The Third Sex

by Justin Caas

Privately Published

Editor’s Note

I decided to publish this manuscript because I knew the author himself would not. Justin never saw himself as a ‘real author’, writing only for his own amusement and occasionally sharing his rather unusual concepts with a close friend or two. It is enough to say that he succumbed to my persuasion which is how this story has come to be visible to a wider audience. But it is offered in the spirit of an earlier era, when friends did write to entertain each other and sometimes privately published their work.

Again in the spirit of an earlier era, you are free to share this with anyone. As editor, all I ask is that you respect what the writer has written and do not change anything. That said, enjoy an unusual perspective on life. I hope that the insights that the author makes into some aspects of the human condition will find a resonance with you as it has with those friends with whom he has shared them.

Any resemblance by characters in this story to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

—James Bates

Foreword

To my good friend Jim.

Here is another fantasy, this time about the hazards and highlights of growing up ‘different’ from one’s fellow beings: the story of an erotic journey through life for someone who does not fit the usual norms.

I drew upon some of the experiences of colourful people in the sexually liberated ‘Flower Power’ years of the sixties. The rest is purely whimsical and imaginary.

It is a peculiar aberration in our society that horror and violence is considered ‘acceptable’ but explicit portrayals of love and intimacy are not.

In ‘real life’ people don’t always stop at the respectably romantic but go on to explore more daring configurations. Strangely enough what is deviant in one culture is considered permissible or even normal in another. For better or worse this narrative explores through the medium of a fictional character some of the motivations that have impelled people throughout the ages to explore what lies a bit beyond the social norms.

—Justin Caas

Chapter 1

It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for something you are not.

—Andre Gide

I knew from the beginning that I was different. But it was a while before I understood the full significance. The obvious ones were physical and could be readily seen. The more subtle ones took rather more uncovering.

I was born into an ordinary family, an older brother Alf two years my senior, and a twin sister Kate. At first my parents thought we were identical twins, both girls. I was named Erin. The mistake was understandable. But they later decided that at best, we were fraternal twins because despite having what appeared to be a vagina, it turned out that I was actually a male. How strange is that? Actually it gets a lot stranger.

So for a start, naturally enough, I was brought up as a girl. I sort of felt that wasn’t quite right but when you’re less than two how do you convey such concepts to an adult. That changed one evening when Kate and I were sharing a tub for our nightly bath. For no particular reason I experienced a strange sensation, a sort of pressure, and when I looked down I could see a tip of flesh emerging. Mother and Kate stared in fascination, but when the tip became a pink shaft mother’s initial surprise quickly turned to understanding.

Later on when I had learned to talk, mother reassured me. “Nothing to worry about, some boys have their penis inside them. It’s not common—” an understatement if ever there was one—but it’s not unique either.” That was true I later learned. “You will understand more as you grow older.”

On one occasion Alf coarsely referred to me as a dog cock which caused a swift rebuke from mother, and father demanded an apology. None of it made much sense so for the time being I mostly ignored it.

* * *

Ours was a modest home set in a quiet suburb of neither wealth nor poverty. Our neighbours were people who went about the material trades as builders, plumbers, electricians and gardeners—who were hired by families in the more affluent suburbs.

Father came from a family of wood-workers and fell into the same line of work as a young man. But it soon became apparent that he had a special knack for working and fitting shapes with awkward angles or flowing curves. So before long he was able to move away from the modest craft of cabinet-making to the more lucrative work of a ship fitter which commanded considerably higher fees. As his reputation grew, his services became much in demand.

Mother had originally trained as a computer IT specialist and quickly became skilled enough to command a good salary. In time she was able to set aside substantial savings before withdrawing from active commerce in order to raise a family. My mother’s name was Molly and I loved her dearly. To my eyes she was very beautiful and was always warm and comforting. My dad was named Bert. A man of few words he nevertheless was a good father to us although I found his manner at times gruff. He seldom showed much warmth towards us, perhaps as if fearing that any display of emotion might call his masculinity into doubt, and if Alf or I fell over and grazed a knee his response was likely to be, “Such is life. Get used to it.” My mother, on the contrary would soothe childish tears with hugs and soft words of comfort.

With the earnings of mother and father combined they were in due course able to afford a more luxurious home. But they liked the neighbourhood where they had grown up. And of course it wouldn’t do to display a home openly more ostentatious than those of their neighbours. My father provided a clever solution in a range of beautiful interior fittings carved from ordinary timber, and as these were created by his skill rather than his money, the result was warmly appreciated by those in our village.

I looked up to my older brother Alf with a certain awe because he always seemed to know much more than I and was familiar with the ways of the world and had friends who were also older and a bit mysterious. I tried to include myself in his games and activities and sometimes he went along with my pleadings, often after some earnest coaxing from mother, but he was generally uneasy including me as older brothers often tend to be with younger ones. Then of course I was different which tended to subtly alienate me from his friends. Not wishing to fall out of favour with his friends Alf tended to mirror their same sentiments towards me whether he agreed with their assessment at the time or not. So I often ended up playing with my sister Kate, which wasn’t so bad because mostly we got on pretty well together.

Being a girl, my sister’s games were naturally oriented towards girl activities which included play-houses and dolls. I learned at an early age that life doesn’t always arrange itself to suit our personal preferences so a flexible outlook is helpful.

In the summer we would often play in the back garden which was largely an overgrown wilderness with long grass through which interesting tunnels could be formed. I think I was about eight when an unexpected event occurred. Kate and I had been rattling around in our grass house when we both realised that we needed to pee. We were right in the middle of an absorbing game and it was a long walk back to the real house. We looked at each other and agreed to do it where we were. Or rather in a grass space a little distance away from our house. I squatted down like Kate and even as I did so I remember feeling annoyed that I could not simply stand and do it like my brother. As I had nothing to aim I had to squat like a girl. I was aware of a soft hissing, quite unlike the silent stream my brother made if he pissed outdoors. When you are young it is sometimes the little things that stand out in your mind.

Kate looked up in annoyance.

“What?”

“I’ve got nothing to wipe with.”

“It’ll dry by itself.” Yet I sympathised. I knew rather accurately what she was feeling. Kate paused indecisively then with a gentle gust of wind, I caught a waft of her pee and the scent affected me powerfully. It seemed at that moment as if my sense of smell had been augmented a thousandfold. I detected a vast number of hidden messages in that scent, most of which I could not identify, but overriding all was a compulsion to get closer. I felt dizzy and disoriented. Hesitantly I suggested I could lick her dry. I don’t know why I suggested this. It was the compulsion speaking. Kate recoiled in distaste.

“It’s okay,” I hastily reassured her. “People do it all the time, it’s…” I cast about for a plausible reason. “It’s natural, sort of good for you,” I finished lamely.

Kate was far from convinced but I could see in her expression that the concept also intrigued her. Kate has always been a bit daring, ready to try anything new. “How will we do it?” she temporised.

“I’ll lie down back in our nest. You can squat over me, okay?”

Kate was still not convinced, but she objected only half-heartedly. My tongue snaked out, lapped at the slit of her sex. Kate shivered and I had to reach up with my hands around her waist to steady her. “Is it dry yet?” she wanted to know.

“Not really, I’ll need to do it some more.” I guess boys learn early, don’t they?

“Well hurry then, it’s making me shiver.”

This proved to be a big understatement. One of the other peculiarities that came with my Third Sex status was an unusually long tongue and it was evidently doing tumultous things to Kate’s emotions and when, on an impulse, it lapped up against her anus, she shuddered violently and muttered something inaudible. I was completely carried away, running in automatic mode and acting entirely on instinct.

Strangely enough Kate did not feel guilty about our naughty behaviour. It was daring and probably forbidden, therefore exciting. We decided to keep it our secret. When Kate suggested thereafter a game in our grass house I detected in her words a frisson of exhilaration that accompanied them, the secret acknowledgement that afterwards we would wet together and I would lick her dry. The attraction for Kate was the tumultous sensations that my tongue sent through her body, the sensations which I later learned were the throes of orgasmic pleasure.

For me the compulsion was harder to define. I just knew that it was something I was driven to do. This urge led on to a more daring concept and one afternoon I suggested to Kate that she save a little and do the rest in my mouth as I licked her.

Kate remained silent as she considered this radical concept. “Why?”

But I think we both sensed why. When something that starts out as novel, exciting and daring becomes repeated often enough it loses its glamour and becomes commonplace and even dreary. Licking up the drips was daring in the beginning. This new prospect seemed a whole lot more exciting but also a bit scary. So it had all the ingredients of setting off into the unknown again and of course we couldn’t resist it.

We had always been attuned to each other’s moods and now Kate seemed instinctively to sense that she would have to release it in little spurts lest I were drowned in a flood. I could feel her body tremble faintly as she prepared herself. My heart pounded more strongly as I waited. When the first spurt came hotly in my mouth it was both familiar yet unexpected. It was a taste that was both ordinary yet ancient; and rather unexpected that I found it so desirable. Swallowing Kate’s offering just seemed both natural and enjoyable. So with lips pressed firmly against her vulva I drank steadily from her and felt flooding through my whole being the intimacy of being connected to her as some intimate part of her own body mingled and spread throughout my own.

Naturally at the age of eight or nine, I couldn’t express these concepts in as many words, but they were there as a glimmer of an inner understanding. Of course we were both drawn to do it again, picking a time when we could indulge ourselves without fear of being interrupted. No one had actually said such a thing was wrong but from an early age children usually sense what is socially acceptable and what is not. For some reason we were both drawn to this private secret that we shared and thereafter we repeated it many times.

* * *

Of course I also felt a vague sense of guilt at times because I was sure that drinking from your sister wasn’t really a socially approved activity. I don’t think it bothered Kate and she never raised the issue as a moral one. It wasn’t until some years later that I chanced upon an article that changed my thinking. It was headed ‘The latest news – old knowledge. Urine is the perfect medicine!’

That startled me a bit. I read on: ‘Used for thousands of years, urine therapy is being rediscovered and proves repeatedly to be the perfect medicine it has always been.’

Who says so? Some high profile doctors apparently, although it is hardly a mainstream medical position. Yet was practised by some high-profile believers such as Moraji Desai a former Prime Minister of India. The English actress Sara Miles was also a keen advocate, citing Gandhi, who was also an adherent of the belief, and she followed the tradition of drinking her own urine for thirty years, saying that it has kept her healthy and vigorous.

Well perhaps, or perhaps not, but the biggest relief to me was that I was not alone and more importantly there was perhaps no need to feel guilty about it. However I was later to discover that my motivation did not arise from any intellectual human decision about such things. It ran deeper than that and was a byproduct of how I came to be born the way I was.

Chapter 2

Morality is a private and costly luxury.

—Henry Adams

I had a few friends at school but not as many as other students. I think most pupils were wary because I was different and because of this I also came in for a fair share of teasing. Before long I came to the attention of Pudding and his two cronies, the school bullies.

They caught me as I was leaving school one afternoon. Pudding blocked my path, “What are you staring at?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t staring,” I apologised. I thought of running, and looked frantically around me. There was nowhere to run to.

“You calling me a liar?” he replied belligerantly.

“No, I’ve …” But it was at that moment that I discovered that words although outwardly reasonable do not always work in your favour. In fact words only work in the favour of people who are receptive to them. Pudding apparently, was not.

“I’ve had enough of your smart talk,” and the next moment a stinging blow caught the side of my face. It was followed by another to my stomach and I collapsed to the ground. This made it easier for Pudding’s two cronies to join in, which they did with fists and feet, especially feet. Then without warning they disappeared. I looked up to see a teacher glaring down at me. It was Master Preborne, known to be one ready with the cane and short on philosophical insights.

“If I catch you fighting again you’ll be in big trouble,” he warned then departed without a backward glance.

Of course when I arrived home there were questions about my bruised and battered state. As it happened father was sharing a drink with an old friend, a man of middle years but with a fitness that spoke of an active life. His friend looked at me quizzically, “What happened?”

I told him and to his next question, I agreed that it wasn’t the first time.

“You have to stand up to bullies,” he said. “If you don’t it just encourages them more.”

“There are three of them,” I explained, “and they’re all bigger than me.”

“Speed and surprise can swing things in your favour—especially so if they’re not expecting it. I used to be an MP. Know what that is, boy?”

I shook my head.

“It’s not a politician. In the army I was in the Military Police. We’re not the most popular of soldiers, but at times we had to confront some of the toughest men. I can show you a few pointers to looking after yourself.”

He did—for many afternoons, although I hoped I’d never be obliged to see how effective they were.

* * *

By now I had grown accustomed to my indeterminate status. We were entering the teenage years, and impelled by a surge of unfamiliar hormones became aware of new urges.

It didn’t take long for some of the boys at school to discover masturbation. The others would discover it in due course when their time came. I guess it’s a stage most boys reach and perhaps girls too although none of us was too sure about the motivations of girls except to observe that girls were both weird and incomprehensible while at the same time being totally desirable—although mostly unattainable.

I was no exception to these urges, except in my case I didn’t have a readily available penis to play with and when it did come out, touching it with dry hands wasn’t an option because it then became difficult and painful to retract back into its sheath. So I was filled the the urges but hadn’t puzzled out a way to satisfy them. About this time and observing frequent wet patches in my pants mother suggested a visit to Dr Fox the family physician who, she claimed, could impart enlightment on the issue of my strange and troubling gender.

So I made an appointment.

Dr Fox is a small man in his early fifties of slender physique and greying hair. His manner could be wry, but as he ushered me into his surgery he seemed quite genial. I guess he looked forward to talking about something different from winter colds and problem haemorrhoids.

The surgery was small and overlooked a sunny garden. Dr Fox indicated a chair and seated himself. He leaned forward and said, “You are no doubt familiar with some aspects of your body so perhaps the first thing is to give you some background that you may not be aware of and we’ll move on from there to your present condition. That okay with you?”

I nodded.

“The Third Sex did not arise through evolution. It is a genetically engineered body. The motivation was the terrible devastation caused by the last major war three hundred years ago. The human race was in danger of dying out unless a drastically accelerated programme of renewal could be found. So much is common knowledge although people today are now becoming hazy about the details of the Third Sex, or Studs, as they were popularly called. Scientists looked to nature, noting that rams, for example were tireless breeders and one ram in a field full of sheep could impregnate all of them in a short time. Dogs are much the same and for various reasons of a technical nature a decision was made to emulate in a human, some of the canine characteristics from a breeding perspective. You with me so far?”

I nodded again, wondering if such theory was really necessary.

Dr Fox continued, “You will perhaps be aware that the penis of a male dog is concealed within a sheath, and emerges, largely under the stimulus of smell becoming erect and ready for mating. The opening you have at your crotch is not in fact a vagina. It is a sheath protecting your penis. When hormones move a boy’s body towards maturity he is powerfully affected by the sight of the opposite sex. In your case sight plays a lesser part and sense of smell dominates. Already you will be able to detect when a woman is ovulating by sense of smell alone, just like your canine antecedents. But it is important for you to understand that as far as thoughts, feelings, intellect is concerned you are totally human; though as far as instinctive responses are concerned you are and will be largely ruled by canine impulses.”

Some of this was new to me so I started to listen more carefully.

Your mother indicated that at times, lubrication appeared in your pants. Females experience this upon arousal in preparation for intercourse. In males there may be a vestigal leakage on arousal, but in dogs rather copious ejaculation can take place before and during intercourse. This may be mistaken for a climax. It is not. It is merely a thin, watery lubrication. That is what you have possibly been experiencing. You have no doubt also noticed that if your penis becomes dry it is painful to retract it back into its sheath. It’s a bit messy I’m sorry to say, but there are compensations. Shall I go on?”

I nodded. I’d better learn the worst.

“Your school friends, I’m referring to boys here, have no doubt discovered masturbation and may indulge in this quite lot. However once they have experienced a climax, it usually takes a distinct time before they are re-charged as it were. As they get older the interval between re-charges lengthens from minutes to hours or longer. In your case there is only a small latency and it doesn’t change much with age. That means that you are perfectly capable of impregnating a dozen or more women a day.”

Dr Fox chuckled as he saw my look of amazement. “But there’s a catch here as well. In life there usually is. The catch is that to perform repeatedly you usually need to be motivated by the unique smell of a woman ovulating. Although even without this stimulus the nature of your genetic engineering will impel you to seek out sexual contact more often than ordinary males. That is after all, why you were bred—to impregnate females and the mechanism is very efficient.”

“But how is this possible if I have no testicles to produce sperm?” I queried. I had learned in biology class that testicles were an essential component.

Dr Fox grinned again. “Ah, but you do, they are tucked away inside you. But while they remain there you are in fact sterile. The reason being, the higher body temperature is fatal to sperm. But you do have within conscious control a muscular reflex which can expel the testicles through that same sheath-opening to hang outside the body. After some months the cooler surroundings vitalise the sperm and it becomes potent. You will find though that the act of extruding or withdrawing your testicles to be a painful process. They don’t like being squeezed. So leave it until the time when you need to start breeding.”

“How do you mean need, do I not have a choice in this matter?”

“For better or worse your motivations are already genetically programmed into you.” Dr Fox continued, “There are still many childless women who wish to become pregnant but for various reasons are unable to do so or their circumstances may make it difficult. Studs, as they are popularly called are still in ready demand on account of their excellent genetic heritage. That also is part of your genetic engineering.

Now I’m sure your next question is going to be what sort of offspring will I produce? The answer is: only normal males and females. It would be unusual to produce another stud, in fact such a condition has so far never been recorded.”

“Well how did I come to be born then? I mean my mother and father are just ordinary people as far as I know.”

“Exactly true. Studs occur spontaneously at a present frequency of about one in a thousand births, but the link is carried by the mother, who inherited it from her mother and so on. In the early days Stud births were plentiful but as the mother’s line gradually becomes more attenuated so the frequency becomes less and eventually it will die out altogether. The programme has largely fulfilled its purpose. You might remember learning that just after the Great War, not only was the earth’s population largely depleted, but it took a greater toll on males, hence the overwhelming preponderance of females which still exists today although the balance is gradually being restored.”

* * *

I walked out of Dr Fox’s surgery in deep thought. He had given me much to ponder on. Some of my pecularities now made more sense, the slightly longer than normal tongue just happened to come with the canine heritage; it wasn’t deliberate. But the greatly augmented sense of smell was definitely needed—in order to more exactly pick at which time of the month a woman was most likely to conceive. It was dismal news learning that I could not pick and choose my future career. That was already decided for me. The prospect of a life of endless copulating might sound attractive, but I felt sure that like a surfeit of anything, I would grow tired of it. I could only wait and see what happened.

Later that evening Kate and I talked about some of the other things that Dr Fox had told me. Kate asked, “How do you know that women will be attracted to you? We aren’t just cattle to be bred you know!”

