Fertility Clinic Pt. 01

The Western Avenue Fertility Clinic:

PT 1: THE INTERN

Moving around the examination room naked to keep from shivering, I studied the anatomical illustrations on the wall. "Ms Warbler," Nurse Rhonda Chafer, a tall, broad shouldered woman in scrubs filled the doorway, "Doctor, will be with you presently." When I pointed to the bundle of clothes in her hands, she assured me, "your clothes will be returned at the end of your tour of the facility."

Clothes removed for a perfunctory examination by the nurse, I now awaited Dr Velour, the operator of a fertility clinic. I had applied for an internship to complete coursework for my degree in Industrial Psychology.

The hard - boiled female nurse arms cradling the bundle of my underwear, pull-over sweater, jeans and shoes apologized for leaving me, "in an unclothed condition." She took a breath. "Ms Warbler, unfortunately, we're short on those disposable hospital gowns at the moment. They're reserved for patients. Try to make yourself," she paused with as smirk, "as comfortable as possible."

I chuckled, "I was sent here as a prospective intern for my college research paper in Industrial Psychology and end up politely plucked of my plumage and palpitating," I made light of my situation.

Once Nurse Chafer left the room, I studied the images on the wall which depicted a naked blond woman, smiling as she rubbed her belly through various stages of pregnancy designed to demonstrate the expanding belly and burgeoning breasts.

Instinctively, I turned around. A short woman youngish for a doctor, Eda Velour, smiling pleasantly, arms crossed over her lab coat, stood silently by observing me. "That's what we do here. We make women who can't or won't manage it the natural way for some reason or another, pregnant. Their reasons would make a fascinating study for your project. Wouldn't it?"

In my initial interview with Dr Velour before the physical, I had been advised, "The clinic has certain privacy and proprietary concerns," Dr Velour aggressively leaned forward to forcefully assert, "primarily to protect our clientele, but also to protect the business. Virile men, mostly young, college age, many just boys your age -- possibly you've seen them about the campus, come here to donate sperm; nubile women come here to be impregnated. You would have to sign a confidentiality agreement, like every employee. In your case, you must surrender editorial control over the contents of your paper."

Beginning her examination, Dr Velour read from her electronic notebook. "Amy Warbler, age 22, Female, Heterosexual, in a relationship, sex 3 -- 4 times a week," Dr Velour looked up, paused to shoot me an evil smile and snickered, "lucky girl. Birth control, preferred position woman on top," the Doctor raised her penciled -- in eyebrows noting, "position resolved by wrestling? You may take advantage of our gymnasium to limber up."

Gymnasium? I wondered. Where does Dr Velour hide it? From the street, the clinic appeared to be located in a simple store front.

"Yes," Dr Velour commented, "A hearty work out would do you good before you engage in your next round of the battle of the sexes with your partner."

"Good exercise, indeed!" I declared. The enthusiasm of my response drew a delayed reaction of momentary shock and amusement when I added, "Jerry likes a stiff challenge."

"You're here to study Industrial Psychology up close in a people intensive industry," Dr Velour, belatedly reacting to my double -- entend with a strained smile, noted.

"Like you said," I replied with a chuckle, "this business produces people. The women pay to get pregnant. Understanding their motivations could be an important factor in recruiting new business."

"Indeed," Dr Velour agreed. "Can I ask what interested you in performing your internship requirement through the Western Avenue Fertility Clinic?"

"Your Facility," I advised her, "is strategically located between my off -- campus apartment and the campus and within walking distance of both."

"Indeed, the role of convenience in making choices, even in the weighty matters of life, boils down to the old saw: location, location, location." Dr Velour shot me a pleasant smile. "Ok, Nurse Chafer took all the lab work and took your vitals," Dr Velour, looking down at her electronic notepad, reminded me, "Now, let's get to work. My style of internal examination is different from those you might have experienced." After a pause, Dr Velour ordered, "Turn around, feet apart, bend at the waist. Nurse lubricated your anal cavity to take a rectal temperature. Just to make things go smoothly," Dr Velour, a glistening smile sprouting, paused, "I'm going to do it again."

I sighed as I steeled myself to send my mind somewhere else. "Despite powerful hands," I, turning my back to the Doctor, recounted, "Nurse Chafer administered a gentle massage with considerable patience." I took a deep breath as my bare feet were gently pushed further apart by a gentle nudge from Dr Velour's sneakers.

