PT 8: Fertility Clinic: Commencement An End and A Beginning
They call the end of school at every level, a commencement, a beginning. One day, you're just a kid in school. Then, suddenly you're out and become the master of your own destiny. Graduation day, an end and a beginning, came with both fear and anticipation.
Before graduation I had to complete my thesis from my internship in the Western Avenue Fertility Clinic. Leafing through study materials Dr Velour furnished me to assist me, my husband Jerry, an engineering student, commented, "Nature is the ultimate guide for engineering. Here in your medical study guides, it says that the most effective manner to draw down milk and prepare a female for breast feeding, is suckling. A partner or even a friend should take the breast in the mouth, create a suction and begin to suck. It makes the breast sound like a pump."
Reaching under my blouse to play with my breasts, Jerry suggested that we conduct an experiment to test the statement. "Science cannot accept an unverified statement."
Pushing his hands away and playfully spurning my advances, I reminded Jerry, "my trust fund runs out this year. Unless you want me to sell my body as a surrogate, I have to finish my thesis." When Jerry presented that hung dog, crestfallen look, I promised to allow Jerry to test his hypothesis on the first day of work after graduation.
"I will get first dibs on the opportunity to test the proposition that the human body is a well - designed machine," Jerry vowed with mock seriousness.
My thesis on the motivations of sperm donors and surrogates incorporated a section on the ethics of concealing from the surrogate the identity of her inseminator. The later section on ethics was intended to become the basis for the larger project Dr Velour assigned to me on the ethics of selective breeding.
The university accepted my thesis on the motivations of people involved in the process of artificial insemination. The reviewing professor in my industrial Psychology programme noting, "Oh, you were the young lady who interned in a Fertility clinic," commented with a quick shake of his head, "fascinating work."
"Indeed," I replied.
Passing my thesis, the professor read a line about the motivations of the Fertility Clinic's donors and surrogates aloud, "`How it appears? curiosity allures them, money assures them, the attention secures them.' Sounds like a jingle. Dr Velour should consider your overtures for developing her," he raised his eyebrows with a chuckle, "her brochures."
With a cunning half - smile, I retorted, "Words most worthy, carry the rhyme a step further."
For my graduation, Jerry bought me a dress. Considering I had worn dungarees and his T - shirt to our wedding in the bar around the corner, I effusively thanked Jerry for a generous present.
Jerry laughed. "Why would you need something expensive for the wedding? I was only going to rip it off your body."
To my surprise, Jerry even went to my graduation. I offered to go to his commencement from the engineering college, but he smirked, "I had enough drill and ceremonies in the Corps."
The party was soon over. I started full - time at the clinic on Monday morning. I was permanent now, but I as I entered, I was greeted on the `Walk of Shame' from the locker to the shower by Dr Velour. Enthusiastically hugging me, bouncing her bare butt against mine, bobbing her bare breasts into mine, Dr Velour sent a pleasant tingle through my body. Congratulating me on graduation, Dr Velour held out the promise, "Complete your Nursing Assistant program and the discourse I assigned you on `Ethical problems in selective breeding' and we'll talk about a position in management."
"On ethics of inseminating a surrogate artificially," I posed the question, "if actual physical contact with the donor would be unlawful, I'd like to review the form contracts you use with the sperm donors and surrogates. It may provide an answer to the question of whether the surrogate and/or the donor should be advised if the selected donor and surrogate are closely related."
With a comforting pat on my bare back, Dr Velour slipped away into the shower. I last saw her muscular, round butt vanishing into the warm, mist. Was I admiring her body?
I was busy in the morning playing the warden, releasing the bulls, the male donors, from the chastity shield and inspecting their genitalia. Unfortunately, word spreads quickly in the clinic. The bulls chided me about my prospective transfer to the female section. "Afraid of dealing with real men," upbraided one bull. His teasing brought a round of a hearty laughter.
"I'll return the compliment," I retorted, "in this locker, I wear the crown. Under lock and key, I keep your implement. It is I who frees you from peeing sitting down."
Later, descending into the subsurface level, I found myself walking with a group of bulls, phallus dangling free, headed to the gym. One, a Mr Tim Bogen, a relative newcomer, pulled me aside.
Worry etched on his face, Bogen requested permission to pose a question. "What would you think if your husband registered here as a bull?"
I pondered for a second. "I'd sleep more nights through, wake up fresh still in my PJs more often and get more cuddling time. My eh—partner would learn the use of his tongue. I might like some cunnilingus, now and then. How does your partner feel about your role here?"
"She came her on one of the partners' days when they allow the bulls to eh -" The bull hesitated.
"Screw," I suggested.
"Kind-of," Bogen spoke hesitantly, "Eh—Interaction is subject to strict supervision. Females are protected, like prized animals, from unplanned insemination," the Bogen grimaced, "Bulls must use a sperm collection condom."
"I guess Dr Velour has an exclusive output contract with her bulls," I surmised.
"The clinic starts off females in milk extraction," the bull recounted.
