Chapter 1: First Appointment

I let my husband do most of the talking. It was his idea, after all. Talk of artificial insemination scares me. From the start, I was against it. Some couples are meant not to have children — That’s my philosophy. If God didn’t mean two people to bear children, then maybe they shouldn’t. Too many people populate the world already, more than our natural resources can support. Why do you think we have global warming? What about the energy crisis, food shortages, pollution? The cause of all these problems is, fundamentally, more people than what our natural resources can support.

Plus, I also admit, I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having to go through a medical procedure. Doctors have always made me nervous. Just the thought of visiting the family physician makes my pulse race and my blood pressure rise. All those white lab coats, stainless steel instruments, the smell of antiseptic in the air; the combination of it all gives me the willies. And then there’s the medical procedure itself, which frightens me even more, especially when it will involve at least two procedures: First to harvest my eggs and then another to have them inserted back into me — and that’s only if it works the first time. What if it doesn’t? What if we have to try again and again? For all these reasons, I was against the idea of artificial insemination to have a baby, until now.

“What does your wife think?” The doctor asks from behind her desk.

Someone finally recognizes my presence. My husband can be a bit overbearing at times. He’s done most of the talking so far. Not just in this doctor’s office, but he sometimes does it around our friends too, answering for me, telling others what I think. He treats me like a child at times, so I am thankful when she turns to get my opinion.

The doctor is not what I expected. First of all, she is a woman. My husband is not the type to go to a female doctor. In fact, I’m surprised he didn’t turn around and walk right back out of her office as soon as she introduced herself. Second, the doctor looks nothing like a doctor. Instead of a white lab coat — or scrubs, as I guess they call it — she dresses in professional business attire. A light blue blouse and slacks, very stylish, and with her hair bunched up on the top of her head to give her the look of a professional. I have a hard time picturing her in a hospital gown or operating room. She more resembles a schoolteacher, like as in a strict teacher not afraid to use the ruler.

Up until now, the conversation has been mostly between her and my husband. My only words were a weak “hi” and a “glad to meet you” when we first walked into her office. I felt too nervous and scared to say anything more. I still am.

“She’s still thinking about it,” My husband initially answers for me, like he so often does. “She doesn’t like the idea of artificial insemination, and I don’t think she is going to like this idea of natural insemination either. First she needs to think about it before making any decisions.”

“Hold on!” I gently take his arm when I finally muster up courage enough to speak. He is a sweet man, my husband, but again acts overbearing. He was raised on a traditional Midwestern farm where the husband worked and the wife stayed in the kitchen. I guess that’s part of the reason why he is so adamant to have children. He somehow feels incomplete without them.

“Hold on?” He looks back at me in surprise. He is not accustomed to me speaking my mind. “Katie, what are you saying?”

I take a deep breath to relax my nerves. “I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying we should hear her out. Her idea might have potential. At least it won’t involve a doctor’s office and a bunch of laboratory equipment.”

A surprised look shows on his face. This was not the answer he expected. It was not the answer I expected to give either. The whole idea of natural insemination sounded crazy when I first heard it, that is, until I walked into Doctor Palin’s office.

“Are you sure?” He finally asks.

“I’m just saying we should hear her out,” I shyly admit. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

“But do you understand what it would involve?” He asks with worry.

“It was your idea,” I remind him under my breath so the stranger behind the desk can’t hear. “If you’re against it, then why did we bother to drive all the way downtown and take the afternoon off from work?”

The look of surprise on my husband’s face turns to thoughtfulness. He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with wonder.

“Would you like to continue?” Doctor Palin breaks the silence. She acts anxious, like she has a busy schedule, too busy to sit around listening to the two of us argue.

“Of course,” My husband quickly gives in. “We don’t need to make the final decision right now anyway.”

“Of course you don’t,” Doctor Palin agrees. “In fact, I recommend you discuss and give it several days thought before making any decision. This is an important decision, and you both need to be comfortable with it.”

My husband nods.