I was ready for that one. “Dr Fox explained that much care had been taken with appearance. As I become mature my features are supposed to become even more regular and even. He said that women look unconsciously for symmetry in a body, which indidates a prospect for better offspring. Also these will be women who have already decided they want a baby and if this is what it takes then a Stud will give them the best chance for a genetically superior one. They aren’t expected to fall in love or anything like that. Women can be quite impersonal about such things if it suits them—according to the doctor anyway.”

Kate pondered, “I guess so. But sex usually plays only a small part of a person’s life. Won’t you get sick of endless copulation?”

“I thought I might, but Dr Fox said no. He said if a dog has just finished mating and turns to find another bitch on heat, he immediately approaches her with the same compulsive intensity as though this is the first and only thing his life has been leading up to. In other words the dog has no say in the matter. The instinct is inbuilt and he simply follows it.”

“How dreary,” Kate commented. “It’d be fun for a start but I’d soon get bored.”

“Possibly,” I acknowledged. “But then you aren’t a dog—or a Stud either for that matter.”

I was still engrossed in the mysteries of my existence on my way home from school the following day when I encountered Pudding and his two thugs again. My heart began to beat faster in fear. They had picked a good place to beat me up, a secluded grove which I often used as a shortcut. Pudding stood blocking the path, arms folded, a complacent smirk on his face. “Hello, who do we have here, it’s not the girly again is it?”

Burke the smaller of the two thugs guffawed loudly. His companion Gretan said nothing. Gretan was spoiling for a fight and I feared him more than Pudding as he was larger and more physically fit than Pudding.

“Please stand aside and let’s all just go on our way. There’s no need for unpleasantness.”

Pudding shook his head. “Oh but there is. You’re a freak and you know it. Freaks have no place in this town. You need to move out and until you do, we’ll be having these little reminders.” He stepped closer.

I opened my mouth as if to speak, but instead pivoted swiftly from the waist, smashed my forehead on to his nose. The forehead is a very strong bony structure, much stronger than hands and my hands were more delicate than the heavy paws on these fellows. Pudding didn’t have time to shriek. His head flew back, he folded at the knees and by the time he hit the ground he was already largely unconscious. His nose was bleeding copiously and was already swelling. The legacy of that blow would last for months because a smashed nose can cause sinus blockage and discomfort that can last for years. It was also going to give me a splitting headache for a while too, but I had no time to think about that now because Gretan was rapidly approaching from behind and was almost at my right shoulder.

I clasped my right fist with my left hand and swung my body around with a lightning turn to face him. I had no time at all to aim—it was either going to be my lucky day or I’d be down and beaten to a pulp. One chance was all I had. My elbow caught him in the throat. The bully staggered back, gasping and croaking, his larynx probably crushed. Breathing would be difficult. It all happened so fast. Burke saw what was happening and took to his heels. But amazingly, Gretan wasn’t finished with me and came forward fast, his face suffused with rage and pain. I’m not proud of what happened next, but it was going to be one of us that went down and I was just trying to make sure it wasn’t me. At the last moment I side-stepped his rush, swivelled again to my right and standing on my right leg leaned far over. My left leg came up sideways, hit his knee. I heard a crack. Gretan screamed in pain and toppled to the ground.

I decided now was a good time to leave them to it. They could commiserate with each other when Pudding regained consciousness.

Chapter 3

Masturbation: the primary sexual activity of mankind. In the nineteenth century, it was a disease; in the twentieth, it’s a cure.

—Thomas Szasz, The Second Sin (1973)

News of my exploits with Pudding and his cronies spread fast. But there were no witnesses, only the uncorrobated testimony of two bullies—the third had fled. In the event both decided not to press charges, for which I was profoundly grateful as I had already spent some sleepless nights tossing and turning over possible outcomes, while nursing the grandad of all headaches.

Before long the gossip subsided, became stale news and forgotten. A dubious benefit from this event was a new acceptance into boys’ groups which had formerly been closed to me. Amazing. It takes violence to become accepted? Apparently. But with my new status as power-warrior I also became admitted to some of the boys’ circle jerks. This is a typically teenage activity confined mostly to those young males who have just discovered the delights of masturbation and are so proud of their new status that they feel compelled to do it together.

When the lads gathered in a disused room under the gym they one by one unfastened pants and proudly displayed stiff erections; brought to excitement by the mere prospect of masturbating en masse. The idea was to rapidly stroke the erect flesh to a tumultous spurting, which of course was greeted by gasps and applause. There was a lot of brave talk beforehand, much laughter although no one wanted to be first. Each of the boys present looked to his neighbour for encouragement, but little was forthcoming. Finally Thomas started the show rolling with a very neat wrist action accompanied by a look of vacant adoration on his face. I wasn’t sure where the adoring look came from; maybe he was in love with his penis. Right now it was responding magnificently to his blandishments and when the moment of truth arrived the penis did not let its owner down. On the contrary it gave a splendid performance by spraying the floor with excitment not once, but twice, then three times, then…surely this would be all? But no—yet a further eruption to the admiring scrutiny of his friends. Thomas managed five rather large expulsions. He looked around with bashful but proud gaze. Was this a record? But I noted a strange aftermath. Once Thomas had expended his energy, his equipment went limp and (apparently) went out of action.

One by one the other boys followed suit, heralding a climax with joyous cries, gasps and other verbal manifestation according to their nature. I noted that Tony, a smaller and rather shy boy eschewed theatrics, stroked his member urgently to a culmination and dribbled copiously over his trousers. Surely that was not a winning score? But as far as I could see, no one was keeping a tally.

Once the boys had spent their load, cocks quickly dwindled to slackness. It was here that I felt my keenest disappointment at being excluded. I was excited and aroused but with some embarrassment mumbled an apology. The group were embarrassed also, unwilling to exclude me but unsure how to proceed. Someone said, “Show us your cunt!”

I cringed inwardly a moment but thought, if this is what it takes to become a club member then … I slipped my pants down then underpants. There was a dead silence as the boys looked on at what to all outward appearances was a girl’s one. I should mention that rather like a girl’s body, mine also was almost completely hairless except for a thick mop of hair on my head. They stared then the same boy, Thomas urged, “Can you make it come out?”

I had learned how to do this from explanations by Dr Fox but had never thought of it as a recreational display. Extending my penis from its sheath was mostly under conscious control although when I became excited it seemed to have a mind of its own and tried to come out anyway.

I stood before the group, legs slightly apart. There was a collective gasp as a pink tip appeared between my legs, then more of it emerged, a long slender tube. I had to admit to myself it did look remarkably like a dog cock. The boys were fascinated and broke out into an excited chatter. There were calls of “Go on, give it some wrist action” and “Let’s see you spunk!”

I said it was difficult to touch it with a dry hand because it needed to be slippery to go back inside again. It looked as though this was going to be the end of a new acceptance. The boys were starting to lose interest. But I noticed that, inspired by the sight of a very lifelike-looking vagina, several of the guys had become erect again. A desperate thought occurred to me and turning to Thomas offered, “But if you want, I can give you some oral!” I was not to know that this was actually quite an unusual offer. Being fellated was an order of magnitude more desirable than mere handwork but only if you received it. Actually doing it to another boy sort of called in question your masculinity. After all sucking off was apparently a girl’s job.

Even so, it didn’t happen often because although the boys were ruled by runaway hormones, girls were more choosy and few allowed their charms to be displayed let alone used without exacting a substantial price—or at least the promise of a price. Boys found this incomprehensible. Were girls not motivated by the lure of sex? Perhaps, but only on their own terms which seemed to boys very hard to understand. But then girls were pretty opaque at the best of times weren’t they. Yet here was someone who looked a bit like a girl offering the ultimate in sensual activities. Thomas accepted with alacrity.

Actually oral was not the ultimate in sensual experiences. A fuck was the ultimate. But despite boastful claims to the contrary, few boys in this era had actually reached such a meaningful stage in the male/female relationship stakes. It was something to be longed for, to be lusted over in fantasy, but seldom encountered in reality. So at that stage in their journey through life, it was largely discounted except for frantic bouts of hand-work in bed at night—or occasionally a lucky encounter where oral was offered.

Oral has a charm all of its own as many persons both male and female have discovered. Whether it merits a higher rating than doing it with a girl is largely a matter of personality and personal preference. I later discovered an almost even split on the scoreboard of desirability as far as males are concerned. It seemed to me, in later years after I had had an opportunity to acquire such knowledge, that male persons fell into roughly two categories: the first being the rough, tough, brawny he-man (possibly ape-gorilla, but maybe that’s going too far) who prefers a quick suck because it takes up a minimum of his valuable time, relieves the urge and requires no tedious warming-up of the female beforehand, or post-operation-promises to her afterwards.

The second category may even be a bit more treacherous as he woos his maiden with fair words and gentle manifestations until he gets it into her and then all civility is lost as he gives her a sound rogering, intent only on achieving (as rapidly as possible) his own blissful conclusion. I hasten to add that these categories are rather too stark and inflexible to encompass all mankind, but from my later experience, it does include a large segment of humanity—at least the male component. None of these valuable insights had yet occurred to me of course. My primary motivation at the moment was to be accepted into the in-group and is that not a powerful motivation for young teenage males just discovering themselves?

It was a first for me, and later I learned for Thomas as well, despite his boastings to the contrary. Thomas leaned back in the chair on which he was sitting and gave himself totally to the sensations of bliss as a wet mouth sucked him to a convulsive spending. Unexpectedly, I found the taste of his semen highly stimulating and swallowed it greedily. Rather more unexpectedly, I found the experience itself both invigorating and mentally rejuvenating.

After that, several lined up for the same treatment. It was doing me no harm that my reputation improved by the minute and better still, I enjoyed what I was doing.

When it came to an end and the group lay back exhausted and replete, young Peter spoke up from the side. “Okay guys, Erin has told us why he can’t enjoy a hand job like the rest of us. But he’s given us a great treat. Is anyone volunteering to return the favour for him?”

There was silence as the boys considered this unexpected proposition. He was after all, a bit alien. Didn’t look like us. What if he tasted like a dog cock as well as looking like one. No one wanted to be first to find out. No one was sure whether any of the group had actually tried a dog cock, but some of the members were dark horses and you could never be sure when a dark horse smilingly denied an experience whether he was any more truthful than the boastful extroverts who claimed experiences that were mostly imaginary.

Peter looked around. “Well okay if you are all chicken, then I’m on to try it. What about it Erin?”

I was surprised by this turn of events, but also aroused at the thought. “Sure, if you want to.”

I reclined in a nearby chair, spread my legs and as I concentrated on it, my penis emerged again wetly shining with the lubrication that was already dripping from its tip. Peter took a big breath and bravely lowered himself, closed his eyes as his mouth engulfed the flesh before him. His first surprise was to discover it was hotter in his mouth than the penis of those few buddies with whom he had shared this daring feat before. His next surprise was to discover that I was ejaculating in little spurts almost continuously from the time he started. His third surprise was to discover, rather gratifyingly that it didn’t taste so bad either although rather different from his gay buddies. Pete was not aroused by girls, his attraction was almost exclusively to boys and it was solely my penis itself which had excited his curiosity.

For my part the sensation of his mouth engulfing my penis was a wholly mind-blowing sensation. Never had I imagined such pleasure was possible. I was close to orgasm and soon Pete would have a different taste in his mouth as the real thing itself shot into him. But such fleeting thoughts remained in the background. I was content to leave such issues until they happened. Right at the moment my whole body was rising on a tide of sharp ecstasy and then it was upon me, and pulsing wetly into his mouth in long, slow spasms. Pete gulped, choked a bit, but to his credit stayed the course and accepted it all.

When Pete withdrew, my penis remained erect and now swollen in girth. There was silence in the room as they contemplated this unexpected state of affairs.

“Doesn’t it go down when you’ve come?” one voice questioned.

I hadn’t really thought about it before. “If there’s nothing further to do it goes down,” I acknowledged but if there’s still activity then it stays up.”

“Are you saying you can do it again right away?”

“Oh yes, of course.” I thought of the time I had shared this happy state with my sister Kate. Of the times we had spent a wet Sunday afternoon with nothing else to do in Kate’s bedroom lying top to tail and pleasuring each other for hours on end.

Thomas looked around. “You want to do it again?”

“Sure.”

Several boys were busily questioning Pete about his new and brave expedition into unknown territory and from the look of awe on his listeners’ faces, was embellishing the experience with considerable extra drama.

Thomas and Pete were close friends and shared many of the same motivations. Thomas now stepped forward and lowered himself towards the unknown, dubiously noting that the small pink shaft which Pete had engulfed was now considerably more formidable but with only a small hesitation, he took it into his mouth and began a rhythmic exercise. Waves of pleasure again spread throughout my body, and in automatic response started the small squirts of of the first stage. I watched Thomas’ face closely. Like Pete, he too went through the stages of wary undertainty, surprise, relief and finally acceptance. The big event was almost upon me. I called out softly to Thomas to warn him, then it erupted heavily in his mouth.

“What was it like?” several voices wanted to know.

Without thinking what he was saying, the words just tumbled out, “Just like a dog’s one.”

The room grew silent. Thomas’ face reddened, glanced at me with an apologetic embarrassment. What did this mean, that I was finished as a member of their circle?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It was just …” he finished lamely.

Suddenly it was all over. The boys dressed themselves with a furtive embarrassment now that the urges had been released. No one wanted to look directly at me except Pete. He gave me a quiet smile and in a sense that acceptance meant more to me than all the other guys put together.

* * *

I was telling Kate about it later in the afternoon. She listened with curiosity, interrupting occasionally to ask a question; finally shook her head and asked, “Why did you do it?”

“It’s hard to explain. Perhaps it’s a boy thing. The urge for release can become overpowering at times. You just need to do it. I pondered a moment then added, “Well okay, perhaps even more important, I wanted to be accepted into their circle. That’s hard to explain but it’s real.”

Kate thought a moment then said slowly, “Okay, I can understand that. I also know what a mouth feels like, it’s a whole order of … of magnitude better than a hand, right?”

“Kate. You’re different from other girls. I couldn’t even begin to discuss such a thing with any other girl …”

Kate smiled. “I’m not as different as you think. But I know you better than you imagine. I sense your frustration. We’ve always been pretty close, okay? So …” She paused.

“So?”

“So if it’s a mouth that brings you relief, what’s wrong with your own mouth?”

I was astonished that the thought hadn’t occurred to me. Together with other canine characteristics my body possessed a surprising agility. I hadn’t tried but felt pretty sure that it would work. Kate grinned, “I’ll leave you to make your own discoveries.” Then frowned, “But just make sure you don’t neglect my own little private needs!”

Chapter 4

You will not easily get a man to believe that his carnal love for the woman he has made his wife is as high a love as that he felt for his mother or sister.

—D.H. Lawrence

It was a novel concept, but I was sure it would work. But would it bring the same relief that Thomas and Pete furtively enjoyed in class every day. Somehow doing things to yourself seemed less exciting that having those little attentions awarded by someone else.

There was a reason why they sat at the back of the room, staring with rapt concentration at the words of wisdom issuing from their biology teacher. But their minds were far away. First Pete’s hand would reach out, tentatively touch the leg of his friend. Fingers slowly groped for the leg of his friend’s shorts. First the fingers, then the hand itself slowly worked its way into the leg, helped by some obliging assistance from Thomas who would subtly shift his position to facilitate the procedure. At the same time Thomas would lean forward, one elbow on the desk supporting his upper body so that the the other hand was free to mount a similar expedition on Pete’s leg.

Before long the hands of both had reached their respective goals. At that age everything is hair-trigger. The slightest touch sends shivers of delight racing along nerves as a hand grasps and fondles an erect penis. Both Pete and Thomas agreed that one’s own hand was not nearly as good as a friend’s hand. The sensations being magnified tenfold.

Then began a slow dance to nirvana with frequent pauses to prevent an over-heated early culmination. It took a fair amount of practice to keep the pot boiling away without overflowing. But both boys were dedicated to the task of perfecting this mission. Inevitably there were errors of judgement. In an urge to experience that state of bliss just a moment longer the urgent hiss, “Stop!” would come too late and a wet pulsing would come in his pants. Sometimes in a spirit of devilry Pete or Thomas would ignore the friend’s urgent warning and deliberately continue the fondling until their hand was rewarded by a sudden rush of wetness. It was always a thrilling event.

Admittedly there was the aftermath of a wet stain in the front of the boy’s pants and a sensation of discomfort at the wetness for some time. Sperm seemed to dry so slowly. But this was reckoned a small price to pay for a few brief moment of the ultimate ecstasy. There was also a certain amount of pride amongst those pupils who had discovered masturbation in having starched pants as the condition was called. Those pupils whose front of pants were as stiff as a board were looked upon with admiration as having an exceptional virility.

The irony of their situation was not lost on Pete. Here was the teacher droning on about the chemical and neurological aspects of bodily functions, while he and Thomas were engaged in a far more meaningful practical study. And of course, practice makes perfect.

I pondered on these classroom activities that Thomas and Pete confided in me. Once they had both reached a climax, they started to hear the technical details of the lesson but it was either too little or came too late to prevent each from achieving a joint status of bottom-of-the-class. The boys rationalised it this way: if we met with an accident and died tomorrow, at least we’d have had some blissful moments beforehand. Whereas if that same accident cut our lives short with only a theoretical knowledge of biology to remember them by, then we’d be better off starching our pants instead.

Both suspected there was some flaw in this reasoning but decided to stick with the starching in the meantime.

In the same spirit of adventure I decided to put to the test my own experiment in self-help orgasmic pleasure. Concealed in the darkness of my room, comfortably in bed and with only a faint glow of moonlight shining through my bedroom window I slipped out of pyjamas and curled up in a ball. It was a position I was able to achieve very easily, although apparently not for ordinary boys. One or two could manage it after some strenuous practice and claimed that taking one’s own penis into one’s mouth the ultimate in masturbation. I would soon find out. I focussed on it and a thin pointed shaft slipped out of its sheath and slid into my mouth. It was a pleasant and curiously satisfying sensation. But once the shaft was enclosed in a warm mouth that sensitive organ quickly responded with waves of delirious sensation. Sucking rhythmically produced the most intense sensations and I sensed that if I kept this up that before long the great moment would arrive. So I slowed down a bit enjoying the little spurts coming in my mouth every few seconds. A part of my awareness idly noted that swallowing it solved the problem of otherwise messy sheets. How convenient. But soon I could feel a growing wave of approaching ecstasy and as that happened a curious change occurred in the slender shaft in my mouth. It began to swell enormously. A moment later the first spurt of bliss arrived. Then again and again. For a moment I was stunned at its intensity, my whole body shivering in the aftermath.

