Worried he’d never have a family, Louis became a prolific sperm donor, hoping that his children would one day track him down. And then they did
Louis used to cycle to the sperm bank, his deposit in a bag. He needed to make it in good time to preserve the contents of each specimen jar, which he placed in a warmed cabinet when he arrived. In the evenings, when men arrived after work, there would sometimes be social events at the sperm bank, with tea and cake. Other sperm banks – he was a regular donor at three – were more perfunctory, with small rooms for donations and the usual magazines.
Like most of the donors, Louis preferred not to linger, but to pedal back to his modest flat in northern Holland and a life he felt was so ordinary that it almost blurred into the background. He was in his early 30s and lived alone, working as a bank clerk. He had no girlfriend, nor any close friends or family.
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