I follow his lead.

“Plus, there are a few blood tests you need to take before I can even consider you for the procedure,” She addresses her next words to me. “We take great care here at the clinic to protect our patients from any sexually transmitted diseases or infections. You must therefore be tested for a large suite of potential conditions, such as herpes, syphilis, hepatitis…”

“I can assure you…” My husband interrupts.

“I’m sure you can,” She interrupts right back at him. “Please, I don’t mean to suggest you sleep around or your wife is a whore,” She holds up her hand to stop him from interrupting any further. “It isn’t just for your benefit, but for the benefit of all my other patients as well, and also the benefit of the eventual child. Many of the conditions can be terribly contagious and cause birth defects. They are also difficult to eradicate. I’m sure you can appreciate the fact all my other patients were also tested.”

My husband wants to argue further, I can tell, but then I reach across to put my hand on his shoulder. I silently tell the man sitting next to me to drop it. The thought of me sleeping around like a common whore is laughable, and I would know if he was sleeping around.

“Now,” Doctor Palin soon goes on. She opens a folder and takes out a pen. “First there are several questions I need to ask you. This isn’t a procedure for just anyone. It won’t automatically work for just anybody pulled off the street. There are certain contributing factors, prior medical conditions, family history, etcetera that make it more likely to work for some couples and fail for others. So to ascertain your own success, I need to first ask some questions.”

I nod in response. We both do. This is the third doctor we have talked to about conceiving children, so I expect her to have questions. I even know what some of the questions will be, based on prior experience, or so I initially believe.

“Some of my questions may be a bit embarrassing,” The doctor turns to my husband and warns. “But please remember I am a doctor, and the questions are important for me to help determine the root cause of the problem.”

My husband nods again, looking very sure of himself, as if nothing could possibly embarrass him.

“About your size,” Doctor Palin immediately goes right to the point. She speaks in a professional tone. “How long are you, when erect?”

I jump at this question.

So does my husband. He takes offense. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He speaks louder than necessary.

“It has a great deal to do with everything,” Doctor Palin stays unperturbed. She continues speaking in a level tone of voice as if accustomed to every man having the same reaction. “The longer the length, the deeper the penetration, and therefore the closer to the egg the sperm is deposited. I would have assumed your regular doctor already asked you this.”

Size wasn’t supposed to make a difference, I thought, or at least that’s what I was always told. I don’t remember our regular doctor ever asking the same question, or the specialists in reproductive medicine either. Or at least they never asked my husband in my presence, which now makes me wonder if they ever asked him in private. Her explanation does seem to make some logical sense when I think about it.

“Well, um,” He is taken aback by her cool demeanor. “That is a bit personal, but if it’s important.”

“It is!” Doctor Palin assures him.

“Then I would say, maybe, a little less than five,” He answers, embarrassed.

“How much less than five?” The Doctor now turns to me instead.

“More like four-and-a-half,” I answer for him.

He scowls at me.

“Well, it’s true!” I scowl back. “You could have answered yourself.” I say it under my breath, so the doctor doesn’t hear. The smile on her face, however, tells me she heard perfectly.

“That could help explain part of your problem,” The smile disappears before my husband notices. “Perhaps this is simply a case were you are not of sufficient length to impregnate your wife? Normally it does not matter, but some women can be taken deeper than others.”

My husband takes offense at her remark, I can tell, but he doesn’t say anything. She insults his maleness, his ego, but does so with such professionalism he can’t muster a fight against her. For a brief moment, I worry he might get up, storm out of the room, and leave because it is the only thing he can do.

Before he can do anything, however, the Doctor casually returns to her list of questions. “Now about your girth,” She asks the next one. “Have you ever measured your circumference?”

Neither one of us says anything at first.

“When fully erect, of course,” She quickly adds as if to make sure we understand.

“Well, um,” My husband continues to hesitate. This time I know better than to answer for him, even after the doctor turns to me to question after he is not immediately forthcoming.