Of course Kate had to know about this new discovery and the next morning she was eager to hear all the details as we compared notes like two conspirators. “Could you reach around okay? I mean most people can’t get their head around that far,” Kate wanted to know.

“Oh yes. That’s quite easy and even comfortable. I mean it’s not unique. I read where two Chinese women gymnasts could curl up into a ball and they both masturbated exclusively that way.”

“So what was it like?”

“Pretty good,” I acknowledged.

“As good as when I do it to you?”

I should have been warned by her tone of voice but was still re-living the sensations. “Actually even bet—”

Kate froze and looked away. I desperately tried to explain that what I really meant was—and of course—but the damage had been done. Kate rose and disappeared into the kitchen.

Well there goes my future prospects. Looks like it’s going to be a solo activity from here on. The thought filled me with a sick depression. I hated it when we got offside with each other. Nothing I could do about it at the moment though.

* * *

The following month father was out of town fitting out a rather large luxury craft. It was school holidays and Kate had gone to a summer camp with her friends.

“Why don’t you invite some of your friends around?” Mother suggested. I felt restless and couldn’t settle to anything and the company of friends didn’t appeal. Mother had dressed in a sleevless cream coloured top and a short cotton skirt, the one with little watering cans around the hem which she often wore while gardening. The morning sun beat down with a steady intensity. “It’ll be too hot to do much more out there before long,” she observed. I caught a faint waft of sweat as she brushed past and busied herself making a cup of tea.

Then I realised what was just on the edge of perception; mother was ovulating. I detected it as a powerful need to get closer. Before she had a chance to pick up her cup, I threw my arms around her and hugged. Molly turned in surprise but smiled and hugged me in return. Mother and Kate were both warmly demonstrative and I never lacked for hugs. Except that I was out of favour with Kate at the moment. The scent struck me again as if from a powerful aphrodisiac. I felt a moment of light-headed dizziness and when I returned to my senses was dismayed to discover that my hips were moving in an involuntary thrusting against my mother’s thigh.

Molly separated herself from me. “You shouldn’t be doing that Erin. It’s not right.”

“Sorry.” But I followed her into the living room and sat down on the floor at her feet, watching as she drank her tea. Her face showed an expression of amusement and also concern. “You could go sailing with Brian?” she ventured doubtfully. “I met him at the store yesterday and he said he’d like you to go sailing with him.”

I had a strong suspicion that Brian was less interested in my none-existent nautical abilities than what lay inside my pants. I had mostly been accepted by other students and I got on really well with many girls who readily welcomed the friendship. The boys perhaps had a different agenda but I said nothing of this to mother.

“I need to stay close to you at the moment.”

Molly shook her head, “I understand what is happening and of course you can’t help the motivations you were programmed with but you can exercise a choice. Ring Brian. If you are out of the house the problem won’t be confronting you.”

“Okay.” But for a moment instinct prevailed and as mother rose to her feet, I clung to her left leg and humped against it. My vision was a red mist of passion. I looked up at her helplessly. Then blinking rapidly, I disengaged myself. Mother glanced down said, “You’d better change, you’re quite wet in the front.”

“It’ll dry,” I said dismissively and turned to the phone. Brian was indeed interested to go sailing and said he knew of a quiet backwater where we could relax. I was pretty sure what sort of relaxation Brian had in mind, but merely said I’d meet him in a while. For some reason adding, “about lunchtime.” That would give me time to change my mind if the prospect of Brian’s company didn’t appeal.

I turned to mother, said I was probably going to go sailing with Brian but first I had to get something from the store.

“Bring back some sun cream while you’re at it,” mother asked.

Armed with a credit card I stepped out the front door and down the street. Damn, forgot my hat. This sun is fierce. I wavered between returning or pressing on regardless and was half-way to the store before deciding I’d be burnt if I didn’t go back now.

I stepped quietly through the front door, looked down and decided mother was right, the wet patch was very visible. I’d better change, only take a moment. I slipped the trousers off and was rummaging through the cupboard when I heard a small gasp in the doorway. I turned to see mother naked except for the towel she was holding in front of her; the sound of a running shower a faint patter in the background.

“I heard a noise,” she explained, “What are you doing back so soon?”

“I forgot my hat, and …” pointing to the discarded pants, “thought I’d better change these as well.” As I spoke, I rapidly approached and hugged her close to me. It all happened rather quickly. When the towel was accidentally brushed aside hot flesh pressed against mother’s belly. I was powerless to do anything but just cling her her. Presently her flesh became slippery with the little ejaculations and the shaft rubbed against her rhythmically. Molly protested.

“I just have to do it,” I urged. It’s something that won’t let go of me until I do what I was created for.” That was not strictly true, it was the overwhelming awareness of a woman on heat that compelled me. If I stopped now and departed the house my interest would almost immediately turn to zero. I was drawing her gently into the room as I spoke. But in the presence of that scent I myself was powerless to resist.

Mother could easily and swiftly disengage us without either of us losing face. But she wavered because unknown to us both at the time was a mechanism built-into my genetic makeup. The scientist-designers realised that although many women might want a baby and were intellectually prepared to go down this path with a Stud, but when the moment for fertilisation arrived suddenly everything was cold, clinical and a bit repugnant. Studs were designed to be physically attractive to women, but a more powerful and subtle inducement was a distinctive pheromone which the stud gives off as he approaches the prospect of intercourse.

The sense of smell is unlike the senses of sight and sound, both of which are filtered through the brain and interpreted before deciding upon an appropriate response. If someone wears glasses that turn everything upside down, it is disorienting at first but amazingly the brain gradually adjusts this to present what it expects to see. Smell is different. Smell goes straight through to an ancient part of the brain without any intermediate interpretation and the response is immediate. Think of a moment in your childhood, a sudden shower on a hot summer’s day. Years later if you encounter the same situation, immediately the unique smell of evaporating water from hot ashphalt paving transports one back to that childhood memory, as vivid and unchanged as when it first happened.

So mother wavered because she was not actually making any conscious decisions, but was transported to a state of acceptance, even willingness, dictated by the influence of that pheromone. She was no longer thinking about it or the later consequences. For the moment totally caught up in a state of readiness, she allowed herself to be led to the bed and to lie down on it. Her face a mask of anticipation, her eyes glazed with a great desire for what must come next. It was the way things worked. Part of an immutable scheme that stretched back through the mists of time.

I knelt on the bed, positioned myself above her, gripped her about the waist with an unconscious canine instinct. I could feel it extending, and drawing her close slipped into her body. We remained together for a long time after the final ejaculation, resting, at peace. Now and then Molly would shift slightly and as she did so the swelling at the base of my penis pressed against a very sensitive part of her vagina and she would shudder softly in another paroxysm of sensation.

We disengaged ourselves without speaking, now awkward and embarrassed. Mother smiled at me. I felt the warmth of her care despite the clumsy misuse of my attributes. I could put it down to the impulsiveness of growing up, to inexperience—but in truth I had simply given in to a mindless compulsion.

Shamefaced, I said goodbye and taking my hat this time, set out a little later than I had planned, to meet Brian and his boat.

Chapter 5

When you hold people up for ridicule, you have to take responsibility when other people act on it.

—Jay Asher

The experience with my mother affected me profoundly. It was a first for me, the first time that I had actually done what I had been created to do. Something matured in me, and especially in my sense of smell which now focussed even more intensively on the smell of a woman on heat. Of course that term has over millenia rather ceased to be relevant for human females. Women are on heat whenever they feel they want to be, which to the disappointment of many men, is not as often as they would like them to be.

Dogs also have evolved and changed over the same millenia, reacting to centuries of close contact with human beings, living with them and from time to time, mating with them. For a dog the original impulses remain largely unchanged; they are aroused by a woman on heat, or to use another term, ovulating. The canine distinction is slight. Their exquisite sense of smell guides them to a woman in this condition and goads them to do what nature intended for them—to mount and impregnate them.

In domestic situations this natural impulse is often, perhaps mostly, thwarted by the human habit of castrating them. Humans at one time did the same thing to their own kind, perhaps they still do. In the seventeenth, or was it the eighteenth century no fewer that four thousand boys a year were castrated by a prominent and major church in order to provide sopranos for their holy choirs. It seemed to me that mankind is noted for bestial behaviour. But for the ultimate in depravity it is hard to ignore the words of a great scientist and professor:

“With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.”

—Steven Weinberg, quoted in The New York Times, April 20, 1999

In the same spirit in those earlier times if a dog merely performed his natural and instinctive function and mounted a willing woman and the act was discovered, the church decreed that the dog should be put to death, and very often the woman as well.

With this sick perspective on human behaviour in mind, I entered into adulthood—mindful of the dangerous prejudices that had gone before me, but hopeful that my status as a Stud, being recognised by the state would spare me a fate similar to my predecessors. In my history lessons, I learned to my astonishment that in an earlier era men went off to glorious war to kill and main other men. Sometimes in a village, a frail youth remained behind, who quietly and without fanfare impregnated all the married women left behind, not to mention a few who weren’t married so that when the victorious and gallant husbands returned from battle, they were surprised to discover that they were already heir to a little boy or a little girl which, if the mother was swift, she attributed to divine intervention.

* * *

Lucy Luckner was known to be a tease. She was also one of the most attractive girls at school. Boys fell over each other in an effort to be noticed and the lucky ones were granted the privilege of taking her to a show, a game, a movie or a meal and for the truly fervent, perhaps all four. The touch of Lucy’s delicate hand on a boy’s arm was enough to send shudders of emotion coursing through his body. Sometimes at the conclusion of a particularly lavish and expensive evening’s entertainment, she might grant her lucky admirer a chaste kiss. But this never seemed to develop into further liberties.

Yet here is a curious thing. Boys who took Lucy out, all tried desperately to explore further because with great skill, Lucy coquettishly led them on by gesture, a side glance, raised eyebrow a laughing innuendo that very soon now they would be rewarded with what she was hinting at very strongly—yes she was a consummate artist at the big pretend. There was also a slightly mean streak to her nature as well, as she took particular enjoyment in leading a boy on until he was so overcome that he created a nuisance in his pants, the evidence of which would be publicly visible and a source of shame and embarrassment to him. Lucy smiled quietly to herself as if this helpless oaf was so struck by her beauty alone that it was inevitable that he would lose control of himself. The reputation that Lucy cultivated was that of a refined, chaste virgin so boys were quite confused by the mixed messages she sent out on a date.

It happened that the Luckners were holding a party to celebrate the coming of age of their eldest son. Several of my classmates were invited, and rather to my surprise, I as well. I could see why Ken, Ron, Bruce and Thomas were invited, together with a large complement of girls. Ken for his athletic appearance, Ron was a humorist and kept a party going, Bruce was Captain of the First Eleven and Thomas could be teased unmercifully. The girls were chosen for their plain looks and humble clothes, the better to contrast with the scintillating beauty of Lucy herself. As for me, I suspected that my presence was merely that of a curiosity. If Lucy had a talking dog she’d have brought that along too, but in the absence of other freaks, Erin would be good for a laugh.

I decided to play along with her suspected motives carefully choosing my clothes for the occasion. I wore my hair shoulder-length and this was by no means uncommon for boys of that age. Nothing need be done to my face. I had never shaved as there was no need to do so. The skin of my face was smooth and flawless. I choose a shirt that was rather bulky with pockets at the chest and belted it at the waist. Instead of trousers I wore tights which of course could not help but display between my legs the smooth contours of a woman. I was careful to walk and talk like a man while my appearance gave a confusingly ambiguous message that perhaps I was not.

I have noticed that when people meet someone on the street or elsewhere their first glance is to put that person into a category. It’s either a man or a woman. Once that is settled they can go on to notice other things about the stranger if that is there inclination. But the very first thing is to instantly put the unknown person into either a male or female pigeonhole. Why do they do this? People generally do not like uncertainty, they like to have things clear-cut and orderly. By acting in one way and dressing in another this presents a disturbing ambiguity. I was aware that Lucy would notice this and I was curious to see what her reaction would be. I wasn’t particularly attracted to the girl, as I am seldom drawn to physical looks. For friendship I rely on someone’s personality and character and for amorous attraction I rely on an exquisite sense of smell to detect what a girl’s body is saying. It’s a lot simpler than words and a lot more reliable; small can’t be faked.

The evening started quite well after a short but pompous speech by Mr Luckner, or Major Luckner as he preferred to be addressed. The Major, white-haired, florid-faced and with a bulbous red nose, had a small group of cronies who met in his private drawing room on alternate afternoons to enjoy a whisky or two and reminisce about their army service. The Major was careful to choose as his friends ex-soldiers of lower rank and when Major Luckner made an observation on the country’s finances, or even a comment on the weather, the words carried the weight of a senior officer and were greeted with respectful acknowledgement. Both Major Luckner and his subordinates attained their ranks in a particularly placid time of peace and the only shot fired in anger, it was said, was at the dartboard in the mess. In due course they were discharged from the army as quietly and anonymously as they had entered. But thereafter the tales told among them grew in stature and danger with each retelling.

Lucy was in her element. She pondered hard on the strapless blue ruffled dress, or maybe that attractive baby blue gown with a matching bolero, but eventually settled on a low-cut top and a short sequined skirt as it showed her legs to better advantage. As she circulated the room she attracted cool glances from the ladies who felt that the outfit was unsuitable owing to the unfashionable combination but mostly because of the amount of exposed flesh that it failed to cover. The young males present gazed at her with open adoration and even when talking to his partner for the evening each was inclined to give a quick sidelong glance to track her progress. Nor were the older gentlemen whose wives considered they should be long past such things immune from Lucy’s charms.

“Did you see what Juicy Lucy is wearing,” one lad confided to his friend?”

“It’s what she’s not wearing that is raising my temperature, let’s have a word with her.”

The pair moved in Lucy’s direction but their ambitions were thwarted by the handsome Captain of the First Eleven who was doing his best to woo the fair lady. Presently the pair moved to a more secluded location where to the pleasant surprise of the Captain Lucy engaged him in a few amorous exercises. After a few minutes of this Bruce was sure that his chances had improved so much that … but without warning Lucy excused herself saying she had to circulate and immediately turned to Ron, laughing merrily at his jokes and looking at him with adoring eyes.

At 9:30 the festivities were interrupted as light refreshments were served. Crackers and shrimp paste, several rounds of cheese of different varieties and for those with more ambitious appetites, bowls of hunters goulash with morels and onion slices to the side. The long table in the guest dining room groaned under a further repast. Freshly baked rolls, salads of lettuce, tomato, chives and all to the accompaniment of glasses of soft red wine. A sonorous toast was proposed by Major Luckner to his son then attention reverted once more to Lucy who by this stage had become a little elevated by the wine. Her dignified and aloof manner had not changed noticeably but she was seen to allow little intimacies from the boys which would not have happened earlier.

I quite enjoyed the party. The people were cheerful, unpretentious and just intent of having a good time. I was in earnest conversation with Thomas when Lucy swept by, turned and beckoned to me. “How cute. Are you really a girl in disguise.”

That was unexpected. I replied carefully, “No, not really. I think you know what I am.”

“Well, nevertheless, I’ve something to show you. Would you come along with me.”

I shrugged at Thomas. “What’s that all about?”

Thomas said, “You’d better see what she wants.”

Lucy swept unsteadily into a small guest room and closed the door. “I really am curious about you. It’s like one of those freaks at the circus—oh! I didn’t mean to be impolite but…”

* * *

The following day news of the scandal bounced back and forth around the town with gossip about the Major’s outrage and Lucy’s state of nervous collapse.

“What happened?” Pete asked. “Am I missing something?”

“Only that Lucy the chaste virgin had an experience last night and while her manner may continue to remain chaste, she is no longer a virgin.”

“Wow!” Pete exclaimed. “Who?”

“The finger is being pointed at a certain Erin who was last seen disappearing into a bedroom with her,” Thomas explained.

“So what happened?” Peter was eager to hear the details.

“No one is too sure, but one thing for certain is that Major L. who has been breathing fire ever since, is sure to press charges.”

“The girl is of age and if it was consensual what sort of charges could the guy press?” Pete looked puzzled.

“He’ll think of something. There’s bound to be a big stink over it.

Understandably I was the focus of a lot of attention and questions but thought it better to say nothing for the moment. I was a bit stunned about the fuss, and nervous that I hadn’t forseen it. Too late now though.

The next day a messenger turned up at our house. It turned out to be a summons to appear at the hour of 10:00 am in the private chambers of Judge Royster who also doubled occasionally as mediator of the Family Court. Where domestic matters arose it was usually better to resolve them harmoniously if possible, so this was to be an informal meeting between Major Luckner and his wife on the one side and myself on the other side. I decided to give Thomas a call and ask that he accompany me to validate the accuracy of my own statements.

At the appointed hour, the door was opened for Thomas and me by a court official. Already seated were the Major and his wife and both scowled as I entered; the Major’s florid face wore a mask of righteous indignation and his wife, a mousy woman in a plain tweed suit, stared at me with a look of reproachful disbelief. Also alongside her mother and with none of her usual haughty demeanour sat Lucy.

The judge entered from a side door and asked us not to rise. Judge Royster turned out to be a wiry man in his early middle years and spoke with a well practised authority. “Well now I must first remind you that this is not a court of law. It is a forum where I hope some understanding can be reached between the parties. My role is that of a mediator. Major Luckner I believe you have something to say to us. Would you care to state your grievance?”

“Yes, thank you sir.” He addressed the judge but his gaze was fixed on me as he spoke.

“This wretch,” he stared at me more intently, “despite our hospitality at a party held two days ago to celebrate the coming of age of my son, arrogantly and forcibly stole the virginity of my only daugher who is now in a state of shock. Moreover I intend to pursue this matter using whatever options are open to me and …”

“Major, Major,” the judge intervened, “I remind you again. This is not a courtroom and outbursts are not helpful. Nor is this the platform to air views about future options you may or may not pursue. Kindly confine your remarks to what actually happened two days ago.”

Somewhat chastened the Major began again but soon warmed to his subject and looking straight at me concluded, “Did you or did you not rape my daughter that night?”

Thomas replied on my behalf, “Major you are asking in effect two questions. Which one do you want Erin to answer.”

“What do you mean?” the Major shot out indignantly.

“In the same breath you are asking whether Erin took your daughter and whether he raped her in doing so. Which is your first question?”

The judge concealed a quiet smile. This boy is good, perhaps he should take up law.

Major Luckner replied stiffly, “Despite these silly word games I now ask Erin—-do you deny raping my daughter?”

I replied. “Yes, I do.”

The Major gave a self-satisfied smirk. “So you admit it, just calm and casual like that.”

I said nothing.

Judge Royster interrupted, “Major you seem to have failed to grasp the meaning of the answer to your own question. Erin has said yes, I do deny raping your daugher.”

Somewhat abashed the Major continued, “Do you deny that you had intercourse with her?”