I grunted as Dr Velour announced that "I am conducting a bimanual internal examination of the anal and vaginal cavities." Reflexively, I gasped as I bucked up against her penetrating thumb and fingers.

"I'm going to," Dr Velour, leaning over me, implanting her breasts into my back, advised, "palpate your lower abdomen for signs of ovarian, renal or intestinal abnormalities."

Hmm, my mind brought me to rolling on the floor with Jerry. When emerging on top, Jerry held me face down for doggy style penetration. Jerry's hands would reach across my belly. "I'm feeling for my cock," he'd whisper, "to jerk myself off inside you."

Much like Jerry making love, Dr Velour, examining me, sent nimble fingers across my pubis. Both hands met inside me long enough to vigorously tease my clit. My breathing became rapid. I ground my butt against her intruding fingers while I softly murmured, "fuck -- me."

I tended to me much louder while I pumped Jerry for his man sap.

"There," Dr Velour retracted her fingers slowly softly caressing my clit and vaginal lips on the way out, out, "that didn't hurt a bit. If you're ready for your tour, I'll have the nurse escort you to the employee showers."

"Clothes?" I reminded Dr Velour by holding my hands away from my hips to display my bare body.

Promised that "Nurse should see to clothing," I waited for what seemed to be an eternity until the nurse tapped on the door and entered.

"Ready?" When I requested my clothing, Nurse Chafer touched her notebook and a hidden door behind one of the anatomical charts opened. Though a passageway, we found ourselves upon a steel grated catwalk illuminated by light bulbs dangling from a wire. "First showers," the nurse, pointing to the catwalk, ordered, "shall we go?" Noting my surprise, the nurse added, "Back stage."

I sighed when my bare feet touched the steel grid. The nurse chuckling, pointing to either end of the building, "This is called the walk of shame. It connects the lockers with the showers. The fertility clinic is a sterile environment. Employees shower with an antibacterial soap before and after work and in migrating between different zones."

Biting my lip, I wondered what had propelled my bare feet forward onto the cold steel grid of the catwalk? Momentarily pausing to look over the rail, I was shocked to see immediately below me the overheat lighting structure for a swimming pool and gym. I looked at my escort in confusion. The clinic's frontage on Western Avenue gave no clue of such an extensive underground operation. Was this an athletic club or a fertility clinic?

Nurse Chafer, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder and peering over the rail, noted, "one of the perks offered to the sperm donors, free gymnasium. Some employees use it in their free time. Males exercise with an athletic supporter; swim nude. Females are issued a two -- piece."

"And genetic male employees who identify as female," I prodded. "Must trans -- men wear the jock strap in the gym and swim nude?"

"The issue of trans -- men in the gym has yet to arise," came the curt reply. "Any second thoughts?" the Nurse asked with an evil grin.

I sighed. "Going forward isn't solely a question of having already pliantly complied this far. I need this internship to graduate. The incentive of a paycheck is sufficient to endure," I grimaced, "unusual conditions."

A bright light, reflecting off glistening tiled walls, shining at the end of the catwalk, marked the showers. "With pressure from local human rights commission upon all employers to provide equality for trans -- men," Nurse Chafer explained as we proceeded to the shower, "we don't provide separate lockers or showers for employees reporting in. New employees can be eh -- uneasy in the beginning. It wears off."

Chuckling at her "interesting choice of words," I suggested, "Guys standing there, drooling at girls; girls throwing globules of soap at them like the silliness in junior high school gym classes."

"Some older employees have had more difficulty adjusting," Nurse Chafer positioned me under a spigot, instructing "Stand there." Moving out of the way, the nurse added, "but in this business, we're looking at naked males getting jerked off by a machine and nude females getting eh-stimulated -- eh pre - insemination all day long. Otherwise," the nurse added as soapy water rained down on me, "functional nudity for the co -- ed shower seems ordinary enough."

As I toweled off, the nurse handed me a two piece and white athletic socks and sneakers. Holding up top and bottom in front of me and stretching the thong, I remarked, "less than one pass of the shuttle didn't leave much fabric."

While I stepped into the thong, the nurse commented, "One size fits all! You'll find the material is very pliable. It expands," she explained while I took a breath to pull the top over my boobs, "to fit most figures."

