Brooklyn Swap Meat

Women outnumber men three to one in some NYC neighborhoods. Of course, Hell's Kitchen and Greenwich Village are full of men, but they are all gay. Part of the reason is that women exceed male college enrollment. Silently, they are taking over highly educated and professional positions. Manhattan has a very educated and professional workforce. The many years of study and long hours in the office keep them from starting families. That also keeps them somewhat out of shape and gives them a serious demeanor. Think of a finance VP or surgeon pulling 80+ hour weeks. She's not going to look as girly as a woman who spends her days on manicures and pilates while being silly.

Any given day when you look around on the subway, a common sight is an entire row - door to door - of women with one man in between. Of course, there'll be one college gal with fun boots, a tiny skirt, and nipple piercings showing through her no-bra crop top. There'll also be a fitness instructor in Alo yoga pants rock heart abs, arm definition that can make you cry for days, and such exciting, thrilling, and adoring makeup like she walked off a movie set. The majority will be in the middle of their career - sad-faced from grueling office politics, flabby everywhere from sitting in a chair all day, and demurely dressed to fit into office culture. They are good women, smart women, and responsible women - women who make a difference in this world with sometimes planet-size impact in their fields, but from a romantic dating prospect, they are not sexually alluring sirens.

When their oocytes near their expiration date, panic sets in. They try dating. They visit fertility doctors to discuss artificial insemination and egg freezing. Discreetly tucked away, expensive facilities promise high-end results while charging tens of thousands of dollars the way that a camel drinks water after crossing the Saharan desert. Of course, I had heard about women asking their friends and neighbors for sperm donation, often as a humorous comedy skit or a heartfelt story. However, then I got an invitation for a special kind of meetup.

Friday night, I had gone out with my deskmate Ankur from the trading desk. He's way more into drinking than I am. He's not even particularly close to me. I seem to pay much more mind to him than he does to me. However, he's also the kind of party animal who pulls anyone in sight to the next bar. So we had gone to an Irish bar that was very packed the bouncers kept pushing people back towards the tables so that the dance troupe would have space to do their performance in the center. Due to the bouncers pressing, I was squeezed between three people carefully holding my beer in front of my face so that I could take sips every minute or so to pass the boredom of being completely squeezed in, unable to move or talk to anyone.

After an hour of that, Ankur gathered the most drunk people and dragged us down the street to a fancy lounge. Someone in the group had a habit of dropping thousands of dollars there. So we walked right in and past the line. I wouldn't get into places like that. Everything was really fancy. Every piece of lighting was an artwork of a lamp. The couches were covered in luxurious satin. The women had deeply cut dresses with bare backs and flowing material that made them seem like thousand-dollar dresses. Guys were dressed conservatively and buying exotic-looking bottles for the tables like it was a game to get as many as possible. I ended up on a couch that made me sink in deeply - nearly impossible to get up out of, but I was fine with that. I liked being there and watching but didn't really know what to do.

This black scrawny fella with a fancy fedora hat was with me on the couch. He had one arm around me and was tapping me with the other arm on the chest. He seemed too old to still go out drinking. His body was too hard and sinewy to be a man of leisure. He seemed like a man of the nightlife, a professional socialite who only had his outfit as a personal asset and an enigmatic aura to pull people in and somehow profit from them. I'm sure that stories he could tell from his nightly debaucheries for decades were beyond my imagination. He kept talking to me about the surge and energy that was moving through a crowd. He probed to see if I reacted to girls by telling me about a stunningly hot girl who had a fetish for my kind while making a vague promise that he might introduce us if I motivated him enough. When I didn't bite, he kind of gave up and went to rambling about his day and how he was keeping in shape. His arm that didn't hug me was rubbing my chest and slapping my thighs.

When he had almost lost interest in me and was speaking without guard or aim to lure me into something, he mentioned some good folks out in Bushwick. They were running a humanitarian thing to help women find sperm donors without paying outrageous fees. Way out in Bushwick where the streets are so run down that nobody looks at what's happening, they are running a monthly meetup for sperm producers and eager oocyte owners to arrange what was needed to bring a new life to the planet. Those good folks were trying to keep it under the radar because they had no medical license and people exchanged the necessary baby materials on the spot in a natural way. Because he found it so funny, he blurted out the Instagram handle. Then he finally made up his mind that he needed to look for a spender to finance his night and left.

