The Sperm Donor

"I don't know what Dr. LeClair is going to do about it," she told him, "but demand is far exceeding supply. At least that's what I've heard."

"The problem is," Annie added, "is that these women seeking to be artificially inseminated--and their ranks keep growing--is that they're so particular. They've got this laundry list of qualifications that would make your head spin. Not to mention LeClair's own demands. I'm not surprised that they're not meeting their quota. What man could possibly meet all those requirements?"

"What kind of requirements are we talking about?" Melody asked Annie.

"Oh! They're off the charts!"

"Let's start with one."

"Okay. First and foremost, he's got to be handsome."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, but it is! These women don't just want a good-looking guy. They want a god!"

Melody pointed to Dickey. "Like him?"

"Well...yes, actually. But Dickey's a doctor--an employee--so he doesn't count."

"Why don't I count?" Dickey asked.

Annie laughed. "Oh, come on! You're not seriously..."

"Just answer the question, Annie. Why don't I count?"

She looked at Ginny with a sheepish expression. "I don't know. I'm simply assuming..."

"What are the other requirements?" Melody asked her.

"He's got to be at least six feet tall or taller."

Again, Melody pointed to Dickey. "He's six feet two."

"And he has to have--and this is the big thing--a brilliant mind."

"I graduated from MIT summa cum laude," Dickey said with a smug grin. "Does that count?"

Annie shrugged. "I don't know. But there was one other thing."

"And what's that?"

"He has to have a nice personality."

Dickey laughed. "That's a character trait, not something inherent in one's DNA!"

"I'm just telling you what I've heard. There are a few other minor things not worth mentioning. But I think you get the idea."

"Well," Melody said to Annie, "the man you've just described is sitting right here."

"Of course!" Ginny exclaimed. "Look at him! He's gorgeous and smart and tall! He'd make a great sperm donor!"

Melody looked at Dickey. "You've been bitching for the longest time that you've been financially under the gun. This might be your answer."

A spark of hope suddenly illuminated the dark landscape of his thoughts. "What kind of money are they offering?" he asked Annie.

"I don't know. But other sperm clinics pay a very hefty price for quality sperm donors. With the shortage of acceptable candidates, I would assume you'd be paid quite handsomely--forgive the pun."

"Oh, give it a shot!" Melody told him. "What have you got to lose?"

"A lot of sperm for sure," Ginny laughed.

"What do you mean?" Dickey asked.

"Well, Brigham and Women's isn't the only deal in town. Some of the other city hospitals are facing shortages too."

"Things are already looking up!" Melody said to him with a big smile.

Annie agreed. "You definitely have something to bargain with, Dickey. I'd talk to LeClair about it."

That evening he went out to dinner with some woman he had met that same day in the hospital. She had come into the hospital with a friend who had suffered a broken ankle. The two of them struck up a conversation and, before he knew it, she was agreeing to go out to dinner with him. After dinner she went back to his apartment and the two of them fucked their brains out. In the morning when he woke up, he found her gone. She had left a note for him on the bathroom mirror with her phone number and the words "call me anytime, handsome" written on it. Try as he might he couldn't remember her name. He laughed, tore the note off the mirror and threw it in the trash can.

During breakfast he took a peek at his bank passbook. What he saw made him cringe. But there it was; a dwindling balance and a savings account that was growing smaller and smaller with each passing day. Something had to be done or he would have to file personal bankruptcy. He threw his account book across the room in anger. It was a mark of the times that a man with his qualifications and position should not be earning a vastly superior sum than what he was currently making. But the economy was in shambles, and the employment picture looked bleak--even for people with his expertise. The only people who were benefitting from the dire economic situation were those sitting at the top: the bankers, the corporations, and the myriad assortment of governmental and private entities that formed the very pinnacle of the social hierarchy. It made him sick to think of how hard he had to struggle to achieve a barely sustainable existence when so many other lesser mortals--rich and powerful as they were--had long stopped worrying about their own secure fates.

"Fuck them!" he cursed aloud. "Fuck them all!"