From the employee showers, I was led into the donor's showers where the nurse waived to Alison, a barefoot woman in a skin - tight pastel bikini before we passed down a ramp into the gym. As we passed under the level of the gym's overhead lights, I went blind for a second.

"You'll get used to it," Nurse Chafer smiled. At the white tiled, gym level we came past three offices. At the first office, the door was closed and the blinds over glass window in the door and the wall was shuttered. The nurse noted, "Dr Velour's and Dr Stroker's private office." A smaller office's door was open. "This would be your office. You keep your notes and prepare your paper here. Nothing leaves the building."

In the next office, blond haired Greta, the manager of the gym, rose, muscular thighs flexed, to greet us. "Nurse Chafer, is this our new intern?"

Strong arms gripping me, Greta explained, "the gym is a perk for our hearty stallions for a time left unbridled to work off frustration. Employees may workout in their spare time."

"Do many employees take advantage of the gym?" I asked.

"Out of two dozen regular employees," Greta advised, "only two or three -- mostly men participate in off -- duty gymnastic exercise and swimming. What keeps more men on staff away, surprisingly is the nudity. Like patient and donors, to enter the pool, male staff must have body hair depilated. Female patients and employees are welcome but only an occasional woman other than myself or Dr Velour takes advantage."

"Naturally, I suppose. While I'm on the cleaning crew, I suppose I will be working down here, occasionally," I responded.

"You will be given an hour to record your observations," Greta noted, "and to go over your findings with me or Dr Velour." Holding her arm out toward the gym, "Shall we tour our state of the art gym?"

After a tour of the nicely shined exercise machinery, Greta, taking a few minutes to work dead lifting weights, questioned me, "How much iron do you suppose you can pump?"

Transfixed by her powerful deltoids and biceps, I, when prompted, replied, "I never tested myself."

"On janitorial staff, you'll have to lift some heavy weights," Greta, spoke without hesitating between reps, "Spend some time working out here. Now, nothing like the pool." Greta stripped off her running shorts and cotton T shirt, revealing a firm body, not an ounce of fat. "Join me," she invited.

Nurse Chafer nodded to me to join Greta in the pool. Her glance, searing through the two piece, told me to swim nude. I managed two or three laps. I was standing on the deck covered in a towel shivering with my arms crossed, when Greta triumphantly raised her arms.

Leaping out of the pool, Greta did some cartwheels on the deck. Wishing me well with a hug on my project here, Greta assured me, "We'll have some fun together." Palpitating my boobs, Greta whispered, "We'll harden your boobs, firm up that jelly belly and," with a playful whack on the butt, Greta declared, "tighten those muscles of that fleshy derriere!"

Back in the shower, rinsing off, I was reminded by Nurse Chafer that in a sterile facility, a shower was required to move between different sections. As I toweled off, I accused Nurse Chafer of "just enjoying watching me naked."

"I'm a nurse," Nurse Chafer retorted, "that's my privilege." Throwing me a smock, a thong, loose pantaloons, booties and hood—all a subdued light grey, Chafer noted, "it's a unisex cleaners' uniform."

Informed me that the pants were optional, I tossed the pants back. "Jerry and I may wrestle for top position, but still Jerry prefers me to be 100% female. He wears the pants—because I say so."

Reflectively, the nurse observed, "Your choice. Employees have a legal right to decide to determine a gender identity."

"I've wondered how that works. Suppose a trans -- man wants to be impregnated," I, throwing the grey smock over my head, asked, "or a FTM, female -- to -- male wants to donate sperm?"

With a chuckle, the nurse paused to contemplate before formulating her response, "I leave it to the doctors to decide how to deal with the situation in which legal requirements come up against biological impossibility. Perhaps," the nurse's voice turned cheery, "you may play an important role: providing assistance -- eh coming with resolutions -- eh in rummaging through such -- er novel questions."

From the employee showers, I was once again in the donor's showers where the nurse waived to Alison, a barefoot woman in that pastel bikini before we passed into male treatment rooms.

"Generally," the nurse explained, "cleaning in the AM begins here at 5AM. Males are depositing bodily secretions into the treatment rooms from 6AM onward. To prevent spread of disease, each room must be antiseptically cleaned before we open at 6 am and after each use." Escorting me behind the treatment rooms to an observation booth, the nurse suggested, "Let`s, take a peek. Shall we?"

A flick of a switch rendered the wall transparent. On the other side of the wall a male was laying face down on a workout bench, muscles tensed, butt burnished red, legs spread across the bench, a darkened face shield enshrouded his head.