The Instagram account was full of adorable little bunnies - big full cheeks, floppy ears, curiously sniffing mouths. The front was perfect unless you knew what it was about you couldn't tell. I slipped into their DMs and asked about the next meetup. It was the next Wednesday. They gave me an address.

Next Wednesday, I dressed neatly after work. I polished my brown leather shoes with the aged color gradation. I pulled a neatly pressed vest over my office shirt. I slicked my brown hair back with the comb in the office restroom to get ready. I didn't really want a baby. However, I sensed the chance to get laid. Some gal would run off with my sperm, but I would never see her again. She'd probably be super happy about it. I was going to give it a go.

When the subway left Manhattan, it crossed the East River over the Williamsburg Bridge. The whole thing is rattling really loudly, but the view over the water onto the skyline on both sides always takes my breath. My spirit gets filled with awe. Seeing the tall, sleek skyscrapers lit up with beautiful lighting makes me imagine all the top-tier business, research, and development that happens all around here. I'm only a little speck among the see of chumps at the bottom of the hierarchy, but being so close to feeling the magic of the metropolitan at the center of the world in business, culture, and education... Wow! There I am I'm not a world-class chess champion or dancer. I can't afford the exclusive places, not even to look inside. We little specks are masses in this city, at the feet of the skyscrapers. We bond together to help each other. There is so much entrepreneurship that fills every crack of need that could be filled by someone eager to make a living and perhaps glory. A sperm trading party would fit right in. Where there were eager sperm wishers and sperm producers, someone would facilitate the transaction.

The subway disappeared into its underworld maze again on the other side of the bridge. The train on the Manhattan and Brooklyn side was always very different. On the Manhattan side, tourists and socialites constantly hopped on and off. On the Brooklyn side, serious-looking, poorer people were attached to their phones and set for long commutes to outlying neighborhoods that they could afford. The subway crowd thinned more and more, going from standing room only to where it's only a few of us left with lots of room to spread out. You almost feel like nodding to the other passenger as to say: "So buddy, I guess it's only us left." like at the end of a party when everyone is gone. But you know that you are in NYC, everyone keeps to themselves with steely resolve.

When I got out at my stop, the platform was empty. The tunnel to get out was enormous as if it were built for giant crowds, but not even a homeless person was there. The only thing there was dirt and grime that had bitten so hard into the pavement and walls that no amount of scrubbing could remove it. Pieces of the wall and pillars had crumbled off decades ago. When I made it to the surface a black, moonless night welcomed me. The street was already empty. The only stores were $5 pantyhoses, 99-cent pizza, and a two-for-one special offer tire store. The sidewalk was filled with garbage, not the daily garbage pickup of Manhattan but blite of accumulation from weeks without street cleaning. Cheap beater cars with pimped-out tires were parked on the street. Graffiti was everywhere, nothing recognizable, simply people emptying stolen cans on anything they could find.

I pressed on into the darkness of the night, watching my surroundings. Google Maps led me to a single story building next to an empty lot with hip-high weeds and a police flood light shining down onto it to discourage illicit activity on it. I rang the doorbell. An obese woman opened the door. Her clothes were worn out. She seemed like the kind of activist who is entirely devoted to her cause, neglecting everything else. All she said was: "Downstairs!"

I followed the narrow, steep stairs down into the basement, carefully ducking my head back to avoid hitting the ceiling. The light was really dim. Everything had the feel of an underground club. The walls and floor were painted black. The light was only enough to make your way around. Every step and every patch of wall had a crack, a rip, and a dimple. The basement was the size of a medium bar, not a single chair or item of furniture - only some bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling with low wattage.

Everyone was dressed neatly. Everyone stood by themselves. Their faces were closed off. There was no conversation. That's your typical New Yorker. I found a spot to stand. I looked around. What I could see in the bare light were professionals in their thirties and forties - dressed in nice and fresh office clothing. There wasn't a single smile or frown - bleak, stoned, emotionless faces all around. As more people came down the stairs, we all shuffled closer to each other, while never touching anyone in the least. That's just how we've been trained on the subway and the streets.