“No, I do not deny that. I would seldom deny a woman of the right age and state of health the option of being mated when she asks for it.”

“I can’t believe my ears,” Mrs Luckner expostulated, “our little girl coming out and asking such a thing, it is unheard of.”

“You said she asked,” here the Major spluttered a little, “to be raped, I mean savaged in this way and a virgin as well. What words did she use in this extraordinary request?”

I replied, “She did not use words. A woman seldom phrases a request in such bald terms but by her body language and other means she indicated a complete readiness.”

“This is preposterous,” the Major raged, “I’m going to lodge a formal complaint. He’s already admitted he is guilty of the deed and …”

The judge interrupted, “Major, does that mean that we should close this enquiry now as you seem set on lodging a formal charge?”

The Major reflected. The publicity surrounding such a scandal would not be good. His daughter would be the laughing stock of the town. Besides, the man was shrewd enough to realise that he had a very thin case. He conferred briefly with his wife. “We need to clarify just how this permission-without-words took place. Do explain it to us,” he said, again, staring at me malevolently.

“A woman can signal amorous intent by flirting and following this up with coquettish mannerisms and sly hints and innuendos”

“Flirting is not permission to rape—I mean take advantage of, and besides my daughter would not dream of flirting. She is pure in thought and deed.”

“Thomas interposed, “Major, it may come as a surprise to you to learn that your daughter is the biggest flirt in town. I can call upon at least a hundred boys who will readily back up what I say.”

The Major didn’t like the direction this was taking and tried a new tack. “Suppose you just tell us exactly what took place that night, sparing of course the details of your depraved act.”

“After supper, Lucy approached me saying that she had something to show me and asked me to accompany her to what I understood to be a guest room. Plenty of people saw us go in. Lucy turned to me and said in a provocative way that she wanted to see what I looked like as she had only heard about the “Third Sex” and wanted to see for herself what it looked like.”

Mrs Luckner shook her head, held it in her hands.

“I am quite a literal person. I obliged her curiosity by removing my pants. She then did the same saying that he wanted to compare the two styles of opening and moving closer uncovered herself and studied both with a thorough scrutiny. Then making a stumble she reached out to my shoulder as if to steady herself and in so doing we both fell back against the bed. At this point, if what dozens of boys have reported, Lucy would then hastily cover herself leaving the overwrought male to fight down his natural urges alone.

If Lucy had tried that tactic, nothing further would have happened. Studs do not force themselves on people any more than dogs do if they are invited to mount a woman. Except that Lucy did not withdraw. I suspect—and I mention this only as a guess—that what Lucy really wanted to do was to see how far she could provoke me with her body before I was overcome with helpless passion. Lucy has great experience in judging such moments and would have covered herself at the last moment.”

Both Luckners were aghast at what they referred to as ‘these wild and groundless slurs’.

Judge Royster again interrupted. “I want to hear what happened next. You will get your turn Major to refute what is said.” The judge looked to me.

“Yes, sir. Well we were both naked in the places that count and as I have explained nothing further would have happened except for one thing. Your daughter,” I looked at Major Luckner, “was on heat and very excited. The concept of actually being taken excited her even further. Pressing her luck further she urged me to get it out, those were her words and it did come out but only for one reason: that reason was that she was ovulating and her body was desirous of being impregnated, even if her mind was denying it. So having confirmed her willingness by her smell, I obliged her and have to add that despite a squeal when her virginity was taken, she very quickly recovered and became an enthusiastic participant in the action.”

The Major looked as if he was having a fit. His face was suffused with anger and veins stood out on his forehead in a way which threatened to burst. “This is outrageous slander. Claiming that my daughter…”

Again the judge intervened. “Major please do not shout. I also remind you that an action for slander may succeed only if what is said is actually true. If you wish to have that tested in open court, that is your right. But it is not what we are here to do today, which is to gain a clearer understanding of what happened and why.”

“I found the words by her smell highly offensive and hardly an argument sanctioning his conduct.”

“Major, I shall now impart an insight into the nature of Studs of which you may formerly have been unaware. Studs are creations of science, more specifically genetics. They were created specifically for the purpose of impregnating women who desired babies. The genotype shares much in common with the canine species and like canines, Stud are endowed with an acute sense of smell. So sensitive is this that a Stud can actually smell when a woman is ovulating and further when she is physically receptive to mating. These are very basic and low-level cues and can’t be faked. A woman can say one thing but she cannot disguise the message from her physical body. Yet even here, those scientists who created the Third Sex managed to build in an additional safeguard—that if a woman even at the last moment decided not to proceed, then the Stud would accept and honour that decision. What I am saying to you is in effect, it is physically ‘not possible’ for a Stud to rape anyone. The only crime of which he could be convicted is if he impregnated a willing but underage girl. Your daughter is clearly not in that category.

The room fell silent as this information was digested.

“I still disagree,” Major Luckner objected, but with none of his former forcefulness.

“Then by all means, test the reality in open court. In such a case your daughter may have to take the witness stand and if the facts surrounding the gentleman’s explanation,” here he glanced at me, “are proven to be true, then you risk public ridicule as well as a counter-claim for damages.

I think we have gone as far today as is possible and I urge both parties to think carefully on their future courses of action. Unless there is a further matter, the meeting is closed.”

Major Luckner interposed a further objection, “Now that my daughter is probably pregnant, who do I look to for redress?”

The judge glanced at me. I responded, “Sir, that is not possible. For pregnancy to occur a Stud’s testicles must descend outside the body. Any medical exam will show that this has not happened. Your daughter has not been fertilised, at least by me.”

Both Luckners decided that this was a good time to leave further questioning lest it lead to new discoveries and further embarrassment. Mrs Luckner marvelled at how little she really knew of her daughter’s life and motivations—no doubt as parents everywhere have done.

It was a sobering wake-up call for me. There are apparently some women who can say one thing but mean quite another, for reasons known only to themselves. But it behoved me to be on guard in the future for such manipulations lest I fall prey to a fortune seeker with a more criminal intent.

Major Luckner after consultation with his wife and daughter agreed to let the matter rest, claiming that he was dissatisfied with the outcome, but it was better than dragging the family name through the gossip columns and in this regard he gave a hard stare to his daughter and advised that from here on, she was recommended to give up any actions which could be construed as ‘teasing boys’—or wear the consequences herself.”

For her part Lucy pouted sullenly and claimed to be the one taking the blame for everyone else’s shortcomings. Nevertheless it was noticed that Lucy trod a more discreet path thereafter.

Chapter 6

The secret of happiness is not in doing what one likes, but in liking what one does.

—James M. Barrie

I had just turned nineteen when I realised I had two short years of freedom before having to start work. Unless they are studying for one of the professions, most boys start work by eighteen or even earlier, so I was better off than most, although the prospect of twenty years in the service of the state doing the same thing every day seemed daunting. Still, meet that when it comes.

Unlike my earlier teenage years I found myself becoming increasingly popular with teenage girls. Thomas asked me, “You have a girlfriend yet?”

I shook my head. “It’s not likely to happen. I enjoy their company and friendship. That’s as far as it goes.”

“But why? I know that Wendy is keen on you.”

“It would hardly be fair, would it? Let’s assume I marry Wendy. Would she be pleased at the prospect after a romantic honeymoon that I had to begin work fertilising a dozen or so women a day?”

Thomas looked disconcerted. “You have a point,” he admitted. “Do Studs ever marry?”

“Oh some do, but not all Studs enter the service. Some choose to reject the role—it’s not actually compulsory—the compulsion comes from within because after all that’s how we were designed. But like everything in life the compulsion to follow this path varies from individual to individual. Some find they aren’t cut out for it but as far as I know, every Stud in active service remains single.”

“Bit sobering. Where do you get this information?”

“Eugenics Ministry. I have to register with them next year and there are periodic training courses in preparation for starting work. In the meantime I am free to practise a bit of free-lance loving. I think you might be mistaking the interest that girls have been taking in me. For most of them, I’m a curiosity. Admittedly a few are keen to invite me home, but it’s their mothers who take more of an interest thereafter.”

“What a sinecure,” Thomas sighed. “Here am I struggling to find a girl with similar views on life to my own—without success I might add—whereas young housewives are falling over themselves to invite you into their bedroom.”

“Not quite,” I cautioned. Studs do occupy a special place in society but a husband returning unexpectedly to discover his wife hard at it with an unregistered stud would not necessarily be happy. Discretion is needed.”

“Who was the first one?”

I decided not to mention mother and especially not my sister. I had started mating with her from the time I turned fourteen, an activity we both found very agreeable. But after the fiasco with a certain Lucy, I became a lot more cautious. “Well the first housewife, I met at the school social. I was sixteen at the time. Naturally I can’t tell you her name, but I’ll refer to her as Sally. Sally was a vivacious young lady of red hair and green eyes equipped with all the usual feminine curves and also possessed of a strong determination to achieve any goal she set out to reach. It soon became apparent even to one as innocent as me, that her present goal was to try me out as it were. She knew about Studs and for some reason the concept intrigued her. At her invitation I visited her home one afternoon when the family were away.”

It was all very casual and social for a start. Sally made me a cup of coffee and chatted about various things. I was only sixteen but I was socially at ease with older women. I also had the very great advantage of an acute sense of smell. Words can say I’m not interested sexually. Gestures and body language can say I’m not interested sexually. But smell is almost infallible. When a female is on heat she gives off a detectable aroma. It’s harder to pick if she’s wearing perfume, but it’s still there. Of course that doesn’t necessarily mean that because she’s on heat, she will give into that impulse. But it does give a Stud, and a dog for that matter, a pretty clear indication that her body is ready and waiting. It remains to be seen if her mind follows suit.

Sally was clearly on heat. But at the moment she was disguising it with a conversational curiosity. She said, “I’ve never met a Stud before and I wonder just how many there are in this city?”

I thought. “At present I think about one in a thousand births is a Stud. So in a city of our size.” I thought for a moment, “about a million people there should be roughly a thousand.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. I had no idea there were so many!”

“Well,” I responded wryly, “If you knew everyone in the city you’d have one chance in a thousand of meeting one and you’ve already done that. But of those thousand, only perhaps 400 or fewer are active. Reason being, according to Dr Fox, that many are not interested in spending the best years of their life doing nothing more than impregnating women. There are others who are genetically weak. Since our origins the original purity of our breeding has been steadily eroded so some are simply not suitable.”

Sally looked at me with a curiously unreadable expression. “How about you? Do you intend to enter the service?”

Well I’d been asked that one before. Many times. I smiled, “It’s too early to say. By the time I reach twenty I’ll know more definitely, or so I’ve been told. It’s something inside you: either you are driven to this life or you aren’t, and according to present records there are more who don’t than who do.” Then as another thought occurred to me, “I also have to pass the genetic profile test. That means any offspring must have the best chance of being free from diseases, defects and with a bit of luck, be a better than average child.”

Sally hesitated but couldn’t refrain from asking, “Do you ever feel restless for such contact with females—if you don’t mind my asking, that is?”

“Yes of course. This is the most hormone-driven age for boys. Most would jump at the chance. I’m different, but not all that different regarding urges.”

I knew what was coming. It was just a matter of how diplomatically Sally would try to phrase it. In the event she surprised me by asking a little huskily ‘if she could watch it come out’ as the concept was so novel.

I said, “Yes, I can do that. But once it’s out the whole scene changes and I am driven to mate.” This was not strictly true, but Sally wasn’t to know that and besides who knows how I might react to her feminine smells. At least she was warned.

Sally feigned doubt and hesitation. But finally she said in a low voice, “Well I’m really curious and I guess I’ll take the risk of it leading to ungovernable impulses.”

That was it. As far as I was concerned. It was all on. I said, “Where do you want to do this?’

Sally indicated that the guest room was the most private as it had a lock on the door. There was not much furniture in the guest room but a wardrobe, dresser with mirror and a bed. The windows looked over distant trees. I started to become aroused at the feminine smells that Sally was exuding. I slowly slipped my shoes and socks off, slipped my trousers and underpants down and stood before her with a contour much like her own. Sally gave a little gasp. “Oh, it’s so smooth. I can’t believe this!” and she stepped closer and forgetting for a moment any pretence at propriety, reached out a soft hand and caressed me between the legs. A moment later she apologised, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I hope you are not offended?”

I was about to say that’s alright, fondling me does a certain amount to get me going, but much faster is the way you are smelling right now so I spoke out loud, “Well you wanted to see it, so here it is!” I leaned back a little as a pink shaft, pointed at the tip emerged from the slit between my legs.

“Oh-my-god,” Sally breathed, a sudden flush to her face. “It looks just like a dog…Oh sorry, I…”

I laughed. “No need to apologise. It is a dog cock. I was bred from canine genes. A bit modified of course, but what you see is pure dog and with all a dog’s urges.”

That was taking a risk. But my sense of smell had never let me down and I knew that Sally was taking in my words with an undisguised lust. Time for action. This would tell whether she was all talk and looks or whether she secretly wanted more. Without warning, I grabbed her about the waist while we were both standing and began to hump against her. An ancient primaeval urge. Many women have fantasies about being taken against their will by a strong animal—not that they would want to do this in reality. But in fantasy it has all the ingredients of primaeval passion, submission to male animal lust and of course I’m-not-to-blame-because-I-could-not-stop-him, sort of thing.

Sally acted out what was evidently one of her own fantasies unexpectedly about to come true. With a helpless whimper she sank to her knees, mumbling something apologetic and at the same time self-recriminatory. I took no notice although I was keenly alert for any change of mood. I reached up, slid her panties down, bent her over on to her knees and with a low animal growl mounted her back and began to thrust. A moment later I dropped off, let her see how large and swollen it had become hanging down as I circled her on my own hands and knees. Another soft throaty growl and I jumped her again, gripping her around the waist and searching with slow hip movements for her opening. Sally froze, but I smelt no fear or hesitation, just excitement. Suitably reassured I thrust into her her and began a rapid humping as would a dog.

It lasted for several minutes with Sally alternately crying out and moaning while a wet stream ran down the inside of her legs. I didn’t want to get the bulge into her; a bit dangerous unless complete privacy and plenty of time are available. So I dropped off and watched Sally slowly recover. She seemed like a nearly drowning person coming up for air.

Well, she did ask to see it. It was a learning experience for us both.

Both Thomas and Pete periodically asked me about other occasions but I was reluctant to talk about it much, partly because it only emphasised the differences already emerging in our lifestyles. But anyway there weren’t as many such occasions as they might have thought.

Chapter 7

Do that which is assigned to you and you cannot hope too much or dare too much.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

The time of carefree freedom passed all too quickly. The Ministry notified me that I had passed the necessary genetic tests. It was time for the testicles to descend, a task I was not looking forward to. Following the Ministry’s suggestion I enlisted the help of Dr Fox with this procedure. It felt sort of familiar in an undefined sort of way. It wasn’t so much painful as uncomfortable. Apparently getting them back up inside was less friendly but I didn’t have to face that for a while—I hoped.

Six months passed before a further test of virility was ordered and for better or worse that was very satisfactory. I was told to report to medical rooms in one of the blocks which housed various health services and discovered that I had been assigned rooms labelled Fertility Clinic. There were apparently many of these around the city and most other cities and with typical government lack of imagination they all followed a similar style and layout—at least according to Nurse Bramley who greeted me as I stepped in the door. “Welcome to the clinic. Your first time I believe?”

“Er, yes. They didn’t tell me a lot at the Ministry actually, at least about what to expect in a working situation.”

Before me stood a pleasant woman in her mid-forties, a trim and athletic figure, plain but friendly face and dark hair cut short. She introduced herself as Nurse Bramley. “You’ll soon pick up the details. The hardest part is managing fussy, cantankerous or unreasonable clients.”

“Really? They didn’t say anything about that,” I responded doubtfully.

“Don’t worry, I’ll field all the initial inquiries and handle the paperwork. You must sight the medical certificate giving a clean bill of health and sign to that effect. There is also a standard disclaimer that you must jointly sign absolving yourself, The Ministry and anyone else they can think of, from liability of any kind including maintenance and child support, and also confers upon the client total rights to the child etc. Just make sure those two requirements are met every time.”

“Hmmn, I was told about that,” then as a thought occurred to me, “what do we do inbetween times? I mean there’s not likely to be a constant stream of customers is there?”

“We call them clients actually. More professional. As for how much free time you’ll have, every day is different. Bookings are made in advance. Some days there may be only one or two. Other days more. We’re on duty for eight hours and at a maximum you may see as many as sixteen clients, but it’s usually only half that number.”

Sixteen a day. That would take a bit of getting used to, I thought.

“Inbetween times we generally chat or you can read or do whatever you wish. Studs vary too. The last one here was nearing retirement and his hobby was sleeping between appointments. It made for a rather quiet day for me.

Oh, and as they’ve probably mentioned at the Ministry, if a woman asks for it she is entitled to have a husband or partner present, or alternatively myself. Will that bother you?”

I thought about it. “I can’t see why it should, might even be helpful if I get a cantankerous one, you can help me evict her.”

Nurse Bramley grinned. “I haven’t had to do that so far, but with human nature you never know. Incidentally your first appointment is at 10:00, I’ll show you the facilities.”

There were two cubicles set aside for hygiene. In an earlier era they might have been called ‘showers’ but these didn’t use much water. Just a fine mist. The whole body is cleansed by some form of ionic and other radiations. It is quick and simple. Step into the cubicle, raise arms above head, feet slightly apart. The process starts automatically. Thirty seconds later is complete. The client emerges clean, dry and refreshed. The Stud employs a similar cubicle reserved for his use.

As 10:00 approached and in answer to Nurse Bramley-call-me-Jean’s question I said, “Yeah I’m feeling a bit uneasy. First time nerves I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” At the moment I didn’t share her confidence.

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.

The following day was a busy one. First appointment at 9:00 am. Kavita, age 31. Indian descent, dark complexion, long black hair. She was relaxed. Had been to Studs before. She was interesting to talk to. She wanted a son. I said that she had a better than sixty percent chance of that happening. Kavita looked surprised, “Yes I’ve heard of that imbalance but never understood why.

“It’s partly a result of our genetic engineering. In the early days and although sexes suffered heavy losses, the male population was almost wiped out. But male children are favoured by deep penetration and Studs tend to this because sperm is usually released when a tightening of the vagina behind the swelling at the base of our penis triggers the act of true impregnation.”

“Oh, but why do male babies need deep penetration?”

“Because, apparently, male sperm although more active do not last long, so if they are deposited as close to their goal as possible, the chances of a male conception is greater.”

Kavita was curious about many things and she was an interesting conversationalist, but time was moving on so I hastily impregnated her.

