Dr. Sperm

By C.J. Lanet

DR. SPERMTM begins with a Skippy peanut butter jar filled with pesky human sperms offered to a sperm bank. Benny Forrester had no idea chasing human sperms will be his life obsession, and be known as Dr. Sperm. With his sidekick and obsessive love interest, Sarah Smart, and financial muscle and college buddy, Melvin Johnson, who regarded money as cotton candy, Dr. Sperm was ready to save humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.J. Lanet
• Release date: Jan 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370794386

C.J. Lanet

If you dare to waste one hour of time you lost the value of life. From my pen is this creed - the golden rule to prevent the mind from rusting. I have often regretted my writing, never my silence. Yet through it all - my words are not faked. Hands-on experience makes the difference. Indeed, it's impossible to be a writer without having lived. My short list of skills may offer an insight to what I say. Artist Gambler Gangster Industrialist Inventor Pilot Pirate Prizefighter Prophet Tycoon "Magic happens only when you make it happen." ________

Book preview

Preface

DR. SPERM™ began with a Skippy peanut butter jar filled with pesky human sperms offered to a sperm bank. Benny Forrester had no idea chasing human sperms will be his lifelong obsession, and be known as Dr. Sperm. With his sidekick and obsessive love interest, Sarah Smart, and financial muscle and college buddy, Melvin Johnson, who regarded money as cotton candy, Dr. Sperm, more or less, was ready to save humanity.

Written like a screenplay and flows with the dynamics of a personal diary, DR. SPERM is a first-hand account of what could happen if the lowly human sperm lost its power.

Chapter 1

Scene: At apartment Sarah shared with Ben.

Reduced to this. she slurred!

Stumbling-up four flights of stairs with two huge paper bags, wearin’ a tight-ass dress and high heels for a sleazy, out-of-work actor is not what I wanted. Named Sarah Smart, I should know better. So why am I fuckin’ doin’ this?

Ringin’ the bell with my elbow, I dropped a bag.

More shit! I screamed and banged the door with my foot.

Still nothin’. Forced to use the key, I let go of the other bag. Contents of it spilled on the dirty, broken tiled floor. Evil-eyeing the door, instead of usin’ the key, I kicked it open and dragged in the bags.

"Where the fuck are you?"

The dump smelled like cat shit. And we don’t have a cat! Loud hip-hop vibrated the walls; thick smoke poured from under the toilet door. I dropped the bags on the table, not wantin’ the rats to have a head start.

Flipping my shoes off, I slowly walked to the toilet door. The white smoke blocked my view, but I saw enough to shake my head in total irritation. The love interest in my life was jerking off in a 16-oz. plastic jar of Skippy peanut butter.

What the fuck?!

Hold it! I’m almost there.

It’s half full, I screamed.

I don’t want to lose any. He stood up from the latrine, jerkin’ in the last drop.

As he turned to face me, I slammed the door on his cock.

Watch it, watch it! It’s valuable stuff, he shouted while followin’ me to the kitchen.

Don’t touch me!

"Sarah! Sarah, please. You said, get a job. Well, I’m working on it."

Like jerk-off in a jar! What happened to the peanut butter?

I eat it, maybe last week. Don’t worry about it, I’ll get more.

You been doin’ this for a fuckin’ week?

I don’t know, longer maybe?

Fucken explain!

Don’t get shitty. I know what I’m going. … making fifteen-hundred-dollars a sperm.

What!?

He closed the jar with a red lib and placed it on the table.

Oh no, not there, I yelled, raising my arm to knock it off.

He snatched it and said, I’m selling it to the sperm bank.

To a what?

Sperm bank!… What’s there to eat?

Fuck food! Jerkin' off in a jar, why?

Sperm bank! You know what that means? I’m selling this stuff! They pay big money. This is going to be my job. And I’m good at it. Look, half fill. And it only took two weeks.

I don’t think it works like that?

Yes, it does! You give them sperms, and you get paid. I figure what’s here, is a lot of money.

I don’t think so.

You’ll see. Tomorrow is my big day. What’s to eat?

Hide that jar, and I’ll fry pork chops.

With cream spinach?

Anythin’ you say, shorty.

Stop calling me shorty!

What? Asshole is better?

"Sarah, come on! Do I call you names?

Yes, you do. If you’re touchy about it, I’m sorry. But sellin’ sperms, maybe you should change your name?

Chapter 2

Scene: Ben at the sperm bank office.