"It's very different from the classical sperm donation clinic," the nurse observed, "y'know the places where guys came in to jerk themselves off to pornographic pictures. Here the conditions replicate not only the mechanics of intercourse but also create the warmth of intimacy."

"How do you replicate the physical conditions of intercourse?" I asked.

"The male is comfortably placed, in sexual position," Nurse Chafer explained, "of choice. Here the male is lying face down; his genitalia is inserted in a sleeve, a thin pouch which is plugged," the nurse lifted her eyebrows and smiled in self - conceit, "into device which simulates the moist warmth and viscosity of a woman's orifice. The machine`s pulsations draw sympathetic responses in the male organs precipitating male orgasm yielding ejaculate."

"And the opaque blinder?" I questioned, "aren't men very visual in arousal?"

"What you call `the blinder' is really a screen which creates a virtual reality either from stock footage or from an original production."

"Original production," I laughed, "are you telling me, the facility produces porn?"

"Oh, no," the nurse shook her head, "I suppose we could, but our original productions are custom made for the particular donor. The gentleman, ordering an individualized virtual encounter, visualizes his significant other in a fantasy that the clinic has filmed. Shall we move on?"

Back in the male shower, Alison, the tall thin shower girl in a pastel bikini, was at the cabinet in the corner stowing towels and soaps. The nurse announced our presence, "Still quiet, Alison."

"Mid -- day shift is the slowest," Alison advised, "most of the guys come before 9AM or after 6PM to drop their wad, shower, or use the gym."

"I guess," I interjected, "you enjoy the quiet."

"Older female employees might prefer the mid -- day shift if they have to work the men's shower, but there are some advantages to working the busy hours; the cups and front panel can get weighted down..." A frosty glance from Nurse Chafer cut off the response.

"The day goes faster when you're busy," the Nurse concluded the discussion, "So much to learn," the Nurse declared in a cheery voice, "Let's move into the male locker."

In the donor's locker, a naked man was carefully hanging his clothes in an open locker. Greeting the nurse, Hal claimed to be waiting for an attendant to release him.

Release? I wondered. Is he being confined? My eyes widened when he smiled and turned to face us. I could not help staring at his masculine genitalia ensconced in a wire cage.

"Are you here for a donation?" the nurse asked, "or just a workout and a shower?" Before answering, the man glanced at me. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've forgotten to introduce Amy. She'll be joining us. You'll be seeing here when you report in for your early morning work -- out or donation."

"Day -- off, just a few hours in the gym and a workout in the gym." The man responded.

Nodding approvingly as she pressed a button on her notebook to open the device, the nurse quipped, "just some time dangling with loose change."

When the comment drew a smile, her inquiry after the relative comfort of the bird cage by comparison to the iron cup drew an explanation of difficulties positioning. "You have to be careful," Hall remarked, patting his belly, "lying on your belly, but Macy says the cage force me to consider her needs."

"Speaking of her needs, have you considered bringing Macy to the clinic on a couples` day?" the nurse called out to man as he turned to proceed to the showers.

"Hmm, Macy," facing us, Hal expressed concern, "is ah—afraid of intruding on my man -- space ..."

"And not the electric shock," the nurse chided Hal, "the magnet attraction of finding yourselves naked together."

"We're saving for a house," Hal explained, "To attain the high sperm count the clinic pays for, certain sacrifices, eh -- restrictions are required; to maintain physique, the exercise regimen."

When Hal vanished into the mists of the shower, I asked, "Are donors encouraged to bring spouses along?"

"The Facility gives away little for free," the nurse explained, "there's an expectation that something productive can be developed. Exactly what form that takes, you may learn. Next step, we return you to the examination room to talk to Dr Velour and to prepare you to leave."

Once again, we were in a passageway. The nurse stopped at a consultation room and switched a command which rendered the wall transparent. "Dr Velour is conducting a monitoring interview of donor.

Inside the room a naked, young man stood next to an examining table. Dr Velour, pushing the patient's head to the side while fondling the patient's testicles, ordered the man to cough.

"Mr Hauser," Dr Velour addressed the donor, "you're a young heterosexual man, married with a child, could you explain why you want to `bind up your loins' into a cock and ball jam? I grant you release from the muzzle only when release of the pent - up tension will produce a maximum yield?"