Nurse Jean announced the next client was due at 10:00 then another at 10:30. The first was Marion, age 24 and hoping for her first baby. She was newly married. Her husband had a good career ahead of him and they were already financially comfortable. Strangely enough Marion was also a virgin so I took some extra time to ensure that her first experience was as pleasant as I could make it.

The 10:30 client a teenager named Carla. A slightly chubby girl of anonymous appearance and aged nineteen. It was unusual to encounter a teenager, although the Ministry did have what they called the Mother Support Scheme. If girls or women entering this scheme met the highest standards of health and particularly genetic suitability, the Ministry would fully support them for an agreed period of breeding and thereafter a generous pension for the rest of their lives. The term generous is capable of wide interpretation and when used by the Ministry meant, in reality, adequate. The scheme was sufficiently attractive though that many applied although only a small percentage would qualify. Apparently Carla did. The Ministry would soon smarten up her outlook on exercise though I thought to myself. You don’t get in and more to the point stay in without conforming to strict Ministry guidelines.

“So are you familiar with the procedure?” I asked.

Carla smiled wryly. “Fairly familiar. I started doing it when I was twelve,” she announded with some pride. “Runs in the family.”

“Really? You have brothers or sisters?”

“Two brothers, one sister. We are apparently very lucky. No inherited genetic shortcomings. Perfect health.”

“So where did you start your adventures in loving relationships?” I was curious.

“Oh, all in the family of course. Males are sterile, the females are not. Makes for safe fun don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” I had heard that one consequence of the gender imbalance combined with the unlikely risk of pregnancy was a rise in the social acceptability of incest. Society has certainly changed, I mused. Although not really—family relationships had been a fact of life since time began, the only difference was that in this era it had become more respectable than in some others. So no need to worry about making allowance for youth, as this one apparently had plenty of practice and from an early age. The impregnation went smoothly and Carla seemed well satisfied.

Who was next? No one, well time to grab some lunch and a chat with Nurse Jean. Jean was well-read was possessed of a fund of arcane knowledge and was a good conversationalist. We were sitting in a nearby café. As I glanced idly through the window I felt a momentary chill as Pudding and Gretan walked past. Gretan limped noticeably. Fortunately they didn’t see me.

After lunch I scanned the appointment list. Four clients were dispensed without fuss. It was then that I noticed the last name, Lucy Luckner. How could I have missed that? Did she know that I was in residence here? It made no sense. The glimpse of Pudding and Gretan had unsettled me.

Lucy in a bathrobe turned the garment into a high fashion accessory. She greeted me cordially and hastened to assure me that she had long since forgotten any discomforts from the past and hoped that I had done the same.

I was cautious. “I notice you have booked the last two sessions. Why is that?”

“I wanted time to talk to you about some technicalities in the programme beforehand,” Lucy explained cordially. You see, I really want only daughters, is there any way we can improve the odds?”

It wasn’t the only time clients had asked this question, so I explained, “Girls are more likely to be conceived if mating takes place about three days before you ovulate. So you need to establish a pattern that can pinpoint the time of ovulation as accurately as possible. Also a shallow penetration helps your chances.”

“Why is that?”

“The vagina is more acidic near the entrance and female sperm like acidic. Nothing is guaranteed of course. It’s still luck of the draw. But those steps will help.”

“Well I’m prepared to chance it. I’ve been monitoring this for the past five months and it’s all very regular. I’ve left the dates and details with your nurse.”

“Okay. But if you don’t mind my asking, why the emphasis on girls? I mean most women are trying for boys these days and of course mostly succeeding.”

“I have my reasons,” Lucy said vaguely.

“There’s a further complication if you’re reallly trying for a girl. Not insuperable but you’d need to cooperate.”

“What’s that?” she enquired.

I told her and she smiled. “I think I could handle that, might even be interesting,” she replied.

My sense of smell told me that she wasn’t ovulating and if that’s the path she wanted to walk then none of my business. It was one of the more stimulating sessions, helped by the fact that Lucy’s body had lost none of its earlier charm and indeed had gained further voluptuous curves in the interim.

* * *

When Frances’ final appointment arrived it was late afternoon. It had been a busy day but strangely enough I wasn’t tired, in fact I was beginning to discover a new and unexpected dimension to my role: the contact, interaction, conversation with people of very contrasting personalities was fascinating in itself. And perhaps even more strangely I found myself welcoming each encounter with a growing anticipation. The pleasure did not diminish with repetition, if anything it grew stronger and more intense.

Frances had clearly come out of her shell and was discovering a new dimension to the romantic side of life. Well perhaps not romantic but at least sensual. Frances put on her best manner as a siren, swayed voluptuously as she spoke. Something was bothering her. I waited. I suggested the couch but she paused saying, “Could I ask you to indulge a little private fantasy?” at the same time blushing furiously.

“Sure. Quite a few clients ask for some form of role play which is probably more human and less clinical than simply lying on a couch as in a doctor’s room.”

Slightly reassured Frances said hesitantly, “I hope you won’t think I’m stupid or…” she searched for the right word, immodest but…”

“Believe me, anything you can dream up has probably already been asked of Studs a thousand times and is okay. I don’t do swinging from the chandeliers though,” I said with a grin.

“Could we…do it on the floor, like, you know crawling around on hands and knees?” Another flush of colour came to her cheeks.

“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.

Chapter 8

I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself.

—Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

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?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted, “but it’s not a situation that happens to us often. Actually, I can’t remember it ever happening in the Ministry service—at least to me.”

“Seems a pity to waste it,” Zoë mused pointedly.

Zoë was looking at me speculatively.

“I could get fired for this.” I ventured uncertainly.

“You risk a serious health problem if you don’t. Naturally I’d testify to that effect.”

I had to laugh at her earnestness. “Okay, you want it, you’ve got it.” We were hard at it for the next thirty minutes which seemed to suit Zoë down to the tips of her toes.

We stopped only because I was getting hungry. “You know of a good place for lunch?”

Zoë reluctantly untangled herself. “Sure. Say you’re pretty good—better than the last Stud we should do this again!”

I suspected that was coming. But first lunch.

Contrary to her self-putdown Zoë turned out to be a very good conversationalist and was entertaining and humorous as well with a wry view on life and people.

“When’s the next appointment?”

“At two o’clock.” Zoë looked at her watch. “Let’s do it again, there’s plenty of time.”

“You might wear it out,” I protested.

“What!” Zoë gave a shriek of laughter. “You said on one busy occasion you were doing sixteen women a day and it lasted a week. That’s 112 and…”

“Plus the ones I did for recreation, don’t forget those,” I admonished.

We both laughed. But I had to admit that Zoë was an exceptionally good ride and as there was not much else to do I succumbed once again to her charms.

The remaining two bookings were fairly routine. Zoë insisted on being discreetly present at both of them, claiming that watching me got her going and there was enough time inbetween bookings to have a quick one. I strongly suspected the Zoë purposely arranged bookings so that there was always time in between to suit her purposes. But she was good company and I didn’t object too much.

The following day there were another three bookings and Zoë had arranged them one after another from 9:00 am. When I queried her on this she explained that it gave us the rest of the day for relaxation. “You mean for fucking, don’t you?”

“Well yes, there is that,” she admitted. In the event another surprise visitor turned up and asked for the 11:00 slot which annoyed Zoë but nothing she could do about it. The client turned out to be a woman aged 26, a pleasant manner and she referred to herself as nicely plump. Zoë hissed in my ear, “She means she’s fat but won’t admit it.” I signalled Zoë to shut up.

Ms Annie Arbury announced that she already had one lovely little boy and was looking forward to having another. The Stud she used the last time said the chances were she’d have a boy and that’s the way it turned out and do you think it’ll be a boy this time?”

“Providing fertilisation takes place as close as possible to ovulation and with deep penetration, the chances are pretty good,” I agreed. Whereupon Ms Arbury confided with no trace of embarrassment that she’d enjoyed getting it good and deep like the last Stud did and was hoping for the same technique on this occasion.

With a straight face I said, “Madam, our standard technique is the deep one, in fact we specialise in quite deep ones.”

“Oh good,” Ms Arbury enthused. “It’s such a nice sensation isn’t it?”

Zoë regarded her sourly, cut further praise short by preparing her for her impregnation and leading her through sanitation to the consulting room.

After Ms Arbury had departed Zoë said reproachfully, “You gave her quite a bit of extra, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

“All that slipping it in then out again so she could see how big it had grown. That was disgusting.”

“Not at all. It’s in Ministry Rule 43, section (c) ‘If a client requires visual stimulation to assist with a more comfortable experience then the Stud shall not deny this request providing at all times that it is not used to unduly delay the culmination of impregnation.’”

Zoë eyed me narrowly. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

We both laughed.

“Come on,” she tugged at my arm, “I’m needing it badly after that bleak performance.”

“Madam,” I said with dignity, “I don’t do badly. I do only excellent!”

“Well hurry up and do it excellently to me then, I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms already.”

* * *

The six weeks slipped by all too quickly. I would sadly miss Zoë, her bright personality, engaging manner and at times an almost child-like innocence made her a great companion.

It was more than a year before I completed the circuit and returned to my home town, met up with my parents and with Alf and Kate. There was a lot to catch up. Alf had grown more distant from the family, now worked for a high profile company of surveyors and as surveying, for the younger ones at least, required a lot of field work, Alf was destined to travel the world. We had never been really close but I was sad that he now seemed more distant than ever.

Both parents were welcoming but wrapped up in their own small world which was now so alien to my own. With Kate at least we quickly renewed our former closeness. She was living at home and with our mother’s connections had found a niche in computer programming which she said she enjoyed. But not as much, she admitted with a coy look, as the stuff we used to do together.

“So I suppose that’s all changed now that you’re… that it’s a job for you?”

“Don’t see why it should?” But it felt strange. We had both changed and been changed by our occupations in the intervening year, perhaps me more so because of the sort of work I did.

“What’s it like? Doing it all the time…with other women?”

“It’s hard to describe. But like most jobs, it has its good moments and its bad times. It’s really all about people and the way you get on with them. I’ve had to learn to bend my reactions and preferences to the requirements of other people and at times that has been far from easy.”

“When I think of intercourse,” Kate said, a little jealously, “I think of intimacy and closeness, the special thing we shared. How can you just do it with someone you’ve just met, someone you don’t even love?”

“Kate, you are thinking of this from your own perspective, as a woman and also a normal human. I am not normal. I was made, engineered, to perform the role that has been chosen for me. I can perform because it is instinctive. When you smell a flower, the fragrance floods through your senses. You don’t actually choose to experience the fragrance, it happens naturally. The only choice you have is whether or not you elect to smell the flower.”

“I sort of see what you’re saying,” Kate responded slowly. “It just seems sort of alien to me. But I suppose we are what we are. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. Although if we’d spent longer together than my tour of duty and I was no longer bound to the Ministry, I could easily fall for a nurse at one of the clinics.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Zoë. She was a lot of fun. She was also a lot like you which is perhaps why I took to her so well in the first place.”

Kate smiled. “Still the same smooth talker I see.” But she was secretly pleased.

“I have to start work on Monday. If you’re free today, let’s go for a picnic.”

Kate considered it, “Why not?”

We packed a hamper and set off for our favourite spot. It wasn’t too far away. A secluded hideaway surrounded by a tangle of low shrubs and vegetation on three sides with tall trees forming a bower overhead. The open side looked out to sea above a steep cliff. As far as we knew, nobody else had discovered it, at least the little markers we had left from our last visit were unmoved. It was quiet, anonymous, our own space.

Kate’s eyes widenened as she saw what I had included. “Studs would hardly be described as rich, but the Ministry faced with dwindling numbers and early defection from the ranks were obliged to support those remaining in a more generous style than hitherto. Our own hamper contained sandwiches and a couple of apples. The one I picked up after a phone call to a restaurant whose owner owed me a favour or two included sliced ham, tomatoes, chives, lettuce, cress, spring onions, a selection of cheeses and seaweed crackers together with an exotic paste which Otto assured me he had specially constructed, a round of freshly baked bread and two bottles of a soft white wine.

“Wow, do you eat like this every day?”

I laughed. “Not at all. Only on special occasions—and with special people.”

Kate turned and gave me a hug. “Thank you. This is a feast.”

We ate slowly watching distant sails inch along the horizon. We had both worked up good appetites as the walk although not far included a steep climb up the cliff. The food dwindled and we turned to the cheeses. I opened a second bottle of wine.

“I won’t be able to walk straight after this,” Kate giggled. We tidied up the remnants and lay back against the bole of a tree that had fallen on its side, relaxed and in a contemplative mood. “Where do you go after here?”

“We generally don’t know much in advance. Probably a large city again. That’s always hard work. Here at home, it’s not too bad, about five or so a day, often less. I’ll probably just coast along.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Actually I do. I never expected it but the part I like best is the social interaction. People are all different. Some are a challenge, but all are interesting. You don’t have time to get bored. If you’re lucky enough to strike a decent nurse it makes things go a lot smoother too.”

Kate thought about it. “Better you than me. I don’t think I’m cut out for non-stop intercourse.”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as that, but fortunately you’re not me so you don’t have to worry.”

“Yes I do!”

“What do you mean?” I felt alarmed.

“Only that I need to pee and…”

“Ah, you’re thinking of our house in the hay, right?”

Kate’s cheeks coloured slightly. “Well it was something special just between us. I often think about it, something we shared.”

“Well that’s okay. It was a good time wasn’t it. Let’s see if the magic still works. We positioned ourselves suitably. Like fingerprints, everyone’s smell is different and probably unique. The scent of Kate as I nuzzled against her brought back a flood of familiar memories. Kate trembled faintly. I waited, then I was drinking steadily from her.

“I remember you saying that afterwards you felt as if I was actually part of your body. I didn’t understand it at the time. What did you mean?”

“I suppose because it is an essential and unique part of you, and when it enters my body the essence of your being comes with it. That’s how it affected me anyway.”

Our conversation drifted on to other topics but presently it was my turn to need release. Kate looked at me, “I have an idea. I’d like to try it.”

“Which is?”

“Would you put it in me, and do it inside me? Maybe something similar will happen?”

“Well that’s easy enough to do.” I looked around to ensure that we were still alone. Apart from a few birds there was no other life nearby and I guessed the birds wouldn’t be too worried about what we were doing.”

Kate spread her coat on the ground. “It’s only an old one, doesn’t matter if it gets a bit wet.”

“You’d be surprised at how wet it’s likely to get!” I warned her, but Kate only laughed.

Kate lay back and I slid into her then we relaxed and loosely embraced. “I’m not feeling anything,” Kate frowned.

“Understandable,” I replied. “I haven’t started anything.”

“Well get a move on there’s a twig poking into my back and…Ohhh. Oh.” Suddenly Kate clung tightly to me. “Oh wow! that feels so amazing.” She shivered, then trembled uncontrollably.

Eventually she relaxed. “Well now that you’re already in there you might as well…”

I shook my head. I don’t think so. The little guys in there are active these days, not like our home in the hay days.”

“Oh, right.” Kate was disappointed, but decided it was better to be prudent.

“So did the pee-in-the-pocket live up to its expectations?”

Kate thought about it. “Yes, it did—if it’s something special that only we can share. But I’m curious about you. Did it taste…bad?”

“Actually no. I’m not sure if you’re aware that dogs will readily drink from humans. I don’t know the reason exactly but for me is seemed very natural and even desirable. Perhaps that also comes from my canine origins!” I laughed it off, but at the same time realised it was true. A normal human might think that with a greatly augmented sense of smell, the bad smells (to a human) would be magnified to repulsive level. But strangely enough many of the things that might smell or taste bad to an ordinary person is very acceptable to a dog, and even more strangely, to us Studs as well. Fact of life I guess.”

“So you’d do this with someone else,” Kate said slowly.

“I’m not saying I would, but the fact is that my makeup considers it to be normal and desirable. I can’t change that.”

Kate went very quiet.

“Look, this is something that is not a compulsion and something that I will only ever share with you. Peeing inside you is our secret and our bond, right?”

Kate smiled faintly. “I guess so.” She reflected a moment and smiled, “And it was nice.”

* * *

The new nurse was Janice Midland. Two Jans in the clinic, one female and the other of dubious origin. But she turned out to be okay. Aloof for a start, but willing to be friendly if you earned her respect. I try to keep onside with the nurses. They run the clinic and if they don’t like you, can make your life a misery. For a start there was the usual succession of housewives with various agendas and varying hopes and ambitions. Most wanted boys, a few girls but statistics favoured the former. Those seeking girls were more difficult to manage. I had to rely on them to seek conception two and a half to three days before ovulation and I had to mostly take their word for it that the appointment date met that requirement. One or two I had to turn away saying they had left it too late and come back next month.

For those few remaining who met the conditions, impregnation was awkward for me. My instinct was to penetrate them deeply before the true sperm would ejaculate. So to foil that instinctive response, I instructed them to reach behind as the swelling began and to grasp me behind the bulge, holding it and preventing it from entering them fully. This triggered the impulse and ejaculation took place closer to the entrance to their vagina where the best chance of success lay. It was still largely a matter of chance as nature does not abide by fixed rules. Yet I persisted with this category of client and began to achieve a rather higher than average level of success. In fact around seventy percent. But only because most Studs can’t be bothered fiddling around with all the extra hassles.

My motivation arose strangely enough because the last client of the day on one occasion turned out to be none other than the memorable Juicy Lucy, as charming and voluptuous as ever and desiring yet another daughter. “So the first one turned out to be a girl, as you wished?” I queried.

“Exactly so,” Lucy remarked and I am seeking out your services for the sole reason that you were successful the last time and if you are successful this time, then I’ll return again.”

I knew better than to ask why she wanted so many daughters and contented myself with impregnating her to the best of my ability. The mating was more than usually satisfying and apparently Lucy thought so too, because she said, “As this is your last appointment, why don’t you have a cup of coffee with me at the café opposite?”

Although by then, I had impregnated hundreds of them, I confess to still being no wiser as to the motivations of the female species. Here I was probably not alone for it’s a brave male who claims otherwise. I shrugged, “It’s a little unorthodox, but not forbidden, are you married incidentally?”

“No.”

Well that sounded definite enough. I made a mental note to get Erin (the nurse that is) to check up on that detail. “I can’t see why not,” I replied cautiously, “but I would have thought that what with our earlier background, you’d prefer to seek social company with someone more congenial.”

“Not at all,” Lucy responded, “I’ve already told you that the past is past and I’m curious about your work here and I also discover there is something of an…affinity between us.”

Yes I suppose that’s true. When you’ve fucked someone several times, there is undoubtedly an affinity between you. Whether it’s a good affinity or a bad affinity remains to be seen, but I could see no harm in a cup of coffee, so said, “Okay.”