“I guess about four inches around,” He answers more accurately to this question.

“Very interesting as well,” Doctor Palin responds and writes it down. “A short length in combination with a small girth compounds the problem,” She speaks while looking at her paper. “It may not seem obvious, but a wide girth helps. It stimulates the response within the female body, and the more intense the response, the higher the production rate of female estrogen, which further increases the probability of a successful pregnancy. This could explain why you have not been able to get pregnant, although it is in no means the only explanation.”

No doctor ever told us this before. Perhaps that’s because all our other doctors were male. Or perhaps they talked to my husband about it in private. He might have been too embarrassed to tell me. I start to wonder, and then I quick try to remember to perhaps ask him about it later.

“And what about your stimulus?” The doctor interrupts my questioning thoughts to ask of me. “How often do you experience orgasm when the two of you have sex?”

It takes me a moment to realize she addresses the question to me. “Well, um,” It is now my turn to feel embarrassed. “Actually, I don’t normally.” Actually, I never do, hardly ever, but I’m not brave enough to say this with my husband sitting right beside me.

“Another point of interest!” Doctor Palin responds again. It seems to be her common response to every question. “And what about frequency? How often do the two of you have sex?”

At least this question is familiar. Our regular doctor and the reproductive specialists asked the same thing.

“Three times per week since we’ve been trying to have children,” My husband answers this question with more confidence. “We’ve been told to attempt it more often, but both of us have full time jobs and are tired during the week. We’re in a hurry to get to sleep most of the time.”

Actually, he’s the one who always wants to go to sleep. He gets home, watches television, eats dinner, and then usually falls asleep on the couch while watching some more television. By the time we get to bed, he’s not much in the mood. I consider pointing this out to the Doctor, but hold back, hoping I may later get to talk to her in private.

“I hear that from a lot of couples,” The Doctor plays along with his excuse. “I suppose it is one of the disadvantages of today’s modern lifestyle.”

My Husband likes this. It reinforces his argument. Ever since we first got married, he’s been pressuring me to quit my job and stay home. Since we started having trouble conceiving children, the pressure has only increased. In fact, he believes the primary reason for our failure is the stress and physical exertion of my job, but I never believed the job of a waitress was particularly stressful.

“And how long does it usually last?” She turns back to me. “I mean from the time of initial penetration to final ejaculation, how long does your husband usually last?”

The words she uses give me a thrill; words like “penetration” and “ejaculation.” They shouldn’t thrill me, I know, not in a doctor’s office. She uses the terms in a clinical sense, but still I can’t help it.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” My husband answers for me.

Doctor Palin ignores him. Her eyes stay focused on me, as if waiting for a response, wanting only my estimate.

“I guess that’s about right,” I know he exaggerates, but give in anyway. “It’s not like I ever timed it using a stopwatch.”

I let out a slight giggle as I say this. A picture forms in my mind: Me with a stopwatch and my husband on top. The picture makes me laugh. Doctor Palin smiles back and seems to think it funny too.

“A longer penetration time can also be of benefit,” She smiles but does not allow any other emotion to show through. I suspect she knows the real answer to her question is something less. I hope I get a chance to talk to her afterwards, outside the presence of my husband, and set the record straight. If we really do want to be successful, then I think we need to be honest and give her accurate answers.

“And what about quantity?” She finally turns back to him. “After this quick ejaculation of yours, would you say you ejaculate a large quantity when you cum?”

Her choice of words surprises me. She adds another to thrill me. I’ve heard them all before, from our regular doctor, but they somehow sound more thrilling coming from a female. I especially like the way she indirectly hints, probably on purpose, that even ten or fifteen minutes is too quick in her book.

“I guess I do!” My husband answers, perturbed. “How should I know?”

Doctor Palin nods. “Fair enough,” She agrees. “I’ll check your medical records when they arrive. You should have already been tested for quantity.”

I think about this and wonder how he was tested. There is only one way I can think to test it, but have a hard time imagining my husband submitting to such a test. If he ever did so, he never gave me any indication.

