Ennui Ch. 03

'Soon' is a relative term. I am in there for thirty-five minutes. I sit on the edge of the examination table. It has a roll of sanitary paper, but the paper is very narrow and is only pulled to cover about 1/3rd the length of the table, and the upholstery has one small hole with white stuffing bursting out. My legs dangle. The walls are so thin that I hear all manner of other patients' complaints and procedures as I wait. One woman with a toothache is moaning loudly. Doors opening and closing. The entire time, a feeling of peace settles over me, like a heavy and warm blanket.

A woman's sweet voice of steadily increasing volume shouts, "...Yes, but thank God it's Friday."

"It's Thursday!" Comes the reply. That sounds like the receptionist.

The voice laughs, growing louder. "I know, I know. But a girl can dream, can't she?"

The 'can't she' is startlingly loud because she has pushed open my door. She's lovely. A woman in a white coat enters, carrying an electronic tablet--an old one. She holds a pen against it in her hand, and sets them both on the table. Her blonde hair is mostly tied in a bun, but many strands straggle free. She's wonderfully bedraggled, not at all plastic or constructed or painted. And really pretty. Though with some minor flaws; a few lines in her face, a slight crook near the tip of her nose. I adore it all. I somehow feel like she's the first real woman I've seen this close in two years. A rush flows over me.

"So, Mr...."

"Pardot," I say. "Liam."

She grins, shakes my hand. She leans both hands on the back of the chair before the examination table. "I'm Amelia. Liam, do you mind if I take a load off? My dogs are barking."

"No, not at all."

She smiles and plops down heavily in the chair. "I may stall in here a bit, so Sharon takes my next time slot. How's that sound?" She blows a straggled strand of hair that has fallen across her eyes.

I am delighted. She's quite pretty, about exactly my age, I guess. A bit worn but not careworn. Her body, vaguely under the white coat, seems quite curvy and sweet.

"So, what seems to be the problem?" She says, as she searches her pockets. "Damn, lost my stylus."

"Problem?" I say.

"What's your complaint? Janice—our receptionist—left the entry blank." She smirks at me. "She often does that. Sometimes I don't even know why we have these things--" she waggles the tablet. "They don't work half the time, and delete anything I enter half the time, and—" she peeks into her labcoat pocket "—I lose my stylus half the time." She glances up. "Was that too many halves?" She smiles. "By the way, I didn't say any of that, if the manager asks. Our records are perfect. We never mishandle patient information."

"Sure, sure." I grin. I cannot articulate my inner joy. I have not met a real person—had a real conversation with a real person—in perhaps years. That she should be so thoroughly attractive and charming just was the icing that left me spinning.

"So—I'll use my finger—" she taps the screen, delicately swiping. "See, right here—" she points at the screen "—no entry. No birthdate, no complaint, no gender—" she points at me "—clearly male. Janice typed Liam Pardo—wait, should there be a 'T' at the end? --then no information whatsoever. *That's* why we pay Janice the big bucks, you see. Okay, so you'll have to just tell me your complaint."

"My complaint?"

"Yes. Sniffles? Fever? Abdominal ache? Twisted ankle?" She grins. "All I hear are complaints. Tinnitus, muscle ache. Genital itch. All day long. Not mine, I mean. Not today, anyway." She laughs. "Back spasm. Vertigo. Chest pains—if it's that one, tell me now--" her eyes rotate to me, waiting for a response.

"No." I shake my head.

"Good. Ear wax, ingrown toenail, those are examples of what I mean by complaint--Nurse LaVigne, complaint receptacle, at your service."

"Wait, you're a nurse?"

"Yes, of course." She squints at me. "Do you not know where you are? Cause that would actually be an interesting complaint. Nice change of pace, our psych consult doctor is kinda cute. I might *have* to call him to stop by to look at you. While I look at him."

I laugh. "No, I know where I am."

"Darn." She laughs. "I mean *good*. So you live around here?"

"Not really, I'm up in Oakmont."

"Ooooh, ritzy." She swipes, trying to get the pad reloaded. "Damn this thing. What kind of work do you do?"

"Um... I'm—I used to manage a financial retail branch."

"Like a bank?"

"Well—no—more like payday loans, rent-to-own."

"Ugh, we do some of that here."

"—but now I'm... unemployed."

"Oh." She sits more upright. "Oh. You are, I see. Oh. Well, um, did—did Janice happen to ask for your insurance card like she's supposed to?"

"No."

"Uh oh. Do you have one with you?"

"Um... no?"

