as a mother. Zosia had been already maternal when they first met: sweet, caring, fuckable. Carol imagined Zosia being fucked as a mother as she fucked her. Meanwhile, Carol was fucking all the mothers in the world. A mothers' fucker. Mother-fucker.
Carol was close. One day the dress worn by Zosia would be dampened with breast milk. One day her dress would bulge, and the bulge would grow bigger. Carol considered these. Carol clasped Zosia's tits and drooled all over.
• • •
You have a thing about motherly girls; you like to be maternally taken care of. Every ex-girlfriend would indulge you until they got sick of your childishness and called you weird.
What's so weird about desiring maternal love? Helen couldn't understand, but she called you her babygirl. You were Helen's babygirl. Helen, who couldn't understand yet wanted to become a mother, asked you to turn her into a mother. You had said yes to having your eggs frozen. Helen could be a mother as you remained her babygirl. Motherly Helen and babyish you, Carol.
• • •
Carol was unable to do anything on her own. Where was Helen? Where had Helen gone?
• • •
Carol curled up against Zosia, bursting into tears. Helen would leave her alone when their playtime was over. Zosia, however, was not Helen. Zosia stayed and observed Carol. They reached for Carol's sweaty face.
"Did you enjoy what we just finished, Carol?" the Others inquired.
Carol sniffed, infantile, dog-tired. "Is my mother in there with you?"
"Would it make you feel better if we said that she was?"
• • •
Countless days before the Joining, your mother had died alone in your childhood home. She had been found in her shabby armchair, clutching the album filled with your childhood photos—a dead mother's grip.
And a dead mother's grip will follow. It has been following you, Carol.
• • •
"Normally, people don't screw their mother," Carol uttered. To this, Zosia nodded her head sympathetically.
• • •
Carol placed a hand on Zosia's abdomen, testing, measuring. Yes, she could plant in there.