The doctor goes on to ask us less personnel, not so sexually-related questions. She asks about any prescription medications, past medical procedures, even any illegal drug use. My husband admits to once puffing up a marijuana cigarette and having a few beers over the weekend, but that’s about it. All I ever drink is a glass of wine on special occasions. Neither of us ever had any major surgery, certainly nothing to prevent us from bearing children.

“No surgery at all?” She looks me in the eye and asks more pointedly, as if she thinks I might be telling a lie.

“None,” I take offense at her silent accusation, but then recall. “Well, yes, there were my tonsils when I was a little girl.”

“And nothing else?”

“Nothing at all,” I assure her.

“Not even your breasts?”

I suddenly understand the reason for her disbelief. She thinks my breasts are artificial, enhanced in size, and I can understand why. They certainly are larger than the average.

“They’re completely natural,” My husband comes to my rescue before I get the chance.

“Just asking,” The Doctor holds up her hands in a way of apologizing. “Your answers certainly make you potential candidates for the procedure,” She closes up the file and the questionnaire inside. “We still need to run a few tests, yes, but I believe there is an excellent chance I can help.”

“You really think so?” I ask with hope, surprised at the speed of her conclusion. I had expected a lot of tests, perhaps more questions too, but then her questions did dive right to the point.

“We still need to run a few tests,” She repeats her disclaimer as if to make sure I fully understand and don’t jump to any conclusions too soon. “But I think your problem may be as simple as inadequate size during penetration.”

“Wait a minute!” My husband doesn’t like this. He starts to get up out of his chair in opposition. Doctor Palin holds out the palm of her hand in an invitation for him to stop and sit back down.

“Please, it’s very common,” She casually explains. “I know all you men like to think you are big down there. It’s a sign of masculinity, you believe, but it’s impossible for every male to be oversized. There’s something called the law of averages. Some men are longer, and some men are smaller. It’s no different than the breasts on a woman.

The doctor uses my breasts as an example. “Take your wife, for example,” She makes a point of looking at them from across her desk. “Bras are purposely made in a large variety of cup sizes. We have a whole lettering system to categorize them. Your wife is probably, what, a D cup?” She asks of me.

“Double-D,” I quickly correct.

“So that would put you in upwards of the 98th percentile,” She translates into more scientific terms. “Which means your breasts are larger than about 98 percent of the population. They are certainly a lot larger than my own,” She glances down at her own chest as if to point this out. “But this does not make me feel inadequate as a woman. I am no less female than what you are,” She looks at me and then turns to my husband. “Just as you are no less male than any other man.”

He does a comparison too, I notice, my husband, taking a quick glance at me and then a much closer look at the Doctor. It is something he can relate to, I suppose, something any guy can understand. He knows all about my heavy double Ds, but must take a close look at what the Doctor may have hidden behind her business attire. I figure he tries to picture what she might look like in the bare.

“Plus, some women simply need to be penetrated more deeply than others,” Doctor Palin breaks his stare when she goes on. “That’s just the way they are physically built inside. Just as some men grow longer on the outside, so do the hormones in the developing fetus cause some women to develop deeper on the inside. It’s not as noticeable on a woman because it occurs inside, to her internal plumbing, but it happens.”

Her explanation seems to have some merit. “Could they cause a large chest size too?” I think to ask. “I mean these hormones that cause a woman to be deeper inside, could they also cause larger breasts? Could my large breast be a sign that I’m also deep on the inside?”

Doctor Palin brings her hand up to her chin and thinks about this. “Interesting theory! You certainly do have some heavy breasts,” She looks right at them. “But I’m afraid there’s been no proven medical correlation between the two. Still, interesting theory!”

She continues to think about it.

“So this could be the source of the problem,” My husband nudges her back to the situation at hand.

“Possible,” Her hand lowers. “You take an under-average male combined with an over-average female, and pregnancy becomes nearly impossible.”