When it opened at 8:30 in the morning I was there, jar and all. The place had the smell of isopropyl alcohol. You know the stuff your mother kept in the medicine cabinet when you scrape your knee or something? A pretty face sat behind a small desk. She smiled. I smiled back.

Taking the peanut butter jar out of the pink plastic store bag, I said, this is it!

She frowned. What is it?

Even though I was the only person in the place, I whispered. Sperms.

She appeared frightened, pulled back on her chair.

Sperms, I repeated, a bit louder.

Finally, she said, "Oh no! We take the semen."

I pushed the jar closer. What about this?

Put-the-jar-back-in-the-bag.

"Why, it’s my sperms. That’s what this place does, right? Collect the stuff!"

Please, put the jar back in the bag.

By now the place was buzzing. Six guys were in line behind me. A young woman was answering questions. A messenger had delivered a package and was waiting for someone to accept it. A woman with gray hair in a business suit tapped me on the shoulder and said. Please come with me … and take the bag.

I followed her into a cubicle. She pointed to a chair. I sat down. Moving behind a small desk, she said, Now what’s your problem?

After taking the jar out of the pink bag and placed it on the desk, I said, these are my sperms. Been working on it for two weeks.

She interrupted me. Semen that is close to the vagina has warmth and moisture, can live up to twenty-minutes and can still make it inside. What you have are dead semen, and worthless to us. We take the samples!

Nobody told me that!

Well, that’s it, sir! If you want to donate semen, you’re in the right place.

I completed the online application and…

It asked little more than your name and address.

You’re saying; my hard work was for nothing? It’s raw from doing it so long, and my hand still cramps.

Well, at least you enjoyed doing it!

"Hell no!"

This is our 21-page application.

I quickly flipped through it. All this?

Yes. Physical data: age, hair color, height, blood type …

Wow!

Without sounding discouraging, how tall are you?

Five-five!

Well, that’s a bit too short. We favor, at least five-nine or taller.

"Really?!"

You’re very handsome. That’s a plus. What do you do?

"Actor, commercials too. Between engagement and … I was the Skittles guy … ‘Eat ‘em before they eat you.’"

Don’t know that one.

I picked up the Skippy jar. Is there any use for this?

No! Maybe fertilizer for tulips? But there’s a ray of hope. Fill out the application. Let’s see if you make the cut.

The cut?

Yes. You may be invited for an interview to produce semen samples for analysis. If satisfactory, you would be requested to return for more semen and a physical. If acceptable, you may qualify as a donor.

I thought I would get some money today?

No! Do you want to fill out the application?

Sure. Why not?

Chapter 3

Scene: At the apartment when Sarah walked in.

So?

I got dick! Here’s the 21-page app, just to see if I’m qualified.

Sarah laughed. Where’s the jar?

Up my ass!

Look on the bright side. You’re still an original.

"Yeah, original asshole. They laughed at me… It’s not funny, you know. Skippy peanut jar half filled with sperms; kind of stupid."

"What now, Doctor Sperm?"

Do the app, I mumbled

Let me see it. After briefly scanning the document, she continued, family mental illness, drug use … how about this one … exchange sex for money. Whether you’re a carrier of Niemann-Pick disease or Thalassemia?

Oh shit, Thalassemia, that’s a Greek disease. My mom and pop are.

She laughed. You’re done. At least you don’t have tattoos. You wanna know what I think?

I sighed. No, but you’ll tell me anyway.

Besides being too fuckin’ short with a ten-inch cock, you don’t qualify. Doin’ the app. is total bullshit. Get a real job, even washin’ dishes or makin’ pizzas for your uncle, Tony.

No. I’m going to do it. My sperms are hot. Thousands of kids will look like me. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

"You’re a fuckin’ nut. Maybe that’s why I like you?"

Not love me?

That too. Come on, try one of your superman sperms on me.

Filling out the app was a fun exercise, knowing the faster I did it, the quicker the money. In the biographical section, I gave extra pages of details, especially my musical talents and athletic abilities. For a short guy, I had the stuff. Could have been a professional baseball player if I didn’t break my thumb at the wrong time? The medical questionnaire was hard to follow. I had to use the Internet to figure out what Gaucher and Canavan diseases were. And Fanconi anemia? As for Thalassemia, I was tested as a kid, negative. I don’t suffer from warts, bloody stool, goiter, dizziness, tremor, convulsions, seizures or a dozen other shit things. All in all, the app proved I’m the guy - Doctor Sperm.

To Sarah Smart’s surprise, I made the cut.

Letter in hand, I added. Check this out; your main man has the stiff! Now we can cash-in on my fabulous body. By signing this release my shit is no longer my property, I’m good to go, and money in the pocket.

