Parallel Lives Pt. 01

"Look, I'll be going along to the funeral myself," Lynda assured him. "I'll tell her you wanted to come and why you can't be there - she'll understand."

"Thanks, Lynda, I'd appreciate that," Rupert replied. "So, I guess I'd better find someone willing to cover for me on Thursday then."

"You leave it to me, Roo, I'll sort it for you," Lynda said as she opened up the staff roster. "Caroline Black's been pestering me for extra shifts for weeks now, I'll give her a call."

With no other choice than to resign himself to the fact that in just a few days time he would have to report for his semen evaluation, Rupert returned to his desk and got back to work. Like almost all men he hated having to attend routine semen quality evaluations, not least because of how they were conducted, but also because that there was always the looming threat of producing a fertile sample and having to spend the following twelve months locked away in a Fertility Centre.

* * * * * *

Rupert boarded his train home in a downcast frame of mind that afternoon. The monotony of commuting into and out of central London notwithstanding, his day had been clouded by his call-up email and the realisation that he could not attend his friend's son's funeral. The weather was really shitty too, and the rain was falling steadily as he alighted from the train at Haywards Heath station and walked the last half mile or so back to his little studio apartment near the town centre. He shook the rain off his overcoat as he entered his modest abode, hung it on the hook by the door, stepped over to his bed and began to undress.

Naked, and with his underwear tossed into his laundry basket and with his suit neatly hung up in his wardrobe alongside the six other suits he possessed, he took a key from his bedside table and freed his penis from the hard plastic confinement of his chastity device. Once released from it he exhaled a contented sigh of relief and then dropped it onto the bed and stepped into his bathroom for his third shower of the day.

Like most men, Rupert didn't enjoy wearing the chastity device, but it was a necessary precaution to protect himself from being assaulted. Since the decline in the adult male population, incidents of men being preyed on by sex-starved women were rife, and it seemed that hardly a week went by without at least one news item of a man being raped or a woman being convicted for sexual assault.

Though the chastity device prevented a woman from raping him, it didn't protect him from being groped on the train or in other crowded spaces - many was the time he'd felt wandering female hands cupping his behind on his journey home. There were even some less morally inhibited women who tried to take their groping even further, though Rupert had to chuckle at the mutterings of disappointment such detestable women made whenever they felt the outline of hard plastic behind the crotch of his trousers rather than the soft bulge of unconstrained male genitalia they were hoping to find there.

Feeling the warm water of the shower against his bare skin felt good, and was the perfect antidote to the cold drizzle that continued to swirl around on the wind outside. He spent some time shaving his chest, his legs and his pubic area, and then in order to feel nice and cosy after a cold and wet commute, he donned his favourite onesie - a Japanese Kigurumi in the form of a raccoon complete with fuzzy ears and a stripy tail. His evening took the course it usually did for a young single man of his social standing; a microwave dinner for one accompanied with a glass of inexpensive supermarket wine followed by a session on his games console and a movie. Usually his evening would involve engaging in a bit of online porn for a bit of "he time" but with his mind on his upcoming semen evaluation he regretfully abstained from any onanistic activity and so he just went to bed.

His mind inevitably reflected on his first semen evaluation on the day after his eighteenth birthday, now four and a half years ago, when the message from the local division of the IMRHC popped into his inbox. His overprotective mother (but then, all mothers of boys were overprotective for obvious reasons) had insisted she come along with him - her reasoning being that if he were to be found to be fertile she wouldn't otherwise get a chance to say goodbye to him before he would be carted off to the nearest Fertility Centre. Reluctantly, he had acquiesced to her coming along. He'd heard the stories about the Evaluation Centres and what went on inside their walls from the few older men in his acquaintance, but being a naïve teen he refused to believe it all.

His naïvety had been well and truly blown away that day, and though not all of the things he'd heard from his peers had turned out to be true, it was nonetheless quite an eye-opening and mortally embarrassing experience. The information attachment that accompanied that first call-up message promised that the process would be "conducted with your privacy and dignity of primary concern" but in reality he found out that his privacy and dignity were apparently of little concern whatsoever.