She sighs. "Listen Liam, I am going to treat whatever I can today, since you're in the door, I promise you that. But Janice was supposed to collect a either insurance info or a prepayment--did you pre-pay?"

I shake my head.

"Ah Janice. If we didn't love her so much, we'd hate her. So. Let's try to get you completely fixed up today, because if you need a follow-up, they'll probably require payment next time. But don't you worry. I'm a quick healer. And if you stiff my boss, I still get paid, so I can get all Hippocratic oath up on you anyway. Oh—have you seen that new show about the child doctor genius?"

I nod. I've seen all the shows. Soon, we are chatting about last week's episode.

She laughs. "I'm *so* taking advantage of you, Liam. Hiding in here so I can avoid more patients. We're like slaves to the clock. It's so rare that I get to spend time and chat with someone young and healthy and attractive--" the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

She laughs. "—well, except the pediatric patients, who are young, but certainly not attractive. And not very healthy; we get sneezed on a lot. But it is a joy to talk to you." She actually squeezes my hand. My heart is racing.

"But enough preamble." She takes the stethoscope from her neck and lays it on the table. "What exactly can I do for you?"

"Er—well—the sign outside said... I signed in as, er, for donation."

"Hmm?" her eyebrow furls.

"Gamete donation," I say.

"Oh!" Amelia bolts to her feet. "I—I thought you were a health clinic patient. Sorry, sorry, for the confusion. Argh—Janice did this! Let me—let me send in Carla for you."

"Carla?"

"Yes, she handles all our gamete work. Really, she's her own business, but she kind of rents space here. But my boss is part-owner of her operation, too."

"Oh." I feel utterly deflated. "So you don't—"

"No, no. No, no, no, no. I mean—sorry—what Carla does is very important, critical work. It's just... not my cup of tea. Although—" she grins "--if *anyone* would convince me to try it—it'd be someone like you, Liam. You're frankly a hottie. But that won't happen. My—" She pauses. "I can't, for personal reasons. It's—it's not my style, not my career path. Not that there's anything wrong with it. I'm grateful, like all citizens, for what Carla does."

I can feel an erection growing. The utter cussedness of my genitals—rising *now*? I try to will it down, so of course it does the opposite. I'm sitting on the edge of an elevated examination table, so my pants pop up right there between us.

She glances down. "Okay, I better get going, I'll send Carla right in." She turns.

"Wait," I say. "Who—who is Carla, what is she like?"

"She's great, great. Um, very, um, pretty. I should go get her—" she steps to the door.

"Wait, wait, please," I say.

She pauses with her hand on the handle and looks over her shoulder.

I grasp for something to say. Anything. "Er, um... Didn't you say you wanted to lay low in here? Stay and talk for another minute, please."

After a moment's hesitation, she shrugs. "You know, Liam—" she sits again "--actually, I have always been so curious about people like you, our earth's saviors."

"Please don't call me that."

She laughs. "Sure, sure. I never get a chance to talk to er, donors—they get whisked into Carla's lair, with all its sinister equipment--"

I laugh. "It's hardly sinister."

"--and you're so easy to talk to—do, do you mind if I ask..."

"No, not at all. Anything. What do you want to know?"

"How—how do people like you feel about... all this?" She waves generally around, indicating perhaps the universe in entirety.

"All this?"

"About... the fate of the world being in your hands. Er—in our hands—" she laughs "—in your genitals in Carla's hands?"

"I... guess I've gotten used to it. Though, to be honest, I miss my old life."

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait—is *that* why you're unemployed? Do you live off your gamete sales?"

I nod.

She laughs. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm so sorry for assuming you were a vagabond. A hobo. A freeloader." She giggles. "A neer-do-well miscreant pauper parasite upon society. Wow. How wrong I was. You're a man of leisure then. So, *it*--" her eyes glance down "—actually makes enough for you to pay your bills, with no other income?"

"Yes."

She smiles. "That's crazy. I mean—it must be nice—but..."

"But what?"

"But what a weird way to make money. No offense, Liam, but doesn't it seem weird to you?"

"Yes, of course, it's the weirdest thing ever; no offence taken. But... they say it's my duty."

"It really is. That's true. It really is. We are *all* counting on you. But what a fucked-up duty to give someone. I... feel sorry for you. But thankful also."

"Well, I'm well compensated."

"I suppose so." She laughs. "Well, I've really enjoyed talking to you."

"Me too—don't go yet, please--you—you should be a therapist, I think. You're so easy to talk to."

She nods in excitement. "Thank you! Yes! That's my dream, actually. I've been taking night training classes. I love people, I feel such empathy and a wish to help them."

