So I went back to my cock doctor today! For my post-vasectomy sperm-test follow-up extravaganza! First, before leaving the house, I had to jerk off and then squirt a load of man-juice into a little cup the doc had given me when I got my vasectomy. I can’t believe it’s been six weeks but… indeed, it has been six weeks. Whatever.
I watched some internet porn and filled the cup with a few drops of dude-sauce. I was immediately embarrassed to be stuck bringing the man such a shabby specimen, but I didn’t have time for a round two.
I get into his office. Waiting. Doctor K is always slow about getting in to see me. Finally walks in, says, “How did you do?” My response, naturally was, “Great! Uhh… how did I do at what?” He doesn’t answer me, instead he starts looking at my chart. He announced that the vasectomy was a success, physically speaking, all the proper channels had been completely severed. And then I say, “I’ve got a cup of spunk for you. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” Doctor K says, “Oh, man, I didn’t bring you anything. Sorry about that.” I smirk, snort, chortle even. What a dick.
He unscrews the cap and makes up a slide for the microscope. He’s looking. Intently hunting for spermies. “I got nothing at all here.” I perk up in my chair, “That’s good news, right?” Doc says “Very good. Excellent news.” He gets up to throw out my spunk-cup, stops to say, “You didn’t want this back, did you?” Fucking dick.
Anyway. Point is. After another hilarious encounter with my dick doctor, I am pretty much officially STERILE!! So. Who wants to fuck? I DO!!
No, I don’t. Not really. I mean, I do. But. I’m saving myself for Mrs. Right, I think.
Here’s a weird thing. I wanted to befriend this Doctor K. But this man had not only seen my junk and touched my junk, he has been inside my junk with scalpels and clamps and cauterizing tools. This man has stared at my jizm through a microscope. I’m not sure I can just casually say, “Hey, you’re pretty fucking cool and funny, Doctor K. Wanna hang out sometime? Perhaps in a way that… has nothing to do with my dick and balls?” So. I don’t think I’m going to be seeing him anytime soon. Although I’m secretly hoping he digs my phone number out from his files, calls me up and asks me to hang.
So anyway. Everyone reading this… you should go get a beer and/or a whiskey. And then drink a toast to my everlasting infertility!