PT 5 Fertility Clinic: Nature of the Attraction
In my senior year in college, I worked several hours in the early morning before classes in a fertility clinic. It was part of my internship toward my degree in Industrial Psychology. In my rotation as a student intern in the clinic, I, through study and practical training, had earned a promotion out of maintenance into the Nursing Department as an assistant.
Smart in her white lab coat and dark dress, Dr Velour introduced the study to three nursing assistant candidates gathered in her office.
"We start our study with the male body because it is less complex, designed for an important, but momentary role in reproduction," Dr Velour's word brought a ripple of giggling to the motley group of prospective nursing assistants.
"This is a business," Dr Velour expounded, "We have to recruit livestock, groom their bodies, generate interest in purchasers, draw and refine the product and sell it. Initially, our question in dealing with the men, is what makes a man want to `bind his loins' in a cock - blocker, hitch his penis to a machine and discharge his seed into a hitching post? The answer at least initially is curiosity."
I chuckled. Ever since I obtained this internship, my husband Jerry has beseeched me to sneak him in to test his equipment. Didn't I put out enough? I lay crunched up like a pretzel, hands bound behind my back with my bra, complaints squelched with panties in my mouth too often to think differently.
It was hard to think of Jerry tied docilely to a hitching post at the Clinic to be jerked off. For foreplay, Jerry preferred wrestling me to the ground. Taken by surprise, forced face down, with Jerry strong hands tugging at the waistband of my jeans, I'd spur Jerry on by pleading, "Don't rip my clothes, Jerry. I don't get paid till next week."
Was Jerry jealous or afraid my job involved physical contact with other men? No, Jerry was so curious so much so he wanted me to reenact the protocols in sperm extraction.
"You come to the clinic through different pathways, bringing different experiences to the study. Dr Velour looked from student to student, "we have Amy, here, a student in Industrial Psychology at the local college. Perhaps with Amy's background in Industrial Psychology, she will develop a clearer idea the motivation of the persons involved in the people involved in the donation process. Amy?"
"My ugh-experience tells me curiosity is a good hypothesis," I replied. The room filled with chuckling, "Men are always looking for a new spot to anchor their spar in."
When the laughter subsided, Dr Velour pointed out a girl with muscular forearms and legs, "Next, we have Cassie. She's a gymnast who has been working in the gym; Pat," Dr Velour pointed out a college girl like me, "a participant in our experiment in inducing the mammary glands to produce milk; and Beth," Dr Velour pointed to a woman in her mid - thirties, "a surrogate."
"Regardless of sex, however," Dr Velour continued, "the brain is the largest sex organ. Oh, the body reacts to physical stimulation and once aroused can control the mind, but the mind creates the expectations in given situations."
"Thus, because male body's function in reproduction is limited," Dr Velour explained, "each of you will begin your study there."
In the male donor section, I started as a "warden." A warden was our in - group term for the nursing assistant who received male donors and released them from the "cock blocker" the opaque inverted triangle covering their loins and screwing the cock blocker on when the male departs the facility.
"Bear in mind, each and every task in - processing our donors, filing in, to have their genitalia disencumbered," Dr Velour stressed, "are in more than one sense our livestock. We may own a few ccs—cubic centimeters of their refined output, but their physical appearance is critical to stirring interest into purchase of their genetic material for insemination."
On the home front with my husband Jerry, the exotic aspects of my internship stimulated Jerry's interest, stirred Jerry's curiosity and spurred Jerry's libido. That the internship required intimate physical contact with other men did not concern Jerry. He never failed to enjoy my accounts of in - processing male donors in the male donor's locker.
Dr Velour might have approved of Jerry's insistence on authenticity in the re - enactment in our bedroom. Like the donors in the locker, Jerry presented himself naked, before me, hands on his head to simulate the process. Likewise, Jerry demanded I don an improvised nursing whites, fashioned out of a Jerry's short sleeve white shirt and pajama bottoms.
"The brain interprets the stimulus presented to the senses," Dr Velour explained, "in a certain context, presenting naked is an invitation to intercourse. However, the indicia of a medical status, a white lab coat, scrubs, stethoscope and a plastic name tag cause the brain to interpret the intended nature of physical contact differently."