"That'd be perfect for you."

"I always imagine my own clinic—I always want to be honest with people, as I treat them. I can't stand anything fake, ever. All forms of fakeness make my skin crawl."

I love her. In case you're keeping track, this is the moment I know. "Me too. But so no more nursing?"

She shrugs. "It's still helping patients, but I can get off my feet all day. Not to wear rubber gloves would be a joy—fewer fingers in infected cavities will be nice. The smells will be better."

I laugh.

"But my classes are on pause right now. I took a second job at night—times are tight. Could take a few more years to get my degree. Three, I hope—God, I hope--rather than seven—ugh."

And once again we were off chatting, though now with both of us ignoring the erection popping up between us. I felt myself trying to rush to fill any pause in conversation, trying not to let her leave. We talk for an unknown length of time, minute after minute; by the end I am just drinking in the sound of her voice, watching her lips move. I adore her.

"Well, Liam, I should really fetch Carla. Sometimes she leaves around this time."

"Is—is there any chance..." I trailed off as I felt my face redden.

Her eyebrows lower. "Of what?"

"Of *not* fetching Carla for this?"

She says, sternly, "Liam, are you asking me to touch your erection?"

"No!" I lean backwards with a jerk. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She breaks into a smile. "I'm just giving you a hard time." Her eyes flick down to my yet-still-tented pants. "I'm just breaking your balls. I'm just yanking your... chain. No, Liam, I'm sorry I can't make your day that way, though I might even want to. It's just not a direction I want to take my career for... for a lot of reasons. Look, you will like Carla. And—and—" she hesitates, smirking, and looks me dead in the eye. "You can think about me, while you're with her, if you like."

I am drowning in desire. I want to fuck her personality. (And her body.)

She stands, enjoying the look on my face, her breasts before me. She lifts my chin with her finger. "Will you?"

"Hmm?"

"Think about me?"

"Oh God, yes."

She grins. "I really think you will. Liam, you've made my day. Plus, I feel I've done my little part to save the planet. Keep those androgens flowing." She spins and walks toward the door. "I'll send Carla in."

"Will I see you again?"

She grins so widely. "You're sweet. And cute. I'll check in after Carla's done." She laughs. "When you're calmer. We'll see if you still want to flirt with me then. That's the acid test of a relationship." We both laugh.

A few minutes later Amelia enters again.

"They are trying to call Carla," she says as the door closes behind her.

"She's not here? Where is she?"

"We're... not sure. Maybe she went home, but she's not answering there. Maybe a late lunch? But I'm pretty sure I saw her eat at her desk earlier. My—my boss is losing his mind out there."

"What? What do you mean?"

"He typed your name into some app, and he went completely off the deep end. He can be kinda intense—I actually hate him—but I have never seen him like today."

I sighed. "It's probably because of my FC."

"Really? What is it? If—if you don't mind me asking."

I hesitate. Because I *do* mind her asking. I don't mind anyone else in the world asking, but I do not want to tell Amelia. I know the way it will change our relationship, instantly.

"If you don't want to say—I'm sorry for prying."

"No, no, it's fine. Amelia, I just—hate the way people react."

"Oh my God, why, is it really high?" She freezes, then laughs. "Sheesh, listen to me—is that what you mean by you hate how people react? Sorry, sorry, I'm pathetic. I'm just curious, because you seem like such a normal, sweet guy. My cousin has a friend whose roommate turned out to be a 0.13. No shit. He turned, like, instantly, into a total dick. He thought every girl in the world existed only to arouse and handle his magical cock. Talk about God's gift. So there's no way you're that high? Like a 0.13? I swear to God, numbers like that just ruin a person, I think. Did you know that lottery winners have historically had the highest rates of suicide? I swear, it's a curse, not a blessing. Humans are just not wired for that kind of pampered existence: no toil, no concerns, no hardship. No prehistoric human ever lived like that, so the ability to cope with it never evolved. We're shaped to a different purpose than that kind of ennui."

"I—I agree with you entirely. To the last word. I—I'd rather not say my FC number. But of course, you can look it up. Later, maybe. There's an app you can install."

"Well, Liam, I'm happy for you, but I know it's not as easy as people imagine." She squeezes my hand. I resist the urge to squeeze and hold her here, keep her from leaving. I never want her to leave.

"Try to make the best of it," she says. "I'll go help look for Carla. My boss has made it clear it's our only priority—he had Janice cancel everything, all patients of all kinds, for the rest of the day. I've never seen him like this; he's practically quivering. In excitement or... rage? It's never easy to tell with him. Hey—there's something to cheer you up. Don't ever forget that the fact you don't have to deal with a horrible boss is a great gift to be thankful for every day. Anyway, good luck, Liam. If we don't chat later, it was really nice getting to know you. Come see me if you ever twist an ankle."