I like the sound of this. This Doctor may have something. I turn more relaxed and for the first time feel she actually may be able to help. What she says next makes me feel even better.

“That’s why here at the reproductive clinic,” Doctor Palin goes on. “…we make sure to practice natural insemination only with the largest of males who can produce the most intense sexual stimulation within the female.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. I want to jump up in shock. My mouth opens wide. I can’t quite believe what I just heard. It’s like tearing the wrapping off a birthday present and being surprised by a diamond ring inside.

“And when I mean large,” She goes on to describe. “I’m talking about large both in length as well as girth, able to easily penetrate the full length into any female, essentially the equivalent of a double-D size male.”

I hardly hear the rest of what she has to say. I remain in shock. My mouth probably stays open as well. Her words about a “double-D sized male” strike me particularly hard, like someone giving me a slap across the face. I never realized there could be such a variety between males, not down there, and then I naturally wonder what dimensions a male would have to measure to achieve a double-D rating.

It takes several seconds to bring myself back down to reality. I attempt to get hold of myself, rest my feet back upon solid ground, even close my mouth back up and not look so intensely interested. I realize I must resemble some wanton slut, like some oversexed young woman at her first bachelorette party. That’s certainly how I feel, and then I hope my husband hasn’t notice.

From the person sitting in the chair beside me, I can tell he has a hard time believing it too. I hear him stir. He looks uncomfortable, and well he should be. Any husband would naturally be very much disturbed by what the doctor just said. When he eventually does speak, it comes out as a convoluted “Well, um.” A rare loss for words for him! It appears he has a hard time believing it as well.

“We have several natural inseminators who would be more than capable of helping in this regard,” Doctor Palin continues as if having given the same speech a thousand times before and accustomed to getting the same reaction from every married couple she has ever told. “Perhaps if I could introduce you to one of them, then give you time to think about it?” She suggests.

Although I hear her question, I cannot answer. My brain remains locked on the first part of her conclusion. “Double D sized males,” I keep thinking to myself. And then what she said about girth as well as depth. The words resonate inside me like a cymbal, echoing back and forth within the limited confines of my head. They pull for my attention, pulling me out of the room and far away from her offer.

“Just hold on!” My husband recovers before me. “Natural inseminators? What exactly do you mean by this?”

I wonder too, although I already know. I know exactly what she means because my husband explained it to me. I had a difficult time believing him at first, a difficult time believing such a clinic might actually exist, but it was part of the reason why I agreed to come along.

“I’m talking about males,” Doctor Palin answers simply. “We’re discussing the possibility of human males impregnating your wife! Isn’t that why you are here?”

Having it confirmed makes my heart jump. Actual human males, other than my husband to aid in my pregnancy. The thought delights me. It delighted me right after my husband first mentioned it — after I got over the initial shock, that is. It brought further delight when I saw the handsome young male receptionist behind the desk when we first walked in, and then the two male nurses who assisted with the other patients. All were tall, dark, handsome, and with enough muscles to play quarterback for a college football team. In fact, they all looked like they were still in college.

“Well, yes, of course!” My husband answers with some difficulty, like he is in a trap, trapped by his own words. “It’s just that, until now…”

“Are you saying this bothers you?” Doctor Palin questions. “If it does, then perhaps you shouldn’t be here, but I did explain it to you over the phone. I clearly explained the procedure is totally natural. It will require your wife to be impregnated by natural methods.”

“Of course,” My husband nods.

“And the only natural method of impregnation is through sexual intercourse,” She goes on to explain it even more directly. “Our procedure will require your wife to be, as they like to say on the street, to be fucked by another man.”

Her use of the word makes me jump. Hearing it come from a doctor, a professional makes it no less so. Whoever says it, the word carries precisely the same meaning.

“Sorry for being so direct,” The Doctor apologizes before either of us have a chance to object. “But that is what the general populous most commonly calls it: fucking. For your wife to get pregnant by natural means, she will have to be fucked by another man.”