The coffee itself was pleasant. Lucy’s company was even more so. But only because she strenuously exerted herself to employ all her considerable charm to make herself casual, appealing, charming, reserved by turns, good-humoured, adoring…in other words she turned it all on. The suspicious side of my nature wondered why. The dog side couldn’t help but lap up at least some of it. We parted on cordial terms.

The tenure at my home town passed rather quickly, one appointment soon blurring into another. I idly wondered during this passing parade, if a ram in the field ever pondered on his rôle in impregnating a flock of sheep. Did he ponder on the meaning of life, his place in it, or did he just blindly mount the nearest one—which was more or less what I was doing anyway, except that I was getting paid for it whereas the ram—as far as I was aware, was not.

Chapter 9

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold.

—Helen Keller

It was in the fourth year after Lucy had successfully given birth to three daughters that I fell a little under her sway. Well quite a lot actually. It’s hard to ignore Lucy if she has her mind set on being adoringly attentive to you. She had hinted at times of visiting an old farmstead in the country which her parents had at one time used in a fondly ambitious attempt at farming. When the reality struck home that Major Luckner was better suited to the whiskey bottle than the cowshed, he abandoned further pretensions and the place was allowed to decline into a graceful neglect.

I had just arrived back at home base after my third tour of duty in the cities and provinces. I was considered a valuable member of the Ministry as my record showed a confirmed count of 3,674 pregnancies. Not a record admittedly, but a very good score and I was well on the way to a comfortable retirement. But that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Not for another thirty-seven years actually. I found the thought a bit depressing and in a moment of weakness elected to take up Lucy’s pressing offer of a holiday weekend in the country rather than visit my family and sister.

Lucy was wearing a tank top and jeans which she somehow managed to invest with surprising elegance. On Lucy even rags looked fashionable. She drove to meet me in the family car, an antique Daimler which by virtue of its extreme rarity had acquired an exaggerated prestige amongst her exclusive set of friends. Late afternoon sun was already fading into dusk as we set off for the farmhouse. City streets gave way to rolling hills. We passed through outlying clumps of trees then a patch of forest.

“Where are you working at the moment?” I was curious as Lucy tended to change jobs rather fast.

“Hmn, High Street Boutique, you know women’s clothes. Fashion stuff.”

“You like it?”

“It’s okay, I was going to study for the Interior Design course but somehow didn’t get around to it. Besides with three girls my options are limited. How about you? You enjoy your work?”

“It’s a job and a meal ticket. Fortunately it doesn’t require a lot of theoretical training to qualify.”

“Doing what comes naturally, huh?” Lucy grinned.

“Something like that. Ah, we’re arriving.”

Lucy turned the car into a gravel driveway lined with trees on both sides. The farmhouse stood well back at the end. It was larger than I’d expected and not as dilapidated. Apparently dilapidated is a relative word depending on your lifestyle or perhaps the depth of your pocket. We pulled up at the rear and passed through a small courtyard. Lucy fumbled in her handbag for keys then we were inside. The air smelt dry and dusty with a faint residue of crumbling mould. Lucy opened windows, checked the hallway and lounge. Nothing had been disturbed.

“I’ve arranged for a barbeque if that’s okay with you,”

“Suits me fine.”

Lucy opened a cupboard retrieving various ingredients which she had stored there earlier in the day. “Could you get a package from the car for me, the beef and sausages.” Lucy handed me her car keys. “Lock it after you. Thanks.”

While Lucy busied herself in the kitchen I coaxed a fire into life in the barbeque. It consisted of a heavy iron stand in the courtyard, supporting a tray in which I arranged paper and twigs. Once it was alight, heavier logs and some pine cones took hold and crackled briskly.

Dusk turned imperceptibly to twilight. The air was still, warm and the only sounds a faint chirping and susurration of night insects. Occasionally a moth fluttered by. Lucy appeared carrying plates laden with salads and sauces. The fire gradually died to a mass of red, glowing embers. I placed a metal plate above them and Lucy busied herself with pieces of beef and the pre-cooked sausages. Through a faint drift of pine smoke the aroma of barbequed beef and sausages took precedence. I became aware that I was quite hungry.

We took turns at skewering a sausage or morsel of beef dipped in a piquant red sauce to add to our plate of salad, potato, diced carrot and peas as we reclined on canvas deck chairs. I thought Lucy had never looked so beautiful. Presently she reached for a bottle of tart white wine, opened it, poured two glasses. Our conversation drifted over many topics, reflecting on the past, wondering where life would take us in the future. I pointed to Lucy’s glass “You’ve hardly touched your wine.” A thought occurred to me, “You’re not pregnant again are you?”

Lucy laughed, “No, I don’t think so. Just taking my time.”

A glowing light, then the full moon rose over the treetops, large and golden, a harvest moon perhaps. It bathed the courtyard in a soft light, deep shadows a stark contrast where the light itself did not reach. It was a peaceful and tranquil scene, so why did I feel a faint unease. I suspected an alien smell but could not place it.

The fire had died away and with it our conversation. “I suppose we’d better get the remains cleared away,” Lucy busied herself gathering up plates and paper towels. A few trips and they were deposited in the kitchen. I began to run water to wash the dishes. “Oh, just leave them for now.” Lucy returned to the courtyard for a last minute check and returned with her handbag. “Let’s go into the lounge.” Lucy led the way.

A small desklamp cast a dim glow in the room. I was through the doorway before I noticed them. Sitting quietly to my right.

“Hello pretty boy,” a familiar voice intoned. Pudding looked up and sneered. “Thought I told you once to move out of town. Seems like you’re a slow learner.”

I recoiled in shock, glanced at Lucy in disbelief. How did these get in here… I was about to say but my heart sank when I saw the hard look in Lucy’s eyes. She smiled, a cold grim expression. “Payback time,” she said flatly.

I looked from her to Pudding, but the one that chilled me was Gretan. He said nothing, but on his lap was a large handgun. So this is where it all ends, I thought. But why the charade? If revenge was what the three were after, why not just an unexpected blow from a dark alley one night. There were plenty of opportunities. And if Lucy hated me so much, why go to all the trouble of a big pretense? Unless of course double crossing gave her an extra frisson of excitement. I remembered that mean streak from early days. None of it made much sense, but overriding all was the sense of doom and a trembling fear that this time, there was no escape.

Gratan spoke, “You crippled my leg.” His tone was hard, but his voice was calm and measured. “I’ve been waiting for a suitable time to tell you how much annoyance you’ve cost me. No doubt you’ll be wondering why I didn’t just waste you on any of the easy occasions you presented us.”

I said nothing.

“But it seemed important to do this properly. So that you know what it’s all about. Also our fat friend here,” he indicated Pudding with a sideways tilt of his head, “has gone to a lot of trouble to dig you a nice grave out the back. So you’ll just disappear. Won’t turn up for work the next day. Sad, but life is real—not like the pansy existence you lead. You probably won’t even be missed!” As he spoke, Gretan’s hand reached for his gun, raised it. I was looking into the barrel of a canon.

“Wait! If you’re so brave why the gun? You afraid of me or something?”

Gretan smiled, still pointing the gun at my chest. “No, I’m not afraid. But I can’t afford to take chances can I? You know my new profession?”

Of course I didn’t.

“I’m a professional killer. I’m for hire. Offer me a better price and I’ll turn the gun on the others and let you live. Perhaps.” He laughed. “But we’re wasting time, aren’t we?” His finger tightened on the trigger.

There were two sharp reports, twin taps to the chest.

Gretan sagged, a look of fury and disbelief clouding his face until pain took precedence. He sagged and slumped back into the sofa.

Lucy had not shifted her position but her outstretched hand held a weapon of her own and now it was pointing at Pudding.

“Look out!” I shrieked. The blast was unbelievably loud and shattered most of the china cabinet. Gretan was down, but not out and clutched the huge weapon in trembling fingers—was aiming a second time at Lucy.

With an agility of which I didn’t believe she was capable, Lucy skipped to the side took two strides towards the crippled hulk and put a third round through his forehead. Blood was dripping from Lucy’s arm. I recovered sufficiently to move to help her, but she brushed me aside. The room was still, the smell of cordite and brutality heavy in the air.

Lucy turned to Pudding, now pale with shock at this unexpected turn of events. “You! Vermin. Drag that rodent outside and bury it in the grave. I’ll inspect your work in a few minutes. If you haven’t worked fast enough, you’ll join him and I’ll fill in the rest myself.” Pudding looked at her stupified. “Now!” she barked. Pudding hastened to comply.

We had the room to ourselves. Lucy replaced the weapon in her handbag. It’s a Beretta 9mm she announced calmly. Useful in situations like this don’t you think?”

It was starting to make some sense. Not a lot, but some. “You used me,” I accused, “as bait.”

“Yes,” Lucy acknowledged, “But first I need to check on the progress that Pudding is making. He needs a lot of motivation.”

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Pudding found himself motivated beyond all expectations and worked with a will. That arsehole Gretan had betrayed him, and the witch Lucy as well. Both deserved to die, but at the moment he was not in a position to administer to her the fate that she richly deserved. The fate that had already befallen Gretan. He, Pudding would not be making that same mistake. His moment would come. Pudding had no doubt about that. This was a temporary setback. She would eventually discover who was the master and who the servant.

Right at the moment the servant was standing over him as he worked more turf into the grave. “Wait!” she commanded. Lucy held the Beretta pointed directly at him. Pudding gave a sickly grin. “The job’s almost finished,” he announced in a placating tone.

“No, it’s not finished until I say it’s finished and right now you haven’t acquired a proper grip on reality. Move around to the side of this pit at once.”

Pudding hesitated. Lucy pointed the pistol meaningfully in his direction. Pudding hastily complied. “Now what?”

“This is not the proper attitude,” explained. “Kneel at the edge if you will.”

Pudding was reluctant but the direction the pistol was pointing and the look on Lucy’s face decided that he’d better humour her. His charm usually worked with ignorant females. She had the upper hand at the moment, but that would change also. Oh yes. It would change. Pudding crouched at the edge of the grave, a servile response which hid an inward sneer.

“I think I should just shoot you and get rid of two problems at once,” Lucy announced calmly. “What would you do in a situation like this?”

“I’m a civilised man,” Pudding protested, “wrongly accused and in a situation where I’ve been terribly maligned, I’d give the person before you, the full benefit of the doubt.”

“Your arguments are persuasive,” Lucy commented. “If you stick to the straight and narrow in life, you will go far. Do you intend henceforth to stick to the straight and narrow?”

“Of course,” Pudding exclaimed. “How could you think otherwise. I am honesty personified.”

A further shot startled sleeping birds who set up an outcry. Pudding screamed in pain as part of his kneecap disappeared and with it a whole new understanding of reality took its place—as Lucy had predicted. Pudding’s whole being was wracked with agony.

“Here is a testimony to my forgiveness,” Lucy spoke. “You have at the moment escaped what you truly deserve. You may crawl out of town now. If you ever return or think to employ anyone to further annoy us, I will hunt you down and cripple you so that you will wish for death as the preferred option. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Pudding was now blubbering in the extremities of his anguish. “Leave town. Not return. Never bother you again. Lucy turned from him in disgust.

She turned to me. “Help me get this grave covered over, but first see this rodent off the premises.” I had followed Lucy out to the garden and now had a new appreciation of her capabilities. Gone the silly teenager, the self-indulgent girl. Now a hard-faced woman. I was proud of her, and more than a little daunted.

* * *

“But why the big charade?” I was puzzled.

Lucy regarded me speculatively. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Lucy sighed. “Gretan spoke the first word of truth in his life when he said that he was a killer for hire. He was good at it. He was aiming for you for a long time. Revenge perhaps. I don’t know. What motivates stupid males? But he wouldn’t do it publicly. By the time that he’d become proficient as a killer you also had acquired something of a public persona. So shooting you dead in an alley would put a lot of heat on him. This was not the way he worked. His preference was to remain quietly anonymous.”

“Even so, he could have picked an opportune moment?”

Lucy shook her head. “I doubt it. Not his style. He would have wanted to give you the last speech to settle a personal score. So I worked alongside him to get a little control of the situation, to make that moment more of a reality.”

“I’m not sure what’s real any more.”

“The reality is you were nearly history, and if my uncle hadn’t stepped in, I would be, too.”

“Your uncle?”

“Dad has a collection of army weapons. I doubt whether he’s ever fired one. But uncle has. He saw more of the real action. When I explained the situation in front of me—at first he was reluctant—said to go to the police. I pointed out that the police don’t run a twenty-four hour baby-sitting service. In the end he instructed me in the use of firearms provided I could equip myself with a suitable weapon—and at the same time distancing himself from any consequences which might arise from my use of it. It wasn’t hard to sneak the Beretta from father’s collection. Uncle has retained army sources and for several months he coached me while I practised using a handgun. He also supplied the ammunition. In the army I think they call them rounds. Don’t imagine it all comes automatically. Ignore what you see in the movies. The reality is a lot more boring and uncomfortable. Many times I returned home with a sore hand, shoulder or hip. Yes, the backlash is real. But I persisted.”

“So all this was set up from the start?” I said slowly.

“Yes,” Lucy acknowledged. “but I could hardly let you into it without risking exposure of the whole scene. Are you so unhappy that you’re still alive?”

Chapter 10

Those who flee temptation generally leave a forwarding address.

—Lane Olinghouse

My next out of town appointment was a return to a Metro III city, always busy in the big cities. After nearly twenty years they began to blur, run together. The people were different but the routine the same. Some tours of duty were pleasant occasions, especially if I was fortunate enough to pair up with a good nurse. Some could be a lot of fun and help the time pass more smoothly. Others, well life has its share of dull, boring times and of course sometimes troubles.

I thought back to last week’s altercation. Husband, a large florid faced man insisted on being present. Normal procedure, but I’m inclined to be watchful of such requests. Husbands tend to fall into two main categories, those with a voyeur streak who get aroused watching the wife being mated, and those who are insanely jealous and want to control every waking moment of their wife’s activities. Red-face fell into the latter category. At one point he rose from his chair, “Here! that’s enough. This is supposed to be a medical exercise, not a porn show!”

I withdrew from his wife’s vagina. He took a step backwards when he saw the swollen organ. “You want to stop immediately, I’ll call a halt right away. There will be no refund of course.”

I waited, “Well?”

Red-face became flustered. He eyed the swollen member again. Licked his lips. “There’s no need for such a florid display,” he managed weakly.

I turned to the intercom. “Nurse, there’s a cancellation here. Please assist the lady.” Of course he backed down didn’t he. It wasn’t anything that I was doing that upset him, more likely the fact that his wife was responding more enthusiastically than he thought proper, and when her legs wrapped around my own the more completely to become engaged, his outrage became vocal.

I had my share of quirky ones too. Although what is quirky? What is normal for one is a perversion for another. The quiet time of actual impregnation can sometimes stretch to twenty minutes and it is in this tranquil and intimate state that women often choose to confide their most personal secrets. Janine told me that it felt so much like her dog Rufus. I mostly just listened quietly without judgement one way or another. I said, “Go on.”

“My husband and I own a large property so nobody thinks twice about us keeping guard dogs and all that carry-on. However the dogs are more than that, they are lady-pleasers.

When I was growing up my parents bred Labradors. As a teenager I had intercourse with all the dogs and the funny thing is that they all knew exactly what to do. That doesn’t happen naturally. Someone has to teach them. And that could only have been my mother.

She caught me once behind the kennels with a dog on my back. The expected telling off didn’t eventuate: instead she just smiled and left me to it. Once I knew I wasn’t going to get into trouble, I used to let the dogs fuck me just about every day.”

As I lay with her, I reflected that it does raise a serious question about how our society perceives right and wrong. A dog can hardly be forced to perform with a woman so we have two beings engaged in an activity that both enjoy and which harms neither. And yet society of an earlier era condemned it as wrong and punished transgressors harshly. Why? It makes no sense. Fortunately in the present age such prejudices have weakened considerably from the dark era three hundred years ago. But although now no longer illegal there is a lingering sense in some segments of society that it is not exactly respectable either.

So why do women sometimes choose this option in preference to a husband or partner? Alice, another client gave me her own explanation. “I do it because I can, and let’s face it, men today are hardly very reliable performers. So if needs aren’t being met in the conventional way why should it be a surprise if we turn to a very willing and capable alternative?”

I had read that in earlier times there was a more compelling reason for women to seek this alternative. Birth control methods were unreliable, a dog didn’t talk behind your back, was always eager to please and never forced himself upon you if you said no, unlike some arsehole men. But whatever the reason, the practice has a long history and neither law nor church ever managed to stop it.

* * *

At a quiet little Metro VII township I encountered something new. The nurse turned out to be a young man perhaps in his early thirties. “Hello, my name’s Carl. Pleased to meet you.” He extended a hand in greeting.

Seeing my look of surprise he added, “Nurse Allison is off on maternity leave, I’m standing in for her.”

“Maternity. That’s unusual how…?

Carl smiled, “The Stud here before you arrived was quite active and…”

“But wait a moment, he was only here six weeks, right? That’s a bit early for maternity leave surely?”

“True, except he was here for three consecutive terms which is also a bit unusual. He was an unusual fellow actually. Makes for variety though.”

I thought about it. This seemed to be more unconventional than usual, although I’d struck some that were pretty individual. “So there’s not much call for our services here then?”

“One booking a day if you’re lucky. That’s about average.”

“So how do you usually fill in your time?”

“Well the last Stud filled in his time with Nurse Allison which is where things took a wrong turning.”

“Obviously. I meant how did you fill in your time?”

Carl nodded complacently, “With the last Stud.” Seeing my look of puzzlement and thinking that this might need some further clarification Carl went on, “Him being so active the Ministry thought to send a male nurse and took care not to send a gay one in case the Stud considered him a likely candidate too.”

“So you’re not gay?”

“Oh no. I adore anything with a vagina. Lady, cow, mare—don’t look so surprised. I’m a bit unusual in that I also am rather over-active, a freak maybe in the general male population. But I’m not a Stud.” Carl smiled pleasantly.

I chose my words carefully, “So how, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking, did you ‘spend time’ with this Stud?”

“Well I fucked him of course. He found it quite a novelty being on the other end of one. Started to see things from the client’s point of view.”

“How could you possibly do that? I mean granted that from the front we do look like a female, but there’s a good sized penis in there. Surely that would frustrate your best efforts.”

“Not at all,” Carl explained. “The Stud himself, apart from his other qualities was a bit of an innovator and had discovered a curious feature that may not have occurred to you.”

This was so unusual that I found myself becoming curious to learn more. “Do explain.”

“The way the Stud described it to me, when the time comes for you to start work, as it were and your testicles must descend why do you think your penis doesn’t get in the way when this happens?”

“That’s true. I hadn’t given it much thought.” A bit ironic an ordinary man explaining to a Stud how his insides work.