"I will! I will!"

She laughs. "You will twist an ankle?"

I laugh. "God, I hope so."

"*So* sweet." Then, she shocks me, because she kisses me on the cheek. She smirks. "Don't report me for that."

"Never," I say.

"Bye." And she walks out of my life.

Twenty minutes later, I am tapping my foot. I now want to leave. The place has lost all its charm, all its real-world magic, that pleasant sense of peace. The tension reportedly in management now pervades me also; no longer so different than Baumgartner. But, most of all, it has lost Amelia.

Nevertheless, I am feeling quite pent-up, having been pre-stimulated so many times today, each time the release postponed. I feel like waiting for Carla is just about equal to releasing myself in the limo. Might as well have a new experience instead the old one, I feel... but just barely. Five more minutes and I'll just head out.

The door pushes open. My head jerks up to see what Carla looks like. Not to sound too shallow, but—it still matters. To my great surprise, it's not Carla. It's Amelia. She looks shaken, and all her joviality is gone.

"Amelia? Are you okay? Where's Carla?"

She smiles at me weakly. She exhales and sits. "I am going to be managing your appointment today."

"What! But you said—"

She shakes her head slowly. "We can't find Carla. My boss is—er—beyond insistent that you be given proper and prompt service."

"Let me talk to him."

She shakes her head again. "No, Liam. Honestly, I think he's too scared to talk to you. He's behaving very strangely. Janice was watching him, and now *she's* scared to talk to you. So, they sent me in. said we've established a rapport."

"Which we have."

She nods, sadly.

I am *so* conflicted. I say, "Amelia, I can tell that you don't want to."

She shakes her head. "That's not true. Not entirely true. I—I do care about humanity. This is important work; I've always known that. I've always respected those that do it. I'm gathering your FC must be pretty high, so this is not a small thing." She sighs. "The truth is, it's my asshole boss; he said do this or lose my job—I cannot afford to lose my job."

"Oh, God, Amelia, I'm sorry—"

"But, no, no. In a sense, it's my duty. *Someone* has to do it; it's a bit arrogant of me to feel it should never, ever be me."

"But—but, I can tell you don't want to, that—that will ruin it for me. You can tell your boss I said that. I won't be able to get aroused."

To my great surprise, she snorts. I'm startled and delighted to see a half-smile. "Oh yeah?" She looks at me. "What's that, then?"

We glance down. I'm raging, raging hard. My tip tents the pants absurdly. I feel my face flush in embarrassment.

She says, "I'm nurse, I have medical training, and I can positively identify *that*--" she points "--effect. It happens when boys feel a certain way." She laughs. "I used to guest-teach Family Ed classes at the local middle school, so I know."

I laugh and the boner bounces. Just being her, this close, with *her*, acknowledging my dick makes me start to lose my mind.

"That's—well—that's pretty extreme turgidity. *Raging*, one might say." She glances up at my eyes. "I seem to have your number, as it were."

She sure fucking did. I have never, ever, in my life been more aroused by the presence of a woman. My pants were getting soaked; a rapidly-growing wet spot as I pulsed and oozed and dripped. She was so authentic, so real. The idea of spending time with her, in any way, was more than I could ever want. To have her...in sexual contact with me seemed... an impossibility. An absurd fantasy of a dream of a wish. Someone so desirable and so... unattainable. As the reality came over me that it might actually... *happen*, I kind of melted down.

Her posture is now much easier. She chuckles. "So then I guess by your expression that you're consenting to this procedure?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes."

She chuckles again. "Oh my God, look at you. Liam, you—you are making this so much easier for me, I mean that. God, if it were a patient—a dickhead like my cousin's friend, I'd rather go homeless, honestly."

She exhales. "Well, I think we'll get you moved over to Carla's patient room—all the equipment is over there. But first—" she hesitates, exhaling "—yes. Let's take a look. This part, at least, is completely normal nurse workaday. I probably examine five penises a day. So why not yours? Will you please stand up and push your pants down?"

She sits on the padded rolling examination stool, pushing with her feel to roll her up to me. As my erection pops out before her face, she is turned to the side, pulling rubber gloves from a box on the counter beside her. She holds one glove by the rim, working her fingers of the other hand, when suddenly she stops. "Oh God." She sinks her forehead into her fingers, shaking her head and laughing softly. "What am I doing?"