Justin Caas - The Third Sex

“Of course,” I reassured her. I indicated a door to the side. “This leads to a room similar to this one, except there is no couch. What you suggest is often asked for.” Which was true but nobody had asked me to use this room yet, First time for us both perhaps. The floor was covered with padding, firm but more comfortable to crawl around on. A large disposable sheet covered most of the area.

Frances got down on her hands and knees, her eyes glazed as if in a trance. I knew how to play this out, in theory at least. At the Ministry we covered a lot of role playing. And beside this one comes pretty naturally to Studs—part of their genetic background. I circled around her, attempted to mount. Frances skittishly moved away, avoiding contact. We continued the wary hunt and seek until I saw an opportunity mounted her, grabbed her about the waist the began thrusting, but Frances wriggled free and moved off to the side. Frances’ eyes were no longer glazed, they were shining with the excitement of the chase, an age-old ritual played out in nature with countless variations. Even today courtship is merely a refined form of what we were now expressing in a more primitive and pagan mode. Again I succeeded in mounting, this time managed to penetrate her briefly until she slipped away. Light in the room was dim, shadows were long and dark from two lamps set low in the wall.

This time as I approached the long tongue snaked out licked freely. The prolonged lapping had a strangely hypnotic effect on Frances who froze in a stance of exquisite sensation. Every crevice thoroughly explored I quickly mounted her again, once more penetrating her and thrusting rapidly. Frances squealed and tried to move aside but I continued to ride her, climbed higher on her back as the full length slipped inside. We remained motionless as sperm pumped into her thighs. My breathing, rapid from exertion, gradually slowed, felt the bulge sink into her and we were locked together for an interval outside time.

The six week tour of duty in my home town was over. I packed my few possessions and waited for the Ministry vehicle to take me to the railway station. My new appointment a slightly smaller city some eighty miles away. The train journey was uneventful, passing through rolling countryside and fertile fields where cattle grazed. A little over an hour later outskirts of the city appeared. Factories, then office buildings loomed up close and the train was slowing.

Smells of a new city. Oils and hot machinery mingled with the sharp aromas of coffee and fresh rolls from a nearby café. I stepped on to the platform with my suitcase, looked around me. I could always get a taxi to the Ministry clinic but public transport would be cheaper. I sort of knew which direction to take. A young woman in a smart business suit was studying me carefully then approached. “You Erin?” she queried.

She extended a hand, “Welcome to small town blues, I’m Zoë.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“I’ll take you to the clinic.” She led me towards a small red car. I stowed the suitcase in the back, joined her in the front. “What’s with the blues?” I was puzzled.

“Oh, just a joke,” she laughed. “It’s pretty quiet here, at least most of the time. After all it’s only a Metro VI”

“So are you the nurse here?” The position was usually held by older women. Zoë was no older than mid-thirties and, I thought, surprisingly attractive. Long dark hair framed an oval face, high cheekbones and an olive complexion hinted vaguely at Spanish ancestry.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Nurse Becka at your service. How did you fill in your spare time in Metro III?”

“Reading sometimes. Jean—the nurse there, was a good conversationalist and we often had long talks but most of the time we were kept pretty busy with clients so there wasn’t much time for relaxation. What about you?”

“Well generally there is more spare time here than clients and the last stud said I wasn’t much of a conversationalist but I was very good at pretending to be a client, so the time passed quite well.”

I was startled. “Isn’t that a bit, er, unconventional? I mean what if he impregnated you. Bit awkward to explain that I would have thought?”

Zoë shook her head. “No chance of that. I’m sterile, which is largely why my husband divorced me, the miserable sod. Yet he couldn’t father a child if he tried—which he didn’t. Had to leave it to a Stud for that. But by that time he’d found someone else. Still, as long as I’m on the payroll the Ministry takes care of expenses and I have no other family.” Zoë paused for breath.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to lay my life story on you.”

I smiled to myself. And here I was thinking a life of endless routine stretched before me, but the reality is that nothing ever works out the way you expect. It is all change. I had a feeling that I was going to get on okay with Nurse Zoë. Her manner was open and forthright. What you see is what you get.

The clinic looked much the same as the one I had left behind, except that it faced east catching the morning sun instead of west. “Any appointments for today?”

“Yes, three. Your lucky day.”

“What do you mean lucky? Don’t you know this is serious work and very demanding!”

Zoë laughed. “Yeah, right. Any thrills are to be kept strictly within Ministry guidelines!”

We both laughed. Incidentally the first client seems quite prim and asked me to be present—to ensure the proper standards of modesty. You okay with that?”

“Of course. But tell me, how do you ensure proper standards of modesty while you are being fucked?”

“Beats me,” Zoë reflected. “Maybe religion is making her guilty. Let’s not worry about it.”

Ms Smythe appeared precisely at the appointed time of 11:00 am. After the preliminary documentation Zoë led her into the changing cubicle then through the cleansing routine and finally into the consulting room—a nice little euphemism there—where they both awaited my arrival.

Ms Smythe nodded grimly as I entered, clasping the bathrobe tightly around her neck with one hand while the other performed a similar task elsewhere to ensure that no more exposure of flesh occurred than was strictly necessary.

I spent some time in casual conversation hoping to get her to relax a little but Ms Smythe was determined to remain aloof. I glanced at Zoë, who raised an eyebrow. There was a clock on the wall. There are clocks everywhere in Ministry buildings and I noted that almost fifteen of the allotted thirty minutes had expired. I suggested to Ms Smythe that now might be a good time to carry out the procedure she had come in for.

Ms. Smythe favoured me with a long-suffering look and nodded curtly, stepped up to the couch and lay down upon it taking care not to let the bathrobe slip higher than her knees.

I quietly rose above her giving her time for the pheromones to take effect. To my surprise Ms Smythe seemed impervious to their message. Finally I said, “You do want to continue with this procedure, don’t you?”

Ms Smythe looked at me for a moment then to my astonishment replied, “No. I’ve changed my mind. I’m calling it off.”

“That is of course your privilege. The nurse will assist you with arrangements from here. Good morning.”

When Ms Smythe had departed the premises Zoë remarked, “Well that was a first. Never seen one change her mind before. You sure you didn’t spook her?”

“I wielded all of my considerable charm,” I said with dignity. At which Zoë laughed, then added, “I noticed you also wielded something else which emerged in readiness as well,” she nodded in my general direction. “Tell me do Studs get blue balls like teenagers do if they get fired up and nothing comes of it?”