The Evaluation

Thursday morning dawned with a chilly and misty air, the sun's light diffused by early morning fog. Spring was in the air, but it seemed that morning that winter wasn't going down without a fight. Rupert rose early for he had an appointment to get to, and unable to afford a car on his junior level salary he had to rely on public transport to get around. Being late for one's semen evaluation appointment was punishable with an on the spot fine of a thousand pounds - a sum that a young insurance clerk like Rupert could ill afford, so he made sure he set his alarm an hour earlier than normal in order to shower, shave, have breakfast and be at the station in plenty of time to catch his train.

The southeast divisional Evaluation Centre where Rupert was registered was located in the town of Maidstone in Kent, and getting there from his home in Haywards Heath in the neighbouring county of Sussex involved having to first head up to London and changing trains at Victoria station, for there was no direct rail link between the two towns, and then upon arrival in Maidstone East station, a ten minute taxi ride to the Evaluation Centre located a short distance outside of the town centre. If all went to plan and both his trains were running on time he would arrive with ten minutes to spare before his allotted appointment.

As always heeding his mother's advice, Rupert made sure to look and smell his best for his appointment and, most importantly, to make sure he was wearing his best underwear. It wasn't a work day for him, so he could dress more casually than normal, and so instead of one of his suits he chose a long sleeved white shirt with a subtle yet jauntily colourful Paisley design, a mustard yellow v-necked sweater that went well with the shirt, a pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, plain black socks, his favourite shoes - a pair of tan coloured suede brogues - and finished it all off with his favourite Harris Tweed jacket.

For his all-important underwear he chose a pair of tight fitting black and yellow briefs. He disliked being seen in only his pants, but there was no way to avoid it during the course of his semen evaluation, so he figured that he may as well choose a pair that he looked good in. You never know, he figured to himself as he pulled them on and then adjusted himself until his penis and testicles formed a bulge in them that was just so, I might actually get a male screening assistant this time - a really attractive one, who might, just might, be up for a drink and possibly more afterwards.

He left his chastity device in the drawer of his bedside table - reasoning that he wouldn't be needing it that day - and instead he just hoped that no woman would try to cop a feel of his masculine charms along the way. He finished his outfit with the wristwatch he normally kept for weekend use, and splashed on a little of his favourite aftershave. He checked his reflection in the mirror before donning his overcoat and heading out to catch his train.

* * * * * *

Public transport had been kind to him as far as punctuality was concerned, and the train from his home town towards London's busy Victoria terminus had been running precisely to schedule, which was more than could be said for the train before it. As a result, his train into Victoria was ridiculously overcrowded due to the previous train being cancelled, meaning that he had no other option but to stand unless a kind lady chivalrously gave him her seat. But no such act of chivalry transpired that morning and with so many women crowded around him it was somewhat inevitable that he felt himself being touched up from behind. He'd turned around to give a stern gaze of admonishment to whichever woman it was that was copping a feel of him, and he would have given her a slap if he'd had the room to be able to do so.

Mercifully, the train out of Victoria heading towards Maidstone was much quieter, and he managed to get a seat with ease and spent the remainder of his journey staring out of the window, glad to be able to sit without the threat of being groped.

"The next station is... Maidstone East," the computerised voice of the train's public address system announced.

As the train slowed down Rupert took his overcoat from the overhead luggage rack and put it back on. Well, here I am again, he thought to himself as he stepped over towards the doors, another fun day of being probed and poked and prodded awaits. He stepped off the train, passed though the automated ticket barrier and exited the station concourse. A short line of taxis was already there, and so he stepped over to the first one available.

"The Evaluation Centre, please," Rupert instructed the taxi driver as he got in.

"Sure thing, sweetie," the jovial cab driver said as her attractive male passenger sat in the back of her vehicle. "Off for your regular six-monthly date with the ol' "suck-o-matic", huh?"

