The pain in what Greg felt were his kidneys wasn’t going away. He’d sneak in a session at the Jacuzzi later, before nightfall. It was his one day off the road for the next week.
The continental breakfast at the Motor Inn consisted of Fruit Loops in almond milk, a banana, coffee, and the local paper. Greg skipped to the Funnies, which weren’t, and went straight to the science “Discovery” section. It was really just an advert.
The irrefutable facts it proclaimed (to your benefit) were as follows:
Hot tubs LOWER sperm viability!
7/8 die in >105F heat!
Are you and your partner having trouble conceiving?
Call for a free legal consultation! You may be entitled to a BIG PAY OUT!!!
What happened to the other 1/8 sperms? Maybe they were heat resistant, or found a way to survive in colder areas of the balls. That is where sperms lived, right? Greg had smaller-than-average testicles as best as he could judge from pornography. Then he forgot about most of the article.
Candy sat on the stale, maroon comforter in Greg’s motel room and took off her earrings.
“You got any kids?” she asked.
“Yeah… two teenagers.”
“Me too. A little girl. She lives with her daddy, though.” She put her earrings on the nightstand and paused her movement for a second. “You ever think you want any more?”
The “Discovery” blurb was in Greg’s mind when he replied, “No. I can’t. It’s biologically impossible.”
She smiled and put down her purse.