Again she uses the word, and then yet again, and she’s right! For me to get pregnant, I will have to be fucked. My imagination instantly leaps to the receptionist and then to the handsome young men I already encountered. A split second later I recall her words about size. The thought makes my eyes go wide. My body stiffens in the chair.

“If you have a problem with this, I suggest you leave right now before you waste any more of my valuable time,” Doctor Palin speaks through my disturbing yet very pleasant thoughts. Her tone turns more serious, almost condescending to my husband. The folder before is tossed aside. She pushes her chair back away from her desk and starts to get up.

“I never said I wouldn’t consider it!” My husband holds his own. He raises the palms of his hands like a fighter defending himself from a possible right hook. “It’s just that I’m thinking more of my wife. She needs time to consider it. We both do.”

Doctor Palin stops in mid-rise. She is hunched over at her desk, with her hands on the arm rests, caught half-way between sitting and standing. Leaning forward, her blouse opens and displays the upper portion of her breasts, a fact my husband must certainly notice.

“Perhaps I misunderstood you,” She pauses several seconds more before sitting back down. “You’ll have to excuse me,” She apologizes. “It’s just that I encounter a large number of insecure men in my line of work, men who are not strong enough in their relationships with their wives to appreciate a perfectly viable medical procedure.”

My husband sits up proudly in his chair as if to announce his own security.

“They somehow feel intimidated, even insulted by the idea of their wives undergoing a treatment where the male sperm is ejected by totally natural methods into their wife. I dare say, some can’t help but have some ridiculous assertion that their wives are cheating on them, like they are having an extramarital affair,” She proposes the idea and then laughs at it. “I mean an extramarital affair! Really! Over a medical procedure? And in this day and age! Such men remind me of cave dwelling Neanderthals.”

My husband laughs along with her. So do I. I can’t help it. The laughter is contagious. It does make some men sound barbaric, yet at the same time…

At the same time, I can’t help but feel excited by it. One of her words in particular wedges itself in my mind: “eject.” Yes indeed, another man will need to eject for the procedure to work. Eject, that is, in the form of an ejaculation. He won’t be wearing a rubber, of course, because that would negate the whole purpose of the procedure. He will have to insert himself into me in the bare, raw, with nothing to get in the way of me feeling every inch of him. I’m sure he won’t be wearing anything else either, the thought of which sends a pleasurable wave of ecstasy through my body.

“I hope you see the point I am trying to make,” Doctor Palin addresses my husband directly.

“Oh, I do!” He agrees.

“And can I assume you are not one of those types of men?”

“I am not,” He assures her with confidence.

“Good then,” The smile on her face returns. She picks our file back up from the side of her desk. “The next step in the procedure is to introduce you to one of our professional inseminators, if you wish?” She asks and then lets the question hang in mid-air like bait from a fishing hook.

My husband looks at me.

I look back between him and the doctor. We both know what this means. It means she wants to introduce me to one of the men who might be inseminating me, that is, to one of the men who very possibly will be fucking my brains out. I can’t wait to find out what he looks like, how handsome he might be, his age, height, and everything else about him.

“I guess that would be the logical next step,” My husband concludes as my mind swirls with delight. “If you are still willing to go on with it?” He looks at me to question.

I nod my head, trying not to nod it too violently. “As long as we drove all the way hear and took the time off from work,” I attempt to sound disinterested. “We might as well.”

Doctor Palin immediately picks up her phone and asks the person on the other end to send “Jason” into the office. She says his name only after giving me a careful look over. It is as if she tries to guess my interest, check which type of man I will find most stimulating. Tall or short? Blond or brunette? Muscular or skinny? I find myself waiting with anxious anticipation for whomever she selected.

“You’ll like Jason,” She assures me after she hangs up. “Very professional. Rather creative, although he can be a bit rough.”

Her warning comes in little more than a whisper. She places her hand on the side of her mouth to direct her words only to me. They intrigue me: first creative and then rough. I wonder if she refers to sex, the act of sexual intercourse. Creative and rough would be interesting. I wonder how rough he might be.