After he shaved and showered, he drove to work and found a parking spot on the street. It was just 8:00 a.m. He thought of what Annie had told him, and the more he thought about it the more he came to like the idea. He was the perfect choice. There was no way he could be turned down. And then he realized that he had already made up his mind to speak to Dr. LeClair even before he was consciously aware of making the decision. He laughed to himself as he walked down the hall to her office, knowing that she'd already be there.

"Good morning, doctor!" he said, poking his head through the door.

"Is that you, Dickey?" she replied, pleased to see him. "You're early! I thought your shift started at 9:30?"

"It does, but I thought I could have a talk with you before my shift began."

"Of course! Of course!" she said encouragingly. "Please come in and take a seat. Would you like some coffee? It's right here."

"Yes, thank you."

She poured out two cups of coffee and handed one of the cups to him and then sat down behind her desk.

"Okay," she said. "What is it you want to talk with me about?"

He took a sip of coffee and then crossed his legs, trying to look as at ease as possible. "I was talking with Annie and Ginny yesterday during lunch and they mentioned that your department is looking for qualified sperm donors. Is that true?"

"Yes," she replied. "We are looking for qualified sperm donors."

Her emphasis on the word "qualified" was unmistakable, but he wasn't in the least bit worried. "May I ask what the hospital intends to pay these donors?"

She gave him an inquisitive look. "Why do you ask?"

"I think I may have a suitable candidate for you," he replied in his most professional manner.

"I see. I suppose Annie told you what the requirements are?"

"She did."

"Do you think your friend can fulfill these requirements?"

"I'm certain of it."

"Then you know that the sperm donor must be extremely handsome. He must have an IQ in the 150 or better range and he must be six feet or taller."

"Yes, that's what Annie told me. She also said that he has to have a 'nice' personality."

She laughed just as he had done when he had heard the same remark. "I think she exaggerated a little bit on that one!"

"Well, my friend is nice," he assured her. "In fact, he's the nicest person I know."

"Really? And may I ask who this person is?"

He gave her his most winning smile. "He's me!"

She stared at him for a few moments and then laughed. "You? You want to be a sperm donor?"

"Is there anything strange about that? I'm handsome, my IQ is 165 and I'm six feet two inches tall." He thought for a moment and then added: "And I'm a pretty nice guy too."

She shook her head. "Of that I have no question."

"So? What more do you need?"

"The client's approval of course."

"Their approval? I thought donations were anonymous?"

"In some cases, yes. But here at Brigham Women's the clients meet with the sperm donor in person to decide whether or not they will accept the donation. In any case, your entire medical history will be made known to them."

"I have to meet with them? There's no way around that?"

"Those are the rules. With most donations no money is involved because they are donations. However, the stringent donor requirements we insist upon, and the relative scarcity of donors who can fulfill those requirements, means we have to offer remuneration to those we find acceptable."

"I know I asked this before but how much remuneration?"

"For one ounce of semen we're talking roughly about a thousand dollars."

"That means the client must be paying a lot more."

"Four or five times that amount, actually."

He smiled inwardly. A thousand dollars simply to jerk off into a bottle and have it cryo frozen. That was the kind of work he could do night and day. But the thought that he would have to meet potential clients in person gave him some pause.

"The only reservation I have about this is that I'm a doctor here. I couldn't hide that from a client."

"I was going to ask you about that. You would have to meet each and every client who chooses to be artificially inseminated with your sperm. Your identity, your personal information and medical history will all be made known to them. Is that something you want?"

"I can live with it I suppose."

"There's another thing. Most sperm donors are between the ages of eighteen and thirty. You're thirty-two. Now the threshold where we do not accept sperm donations is set at thirty-five. It doesn't rule you out, but some clients may object on those grounds. You have to be prepared for that."

"Don't you think they'd be happy to have all their requirements met rather than make age an issue?"

"In general? Yes. But it may prove to be a deciding factor in some cases."

The dismal impression he received from looking at the negative balance in his checkbook suddenly flitted across his mind. "I'd like you to consider me for the job."

"There's nothing to consider, Dickey. "You meet all the qualifications and you have no medical issues. I think you will make a perfect candidate."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "So, when do I begin?"

"When was your last physical?"

"Almost a year ago."