The clock struck 8 PM. I expected an organizer to welcome us. The energy of the crowd got a bit more tense and aware as if everyone else were getting ready as well. However, the woman from upstairs didn't appear downstairs. Nobody else looked like an organizer. Everyone had too eager eyes looking around to make sense of what was going on to appear like an organizer. I checked out the women. There wasn't a single stunner - none I would want for a girlfriend, but I would definitely have sex with most of them. The pleasure of sex is simply too large. And each one had some nice attribute, like a cute butt in a dress but a scary face, gorgeous boobs but the look of a neurotic mess, or a doll face that you want to kiss all over but the appearance of someone too lazy to do anything.

After five minutes of anticipation, agitation and frustration started to spread through the crowd. A New Yorker can handle anything, but never mess with their patience. The tension grew so tacitly that it felt like any moment somebody was going to complain. Having dozens of people confined into a basement was a fire hazard as well. Where we being duped? Getting out of this basement would take a long time. The number of people between me and the staircase and the slowness of getting up that steep thing would have us bunched up down here for a long time.

"I'm taking this one," yelled out a big white woman. She was proportionate but had a serious heft to her body. She was rather tall as well. She had a domineering presence to her like a project manager at a big corporation who was used to pushing lots of people into the direction of her project plans. She had long brown hair with a simple haircut, frizz, and dried-out hair strands. She was wearing a very modest knee-length skirt and office blouse. Her breasts were large to match her general fat level. Somewhere you could see the hint of a young girl in her face that faded away into a serious woman.

She was holding an Irish bloke with red hair by the wrist. The guy was medium tall. His body was average. Everything about him was average, but it seemed to me that the average, put-together had the allure of being a decent guy - someone who would match her. She wouldn't be able to keep up with an athlete or a socialite star. The guy had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but he held his ground steadfastly. He was perhaps only temporarily stunned but firm on the reason for being there.

The project manager woman pulled her panties down. She bent her knee one by one. Then she pulled her skirt up to her belly to expose her groin. The guy still didn't react. She unzipped his pants and pulled them down. His boner sprang out, standing up hard. The guy had been ready even if his face didn't display it at all. She pulled him closer. He embraced her. She guided his penis inside of her. He was a little shorter than him. She had to bend her knees. His hips started fucking her. She thundered at him - a little too loud to demonstrate to everyone else what they were about, but also a little raspy from the emotional intoxication of having a cock inside of her: "Give me your sperm!"

The room watched stunned. It dawned on me that the organizers couldn't appear to be involved to avoid criminal prostitution charges. They had to let any sperm trading happen organically while they stayed away, pretending ignorance. A big black woman realized that as well. Even more than realizing, her voice sounded like she was driven by desperation to be left with the least desirable guy. She had a huge butt and huge boobs, like some people find very attractive. The way she talked, she sounded like she was constantly pushy and demanding. With both arms, she grabbed a black guy with a bald head who had a nice set of muscular shoulders. The guy indeed had something suave about him and above-average beautiful body with a dash of elegance in the purple stitching of his clothes. She yelled, "That one's mine!"

The pushiness in her voice made everyone else panic that they'd miss out. The room broke out into a scattering of voices and rapid movements everywhere like a boiling cauldron. The women were rushing in desperation to claim their most desirable sperm donnor. An Asian lady around thirty, pretty short, small, and earlier timid appearing, was the most fierce. She didn't speak but she ripped so hard on the tall guy's pants that the button ripped off and flew into the darkness. The guy was dazed but also hard with a long spear. She threw off her own pants - not caring where they disappeared into the darkness on the floor. Because she was so much shorter, he lifted her up to fuck her with her legs wrapped around his hips.