“The Stud said the penis moves upwards into a sort of pocket. So imagine it like this. It’s lying inside you pointing forward ready to come out, right?”

I nodded.

“Then if you were to slip a finger inside, underneath it and press upwards it would still lie pointing forward but now higher up, tucked into a sort of pocket, only the underside is present along the length of your opening.”

It’s possible I thought. After all I remember that happening all by itself when the testicles descended and I distinctly remembered that it was simply a muscular squeeze to lower the penis again. “As far as I am aware, there’s not a lot of sensation inside that opening,” I commented, “so what sort of a buzz would your Stud be getting from another penis entering it?”

“Can’t say from personal experience,” Carl admitted, except from my end, the sensations were fabulous, just like a real girl’s one and from the Stud’s response he was obviously getting something rather unexpected also.”

I shook my head to clear it. “When’s the sole client of the day turning up?”

“11:00 am.”

“So I’m going out for a coffee. Want to come?”

“Okay, sure. There’s a good place not far down the road.”

The café was set back from the road a little and from the antique furnishings I suspected that at one time it had been a theatre, or perhaps a gentlemen’s club emulating an earlier era. But the coffee was good and Carl proved to be an entertaining speaker and held forth on a variety of topics.

As we were finishing our coffee, Carl made a request, a little tentatively, “While you’re doing it, you know, with the client, would you mind too much if I sat in discreetly on the side?”

“Now that’s a strange question. None of the nurses I’ve met so far have actually asked to be present. Normally that only happens if the client asks a nurse to be present.”

“True,” Carl seemed embarrassed. “But in the past I’ve always asked the client and most are comfortable with the idea.”

“For what purpose actually?” This was turning out to be more weird than I’d expected despite being a small, sleepy township.

Carl rallied a bit. “Well it sort of gets me going. You know, watching. No harm in it is there?”

“I guess not, provided the lady agrees.”

“Thanks very much. It means a lot to me. Not much else happening in this town. By way of recreation I mean.”

No. I suppose there isn’t. The client was a certain Becky Dawson, age 23, petite, long, light brown hair, and little elfish features. She said it was her first time. First time with a Stud, that is. Repeat visits are generally more comfortable. The client knows the score, what’s expected and how it will probably turn out. First times are a little more fragile and most clients tend to be nervous, so we try to take a little longer and spend more time with them making them feel comfortable.

Becky wasn’t really nervous but I sensed she wasn’t all that excited about the prospect either. The tongue is a sensitive instrument, especially on a Stud as it can reach into places normally impossible for an ordinary male and it was while it was exploring some of these very sensitive locations that Becky became animated, began to breathe heavily. To be sure, I spent a little extra time on further intimacies and I sensed now was the right time to mount her. I caught a quick glimpse of Carl standing motionless against the wall, studying every sublety and nuance with a rapt fascination.

I slid gently into Becky then began a rapid thrusting. Becky responded rather more forcefully than I’d expected and was soon away with the fairies. The thrusting slowed then ceased as I entered her fully and began to spray the sperm of new life within her. As we lay together Becky began to talk. She had been married a year and dearly loved her husband and yes he was able to give her a baby but they had discussed it carefully and both agreed that the superior health and genetic options that a Stud was able to offer would give their baby the best chance in life, and with so many unknowns it just seemed prudent to minimise the risks didn’t I think? I agreed, saying that according to the Ministry the health, vitality and overall superior chances in life from a baby conceived by a Stud was well established. I also said that as an artificial breed, we were also dying out. A few more generations perhaps we’d become a rarity.

“I have to come back tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, for three days. Tomorrow could be the definitive one, but you can never tell, humans are unpredictable.”

“So we’d better make tomorrow a special occasion,” Becky said anxiously, “in case you aren’t here next year for another occasion.”

“Oh no worry about that, we’re not dying out quite so fast—at least I hope not. But okay, we’ll make tomorrow a special occasion.”

“Nurse,” I said as I looked down, “If that’s what I think it is, it’s less than professional.”

“Oh that,” Carl gave an insincere smile. “Just an accident really.”

“You sure it was an accident, or did you give it some help?”

“A bit of help, yes. You put on quite a performance.” Carl moved swiftly away to remedy the large stain on the front of his pants.

* * *

The following day there were actually two appointments. An early morning one with an older woman who was trying for her fifth son. Not that she would have to try very hard because at the beginning of a new life cycle, the effort was largely mine. I had learned early on that keeping fit is essential. You cannot perform if you’re tired, lethargic or unfit in any way. And if the Ministry is paying, the Ministry doesn’t do excuses.

Madame Flora was a large woman with an untidy mop of greying hair and smelling slightly of sweat. This may or may not be a disincentive to the ordinary male, but for a Stud, sweat carries a lot of feminine pheromones which tend to arouse alertness and readiness to mate to high degree of anticipation. Artificial perfumes are a turn-off and women are advised not to wear any before a mating although some, quite a few actually, ignore the advice in the mistaken belief that their natural secretions will be repelling unless disguised by artificial scents. Nothing could be further from the truth. But try telling that to the young and fashion conscious. Actually the cleansing shower beforehand does a pretty good job of eliminating most artificial fragrances. It worked in the case of Madame Flora as well, except that she tended to sweat a bit even after the shower.

Flora turned out to be the epitome of a woman ready to be mated. She was on heat and exuding lust even before she entered the consulting room. As soon as I entered, she rose and immediately walked a little unsteadily on fat legs to the couch, cast off her bathrobe and gazed at me with a ready anticipation. I could smell her from the doorway and started to become erect at once. Again Carl stood discreetly to one side wearing trousers of a dark shade which, he no doubt hoped, would disguise any impulsive indiscretions.

I lapped at her body appreciatively, explored the sweating limbs with an active tongue, especially between her legs and right up into her anus. Repulsive? To a normal male, perhaps, probably most likely; to a dog, not in the least, the smells were all delicious and tasted even better. I moved on to the couch and attempted to mount her. Flora playfully wriggled free, looked at me coyly over a fleshy shoulder. So I went back to licking and when an opportune moment arose, mounted her again, this time succeeding in penetrating her before she again disengaged herself.

We are supposed to indulge, within reason, the whims of clients who want to play games. In this case I had no problem with her coy pretence at modesty and playing hard to submit. This whole routine was very much a part of my own canine nature and I merely went back to lapping at intimate parts and waiting a suitable opportunity. The mount and disengage played out several more times before I saw the ideal moment. I grabbed her quickly plunged in to the hilt in a single thrust and her squeal of protest was indication enough that she had at last admitted defeat. To make sure, I grabbed her tightly and began the familiar rapid thrusting. To the side, Carl had become quite uncomfortable, shifting uneasily as, to my surprise, Madame Flora managed to disengage herself and the penis came free, bloated and dripping before I hastily mounted her again and this time entered her fully so that she no longer had a choice but to remain passively while she was thoroughly impregnated with the seed of life.

Carl again had an accident in his pants as he witnessed the scene and by the time Becky arrived shortly afterward for her second mating, Carl’s earlier urges had diminished to the point where he was no longer interested in a further display. I smiled quietly to myself. Becky was more relaxed and spontaneous this time, but my private preference was for Fat Flora who satisfied more thoroughly some inward pagan urges that appealed to the very ancient part of my brain.

* * *

Unfortunately for Carl, the next two clients over the next two days both objected to his presence in the room and he was obliged to be content with listening carefully at the door in the hope (futile as it happened) of gleaning some erotic insights into the activities within.

Carl became moody and uncommunicative but I insisted he join me for coffee. “What is it?” I asked, over the fragrant brew. But I had a fairly good idea that Carl was just frustrated at having no outlet for his voyeuristic tendencies. Carl was not very good at being subtle. Most men don’t do subtle very well, at least compared to women and in his forthright way it came out. Carl was longing to return to the leisure activities he had enjoyed so much with the previous Stud.

I asked, “What about women? Surely there are plenty of women even in a small town who would welcome your attentions?”

“It’s not the same,” Carl replied moodily. “It’s just that…oh hell, I can’t explain it. It’s different and even Andy said it was better than he’d expected, and there’s not much else to do is there? I mean how often can you drink coffee during the day.”

“Perhaps a lot more often than you can manage a mating.” I teased.

“I’d be happy to prove you’re wrong,” Carl said, the challenge clearly in his eyes.

I shrugged. “If it improves your mood. I wouldn’t want you to sink into clinical depression.”

Carl brightened immediately. “That’s a very wise choice. You’ll see.” He finished his coffee with alacrity. “Better be getting back don’t you think?”

I had to laugh. Carl was so transparent. Carl closed the front office. We went through the cleansing routine, entered the consulting rooms. “What now? You’re the expert here, apparently.”

“Nothing to it. Just lie back and think of England.” Carl explained. He was already erect in anticipation as he caught sight of the smooth female outline between my legs. “No, wait. You sure it’s up out of the way?”

I nodded, couldn’t help a smile at his eagerness. It had taken a couple of attempts to fit it into its upper pocket before I exited the cleansing room, muscles a long time unused. It actually felt strangely empty inside, sort of flat. Carl proceeded with confidence, inserted a finger, felt up close to the entrance, located the tip, pressed against it. I was surprised he knew about that. But of course, if Andy was the name of the previous Stud, he’d have had plenty of opportunity to explore such details, probably knew more about the finer points than I did. The pressure of his finger against a little hollow at the tip send a wave of pleasure coursing through my body and almost at once the familiar ejaculatory response—the ejaculation of lubrication, not of fertilisation. Once he felt everything was good and ready down there, Carl positioned himself, sank down with a sigh of utmost satisfaction, as if his whole life had been leading up to this moment—and slid into the warm embrace.

It was a strange sensation. Being filled. But even stranger and quite unexpected, was the sense of submission, of receiving, of giving up control to another. Perhaps these were some peripheral aspects of how a woman might feel, perhaps not; neither males nor Studs could ever really know, because their whole makeup and purpose was different from a woman’s. But on the level of sensation alone I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting much. The interior of the sheath is not particularly well equipped with nerve endings and nor is a vagina. But as he thrust, Carl’s penis came into contact with the underside of my own, the sensitive side and the pressure against it was doing its best to build up the tumultous waves of orgasm and fertilisation itself.

Carl was lost in a world of his own and totally given over to his own pleasure which, from his ragged breathing and redoubled efforts, was now reaching its own climax. My own response was instinctive because the slow ride to ecstasy had already begun and now would not be denied. I gripped Carl at his buttocks, pulled him in deeper, harder, moved my own body in the instinctive end stages, felt Carl spray inside me and moments later began to pulse rhythmically.

* * *

“See. I told you it was good.” Carl had a smug expression on his face.

“I bow to your superior wisdom,” I replied, with only a trace of irony. Indeed, I had learned something new, and quite unexpected.

Now that Carl had established a routine of mating me once a day, the bookings picked up remarkably. Suddenly Carl found that yes, we could arrange an appointment today after all as there’s been a cancellation.

So in choreographing the whole thing, Carl had proved to be a lot smarter than I’d given him credit for.

Chapter 11

Marriage is our last, best chance to grow up.

—Joseph Barth

I was now forty-one and officially retired from the Ministry. The pension for life was not lavish, but adequate. But then nothing about the Ministry is extreme, all aspects could be properly described as merely adequate, so it was not unexpected that retirement should also fall comfortably into this mindset.

How I would spend my retirement had been decided years earlier by Juicy Lucy, now a handsome woman my own age. We would live in the farmhouse, which over the intervening years had been slightly enlarged and significantly redecorated, a suitable home for Lucy and her seven daughters. Gretan’s grave had not been marked and had long since ceased to carry an overtone of that dismal time. Further trees were planted and the fields carried cattle and a couple of young mares for the children to ride.

That was another thing. Each year or so when my tours of duty returned to our hometown I became better acquainted with my growing retinue of daughters. In the beginning and in my conversations with Lucy it was always her daughters, but as time went on, slowly and in subtle ways it became our daughters. Of course in a strictly physical sense it was true to say our because they were as much mine as hers. But Lucy, both astute and patient, had the future mapped out long before I was even dimly aware of it. So by the time the word our took on its full and proper significance I was already reconciled to the fact that living with Lucy and her seven daughters was the only feasible option, anything else was unthinkable.

A casual observer might wonder how a Stud would manage the transition from impregnating fifteen hundred or more women a year to sudden retirement. In fact the difficulty is largely illusory. Unlike ordinary males, Studs are seldom bothered by hormonal urges alone, apart from the intense teenage years, and most are perfectly content to lead a celibate life if circumstances require it. Yet wherever females exist in their proximity there is always a low level of latent interest, ready to respond at once to the appropriate signals.

Lucy, aware of this, was discussing this with me just the other day. I said, “You have given no indication that you want to retire from intimacy with me, yet surely seven daughters is enough for anyone. Maybe now is the time to withdraw those globes back inside so that freedom can be expressed with safety.”

“Not so fast,” Lucy countered, “the older girls are at the right age to breed and that was my intention from the beginning.”

I must have looked surprised because she went on, “Incest has always been acceptable in the families of Studs and today is becoming increasingly fashionable amongst the families who consider themselves the upper-class. For the families of Studs, it’s one of the attractions of marrying one when he retires. Women still greatly outnumber men and the chances of our girls finding a suitable husband are not high. There is also competition for mating with a Stud through the Ministry so who would not jump at the chance to give their daughters a head start? And for the famililies of the so-called upper class who favour incest, this has arisen largely because the husband is often sterile and perhaps for this reason it is a statement of virility as much as anything else. Still for whatever reason, it’s become quite widespread.”

“What do our daughters have to say about this?”

“They are enthusiastic. Behaviour that is considered ‘acceptable’ in a society is after all, largely a matter of custom and conforming to rules that one’s peers accept also. It is also very much a matter of how children are brought up in the home. I have taken great care to encourage intimacy with the girls and between each other. They learned very early in life, the comfort and delight that a loving kiss and especially a prolonged kiss in intimate places could bring. So this behaviour is not only natural to them, but something they have adopted unconsciously as the right and proper way to behave at home.”

“I was not aware that you had prepared the ground so thoroughly. Was this only for the purpose of getting them accustomed to the concept of having children by me?”

“Not at all. The purpose was always to ensure intimacy and sexual pleasure as their birthright. It should be the birthright of the members of every family. But in patriarchical societies this natural loving instinct has been corrupted as a means of control, especially by religions.

At the risk of getting on a soapbox. It’s about power. Male power. It’s the way men control us, by demeaning, frightening and repressing us so that our natural instinct to love is subverted by threats of eternal damnation etc. You can guess the rest. Anyway, in this household feminine love rules supreme and for no other reason that to celebrate this natural state for its own sake.”

“Well then. That seems fairly definite. At the same time, I am no doubt very much a stranger to the girls, with visits fewer than once a year—how can it be otherwise? So don’t expect they will be falling over themselves in demonstrations of affection.”

“There you may be surprised. I have built you up in the girls’ eyes as a father of many desirable qualities—then of course there is the fascination of your being different from an ordinary man. No, I don’t think you’ll have much trouble in getting to know the girls, more likely you’ll be hard pressed to settle competing claims for your time.”

“You seem to have thought of everything. But have you considered the increased likelihood of defects arising from inbreeding?”

Lucy smiled. “There is a very small chance of that. I’ve already studied the literature. With Studs such problems are hugely diminished, and if it’s only one generation we are talking about then the risks are so small as to vanish as a practical concern. There is also another thing,” Lucy looked slightly coy.

“What is that?”

“You may as well know if you have not already suspected, that not all of my daughters are your daughters.”

“Ah, a suspicion confirmed. I thought some dates unlikely, especially dark-haired Tansu with the latin temperament. Who was he?”

“Another Stud who had also taken the trouble to favour daughters.”

“So let me see, there is Natasha, nineteen, nearly twenty. She seems a prime candidate for your plans, am I right?”

“Exactly so,” Lucy responded, “Natasha is at the peak of readiness you might say, and would welcome a boy, so you might find that mating with her to be very congenial.”

“A good point and a valuable one in her favour. Then Elise. She is now eighteen, right? I was just twenty-two at the time. How time has flown. Are you hoping to include Elise in your plans?”

“Of course. All the girls actually and although Kseniya, Tansu, Elva, Fawn and Gina are too young to be impregnated yet, all are keen to experience the joys of family intimacy.”

I was impressed at Lucy’s dedication to her ideals but asked, “Does this viewpoint sit comfortably with your family? I mean, the Major seemed to have definite ideas in earlier times and your mother also if I recall correctly.”

Lucy smiled, “Our family,” and here she meant her family, “consider ourselves to be very much the upper class, or at least the Major does.” She laughed at the recollection. Thing is, you weren’t family at the time which accounts for his discomfort.”

Discomfort yes. The man was a raging bull back then but I could see no good purpose in bringing this aspect up right now. More to the point, “So how does the good Major view my entry into his exclusive family. If I recall correctly our last meeting was not at all cordial?”

“He has never particularised his actual opinion of you,” Lucy said thoughtfully, “but really that is hardly relevant. The relevant issue is that a daughter marrying a Stud considerably augments his prestige, a factor which would weigh heavily with the Major.”

“Ah, all is clear, but tell me, does the Major and his wife support the concept of loving family relationships?”

“Not exactly,” Lucy admitted, “Both are too genteel to stoop to pleasures of the flesh. It rather surprises me when I think on it that my brother and I actually came to be born. Sometimes when I consider their puritanical ways I truly wonder if either are my natural parents. On the other hand uncle has no such inhibitions, is very fond of my girls and especially with the younger ones has observed to have roving hands.”

“Good heavens. What do the girls think of this?”

“Well actually they quite enjoy these little attentions and as far as I am aware have raised no objections to uncle’s explorations. However I have warned uncle off any more forceful manifestation than oral pleasures and have made it very clear there is to be no fucking. That is strictly reserved for my husband when the girls come of the proper age for breeding.”

“I see, and uncle abides by these rules?”

“Naturally. He’d hardly wish to endanger access to the loving attentions of my girls now, would he? So his little games with them are kept discreetly under control. He has, apparently, taught them some surprising configurations and their education has been greatly augmented by his imaginative ways.”

“And you approve? Or at least do not disapprove?”

“Of course. Uncle is family and if the girls want to explore their sexuality with him, then who am I to object?”

“A thought occurs to me. Does uncle restrict his loving attentions only to the daughters who have attained legal age.”

“No. Not really,” Lucy admitted. “If he did that there would be slim pickings for him. The older girls consider themselves to be too sophisticated for any dalliance with uncle. It’s the younger ones who are enthusiastic about games.” She paused in thought, “Except Gina. That girl’s a puzzle. She’s happy, outgoing, funloving is into everything with her sisters, but is modest about her own person.”

