Insemination

The handsome, strapping black bull stood alone. Ho hum. He pawed the ground to smell the dirt; it held more appeal than the cows off in the distance. He was done with them. He never went back for seconds. Greener pastures were what he wished for, perchance, fresh tail.

Of course, the cows had no interest in him anymore, either. They only needed him for one thing, slam, bam, thankyou ma'am...now, go away: your bullish behavior, such a bore. The cow, due to maternal urges, let the bull in for exactly ten seconds. No need for foreplay, just get her done.

Modern cows don't even miss the bull. They can get pregnant without him; procreation by artificial insemination. A more efficient and effective means to get pregnant. With artificial insemination, you can pick and choose your mate, get the cream of the crop. And who doesn't want that! In the future, all the women wanted that.

____________________

Wyatt wandered around the complex. He admired the spotlessness of it, especially since he was partly responsibe for how spotless it was. He wandered from serenity pool to serenity pool. All the young maidens who enjoyed the pools didn't give him a second glance. The stiff paper clothes he wore began to chaff his privates just a little, they were always too snug in that area.

Wyatt looked at the maidens with an instinctive longing he could barely remember. No one in particular held his attraction, they all looked the same to him. He really couldn't understand the way they mindlessly mingled around the pools as they contemplated the daily activities needed to maintain the complex. Wyatt called them nesting activities, very mundane. He just shook his head as he walked toward the men's quad.

"Hey Wyatt!" Bowie jogged up and tugged Wyatt's paper jumper. He named himself after the musician, David Bowie. In general, men named themselves after some old famous person. He chose Bowie because he considered himself a musician; a flamboyant, pretty one. Wyatt named himself after Wyatt Earp. He figured that he had a cowboy's soul; a wandering gunslinger filled with righteousness.

"Nice outfit, Bowie." Wyatt looked him up and down. Bowie had adorned his jumper with colorful streamers that were glued on over the stars he drew on the jumper legs and sleeves.

"Thanks. I am hoping to play at the games tonight. I figure one of them will let me play. There's Fight Night, Balling Bowl, Takashida Take Down and Doom, all in the big arena. Which one are you going too?"

"Don't know. Haven't decided yet. They enlisted me as the peacekeeper for the Doom room."

"Eww. Those guys can get pretty rough."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Yeah, well, you better change or you'll be the naked peacekeeper!"

"You're a funny, fabulous fuck. Did you know that?"

"Tried and true!"

They walked back to the men's quad in silence. Wyatt liked that about Bowie, he wasn't a big talker. Too much chit-chat irritated him. Wyatt's stomach rumbled. He couldn't wait to grab his mess kit, which included a canteen, meat can and a combination folding knife, fork and spoon then head to the automat. He wasn't sure why his plate was called a meat can. Nobody knew what meat even tasted like anymore. But at least it was an all you can eat automat, as long as you had a workman's card. If you were a productive member in the complex, everything was free.

That actually was a problem for Wyatt, everything being free. He needed to make some boodle for grafting to get out of the complex. He wanted to leave the complex; just travel around, see what there was to see. His wandering soul was beginning to get fed up with the daily routine. He was bored.

"Hey Bowie?" What do you know or hear about the sperm banks?"

"Oh man, you do not want to go there."

"Why? I really need to make some boodle and I hear they pay well."

"Yeah, they pay well, if you can get in. The problem is once you get in, it is hard to get out. Man, they drain you dry!"

"Not possible. I'm good at whacking off."

"You don't whack off there, they use electro-shock, man. You literally cum on their command!"

"That can't be all bad."

"I don't know, man...and I don't want to know. My advice, think twice."

"Sure, sure."

The first day Wyatt had free, his curiosity drew him towards the sperm bank. The glass doors were three times larger than they had to be. Unlike all the other doors, this one did not open mechanically, he had to push it open. He leaned on the door, swoosh, it opened.

"You have entered the sperm bank of your own free will. Welcome. Please continue through the main foyer to the service center."

Wyatt looked around. Very clean, in fact spotless. The floors shimmered when he walked on them. A pink arrow lit up under his feet. He assumed the arrow would direct him to the service center. He assumed correctly.

"Welcome." A metallic robot sound greeted him. "Please place your hand on the identification plate."

Wyatt placed his hand on the identification plate. "Ow!"

"Your DNA sample has been collected. Please wait for confirmation."

"Confirmation for what?"

No reply. Wyatt stared down at the plate. "Fuck this. Bowie was right." He turned to leave.

"Confirmation is complete." The voice stopped Wyatt in his tracks. It wasn't the robot. It was a woman's voice, raspy and deep; like listening to a bass clarinet.

"Confirmation for what?"

"Confirmation that you are a male with no genetic faults."

"So, that's all I need to get in?"

"No, we have just begun. Your full head of hair is getting you into the testing center. I will mark it down, no male patterned baldness detected."