"Good morning," I, reprising my approach to Jerry, playing the role of donor, in my improvised nurse's outfit, asked, "what brings you in today, a quick shower on your way to work, a visit to the gym, a donation or perhaps all three?" Commencing my examination of Jerry's genitalia, I teased Jerry with a glimpse at my boobs through the armholes of Jerry's loosely fitting white shirt.
I chuckled when I thought of the words of Dr Velour on clothing. "Why do nursing assistants wear scrubs? Among the purposes clothing serves," Dr Velour continued her exposition, "is to suggest the appearance of the unclothed body, to protect the body from injury, or to indicate status and authority and the right to make personal contact. One of the first social taboos, a nursing assistant must overcome is intimate contact with a person of the opposite sex. Contact reserved for an intimate partner in the boudoir is the subject of the consultation room."
"In the clinic," I thought aloud as I held Jerry's penis in my hand, "a penis, freshly released from the cock - blocker, must be inspected for signs of normal arousal. The primary purpose of male livestock in the fertility clinic is the production of ejaculate with a sufficiently high sperm count for economical distribution."
"Those of you in a relationship with a man," Dr Velour discussed male anatomy, "understand the expression, `thinking with the wrong head.' Now let me explain why." Giggling filled the room. The course ways of the branches of the dorsal nerve of the penis through the spongy tissue of the penis make the penis extremely sensitive to touch."
"Hmm," I'd be busy palpating the Jerry's testes, spermatic cord and the ducts. "In the fertility clinic, the cock works as a pump which expels spermatozoa from the male apparatus into the fireplug shaped hitching post."
Jerry's pliancy standing with hands clasped on his head as I manipulated him into an erection stood in marked contrast to the energy with which, holding me face ground, tickled me until I lifted my butt so that he could whip off my dungarees. Lifting me up, Jerry yanked my blouse and bra over my head. Naked, hands secured behind my back with my bra, I felt my heart thumping out a steady beat in my chest.
Jerry broke the mood with a question. "How do I compare to donors at the clinic?" Jerry would often ask the same question as we reenacted handling a donor in the Fertility Clinic.
I paused to think before I responded. "You're more at ease. When most donors first came to the clinic, they are so shy. But once, the donor settles in here, the exam is just part of the fun."
Noting Jerry's increasing rigidity, I pronounced Jerry ready for the next step, the anti - bacterial shower. Staff called this phase in the process: `delousing.'
Naturally, always with an eye toward realism in the re - enactment, Jerry wanted me to don a white two piece for an authentic demonstration of my work as the lifeguard, the girl who worked the shower.
If we wanted the game to continue, I knew I would have to leave the room, undress and don, out of Jerry's sight, of course, the two - piece white bathing suits the lifeguards wear. Jerry'd ask, "Amy, why are you leaving?"
"I have to change," I looked down at the rags I was wearing, "out of this eh - uniform to put on the white two - piece the shower girls wear." I shook my head. "You wanted to proceed to the next level. I can't undress with you glaring at me, like a predator ready to pounce."
"Like clothing, lack of it," Dr Velour lectured, "or nudity comes in three distinct purposes: social nudity as in a place where people simply go about daily life naked, functional nudity for a shower or physical examination or sexual nudity to attain coitus. Simple nudity is a natural state, without romantic implications. However, transitioning between a clothed and unclosed state may in some circumstances be considered an invitation."
Jerry laughed, "I've seen you naked before. You've been busy tantalizing me swinging those tits. What's more to see, besides rounded hips and a fuzzy pussy. So?"
"Jerry," I reminded him, "you're already into pillow talk," I shook my head. "With stimulation of an ungelded male into a state of rigidity, the temptation of stripping in front of you would be far too great. In order for the game to continue, I have to leave the room to change."
Returning to the bedroom, in a white two - piece to re - enact my work in the shower. Honoring Jerry's preference for realism. I'd require Jerry plant a real bill in my cup. "Once you drop the tip, we can proceed."
"Drop the tip and feel the tit," Jerry exclaimed.
"While clothing's suggestion of status is important to define the socially acceptable extent of contact, clothing still must be functional," Dr Velour quipped, "it would be impossible to wear starched whites in the shower. Beach wear might invite notice, but it furnishes enough cover to inspire a measure of self - restraint. Besides, where would the donor leave the tips?"