She looked down the papers on her desk. "I see you're due for one next month. I guess we can bump it up a few weeks. It's required of all sperm donors that the most current medical history be made available to our clients."

"Is there anything else I need to do?"

"You don't have to do anything--yet. You must remember that we have hundreds of clients and we've just opened our doors. Give me a few weeks to get things in order and then I'll begin arranging interviews."

"That's very accommodating of you, doctor," he smiled.

"Is there anything else on your mind?"

"No. You've answered all my questions."

"Good!" she replied as she rose from her chair. "I hope it all works out for you."

"I'm sure it will," he said as he put the cup of coffee down on her desk and stood up.             

The two shook hands.

"Good morning," he said as he turned around and walked gingerly out of the room; a newfound sense of hope filling his heart.

************

For the next two weeks Dickey was flying as high as a kite. He knew that the odds were in his favor; that he might be the only man in the entire city of Boston who could meet the requirements as set by the hospital. Even if there were other men who did live up to those high standards, there couldn't be many of them. Either way, he was going to be raking in the dough, and he imagined the ecstatic feeling of watching his bank balance grow by leaps and bounds.

Knowing that his prospects for monetary gain were now assured, he rewarded himself by buying a brand-new Apple computer, which set him back about seven thousand dollars. It was a frivolous purchase. His old computer was only a few years old and working perfectly. But, in his mind, he figured he deserved it. It was this same attitude of entitlement that compelled him to purchase other high-ticket items like his fancy sports car and more than a dozen expensive Italian suits. But he didn't care. In the end it all would pay for itself. At least that's what he told himself.

When he told Melody and Annie about his good fortune, they congratulated him.

"That's great, Dickey!" Annie told him as the three of them stood talking by the nurses' station. "How is this all going to play out?"

"Well, I got a call from Dr. Ford last night. I have to come in on Friday--that's my day off--to give a sperm sample."

"Oh, that's right. They wouldn't have one, would they?"

"No need for them to have one until now."

"It seems things are moving along pretty fast," Ginny said to him.

"Well, they're not going to put this sample on ice. It's just to check for STDs and motility."

Annie chuckled. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"You'd think he would with all the women he's messed around with," Annie observed with a hint of sarcasm.

"Hey Annie," he said. "Anytime you want to get down with me..."

"I'm married with three kids. You're a little late."

He laughed. "I guess I am kind of a Don Juan around here."

"Are you kidding?" she replied, this time making no attempt to hide her sarcasm. "You make Don Juan look like a damn amateur!"

"Well, I'm not so sure..."

"I'm sure," Melody said to him. "Didn't you just tell me yesterday that you've bedded a different woman almost every night for the past week and a half?"

He nodded. "I don't like to brag, but..."

"Did you, or didn't you?" Annie asked him.

"I did. But the ménage a trois that was supposed to happen last night never happened."

"Oh! Poor you!"

"Yeah," Melody said. "Poor Dickey! It must be tough to be tall, dark, and handsome."

"All right girls," he laughed, "that's enough. "We're at work, remember?"

They teased him a little more before returning to their duties, but nothing they said could dampen his spirit.

The next morning, he headed out to the race track after breakfast and spent several hours betting on the horses. He had no luck. Before leaving he blew over eight hundred dollars betting on some long shot that a friend had recommended. Feeling down over the loss of so much money, he decided to head over to the bar across the street from the hospital to drown his sorrows. By the time he left the bar he had consumed several glasses of straight whiskey, a favorite drink of his when he was feeling depressed. Although not quite drunk, he was feeling a bit giddy, and he made his way slowly across the parking lot and into the front entrance of the hospital and then to the lab where he was to provide his sperm sample.

"Hi, Doctor Hatfield!" Ginny said as she passed him in the foyer. "Congratulations on your...you know..." She paused and gave him a coy smile, indicating that she knew what he was about to do.

He waved and offered her a weak smile before entering the main lobby. When he got there, he found the place crowded with scores of women. Some were sitting; most were standing for lack of seats. They were mostly young women in their twenties and early thirties, and they were chatting up a storm. He thought they looked like well-dressed professionals of one kind or another, and as he passed by them, they ceased their chattering and stared at him intently, as if examining some rare and beautiful object under a microscope. The silence was so sudden and palpable that the doctors and nurses in the nearby vicinity paused in their tracks to see what exactly had caused the unexpected phenomenon.