That means givin’ up all rights and privileges. They can even impregnate a chicken with your sperm.

So, what! Just show me the green. This is the greatest racket in the world. Jerk off and make millions.

Ben, if they pay you top dollar at $1500 a squirt, that 666 jerk-offs.

I can unload that much in a weekend.

Maybe more with my help. She mocked doing it. What’s next?

Let see. Thursday I’ll be in there, producing my first sperms for lab testing. If, okay, I give ‘em more shit and a physical. They also want an HIV test; must think I inject drugs and have sex with guys. Good on all fronts.

I’m glad about that. You know at work, Jack told me somethin’ about sperms. Since you got involved with this, I’ve been hearin’ more and more shit. I guess I’m just listenin’ closer? He said low sperm count…

Who cares. Mine works, that’s all I want.

How do you know?

I make it by the gallon.

It’s not the liquid, but the little suckers swimin’ around.

Don’t make me nervous. I want to be cool and calm for Tuesday. Maybe I should eat more raw eggs?

Scene: Ben at the sperm bank office.

The instructions were simple enough. Shower and wash my hands with soap and water. Refrain from using lubricant, salvia, or any product that may contain spermicidal agents. Ejaculate directly into the sterile sample cup. Cap the container when finished.

If you’re having any issues, ring the bell, said Pretty Face in a pure white nurse’s uniform.

Like what? I-can't-do-it. If you watch, it will go faster.

Oh no, we don’t do that! When finished leave the container on the table and ring three times.

You got it. I take off my cloths here, and then take a shower in there?

Correct.

I watched the tight little ass sway out the door and sighed.

Jerking off proved to be a fucking job. For the life of me, I couldn’t get it hard. When I finally did, it was like pulling on a dead chicken neck. The more I thought about, or some hot chick, the less it worked. I started to sweet. Maybe if Sarah was here?" I gave up, heaved up my pants and hit the buzzer three times.

She came in with a half smirk on her face. Well, that’s what it looks like.

I choked a bit before saying, Huston we have a problem.

She laughed.

Yes, it was a smirk!

I don’t know. It just doesn’t want to give out. You have any ideas?

Think pleasant thoughts.

Like what? I thought about every girl I fucked in the last five years. Even kinky shit! Nothing works!

If you can't-do it, I’ll schedule another appointment.

Do you have anything else? Like a vibrator or …

No. I’ll reschedule you.

Wait, let me try again.

No. You’ve been at it for ninety-seven minutes.

Chapter 4

Three hours later I was back at the sperm bank with Sarah in tow. After signing in, I proceeded to the cubicle only to be stopped by Pretty Face.

Unless she works here, women are not allowed past this point.

I was here couple of hours ago. You remember me?

"You can go in, not her."

She’s going to help.

I’ll wait out here, offered Sarah.

No! I need you.

To Pretty Face, I continued, Please let her in.

No! Rules are rules.

No good! Who runs this place.

A second nurse approached Pretty Face.

I’m in charge.

Who are you?

Resident nurse, Molly Skrachette.

Nurse Scratch. That’s a hell of a name for a place like this!

Skrachette, resident nurse, Molly Skrachette.

Whatever! Let her in. I want to do this. Please, pretty please. We’ll do anything you say, to the letter. I promise!

Nurse Skrachette tendered a condescending sigh. Follow me to the cubicle, her too.

Sarah sat on the chair while I stood. Skrachette had left the small room to confer with a staff member. Upon her return, she said. We’ll allow her to assist you, providing your friend follows instructions.

Sure, I said!

Skrachette gave her the printed sheet of paper.

Sarah continued to read the instructions.

Simple enough. Shower and wash hands with soap and water. No lubricant, salvia, or spermicidal stuff. Ejaculate into cup. Cap container when finished.

You need to sign a release for the record. What’s your name?

Sarah Smart.

She signed her name and received a copy.

Please keep it civilized.

I’m goin’ to help him, nothin’ more."

Nurse Skrachette said, Understood. You are required to shower and wear a hospital gown. No pre-ejaculation intercourse, fellatio or lubricant, salvia, or use any product that may contain spermicidal agents.

Sarah smirked. No blowjob, right?

That’s correct. Your salvia is the issue.

I got it, pump and squeeze his balls.

Naturally, no lubricant. When he’s very close, remove your hand. You might feel the throbbing of an orgasm, don’t allow the semen …

I’ve been givin’ hand jobs all my life.

"Make sure he takes control at that