"If by that you mean "are you going for you routine semen evaluation?" then yes, I am," Rupert replied politely, but in a tone of voice that implied nothing less than utter resentment at being summoned to attend something that he and most of his male contemporaries as an example of matriarchal oppression.

"What I would give to be allowed in there with you!" the cabbie chuckled luridly, making Rupert's skin crawl. "I'll bet you've got a cock to die for tucked away in there! I've a good mind to find somewhere nice and private where I can take your trousers and pants down and have a look at what you've got stashed in 'em!"

"Don't get any ideas, woman," Rupert growled at her. "I have a can of mace in my pocket, so don't try anything stupid or I'll spray it into your eyes and blind you! Just take me to the Evaluation Centre, please."

"Whoah! Steady on, chuckles, I was just teasing you!" the admonished cabbie huffed defensively. "Can't blame a gal for trying her luck."

The taxi driver checked her mirrors before heading down the station approach and merging into the steady stream of traffic. There was little point in Rupert denying the purpose for his visit to the Evaluation Centre - it was after all common knowledge that the only reason for a man to visit the place was for his regular mandatory semen evaluation.

"Well, I'll wish you the best of luck," she went on as she drove northwards towards the outskirts of the town.

"What? That I'll be firing blanks?" Rupert responded. "I'd rather that and get on with my life for another six months than have to spend the next year in a Fertility Centre."

"We all have to do our bit for the population," the cab driver replied. "Ain't no way humanity will survive unless fertile men do their bit, whether they want to or not."

"I know," Rupert answered with a sigh. "I just, y'know, I'd rather it was some other guy and not me. I'm trying hard to make a success of my life - I have a career to think of. It's hard enough being a man in a woman's world nowadays as it is without being forced to spend a year out of the workplace in order to get as many women pregnant as possible."

"Don't I know it!" the cab driver huffed. "I tried to do my bit - I volunteered for the Repopulation Program twice and had two sons, both of whom died. One was eight before Swift's took him, the other one only made it to four."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Rupert said, genuinely sorry for her losses, even though she had earlier threatened to assault him.

"Ah, it's not like I'm the only woman to have lost her boys to that accursed disease," the driver replied.

"Do you think they'll ever find a cure?" Rupert asked her.

"Though I'd like to be optimistic, I'd have to say probably not," the cab driver answered with genuine sorrow and resignation in her voice. "They would've done so by now, after decades of research and making almost no progress whatsoever. I think the International Health Organisation is just resigned to the fact that this is just how things are for us now."

The rest of the short journey was spent in thoughtful silence before the cab driver pulled up outside the unassuming office building that housed the IMRHC Southeast Division's Evaluation Centre.

"Well, here we are - that'll be six pounds eighty, m'love," the cab driver said as she checked her meter.

Rupert took out his phone, opened its payment app and tapped the phone's NFC chip against the contactless reader on the back of the driver's seat to pay the fare, though he declined to give her a tip following her earlier threat to abduct him in order to do goodness knows what to him.

"Thanks, darlin'," she said as the payment was made. "Well, whatever way it goes for you in there I hope it goes the way you want it."

"Thanks," Rupert replied as he stepped out of the car, grateful to be away from the woman.

He looked up at the anonymous government building as the cab pulled away from the kerbside. Despite the number of times he'd been there, he always felt the same sense of foreboding that his future depended on what would transpire over the course of the next eight hours.

The IMRHC's mandatory semen evaluation was more than just a case of going into a small room and masturbating into a plastic pot in order to produce a single semen sample, it involved a full physical examination too, much of which would be conducted in only his underwear, hence the need for wearing his best pair of pants that day. During the course of the day he would be required to produce three semen samples, each of which would be analysed on site, resulting in an average reading of his fertility. Rupert girded himself and stepped up into the building's reception area where a young woman sat behind a glass fronted desk.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "Can I have your name please?"

"Rupert Charles Stephens," he responded.

The receptionist entered his name into her workstation.

"And your registration please?"

"AE41733D."