Nobody picked me. The women were mostly having sex face to face, but some preferred to be taken from behind, facing away. People only removed clothing parts to have access. Some women had been smart to come with skirts and dresses. Others had to take off pants. I got little glimpses of bare butts, dicks, and groins, but the darkness and pressed space made it hard to see more. I mostly heard the fast slapping sounds, the moaning, and the cries of pleasure. And not a single voice speaking could hide the intoxication of pleasure. A very few women got on their hands and knees on the dirty floor because they couldn't fit the dicks in with a standing position.

The guys without women started taking their cocks out. They'd pick a couple to watch intently while they masturbated. I wondered if I should do the same? Masturbating in public is shameful. However, nobody could really recognize me in the darkness and everyone else was doing the same. My heart was pounding. I cautiously pulled my zipper down. I felt very aroused by the energy that was so thick and visceral around me. There was no soft lovemaking, but people went focus-driven like animals at it. I savored the experience.

A guy next to me came grunting and shaking into a latina with her her hair-sprayed into a big mane and lips painted deeply red. She pulled out his penis and glid her finger along it. "It's so wet," she exclaimed! Indeed, his hard, veined thing was glistening thick with juices, probably his sperm and her cunt juices. "Touch it," she demanded of me, holding the penis to me and then grabbing my hand to feel his penis. The guy was too dazed from his orgasm to be able to react. It was indeed very slick and thickly coated. The pride of the latina about it was intoxicating. I felt dazed myself.

"You are next!" she exclaimed and waddled with her panties on her ankles towards a masturbating Asian guy with a tie and a sports jacket. "One of you is going to get me pregnant!"

It became clear as the first women got her guys to shoot their sperm into their bellies that they were going for seconds. Their strategy seemed to be to get multiple sperm donations from different guys to increase the chances of getting pregnant. A white woman who looked like a receptionist because she seemed very well put together - a very polished presence - but also something dumb and unrefined about her - unlike the other women who seemed to have faces worn out by big responsibilities and exceedingly hard science challenges. She was wearing high heels and had her skirt pulled up to her belly. Her blond hair was beautifully treated with expensive balayage treatments. "I'm going to get one of every kind," she exclaimed - suggesting that she was going to go through all the races, playing the lottery to what kind of baby would pop out of her womb.

A bookwormish looking woman with spectacles and all gray clothing was being rammed by a black guy hard. Her glasses kept slipping around on her nose with the impact vibrations of the thrusts. She seemed out of her element with the vehemence with which she was taken, but she was determined to roll with the punches. She grabbed an Indian guy with a red turban next to me on the arm and yelled at him, "You are next!" The Indian guy was still humping an Indian woman from behind. The women laying their claims unabashedly spurred on the other women to more assertively claim the men that they wanted sperm from. I realized that men can come about seven times with a little refraction period in between and each one ejaculate contains sperm.

"You look like you have a good college degree," surprised me a woman from behind as she slid around my body to face me from the front. She was a little short. Her butt looked very square from the weight that it had accumulated. Her breasts had been sagging down for a few years. I wasn't sure if I wanted her top to show so much of that cleavage or rather hide it. Yet the promise of sex overcame any hesitation that I may have had. She was already walking around bare-bottomed. With my dick already out, it took her ten seconds to slip it inside of her and start grinding on me, which I of course instantly replied to with thrusts. My hands pulled her closer to get more leverage. The sensation of her body pressing against mine was so delicious. I forgot that I found her ugly. Her pussy was indeed very slippery. I realized that I was stirring someone else's cum around, but it felt so good. I didn't want to stop.

Finally, I was part of the mass of bodies having sex. I felt so liberated from being an outcast to being one of them. It didn't take much effort on my part. It simply happened. The eagerness of the women made it happen. A guy next to me whispered into my ear, "Damn is she hot! You lucky dog! Those green eyes are like jewels!", while he was masturbating and watching us. I looked her into the face. She looked up questioning like to ask what was wrong. Her eyes were indeed beautifully green, like emeralds, completely tantalizing. The combination of having sex and getting lost in those beautiful eyes made me feel like I was falling in love. My heart was definitely moved. Yet I also felt weird about the guy masturbating next to me. And at that point, I realized that all of our sexual energies were so interwoven that we couldn't control anything anymore. We had to let go and surrender to all the sounds, sights, and smells stirring up lurid emotions in all of us.