“What was that?” My husband wants to know. Although he sits right beside me, he apparently didn’t hear. Or perhaps he did hear but refused to listen.

“Nothing,” Doctor Palin assures him. “Perhaps your wife will explain after she completes the procedure.”

Just then he walks in. I gasp at the sight. All my reservations evaporate as soon as I see him. A handsome man, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only sweat pants. His chest appears like a fine sculpture. His face handsome and proud. He walks in through the back door of her office and stands up along side the desk of the doctor.

“This is Jason,” Doctor Palin introduces. “He’s one of the inseminators here at the clinic.”

“Wait a minute,” My husband immediately rejects. He sees it too, I can tell. The fine lines, the bulging muscles. Perhaps he notices the interest in my eyes too, my attraction to this stranger. I can’t be sure, but fear I may have let out an audible gasp.

“What’s wrong?” I feign disinterest and ask my husband in an attempt to discharge any damage I may have already done.

“Is there a problem?” Doctor Palin asks him the same question. “Isn’t he what you expected?”

My husband sits speechless, taking several seconds to answer. “His age!” He finally raises his first objection. The tone of his voice expresses worry.

Yes, there is his age too. I notice it as well! Jason looks young, very young, hardly of legal age. He could be ten years my junior. I have never been with a younger man; never even dated a man younger than myself, and this one looks young enough to be my son. The potential vitality and energy of such a young man intrigues me.

“What did you expect, a fifty-year-old man?” Doctor Palin almost laughs at him. “The clinic wishes to provide the best possible chance for your wife to achieve a successful pregnancy,” She speaks as if it should be obvious to him. “Don’t you want to give your wife the maximum possible chance?”

“Well, yes,” My husband stupidly agrees.

“Then we naturally need to utilize young men,” Doctor Palin concludes for him. “Young men have more energy, more vitality. They can perform the procedure for longer periods of time, and can recover more quickly between procedures.”

He certainly does look young and with great energy. I wonder how young. Early twenties, at the most. He might only be eighteen or nineteen.

“If this bothers you,” The Doctor repeats the same argument from only a few minutes before. “Then perhaps the procedure is not right for you. You need to remember we will be conducting a medical procedure here. It is not as if your wife will be having an illicit affair with this young man.”

Her suggestion sounds stimulating: An illicit affair! I wouldn’t mind having an affair, at least in my imagination. I imagine meeting Jason at the table in the restaurant where I work. He could be a young man on a long business trip. We would get to talking, get to know each other, and then I could let him take me to his hotel room next door. My husband would never know. He couldn’t imagine me capable of such mischievous behavior.

“I know! I know!” My husband weakly accepts. “I guess I was just surprised at his age.”

“Then I should probably also warn you, as long as we are on the subject,” The Doctor continues as if she never heard him. “Although Jason will technically be conducting a medical procedure on your wife, he will also be providing her with a certain amount of pleasure and enjoyment. This is part of the experience, as you should already know, so I should only be telling you the obvious.”

“Well, yes,” My husband accepts with hesitance.

I take a hard swallow and accept it too. It is the main reason I agreed to come in for the appointment. Looking at Jason, I believe I will be experiencing a large amount of pleasure. I am sure to enjoy myself.

“And can I assume this will not bother you?” Doctor Palin asks more directly. “I need to make sure neither your marriage nor male ego will not be affected by your wife receiving an orgasm from another man.”

She does it again, using another word. I think of the few times I’ve had an orgasm, and then think what it will feel like to receive one from Jason. He certainly will be able to give it to me a lot easier than my husband. I wonder how easy. I want to know how hard I will cum.

“Well, um,” My husband can hardly speak. “I don’t believe so, but I still need to do some thinking about that part of it.”

“Think about it carefully,” Doctor Palin suggests. “Because with Jason, I can guarantee your wife will have an orgasm every time.”