The IMHRC had decreed that keeping track of boys' health was essential, and so every boy born was assigned a randomly generated registration number. It served not only for identification purposes, but also to monitor their health and wellbeing throughout their lives, be they cut short by the Anderson-Swift's virus or, for the lucky one out of every five, surviving into adulthood.

"Okay, thank you, Mr. Stephens," the receptionist said as she confirmed his identity. "I'm sure you know the routine by now - head over into the changing area and strip off down to your underwear and then take a seat in the waiting area."

She pressed a button on her desk that unlocked the door into the adjacent changing room. Rupert entered the changing area to find two other men already there, one of whom was already in only his underwear and was just putting his clothes into one of the lockers, and the other just taking his trousers down. Rupert nodded politely at his fellow men and then sat down on the bench and took his shoes and socks off. A few moments later he was down to just his black and yellow briefs and had folded and placed the rest of his clothes neatly away into one of the lockers. He would only permitted to retrieve them once his day's appointment was finished. Now suitably undressed, he stepped along a short corridor that led into the waiting area where his two fellow men sat awaiting their evaluations to begin.

"Today's the day, huh," one of them, an older man in his forties observed as Rupert sat opposite.

"Yup," Rupert replied to him.

He looked to be reasonably fit despite his years, with a flat stomach and clearly defined pectorals crowned by two pert little nipples. He wore a pair of bright yellow boxer briefs that seemed to be quite a snug fit, his maleness forming an impressive bulge between his legs. Either this guy was rather well hung, Rupert thought to himself, or he'd invested in a pair of specially padded "WonderPants" that deliberately and artificially accentuated his manhood. Such garments had become quite the fashion essential for men who thought themselves as being rather less well endowed. Rupert always looked down upon men like that - he felt that big or small, as long as a man's penis does what it's supposed to do, the size of it ought to be irrelevant.

The other man in the room was considerably younger, perhaps only nineteen or twenty years old. If that were so, this would only be his third or maybe fourth semen evaluation. His youthful physique caught Rupert's eye and almost immediately he felt himself firming up in his pants - he was a real beauty and no mistake.

Rupert had never been a believer in love at first sight, but much to his complete surprise that was exactly what he felt at that moment. It was as if some vision of masculine perfection had entered his world, sent to him by some divine entity in the heavens.

He wore a simple pair of plain white briefs, and the simplicity of their design only served to highlight the young man's masculinity. His face was soft and almost feminine, and was framed by a head of soft blond hair with a subtle curl to it that gave him an appearance of utter perfection. He was, in Rupert's eyes at that first moment of heart-stopping realisation, the most perfect specimen of a young man in his absolute prime that he had ever seen, and he knew instantly that he was in rapturous love with him. But he also detected that the young man was disappointingly straight - no gay man would ever be seen dead in such boring underwear!

Despite the young man's apparently confident air, Rupert detected that he was clearly nervous about what lay ahead.

"How about you?" Rupert addressed the younger man. "You nervous?"

"A bit, I guess," the young Adonis admitted.

The sound of his voice, with his soft Southern English accent, endeared him to Rupert even more.

"I'd like to say you get used to it," Rupert replied to him. "But you never really do."

The older man gave a knowing nod.

"I'm Rupert, by the way, though everyone calls me Roo for short."

"Kevin," the younger man responded. "How many times have you done this?"

"Well I'm twenty four now so this is my fourteenth time here," Rupert answered.

"This is just my third," Kevin replied.

"Forty eighth for me," the older man added huffily. "And in all that time I've fired nothing but blanks. You'd think that by now the bloody IMRHC would get the message that I stand as much chance of fathering a child as Prince Albert has of coming back from the dead and becoming the first rock 'n' roll singer to perform on Venus!"

He sighed deeply before going on.

"But here I am, yet again, sitting here in my pants waiting to be called in to be poked and prodded and probed and forced to produce three cum samples. Last time I was here I couldn't even get a fucking erection! And yet still they insisted I give 'em three loads of cum!"