Like most college kids, I was broke. Whatever extra money I had went to beer and it usually wasn't much. Unfortunately, the girls I dated didn't always want just beer. Sometimes they wanted food, too. And they wanted me to pay for it.
Waiting tables for tips at the local greasy spoon didn't provide much extra income. Neither did proctoring the occasional test. If I was going to get some I was going to have to make some first.
One day as I sat bemoaning my fate and flipping through the college paper, I chanced upon an ad. An ad for a service I knew existed but generally only thought about as a punch line for a joke. "Sperm Donors Needed." Wow, I thought. Had I sunk so low? Was I really willing to donate my sperm to the collective goo pool for the few measly dollars necessary to take a girl on a date and receive, perhaps, a few measly kisses? Yes, I was. Absolutely.
After completing more paperwork than it took to get into college, I was admitted to give a sample specimen. After not smoking pot or beating off for 3 to 5 days (definitely 3 in my case) I arrived at the nameless door of the windowless building. A serious woman in a lab coat ushered me to my room and gave me a vial for my deposit. She told me there was "material" in there if I needed it.
Holy shit! Was there ever material! The small room contained exactly one black pleather couch, a TV, a bottle of baby oil, a VCR, and a drawer of countless magazines and VHS porns and absolute! Eureka! I spent the next half hour just fantasizing about what "material" I would pleasure myself to!
Ultimately deciding upon a lesbian tale of frisky co-eds, I quickly went to work. I deposited my sample in the vial and sheepishly walked it back over to the lab. A week later I received the call. I was in! From now on, and up to three times a week, I would be able to donate the love of my loins for $75 a pop! It was a godsend! Not quite finished with the curious co-eds I went right back over that afternoon and finished viewing their tale of sapphic hijinks and shenanigans.
Not wishing to disappoint the eager would-be-mothers of the world, I returned twice that week, each time excited by the thought of a new tape or magazine. For the next year I was a regular. I once joked with the nurse in charge that I should bring my own mug, maybe leave it there and re-use it like in a bar or something. She didn't laugh. I didn't care. I was getting paid to do what I was already doing!
Ironically, all this self-coitus left me tired and depleted and the money I had so eagerly hoped to raise to entertain the ladies became an afterthought. I wasn't in it for the money anymore. I was in it for the porn!
Now in my late 30's, I returned to my college campus for a football game a few weeks ago. I know I'm being paranoid, but I can swear at least a dozen kids had my eyes. I considered hugging them and telling them they were loved, but quickly thought otherwise.
1 comment:
I did some sperm donoring (in a way), it was for my wife's in-vitro fertilization efforts, which we tried for awhile, but failed. But there was no VCR, no lube, only a few mags, and a box of kleenex. It was kinda tough getting myself into the mood, with all the noise outside the door. Then there was the thought that the Lazy Boy recliner I was sitting on had dried drops of jizz from hundreds of guys before me.
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