“Nothing wrong with that, surely?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. She’ll join in without hesitation to take her turn at bringing uncle to a climax orally. It’s just that she’s not so keen for him to return the favour.”

“Sounds like a great daughter to have,” I observed.

“I suppose you’re right,” Lucy agreed. “It is a bit strange though.”

Chapter 12

“In some very rare cases, an opposite-sex pair was born, and they always mated one another. Disturbing as it might sound, when it did happen, the offspring were invariably gifted. Sera and Trace’s sons were noted psych-scientists.”

—Belinda McBride

Retirement didn’t happen straight away. Natasha was indeed ready for a baby, and had already chosen her twentieth birthday as the timing when the big event would take place. She had registered with the Ministry and had named me as the prospective father. In due course and with the glacial bureaucratic slowness for which the Ministry is renowned, her application was approved and her name entered as an official candidate for Bureau assistance with finance for all those expenses associated with bringing up children. The farmhouse had plenty of room after the new additions ten years ago and the Ministry was grateful that a nominal allowance for accommodation was all they would need to provide in the way of housing.

I got to know my remaining daughters better as time went on, and as Lucy had predicted, none was actually shy about expressing loving attentions. They knew what men looked like of course. Uncle had done sterling service there in bringing them up to date with the most intimate details of male anatomy, but a Stud, that was unknown territory and of course a source of intense speculation and curiosity.

Already a year had passed since my arrival at the farmstead and Natasha now had a little son. The other girls were correspondingly a year older, Elise now nineteen, Kseniya seventeen, Tansu sixteen, Elva fourteen, Fawn thirteen and Gina now eleven. At first I had puzzled over their names but Lucy explained that each was given a name suitable to the dominant ethnicity of the city in which I was posted at the time of conception. Imaginative at least.

Our nearest neighbours were Sally and Jim. They farmed a plot of land similar to our own, but to the east. Their home was positioned at the western extremity and ours in the eastern, so we were only a five minute walk away. Lucy had taken a liking to them both and urged me to meet Jim.

I had nothing particularly to do one sunny Friday morning, so decided to stroll over to make my acquaintance with him. Their homestead was similar to our own, weathered wooden siding, an iron roof, a wide verandah on three sides and a cluster of mature trees scattered around the house itself. I knocked at the door, called out but there was no reply.

Of course I had met both Sally and Jim when we first moved in with the girls, but that was a year ago and there just seemed so many things that needed doing I had never got around to actually getting to make a closer acquaintance with my neighbour. Jim had a barn and also a stable for his horse and I caught up with him at the stable. Jim was energetically engaged with his mare and catching sight of me hastily disengaged himself, pulled his jeans up. “Hi Jim, I was just saying to myself that it’s about time to become better acquainted with my neighbour. I guess your current engagement counts as better acquainted?

Jim showed a moment of embarrassment at the unexpected interruption but quickly recovered, “Good to see you, Erin. If I’d known you were coming I’d have offered you first option.” He laughed. “Let’s go up to the house. I’ll make us a drink.”

Jim was a fit young man in his early thirties, slim and hard muscled as most manual workers are. He had a cheerful disposition and as we relaxed in the warmth of the garden drinking tea, he explained our unconventional meeting. “When I fell for Sally, it wasn’t long before I wanted to marry her. She’s that sort of a girl, really gets to you. Sally was vague for a start although I could tell she really liked me. After we’d been going out for nearly a year Sally agreed to marry me but said I might not like the conditions.

Well I thought that was a bit strange but the conditions turned out even stranger. Sally said she’d had a very bad experience with men when she was very young. As a teenager she’d had one or two boyfriends but they turned out to be bad choices too so in disgust she resolved to keep to herself. I guess Sally should be telling you this instead of me, but I don’t think she’d mind—seeing how we’re into confidences right away on account of you catching me with young Bella just now.” Jim looked a bit sheepish.

“Don’t worry about it. Life is full of surprises, most of them harmless.”

“Okay, thanks. But anyway I’m not a big one on secrets, especially as we’re neighbours, like. So it turns out that Sally’s big marriage condition is that there will be no intercourse with me, something to do with bad karma from the past. I was a bit stunned by that and asked her what I was supposed to do for loving relief. Sally said that ever since her teenage years she had been having regular intercourse with the family dog, had gone off men completely and before meeting up with me had a couple of her own, the latest one being Rollo as no doubt you’ve seen.”

I had indeed noticed Rollo, German Shepherd cross, very bouncy but with a placid temperament.

“Well we came to an understanding because I loved Sally enough to want to marry her even though the prospect of celibacy didn’t appeal to me. Sally made no restrictions about other women, but I just didn’t feel it was right and anyway, start playing around with other women and before long you fall for one and then your own marriage is over. So I turned to my mare for relief, me being still young and vigorous and thinking at the same time it wasn’t really being unfaithful to Sally because there was no emotional involvement.”

Noticing Jim’s expression, I ventured, “But you discovered something unexpected?”

“Yes,” Jim said slowly. “I did. I found that after a while there was a real bond growing between us. I always treated Bella with respect and soon came to see that she was really welcoming my attentions.”

“How did she do that?” I was curious.

“Well, little things. She’d trot out to meet me if I needed to ride her over the far fields, but she’d also come up sometimes if she was in the mood and nuzzle against me in a familiar sort of way if you get my drift. And when I approached the business end I could see she was very ready for loving attentions. So yes, that was a surprise. But I no longer feel guilty about the being unfaithful part and of course Sally accepts it as being very right and proper and natural. So eventually I just took it for granted that this was the way life was going to be.”

* * *

As time went on I got to know Jim quite well and we often shared farm tasks. Keeping fences in order is a never-ending chore and we’d often ride the boundaries together to do whatever repairs and maintenance were necessary. Sometimes our wives packed a sandwich lunch and relaxing in the shade after strenuous exertion is a good time for conversation. Jim turned to me, “Sally and Lucy’ve been talking, as women do and Sally tells me—hope I’m not speaking out of turn here—that you are having regular intercourse with all your daughters. That sounds to be a mighty fine thing to me, if it’s true.”

“Yes, it’s true enough,” I admitted, “except that the Gina tends to keep more to herself than the others and of course she’s too young to get involved with intercourse. But the other six are keen on it.”

“I’m fascinated by the whole concept of Studs. I mean they’re not exactly common, and meeting you—apart from being good friends, that is—I just can’t believe I’m speaking to a real one.”

I smiled, “Well, I’m real enough.”

Jim hesitated as if considering whether his next question would overstep the bounds of friendship and after watching the frown of concentration disappear I guessed that curiosity had eventually overcome discretion. He blurted out, “I mean you do them all at once, like on the same day?” He immediately looked apologetic. “Forget I said that.”

“That’s okay. Our lifestyle is pretty relaxed. Mostly on Saturdays when we have time to lie-in a bit, if the girls are so inclined they may wander in to our bedroom and crawl into bed with Lucy and me for cuddles. Sometimes the cuddles turn amorous and I will slip into one of the girls—which is usually enough to ensure that the others all want it too. Lucy usually gets up and makes us a cup of tea while this is happening because of all the bouncing around. But of course after we’ve had our cup of tea, Lucy decides she wants it too. And some mornings some of the girls may decide they want a second helping, as it were. So it’s a busy time for me.”

Jim had been keeping silent track of scores and announced in a voice of wonder, “You mean to say you go at it one after the other a dozen times in a row? That’s unbelievable!”

“It’s not a problem. You have to remember we were made that way. It’s what we were designed to do.”

Jim was silent for a long time as many possibilities raced through his head. “You ever think of trying it with a mare?”

I shook my head. “No moral objections to it, but Studs are generally not interested in other species, although there are exceptions.

* * *

A few days later Lucy said, “Guess what? Sally confided that she’d really like to have a baby before it gets too late.”

“That’s nice. I’m sure Jim would be pleased to help out if his enthusiasm for his mare is anything to go by.”

“True,” Lucy acknowledged. “Except that she’s turned off men. Maybe she was thinking of artificial fertilisation.”

“I don’t think that Jim would go for that,” I laughed. “I’m pretty sure Jim would want the real thing or nothing.”

On Friday Jim and I arranged to check out the last of the fences on the north side of our respective properties. These were the only ones in poor repair and the work went faster when two people were involved because some operations were awkward to do by yourself. It was a fine day and hot sunshine took its toll on our drink bottles. Mostly the fencing was in good shape. Some lines needed tightening, and the bracing on some corner posts needed renewing. We worked along the northern boundary until it was almost time for lunch. But first, Jim decided, an urgent stop for a pee. It reminded me that I needed the same relief, slipped by jeans down and squatted to the side. When I glanced up I could see Jim staring at me, like a statue, frozen in time.

“What?” Then it dawned on me, the sight already had Jim erect. I should have been more discreet.

“Jeez, that sure does look like a female one,” Jim observed, “begging your pardon but I don’t get the chance to see anything like that up close these days.”

“That’s okay. I tend to forget. A woman wouldn’t of course but then they’re brought up from earliest childhood, aware of how men are affected by a glimpse of their body. I guess it looks like a woman down there, but I think like a man.”

Jim nodded, “Pity it didn’t work like a woman down there as well.”

“Oh, but it does. Or rather it can. From what men have said, it feels pretty much the same too.”

Jim’s member stiffened appreciably. “So you’ve done it with men?”

“A man is bound to be curious when he sees what looks like a vagina so I’ve often been asked if it works like one also. There was a nurse at one of the clinics, a man who was standing in for the regular nurse. He apparently had regular intercourse with the previous Stud when there weren’t any bookings for ladies seeking to become pregnant. He was one of those men who is just naturally keen on fucking—and when the Stud currently in residence moved to another location and I moved in, Mr Nurse prevailed on me to grant him the same privileges.”

“Wow!” It took Jim a moment to digest this momentous news. “Did it do anything for you?”

“In a strange way, yes. I hadn’t expected much, but was surprised to discover it to be quite satisfying. You have to realise of course that apart from the brief (for ordinary men at least) moment of orgasm, most of the anticipation, the urges, the surrounding emotions either before or after—is all in the mind. It’s the mind that creates the mood which translates into emotion and emotional involvement—not the penis.”

I could see what was coming next, but decided to give Jim more of the theory before he became too overwrought. “And for me I suppose the fulfilling part was the sense that I was even in a minor way, experiencing something of the emotional involvement that a woman might. It was tied up with a sense of submission, of letting go which is so different from my usual male rôle of initiating, directing taking and impregnating.”

“The philosophy is way over my head,” Jim observed, “but the sight of that goes straight to my dick! You prepared to search for some new theoretical insights about being fucked because it’s getting pretty urgent for me right now.”

My fault I suppose for displaying myself like that. Jim spread a rug from his saddlebag, on the ground and I lay down for him. It’s a strange sensation. Memories of Carl came back as Jim slid into me. There were also tumultous sensations of a different sort when I sensed Jim become tense, rigid and a moment later sprayed into me. At that moment I had the clearest sensation of receiving into my body an essence of his masculinity which went beyond something physical. It was more of in the nature of an energy. So perhaps it is true that the typical aftermath of male post orgasmic deflation—what the French call la petite mort may not be simply a lost energy, but vitality transferred.

Jim looked utterly drained and at the same time utterly grateful. When he had time to come down to earth he remarked, “Any more of that could become seriously addictive.”

“What’s Bella going to think?” I chided him.

“More to the point, what would Sally think? I can’t even begin to imagine. Let’s get started on lunch.”

* * *

Saturday morning again, relaxed and talking to Lucy after some strenuous erotic exercises with daughters Elise, Kysenya, Tansu and Elva who had now wandered off. At any moment Fawn may interrupt with an agenda of her own, but for the present at least I had Lucy’s undivided attention. “You were telling me the other day about some teenage experiences and how highly boys rate the experience of being fellated.”

“Yes, that’s true. It’s a highly charged time of a boy’s life. Everything’s new and hair-trigger. It’s also that is rather rare which makes it even more highly prized when it does happen.”

“Why is that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s probably a lot to do with a male’s often fragile sense of masculinity; it’s something a girl is supposed to do, not a boy and remember this is an awkward time of life when boys are just starting to get to grips with what it is to be male, a man. But that’s not what I was going to tell you about. It’s the very strange sensation—to me at least—that when you receive a male’s sperm into your body either orally or otherwise you are actually receiving a psychic element as well, an energy, vitality. So when a male ejaculates and experiences that ‘little death’ I discovered that the energy is not so much lost as simple transferred to the recipient. Is that not remarkable.”

“Not really, a woman could tell you that.”

“Well it was a new discovery for me. I first discovered it in oral with the boys as a teenager. Just recently I discovered it again—with Jim, but this time not oral but intercourse.”

Lucy was impressed. “How did that come about?” I told her.

“You were saying, you met Sally at the supermarket.”

“Yes, it was raining and I think I had just missed the last bus so that was a lucky break for me because she offered to drive me home.”

“Wait a minute if that was last Monday, it was Jim who drove you home, not Sally.”

“True, but don’t keep interrupting or you’ll never hear the amazing events which I am about to reveal.”

Because it was raining, the car windows were shut tight. The aircon wasn’t working too well and the car became stuffy. Before long I sensed Sally was becoming restless. It took me a moment to realise that she was ovulating and quite unconsciously my body had been responding with some very strong signals which, in the confines of the small car, had nowhere else to go but to land directly on Sally. No wonder she was feeling the effects.

By the time we reached her home I knew Sally’s body wasn’t going to release her from a growing compulsion. The only question being how she would bring such a delicate issue to my attention. Women are rather good at that sort of thing, but in the event Sally surprised me by saying, “I noticed that Jim was fucking you the other day. I didn’t think that Studs could do that.” That threw me a bit. I said, “I think he misses normal human contact but because he loves you, wouldn’t turn to another woman. But he probably feels that with a Stud he’s not being unfaithful. Either that, or he may feel studs are not quite human and that’s probably true as well. Anyway, you say you noticed—?”

“Yes, I was in the area that day, just before midday actually. I was collecting plant specimens for my botanical collection. I’ve made a study of gymnosperms—that includes pines, cypresses etc. and we have an unusual pinus pinaster by the north boundary. I’m hoping to publish a paper in due course about some little-known aspects of the genus. While I was carefully stuffing samples into my bag I happened to see a movement through the trees and when I moved closer, imagine my surprise to discover Jim was doing something similar to you!”

What could I say. “Life is full of surprises and the longer you live the more surprises you have.”

Anyway to return to the moment when Sally was struggling with some very conflicting emotions she eventually came up with the rather thin ploy of wanting to see just what had attracted Jim’s earnest attentions. If she’d had time to think up something more subtle then no doubt she would have but by this time I was pouring on the pheromones with a heavy hand—yes they are under our conscious control a bit although it’s mostly unconscious—and Sally was pretty much under their sway as she led me into her bedroom for a prim and proper comparison of features. Well of course she had to get her pants off for this and so did I and by the time that was done Sally was openly marvelling at how similar we looked, and how understandable it had been for Jim to have fallen under its influence, except, and she scrutinised this rather more carefully than I thought strictly necessary when she came up with, “but there are no inner labia on you so you look more like a girl than an adult woman” which led on to a new request to see what the other part looked like.

That turned out to be an interesting exercise because I brought it out slowly then with considerable drama consciously urged it into an engorged state ready for mating. When you’ve done this thirty thousand or so times you get the hang of turning a largely involuntary action into a voluntary one. Sally was extremely impressed and blurted out without thinking, “Oh my god, it looks just the exact image of Rollo’”—and as you know Rollo is her dog. Then realising what she had said, apologised for being insensitive explaining that she was just momentarily overcome at how much they looked the same.

At that point I judged she was well on the way and there was now no turning back so I said, “You’d be surprised at how much they feel the same too and I think in order to get a better understanding of your husband’s feelings for you, now would be a good time to check that aspect out as well.” But of course these were just words and Sally wasn’t listening anyway, she was already moving towards the bed and I was already moving above her when it slipped in and in a moment of transcendental enlightenment Sally became at one with the universe. Perhaps not quite, but it was certainly a revelation to feel a dog’s one inside her but a man driving it. I actually gave her the number one top treatment reserved normally only for those who are connoisseurs of the noble art of In-and-Out. To her credit, Sally responded magnificently.

Lucy seemed vaguely distracted. “Are you listening to what I am saying because there are two surprises at the end of this.”

“Sorry, Fawn was in the doorway and I think she was hoping for action rather than words.”

“Tell her to wait. This is more important.”

Continuing my narrative I explained that I was doing my best to explain to Sally by deed rather than word that regardless of shape or configuration, a man (or in my case, a nominal man) could be every bit as satisfying, sensitive, aware—fill in any additional adjective you feel necessary—as a dog, and perhaps even a bit better.

Lucy turned her attention back to me. “Did you succeed?”

“Of course I did. After all, I’ve done this sort of thing before you know.”

“Yes, I know. What’s the surprise?”

“Well the surprise is that on Wednesday Jim confided to me that he had experienced his first conjugal delight since marrying Sally and it seems that Rollo and Bella have both been put on the back burner.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Lucy enthused, “I’m so happy for Sally.”

I’ll bet Jim is too I thought.

“What’s the other surprise?”

“Well it’s more of a surprise to me than to you because you already know about it but didn’t know that I know.”

Lucy clearly didn’t like the direction this was taking as her eyes narrowed but she nodded at me to go on.

“Well we’ve both been puzzled for some time about Gina and I knew as soon as I met her that I wasn’t the father—but hey, that’s alright, you’ve already explained that there have been other Studs—but you’ve never actually mentioned that one of the fathers was a non-Stud, an ordinary man in fact.”

Lucy’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Thinking back on it, just over eleven years ago I had just finished a tour of duty in my home town again, a Metro VII city and was on the way to a new city. Rather a coincidence then that who should turn up as nurse for the new Stud but my friend Carl, also from a Metro VII city. Carl seemed to have the uncanny knack of getting posted to minor cities. Less work to do and more time for his real hobby. So I’m sort of suspecting that Carl might be Gina’s dad after all.”

“That’s stretching it isn’t it?” Lucy replied dismissively.

“Well ordinarily yes. But in this case unlikely. You’d been so careful all along to have daughters and now it turns out that one of them is a boy. Sooner or later it would start to become more obvious, after puberty that is, when Gina didn’t start developing breasts. So Gina might soon have to start calling herself Gene. But then Gene isn’t really a boy either, he’s a Stud in waiting and you know that only true males can breed Studs, so just a thought that the father might be Carl. What do you reckon?

Lucy smiled enigmatically. “One can never tell, can one? It’s true I wanted only daughters but I didn’t explicitly exclude Studs did I, and from a certain viewpoint you Studs do look very like girls, which of course makes it all very harmonious.”

Content

The Third Sex
by Justin Caas

Editor’s Note

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12