Justin Caas - The Third Sex

True to her word, Jean handled the formalities and presently brought me both certificates to sight and sign. Housewife, age 26. Name Frances. Husband impotent apparently. She disappeared out the door of my ‘office’ and as I watched her departing figure noted that she had shapely legs. Several minutes passed then Jean knocked and from the doorway said, “They’re ready.”

I entered the consulting room—bit of a euphemism there. If I was doing my job properly I’d be doing a damn sight more than consult. A young woman sat primly on a plain chair, beside her a slight, fussy man with a small moustache. He rose as I entered and I introduced myself to both. The woman was clothed only in a white bathrobe and looked about as nervous as I felt. She turned to her husband for reassurance and they spoke in low tones for a moment.

“Well I suppose we’d better get it over,” the woman spoke in formal tones, a look of prim severity on her face. Hardly a prime candidate for a romantic encounter I thought, but then I’m not here for romance but to impregnate her.

“I’m sure you will find that it’s not such an ordeal. The mind imagines the worst when facing the unknown,” I said reassuringly. “Would you lie down on this couch. No, please leave your robe on if you feel more comfortable. There…” I rose above her on the couch. To the side, husband regarded me with an intense scrutiny. I was supported on my elbows above, but not touching her body. I remained like that for perhaps a minute, conversing in a low tone while a flood of pheromones from my body engulfed her senses, calming, relaxing.

Presently the prim look disppeared, was replaced with was seemed to her to be a long-forgotten memory of an emotion that had flourished at one time in the past. She thought back to Rodney, her first boyfriend. He filled her with those same, strange, tumultous emotions. It all came flooding back as she relived that dream. She was only vagely aware that something had slipped into her. But it felt right. It was going to be okay. Then a rapid thrusting but it didn’t last long. He became still, above her. Then she felt it, a large swelling. It entered her also and she felt totally filled—complete. It was an intimate and safe feeling. She wished it would last forever. Just lying there unmoving, closely joined. Quentin had never done that. With Quentin it was in for a few nervous thrusts and as soon as it had started it was all over and he was off to the bathroom to wash. The stud gripped her about the waist, lay with her for nearly twenty minutes, almost motionless. But if she shifted her position the fullness swelling inside her touched strange and forbidden places. She felt suddenly cold when he withdrew. Yes, that was it, that was what made it so different, his body was a lot warmer than an ordinary man and especially the part inside her, hot.

Then he was talking and she caught the words, “…best to lie there for a while. Take your time…ensures best chance for fertilisation.”

I nodded politely to the astonished husband and left the room.

“Well I’m impressed.” I wasn’t sure from her tone whether Nurse Bramley was praising or being ironic. That’s one satisfied client who’s just left. My guess is that she’ll be returning tomorrow without the husband.”

“Perhaps.” I could hardly form an opinion on the strength of a single experience. But I too was secretly relieved. It could have been quite difficult but it turned out okay. “When is the next one due?”

“A Ms Reiner. Age 31, twice married, currently living with another woman. Works as a statistician—be prepared for a lot of questions. She’s due in,” Jean looked at the wall clock, “ten minutes. Appointment at 11:00.

Ms. Reiner turned out to be a smartly dressed blonde, although this assessment came from Jean. All I usually get to see is a female in a bathrobe. Humanity tends to be levelled by such a uniform. Ms Reiner was confident and assertive but first she had a few questions for me if I didn’t mind. I said as long as questions didn’t take up the thirty minutes alloted. Twenty-five remaining actually.”

“What I don’t understand is why this has to be so physical , I mean what’s wrong with artificial insemnation?”

The leaflet provided to all clients explained this but I repeated it again in case she was testing a private hypothesis that Studs didn’t want to miss out on the chance of ‘doing it’ with a real woman instead of into a jar. “It’s partly a fact of our anatomy,” I explained, “and partly to ensure the best chance of impregnation. Like your own genitals mine also are mostly internal. When the penis emerges it must enter the same environment as it left. If it gets dry, it gets painful. For that reason we can’t masturbate to produce sperm like a normal man. Deep penetration also ensures your best chance of conceiving.” By this time I had moved closer and the influence of pheromones started to do their work. At least they dried up further questions. So I quickly mounted her. That first penetration is a fierce exulation; the body responds with a rapid thrusting and soon the familiar lubrication began to flow. Once the swelling at the base had fully entered her vagina, movement ceased and we lay together peacefully as sperm was released in leisurely spurts.

I was learning that this is a time when conversation can also flow. The previous client was silent, wrapped up in her own thoughts and memories. Ms Reiner wanted to talk. “You’ve no idea how much this feels like a dog cock inside me,” she confided cheerfully.

I was startled. “How would you know?” I didn’t mean to say that. It was out before I realised.

“Personal experience,” the lady said brightly then seeing my astonishment went on, “you don’t mean to say you don’t know it goes on? Hey, it’s been happening for thousands of years.”

Well I did know that but I hadn’t expected a customer—sorry, client to talk about it so casually. But social climates change. Periods of openess swing towards periods of repression. I had to admit our current society was pretty liberal. I spent ten minutes in the resting phase with Ms. Reiner and was tempted to explain that if she needed any longer she could call on the services of her dog, but decided that such a comment might put a swift end to my career and contented myself with remarking that this was the first of three impregnations. Ms Reiner confirmed that she had made bookings for the next two days.

There was only one other appointment that day, late afternoon. Tomorrow was booked for five visits, three of them the same women who had visited today. As I had suspected, Frances was a lot more relaxed today than she had been yesterday. As Jean predicted, husband was not in evidence. Frances discarded her bathrobe and with a coquettish glance over her shoulder asked if I wanted her to lie on the couch. While she waited for my answer she displayed her shapely body to its best effect. I smiled, discarded my robe. Two can play those games. I said, “You are very attractive. Your husband is a lucky man.”

Frances opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind as a bolder thought occurred to her. Why not? There was no one else to hear. “Does looking at me make it come out?”

“If you want it to. Do you want it to do that?”

Frances nodded. I moved towards the couch. Frances lay down. I remained poised above her. The pink tip appeared. Frances gave a little gasp. More emerged until it was fully erect. She was very wet as I entered her. This time Frances elected to be a willing and very active participant. There was a lot of moaning and thrashing around in the early stages of rapid thrusting and Frances was working it for all she was worth. It was all over a bit too soon for her liking, but (she reassured herself) there would be tomorrow, and perhaps another three next month if it turned out she wasn’t pregnant.