"What kind of tests?"

"Physical mainly."

"I see. What do I call you? My name is Wyatt."

"It doesn't matter. Just call me available assistant two or just assistant, if you prefer."

"Sure, assistant. You have a wonderful voice, by the way." Wyatt crinkled his brow. He couldn't understand what possessed him to say that.

The assistant turned around and smiled slightly at Wyatt. "Good. You have just passed the second test, susceptibility to pheromones."

"And you aren't?"

"No. Not at all. I wear protective gloves to prevent any cross-contamination with your excess testosterone." The assistant wiggled her gloved fingers. "This way, please."

Wyatt was at a loss. He would follow her anywhere, his penis lead the way.

The next room was not as much fun. He wanted the assistant back. Once she closed the door behind him, a voice in a speaker directed him on what to do. One door would open and the door behind him would close. Each new small room had a new set of instructions. They weighed him, measured every part of his body: length of leg, length of torso, feet strength, body fat, muscle tone, stamina, blood pressure, heart rate and even bone density. They took pictures of him from every angle, naked. It made him feel quite self-conscious.

The assistant met him when he exited the last door. "Well, did I pass?"

"You are of excellent quality save one. You have small fingers."

"Small? They are not small."

"They are in comparison to other donors. Not to worry, we will accept you."

"Wait a minute. I need some questions answered."

"I will direct you to the information center. Press the green button if you choose to stay." She left him with a sly smile.

Wyatt sat down to ask the center some questions, "Okay, how much do I get paid."

"As much as you want."

"Okay, not helpful. How long do I have to stay?"

"As long as you want."

"Again, not really helpful." Wyatt began to feel sweaty and anxious. His penis was swelling. The pheromones were working.

"How do I leave?"

"By the same door you entered."

"Shit!"

"Whenever you want."

"How long does it take!"

"Seconds."

Wyatt jumped out of the chair, hit his penis on the edge of the table. "Let me in!" He slammed his fist down on the green button.

The door quietly opened, some sort of classical music played barely hiding the grunts and groans. In fact, the grunts and groans seemed to keep time with the music: one, two, groan, one, two, groan; a pornographic waltz. Two women met him with a white jumper made of soft material he had never seen. He barely noticed them.

"Let's go! I'm ready! Look!" Wyatt pointed down at his penis.

"Very good." The women said in unison. "We have a table just over there for your comfort."

"Okay. Now you're talking."

"Please put this jumper on, it will aid in your adventure, make it effortless."

"Okay...on. Show me to the table." Wyatt could not get there quick enough. The jumper covered everything except his penis and buttocks which waggled in the wind.

The tables were designed for massages, but with more padding. They lined the wall like piano keys. Each table had a large hole just down from the middle.

"How am I going to lay on that?"

"Here, let us help. You lay face down, see." The woman waved her hand around the room like a game show host. The hole design facilitated genital freedom.

"But how am I going to take care of business that way?"

"You don't need to. We will do all the work for you."

"Great! Let's get started." Wyatt jumped onto the table, wiggled around until he was comfortable. He lifted his head and said, "Let's get to it!"

One woman pulled out a small vacuum tube from the wall. It had a rubber suction cup at the end. She pushed it up the shaft of his penis. It was soft with a little fur lining. It felt good.

"Is it going to move or something?"

"No. It doesn't need to. We have improved on the ejaculation process. You will find it quite satisfying."

"Hurry!"

The women pulled two electrodes out from the wall. They carefully placed one on the penile raphe. The other wire they jiggled up Wyatt's rectum until it reached his prostate.

"Woah! Where are you going with that one?"

"Just a little bit farther. There! Are you ready?"

"Yes! Turning blue!"

"Here let us relieve you. One, two, zap." And they released a small electric shock.

"Ooooohhh."

The seminal fluid filled the vacuum tube where it was gently drawn out through the wall for processing.

"Are you ready to go again?"

"Already? No."

"Let's try."

"Wait! Oooooohhhh."

"Very good. Copious amounts."

"Okay. Done?"

"Don't you want to test your limits?"

"Not really."

"One more try. Shall we? Then a little rest. We need to learn you capacity, so that we can regulate and automate." She almost sang the last part of her sentence.

Wyatt was a very good donor, they were pleased with him. When he finished, they took him to a glorious room filled with more food than he had ever seen. He ate and slept until the next day arrived.

"Ready for more?"

"Yeah, sure. Say this isn't so bad."

"Glad to be of service. One, two..."

After one week, Wyatt began to lose all urges that he once had, pheromones or no. It was, ho hum, here we go again. He sat at the table, scraped his plate with his fork, not interested in eating, just pawed at the table. He wondered if he had made enough boodle yet, maybe leave. Wyatt looked around his lush surrroundings with a bland eye, drained of all his ambition.