This is something quite extraordinary I'm doing. I'm doing it because it's easy, and for the money. I guess this makes me a whore. OK, I'm OK with that.
There are fliers are tacked, stapled, and taped everywhere on campus detailing the need for subjects to undergo these studies. That's how I got this hearing lab "job," and how I get these odd, one-off jobs to, like, listen to something while someone monitors where your eyes go, for an hour and ten bucks. For someone unemployed like me, a guy living on the knife's edge in this cruel world, I need it.
Well, after a while of doing those types of experiments, you get a little stir-crazy and you want to try something more, namely longer-term studies dealing with drugs. I did that last year -- take a drug for three months after which, coincidentally, I saw advertised as a treatment for bipolar disorder. Why in the hell is a medication for bipolar disorder being advertised on TV? And am I OK? I think I'm OK.
Anyway, going to other parts of campus and opening my parameters a bit led me to this study where they study your sperm. After inquiring, they told me it was a six-month study that will pay me ... should I say? Probably not ... a good some of money, especially for each semen sample I give them. They are studying the effects a medication has on potency. I think.
Shit, as long as my splooge isn't being saved to use to impregnant some stranger chick, I'm in! All for science, right?
So I go to the U. and, after being lost for a long time, I run into the contact for this study. She directs me to this very small office where an administrator -- kind of sexy, I might add (a semen study and I'm already getting into the mood, God help me) -- stumbled her way through showing me the forms I had to sign. She looked kind of fidgety and disorganized. That became a theme as I went through my appointment.
I was ushered from the office to a patient room, which had this huge and apparently inoperable switchboard on the side. I had no idea what it was for, but from the verbiage I saw I felt like this had nothing to do with medicine. There are a lot of old buildings at the University of Minnesota, so I think this room -- in fact this building -- was converted to medicine or clinical study from, like, engineering. Seriously, this room looked like it was a chemistry lab.
The woman I talked to -- the woman different from the administrator -- came into the room while I was on the patient's table/bed/thingy (the clean tissue paper on which, by the way, was branded by a medication -- Avidra or something; is there nothing that's sponsored anymore?) laid out a series of pages on a counter, and asked me some questions that were the same as the ones the administrator asked me, like my height and weight. After she left, I looked at the pages. Parts of the pages were grouped into categories. They had lines next to words like "heartbeat," "reflexes," and "testicles." Apparently she was setting the pages in a row for the doctor to do his physical. Never seen that done before. I mean, who does that? Who wants that done? Can't the doctor just come in with a stapled sheaf of forms?
Anyway, doctor comes in. Normal name, seemingly normal guy, despite the fact that he's the (probably compensated) doctor for this study. Check your reflexes, breathe in, breathe out, all of that.
Then we get to the inspecting my genitals. When grabbing my balls I see him reach into his labcoat pocket and pull out a necklace of beads. At first they looked to me like Buddha beads. Is he Buddhist? Why is he praying? What about my balls made him start to pray? But I looked closer and saw there were numbers stamped on each of the different-sized balls on the necklace. That's when I remembered that there was a line or box in the "Testicles" category next to which there was the abbreviation "in." He was comparing to see how big my family jewels were. I would've been fine with him breaking out a ruler. And by the way, my nuts are about 15 millimeters in diameter, I guess. Hell yeah, I'm well-endowed.
And now the fun part. I've seen scenes about sperm donation on TV shows, and the rooms are always large and well-appointed, filled with magazines laid out accordion-style on a table. Instead, I was sent to a keypad-locked bathroom the size of a quarter-bath with the only adornment a plant that, for some reason, was tucked behind the toilet. The porn was in two boxes underneath the two chairs in the bathroom.
It wasn't bad porn -- Cheri "hardcore" specials from a few years back, back when they were good because they spent a page or two setting up the situation behind the pictorial and threw in a few photos of the girl groping the guy(s) and/or pulling down his/their pant(s) and then being totally shocked at the huge dongs the man/men have. Where's the lead-in into the physical sex in porn mags these days? The seducing and exposing is just as important as the actual fucking. But I might be in the minority.
So I'm getting into it. At least the woman left me alone, because I leaned back and just started leafing through the porn; I could get to wanking later. But unlike what I imagined it to be, the area outside my door wasn't quiet. In fact, when I was ready to just do this, I heard the doctor who examined me talking outside the bathroom, and for a long time. Hello? Privacy here!
Really, it just seems very odd that someone thinks nothing of making a conversation right in front of the jerkoff bathroom. Anybody who thinks letting someone have some peace while he touches himself in order to provide a semen sample either has done this way too long or is kind of fucked up to begin with. Again, he's a nice guy, but that seems so intrusive. Oh, and by the way, I noticed that there was a fairly sizable slit, about a millimeter long, between the door and the jamb. You might be able to see a dick through there. All of this convinces me this is a half-ass operation.
Anyway, I'm there for about 40 minutes, I think. The doctor finished his conversation and left, leaving me the silence to finally ejaculate into the cup. I had to abstain from masturbating for between two and five days, so I thought it'd feel really nice when I let 'er rip. But it didn't; it felt coaxed and insincere. The doctor didn't help, and I was worried that I had to control the trajectory of my semen when I finally shoot or else I'll pop some of the sample on the wall. So I got the cup surrounding my penis and I did it. You know, it would've helped if I felt safe enough to moan when I finally came. But I didn't want to hear them, so I sure as fuck didn't want them to hear me. That's probably why I had blue balls after it was all over.
When I leave, I see a woman that I passed by earlier in my visit seated behind a desk. There is an office right next to the jerkoff bathroom. That is why I heard the doctor outside my door: He was talking to her, for God's sake. These guys need a new fucking floor plan, and I hope they agree. Christ.
The woman passed by and I told her I left the semen (and urine) sample in the bathroom like she told me. After asking when was the last time I performed self-onanism -- and telling her that I already gave that answer to the administrator as well (her reply: "Oh!" and she went back into the patient room to copy what the administrator wrote), she put the samples into a box. She gave that box to another woman, a student dressed in U. gear, and told me to follow her to another wing of the building to get a blood draw and an ECG.
She wasn't a nurse, but she was nice. While on our trek down to the clinical testing lab she told me she got this job from the woman whose office was right next door to the jerkoff bathroom; she was her high school basketball coach. And, her job is work-study. At first I thought it was, again, strange that you can get financial aid from carrying some stranger's piss and cum. Now, I think that paying me is the only way you'd get me to carry some stranger's penile effluvia.
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I go back today -- in several hours, in fact. Yesterday I called the flustered woman because I wanted to bring my -- well, my sister's -- Victoria's Secret catalogs. I could use them, but actually I think I have too many and want a place to donate them. Would you jerk off to hot women in lingerie instead of naked sex?
Anyway, when I ask her, she's saying, "yeah, yeah, uh-huh" all the way through, like she's doing something else and I'm bothering her. She seemed agitated the entire call. I've got to give this woman my jizz, the least I expect is some professionalism and courtesy and the perception that she's got her shit together. Whatever, I'm getting paid, and hopefully for more than after the two samples I'm giving this week.
Wish me luck!
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