Where You Came From

These things don’t always work, says Mother. Where do you think your sister came from?

Note to readers: This anonymous essay is a true account, according to the author. It is sexually explicit.

Mother finds condoms in my bedroom. I am 15. Brandishing them menacingly, she informs me, “These things don’t always work. Where do you think your sister came from?”

I eat a mile of pussy. I expect blowjobs.

I ask “what are we doing about birth control?”

I sweat out a few late periods.

I worry over broken condoms.

I have a long relationship with a woman who wears an IUD.

I pause too long on a woman with ovaries blown out in an ectopic pregnancy.

I am a desperate alcoholic, junkie and all around prick.

I sleep with a lot of women in 17 years of single sex:  make love with some, screw a few, and grudge fuck others.

I am treated for numerous types of clap.

I pull out and come in her mouth.

I never knock a woman up.


I am sober and marry the female AA rookie of the year, from my Sobriety Class, for some bad reasons and some good ones.  I am working hard to make up the time and money wasted on addiction; she’s finishing college and going for her masters.  We are sane, sober, and responsibly planning a future without regrets for our pasts. She is taking the pill.

Growing up and commitment are wrapped in my head with staying sober; so I dive into adulthood. I do not have another recovery in me.

She is pregnant.

She knows for sure that if she has a baby now, she will never finish school. She has an abortion.

It’s her body.

She swears she is on the pill.

She has another abortion.

I’m a good feminist.

She assures me she is taking her pills.

She schedules a third abortion; on which routine adventure her sister accompanies her.

She has her degree. It is time to make babies we will keep. I am ambivalent; the blush is off the bloom; her insular family and I clash; the sex is lousy and the lovemaking half-hearted. Growing up and commitment are wrapped in my head with staying sober; so I dive into adulthood. I do not have another recovery in me.

We have two babies, Irish twins:  a girl for her, a boy for me.
Her mother, faced with a fatal condition, mean and pre-Alzheimer’s cranky, tells her it is time to come clean with me about her past.
The bride tells me about the abortion she didn’t have, the baby she gave up for adoption before we met.

My huevos shrivel remembering my babies blithely aborted while a doctor and his wife raise some douchebag’s bastard.

The stud was her first true love, the football captain who inspired her cheerleading; he knocked her up twice. She aborted the children’s baby. Romeo, whose family disapproved of her, left her at the altar, pregnant with the second fetus, too far along for abortion. I observe, “I fucking hate your mother.  I could have died in my eighties without hearing this story.” I’m sober, nonjudgmental and mature. We move on.

I decide to get a vasectomy.  I’m in therapy, at her urging, and secretly halfway out the door, weighing the mechanics of ending our marriage. I schedule nut surgery for Memorial Day weekend. She’s unready for the finality of no more babies. Having another child is not part of my plan. We will go on the pill, carefully, again.

By July she is pregnant.

I take it as a sign, possibly from God.

Possibly He hates me.

I’m unable to suggest abortion because I fiercely love the two children I finally had.

I ask myself, Am I pussy whipped? Too respectful of women?

No, I’m not.

I’m haunted by the phantom children we aborted and what their lives might have been.

Fifteen years later, it’s a judge who is deciding who’s out the door.


Vintage photo of a stork courtesy of Shutterstock

About Roe Wade

Roe Wade is obviously a pseudonym for a guy who is going through a midlife change and crisis. My fondest hope is that I come out the other side without hurting my family, growing a ponytail, buying a Miata and asking a woman young enough to be my daughter to marry me. Everything in this story is true.


  1. Ron Cowie says:

    That sounds like a life of joy and complication.

  2. Roe Wade says:

    @Sexless- a while, try 22 years and toss your hands up in the air. The last one was all on me…
    Within a marriage my rights to input on producing progeny are multiple times more appropriate than in my former relationships.
    F me once shame on you, F me twice shame on me, F me 3x and I must be into the pain….
    Oh and let’s not pretend that this was a health relationship,for very long….
    That horse bolted the barn before “I Do”…..
    However much we both wanted a healthy relationship, we built on a foundation of hope and sand.

    I hand you a gun, it’s chamber is loaded, the safety is disengaged & you shoot me accidentally.
    Whose fault?
    Yours?- You should never touch the trigger without checking the load, twice.
    Mine?- Only a fool hands a  firearm in a lethal condition to another fool.
    Who cares?- Our lives are changed forever.

    To belabor the analogy- while most people would blame the owner of the gun; I’m the fool for believing the firing pin was removed, I knew I was supplying live shells. 

    Every pregnancy irrevocably affects the life arc of the people involved, parents and child- abortion, miscarriage or live birth..

  3. Wow. This is a powerful story, and it raises some very important questions about healthy relationships, whose responsibility birth control is, and the wisdom of staying in an unhealthy marriage. It’ll take me a while to get my head around all of it. Thank you for writing it.

  4. Thanks for sharing.

    This makes me feel a little better about looking into male birth control. I’d had very mixed feelings about it.

    It’s also an interesting look at post-recovery relationships and “growing up.” I’m going to have to think about that some more. My friends and family regularly mock me for feeling old and stressing about growing up (considering I’m in my 20s), but I really think they just don’t understand what the concept means to recovering/recovered addicts.

    • Roe Wade says:

      @Andrew There is no recovered addict- recovery is like a shark; move forward or drown.

    • @Andrew. Growing up is not a merit badge…..
      I can assure you that had I been sober a little longer- she would be a emotional and geographic memory.
      The decision process was flawed.

      • You know, recovery is like a shark is what they told me in my meetings. I have to say, I don’t think I agree. I really have no desire for the kind of life I was living again, and my body reacts negatively to my old drug of choice now so there’s no pleasure involved. Then again, it’s possible that I was never a “true” addict, regardless of my history of substance abuse. I certainly didn’t fit the standard mold, in any case.

        As for growing up, I certainly believe you but I can’t seem to convince myself deep down. It’s almost like the more responsibility I take, the further away I think I can get from who I used to be. It feels like I’m running from the back of my mind. I know it’s a psychotic thought process and is likely to create more problems in the future (I have what seems to be a couple good ones brewing up right now) but can’t really see any good alternatives other than drinking a lot of tea and quietly freaking out in my corner.

        It just feels reassuring to think that I’m not the only one who has ever felt like taking on commitments is a way to… I don’t know… Atone? Prove a change? Keep what I have? It’s hard to define. In any case, it’s comforting to know others have come this way.

        Regarding the woman, I can believe it. You know what they say: “Your first year in the program you can have all the sex you want, and your second year you can include another person in it.” Not that that’s any comfort, I know, and not that I took that advice either, but I’m glad you have finally managed to straighten out that kink.

  5. CajunMick says:

    A terse read. Well done.


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