Her words make me jump. “Every time?” I want to ask. “Can he really be that good?” I ask to myself. I’ve heard some men were better than others — heard it mostly from my girlfriends. I never experienced it first hand, but heard it took some men a lot longer than others. They were able to hold back, prevent their release until their partner was satisfied. My husband was never capable of this, but I wonder about Jason.

And then I think further about her words. “Every time?” The words continue to echo in my head. She makes it sound like there will be more than one time. Not a quick one-night stand, but I dare to think of the possibility of multiple opportunities with Jason!

“I’ll think about it,” My husband eventually agrees. It takes him time to agree. I can tell he already thinks about it, and it already bothers him. I must walk a fine line. I can’t appear too interested. I must hold my emotions in check; not let my true interest show. If I do, then there will be no chance. My husband will never agree to go along with it. He won’t agree with the procedure if he knows how truly aroused I am with it.

“We both need to think about it,” I look at him and agree, using every ounce of energy I have to sound disinterested, to show a poker face, act like Jason fucking me will be nothing more than a normal medical procedure. But each time I think of it, I can’t help but grow excited by it. The doctor said he was creative. She also mentioned he could be rough. Rough with Jason could mean a lot of things. I want to know what they are.

I also wonder about his size, and just then I notice it. My eyes naturally migrate down the length of his body when I think about his size, as if trying to imagine what he might look like without his sweatpants, and just then I focus right on it. I notice the bulge. Not at his waist, but a lot further down, which I find shocking. The bulge comes in the form of a cylinder, like a large tube trying to tent out from inside his pants. It looks as if he is starting to harden, and from the distance the bulge forms below his waist, he must be twice the length of my husband, perhaps three times.

I can’t help it. I begin to think further about it. My imagination turns more vivid. I think what it would feel like to experience Jason, to experience a cock of such large proportions. Thrusting, pounding, slamming in and out of me.

“Any other questions?” Doctor Palin interrupts these pleasant thoughts with the squeak of her chair when she pushes it out from her desk. She looks as if she has another appointment.

I wish to leave too. I am not sure how much more I can take. I want to quick leave, get back into my own car to go to work, and then stop at the park to do about a five mile run. I wouldn’t really run five miles, but feel like I have enough spent up energy and emotion to do so. Being so near the young man who may possibly fuck me fills me with so much anticipation I can hardly stand it.

“Just one question,” My husband surprises me. “It’s something you mentioned just now, about every time?”

The doctor looks back confused.

So am I. I already stand half out of my chair, but then sit back down.

“You made it sound like there will be more than one time,” My husband explains with some difficulty. “It sounds like Jason might be conducting the procedure on her more than once.”

“Of course he will,” The doctor almost laughs at this. “You can’t expect a successful pregnancy after just one attempt. We must increase the odds.”

One more time my eyes practically pop out of their sockets. This time I know my mouth hangs open wide, so I quick look away from my husband to keep him from seeing.

“The procedure will last a total of three weeks,” The doctor already stands and gets ready to go. “For three weeks straight, twice per day, one of my males will need to penetrate your wife to achieve maximum benefit.”

I can hardly believe the words I hear. Three week? Twice per day? I quickly run through the numbers and calculate how many times Jason will be fucking me. Not just once, but a whole 42 times in all! And twice per day too! I’ve never before been fucked more than once per day.

“The procedure is usually done here at the clinic,” More words follow but I hardly hear them. “But special arrangements can be made for Jason to come to your residence if it works out to everyone’s mutual benefit. It need not necessarily be done in the evening either, but special arrangements can be made for practically any time of day. All your wife needs is two free hours for the procedure to be conducted.”

“Two hours!” I want to scream it out. “Are you serious?” I want to ask but keep it to myself. Two whole hours with Jason! Two hours per day of Jason fucking me! I can hardly believe it. I don’t think I will be able to stand it. Never has my husband lasted even a half-hour, and to experience it two times per day for three weeks straight!

– To be continued… –