Jack sat in the waiting room, scanning a dozen other folx (mostly men, but two trans women and at least one non-conforming), all tapping on tablet computers or rubbing their phones. The secretaries behind the plexi-glass panes chattered as they typed, occasionally giggling to each other. Jack had checked them out when he came in: all in their early twenties, minimal makeup, average weight to plump. He knew one would help, if he wanted, and he hoped for one on the heavier side.
He glanced at his holo-doc, just reading the bolded words and headlines. "You must produce 3 milliliters (mL) to receive credit." "You swear, under oath, you have not wasted seed since your last visit." "You agree to drug testing." He checked the boxes required: "Kinsey 1-2." "Vegetarian, Ovo/Lacto." "Married." He tapped "Undo" and checked "Single." He then checked an optional box: "You request assistance in your donation." The last time he'd failed to collect it on his own (shot the first rope onto his knuckles), and when he handed back the cup, it barely reached the 2mL line. When his paperwork reached the Department of Energy, he got a call to re-do it and warned that another failure would result in a $5,000 bill for clinic facilities and electricity.
A door marked "Staff Only" opened and a nurse in light blue scrubs stepped out. "Mr. Phillips?" She read from her holo-doc. Jack jumped up and walked towards her, head hunched down. He didn't take the time to "check her out," assuming she wasn't assigned to him. She wasn't one of the women from the glass-paned office. She was probably in her 40s, maybe 50s, had dirty blonde hair in a short ponytail, heavy mascara and concealer, and looked like someone's "cool aunt." Not his type.
Through the door, they had to pass a security checkpoint. The guard had Jack empty his pockets into a bowl then waved a metal detector over him. It beeped at his belt so the guard waved it a couple more times. "You're good." Jack walked when he heard the same guard say, "Hold on." Jack turned to see the guard was actually talking to the nurse.
"Really?" she asked.
"You passed the checkpoint, so I have to check you again."
"Just to the end of the hall!" She scoffed, then shook her head. "No, it's fine." She raised her arms and the guard waved the wand without it beeping at all. "You know, I remember a time when we didn't have to worry abouts machines taking our jobs." She shook her head as she looked at Jack, shrugging in a "Well, what can you do?" sort of way.
He'd only started donating semen a couple months back and didn't know all the protocol. He knew enough to recognize that the "machines taking our jobs" referred to spies from the AI nation who were realistic-looking robots programmed to seduce unwitting bachelors and steal their seed. Jack was only a teen when the scientists discovered how to produce nuclear energy from sperm (or maybe it was the semen, if that was any different? He didn't really know), and after coming of age to fulfill his patriotic duty, he'd only ever donated his monthly quota through the mail, so this clinic experience was new for him.
The nurse caught back up to him and kept talking as if nothing unusual had happened. "How're you feeling this morning?" She talked as she led him through a series of hallways and past several closed doors.
"Good." In one of the rooms, as a nurse closed the door behind her, he spied a busty brunette pulling down her dress as a man groped her. Jack felt his pulse pick up.
"Such beautiful weather lately," his nurse said along the way. "Wish I'd saved my vacation days and gone to the beach."
"Mm-hmm."
"You an outdoors man?"
"Not really."
Once they reached his room, the woman pointed him towards a reclining chair and closed the door behind her. "There's a remote if you want to watch something."
"Oh, uh..." He felt his heart racing a little. "I checked the box, uh..."
She put on a pair of black nitrile gloves. "You requested assistance, right?' She opened a cabinet and pulled out a jar of lubricant jelly. "I know I'm no spring chicken, but I can still do the job." She winked. When Jack didn't respond, she started laughing. "It's okay, I promise you'll meet quota. Now, if you're not interested in watching something, go ahead and get comfortable."
Jack leaned back in the hospital bed and started emptying his pockets onto the rolling table that held the gloves and lube. Now that he realized this was it, that he wasn't going to get one of the fat girls, he started sizing up this woman's breasts and hips. He honestly couldn't tell much from the baggy scrubs. But her face, after taking a look, had character. Wrinkles grouped around the edges of her eyes and her thin lips had a nice rosy color of lipstick. Combined with the taught neck and athletic thighs, the ponytail felt like that of a housewife at the gym. Or, depending on the marriage, he guessed, a mother.
"My name's Pam."
"Jack."
Her gloved hand grabbed his before he could respond. "Nice to meet ya. Now, do you want to get more comfortable? Or you want me to see what we're working with?"
He scrunched his face. "Sorry?"
She laughed big, like he remembered hearing growing up, at big family dinners. "Well, I guess you're gonna make me say it: do you want to get your dick out or should I?"
"Oh." Jack smiled. "I can do it." He unbuckled, unzipped, and - his heart picked up - pulled his equipment out through the hole in his briefs. It was circumcised (he'd been born before that was frowned upon) and was a "grower not a show-er," as his ex-wife would say.
"Thank you, kindly." Pam say in a rolling chair next to him. "You don't want to just take it all off? If I use the lube, it'll soak into your jeans."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He pulled his pants and underwear down to his his knees. The hair on his balls stiffened, despite him not appearing particularly aroused. He also hadn't done much grooming except a quick once-over with his electric trimmer. (The batteries died halfway through, since he'd started shaving again and no longer had a beard to trim.)
Pam smiled the kind of forced smile you get at a doctor's office, the kind that's not completely phony but still forced. "Can I touch it?"
Jack nodded.
Pam touched his mostly flaccid penis with her black gloves. "It's really cute. Hope you don't mind me saying so. I know men might think that makes it sound small, but you're slightly above average, so don't let that get to you. I just think any penis still in its hidey-hole has a certain aura about it, like a forest creature just waking up. Hey little guy!" She used her other hand to cup his balls while the other tugged at the foreskin. "Wake-y wake-y!" She looked to see if Jack enjoyed it.
Jack forced a smile. Honestly, he wished he hadn't asked for assistance. This wasn't what he wanted. Being divorced before 30 is embarrassing enough, let alone having a nurse call your dick a "forest animal."
"I take it you're a little shy," Pam said. She quit "playing" with his cock and started rubbing the head, which actually got it filling with blood. "There we go. That's the stuff!" Her voice lowered. "I can quit the chit-chat, if you'd prefer."
"No, it's fine." Jack felt his cheeks start to get flushed. "I just haven't done this in a while."