"He's gorgeous!" Dickey heard one woman say to another in a barely concealed voice.

"I think I'm in love!" he heard another exclaim not so softly.

"He can examine me anytime!" another proclaimed.

He nodded and smiled at them as he made his way to the nurses' station and their chatter soon resumed.

"When did the bus let out?" he asked the nurse on duty.

"They didn't come in a bus," she laughed softly. "They're the last of the women who are signing up to be artificially inseminated. You should have seen this place a few hours ago."

"How many women were there?"

"Uh, about two hundred at least."

"All in one day?" he asked, surprised.

"Dr. LeClair decided that it would be a huge time saver to hold a seminar for the purposes of indoctrination instead of meeting with each one individually. That will come later."

"A good idea," he said, sneaking a peek at the women.

"It makes sense. She said it will help to weed out those who are not completely sure that this is the way to go."

He felt a slight tinge of disorientation and grabbed the rim of the desk for support.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Ah...yeah. I'm fine," he replied, steadying himself. "It's an old inner ear problem. I think I'd better have it checked."

"I think you'd better, doctor."

He looked at her for a few moments and then smiled. "You know, you're a very lovely woman, Eva. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I hear it all the time--from my husband," she replied.

He felt his penis twitch in his pants at the mention that she was married. Married women always presented a challenge to him, and he had, more often than not, managed to entice them into his bed using one kind of line or another.

"Oh," that's right!" he said. "I forgot that you're married. How silly of me!"

She looked at him a little more closely this time. "Have you been drinking, doctor?"

"Me?" he asked. "No! Like I said, I've got this inner ear thing going on. That's all."

She gave him a doubtful glance and made a notation in her notebook before looking at him again.

"How many kids do you have anyway?" he asked.

"Two. Zev and Belinda. They're both married. Melinda has a two-year-old girl."

"So, you're a grandmother?"

"Yes, I am."

"Impossible!"

"I assure you I am."

"But you look so young!"

"I may look young, Dr. Hatfield," she said in a matronly tone, "but I'm old enough to be your mother."

The tent in his pants was now expanding even further. "I like MILFs," he said absentmindedly. "I find women of your age extremely sexy."

"What did you call me?" she asked, thinking she had misheard him.

"I'm sorry..."

"That word you used. What was it?"

"I said I find you to be very sexy."

"No. Before that. You called me a...a MILF! Yes, that was it!"

"Did I say that?" he asked, genuinely confused. "If I did, I only meant it as a compliment."

"What does it mean?"

"Oh, I don't think this is the place..."

"No," she said a little more emphatically. "I want to know."

Despite his giddiness, and now faced with the embarrassing situation of actually telling her the meaning of the acronym, his prick was now standing a full mast. He pressed his body up against the desk hoping that no one would notice him in his aroused state.

"I believe it means...ah...'mother I'd like to..."

"I'd like to what?"

He leaned in towards her and whispered in her ear. "Fuck."

She drew back in surprise and slapped him hard on his hand. "I can't believe what I just heard! I know you have a reputation with women, doctor, but that is just plain vulgar! Shame on you!"

At that moment Sheila appeared at the other end of the nurses' station. She, along with several of the other nurses, heard Eva reprimand Dickey while striking him on the hand.

"Is there a problem here?" she asked the head nurse.

"Dr. Hatfield made a lewd comment which I did not appreciate," Eva replied.

"Is that true, doctor?" she asked him.

"I didn't mean it the way it came across," he replied in an attempt to gloss things over. "It was a poor choice of words."

"It certainly was," Eva said.

"What exactly did he say to you," Sheila asked Eva.

"Please, Dr. Ford. I'd rather not repeat it."

"Infractions of the rules must be reported," Sheila said.

"He used the term 'MILF'. It means..."

"I know what it means." She turned to Dickey. "Is this true? Did you use that term?"

"I suppose I did. But I only meant to compliment her."