Did I ever tell you about the time I measured 5000 penises? And met my wife?
My Ph.D. thesis in physiology wasn't exactly Nobel Prize material, and I was growing desperate for a job when my thesis adviser at MU called me in.
"Mark," he said, "I have a research program for you. Fully funded. It might last indefinitely."
There had to be something wrong with it, of course. And there was. I looked a question at him.
"It's funded by Sir Lance-A-Lot. You know, the condom manufacturers," he explained.
"What do they want?" I asked.
"Nothing more or less than a thorough new study of penis size," he grinned. "Right up your alley. Length, girth, color, race, sexual orientation, the whole bit. Erect and flaccid. Ejaculate volume. Means and standard deviations. Correlation coefficients. You do know what a standard deviation is?" his eyebrows went up.
I was being razzed--I had learned a lot of statistics the hard way in doing my thesis.
"So?" he asked.
I thought for a minute--hell, maybe 10 seconds. "Sure," I told him. "My 15 minutes of fame is coming." Little did I know.
That evening I slipped over to the Owl, a bar that was slightly outside the University orbit. Prudence was there, as usual. I think that Prudence could have made more money at a higher-class bar, but she liked the Owl, as I did.
Prudence was a hooker. On my first visit to the Owl she came on to me and was not offended when I declined her offer. So I bought her a beer and we talked. Life, God, politics, you name it. She was good company.
I sat down next to Prudence. "You'll never guess what I'm going to be doing," I told her. "Measuring cocks for science and industry." She hooted. She chuckled some more as I filled her in on the details. But she grew more interested when I told her about the generous funding.
"Maybe there's a place for me in your project," she said finally. "If there is one thing I know, it's cocks. And getting them up."
"So you want to join the 9 to 5 world?" I asked her.
"Hooking was OK to get me through college," she admitted. "But there's got to be more to life. Maybe it's time for a change." Prudence was not exactly the sorority girl type. She was a good, sturdy Midwestern girl without a single illusion. But she had a big laugh and knew some of the best dirty jokes. Many of which were true.
Sir Lance-A-Lot headquarters are in (surprise!) Dayton, Ohio. A limo driver carrying a sign, "Dr. Mark Lyte", met me at the airport. He whisked me off to the Dayton Crowne Palace, four star accommodations, yet. I could get used to this, I thought.
The next morning I was picked up by my contract administrator, Valerie. She was slender, keen, and dark. And no nonsense. We toured the manufacturing operation and saw them making condoms. Did you know that they make condoms that glow in the dark? I do now.
We ate dinner at the Crowne Palace. It was big on steak. She picked up the check with a decisive gesture. On the way out of the restaurant she said, "Mark, I'm going to show you how we measure penises. Let's go up to your room."
This was not as suggestive as it sounds, as they had put me in a suite.
She dumped her briefcase onto the table and started pulling out equipment. "This we call our peter-meter," she proclaimed, holding up a gadget with scales in centimeters and sliding markers. "Now, drop your pants."
"Drop my pants?" I was taken aback.
"You have the only penis in this room," she told me. "Can't you be more objective about the project?"
I got the message. "Objective" meant dropping my pants when ordered. So I dropped my pants. Anything for science, and for the research funding.
"Not bad," she told me. I blushed.
"First we measure it soft." The peter-meter was designed to fit snugly against the pelvic bone and had a sort of trough in which the penis could lie. She slid it under my penis and lodged the butt firmly against my pelvic bone. It was a little cold. She showed me how the slide could be brought up to the tip and the penis length read off in centimeters. Then calibrated flexible strips could be wrapped around the penis to measure its circumference.
"Next we measure it hard," she said, looking me directly in the eye. I quailed. "Here," she said, "I will help." And she started to rub my penis. Her hand was soft and warm, most unlike her personality. After a while my penis got the message. "Nice," she said. "Seventeen centimeters."
"And of course, we measure the ejaculation volume." By this time, I was ready for anything. But I was surprised when she dropped her head into my lap and sucked my hard cock into her mouth. She broke off for a moment to tell me, "We get the subjects to jack themselves off into a cup, so you won't have to do this. This is just for me." And she returned to my cock, her head bobbing up and down.
She was good. She cupped my balls with one hand. Her other hand had vanished under her skirt and was busy rubbing what I could well imagine was her clit. I could smell pussy odors drifting up from her crotch as it heated up. Each time she swirled her tongue around the head of my penis I could feel it swelling. Then it was all too much and I shot off into her hungry mouth. She gulped it all down, rubbing herself frantically.
Finally she sat back with a sigh. "That was good. Thank you, Mark." She rested for a bit. I looked at her. "You are wondering what you have gotten yourself into, aren't you?" she asked.
"Well, yes," I replied. "I never anticipated--you know--being quite so personally involved in the study."
"You have a lot to learn," she told me.
Back at MU (that's Mighty University, obviously not its real name) I set about finding quarters and staff for my project. I put an ad in the paper for two registered nurses (good pay, decent hours, interesting research project). But the Erection Facilitator position--after some thought, I decided that Prudence might just be the right one. After all, what good is it to be in charge if you can't pick the people you like?
After consultation with Valerie, we constructed a sort of cattle chute for the subjects. They signed the release form that I handed them. They then entered the Robing Room, removed their clothes, donned a gown, and then moved into the Measurement Room. Prudence and Nurse White would perform the measurements. Prudence would assist in obtaining the erection, and Nurse White would manage the peter-meter. There was a one-way mirror looking into the Measurement Room, so that I could keep an eye on the activity from the Monitoring Room, as I named it. I wanted to be very careful that nothing got out of hand, so to speak.
The subjects were then handed a small plastic cup and told to move on to the Ejaculation Room. When they had produced, they were to hand the cup to Nurse Scott for volumetric analysis and then to return to the Robing Room to clean up, dress, get their $50 honorarium from me, and leave. The MU Physical Plant was able to run up all the partitions in three weeks, believe it or not.
Obtaining the subjects was no problem. We simply advertised for men over 17, mentioning the $50 honorarium. "Men come cheaper than women," Prudence told me. "Which sex will give it up for hard cash the faster?"
"It's all for science," I told her. She laughed. Then we both laughed. Actually, I was having the time of my life. I gave her a hug, then got embarrassed and turned away from her. Hugs were not professional, I thought. But she felt good.
The first Monday of the actual production run finally arrived. Everyone was in place. I noticed that Nurse White was rather anxious, but so was I.
The first students arrived. I explained the procedure. Two students backed out, but four remained, joking good-naturedly with each other.
The first subject was Joe. We were not supposed to know their names, only their student numbers, but Joe told us right away, "I'm Joe."
Immediately there was a problem. Joe entered the Measurement Room already erect. It was a big one, too. Prudence had a faint smile on her face, while Nurse White could only stare at it, transfixed as if by a basilisk. Prudence pressed the intercom button. "How are we to get a basal measurement if they are already erect?" she asked me.
I made a command decision on the spot. "Take his erect measurement, send him to the Ejaculation Room, and then have him return to the Measurement Room. It should be soft by then."
But Joe was still a problem. He came back from the Ejaculation Room grinning, still erect. "It doesn't go down after just one come," he proudly told Nurse White, who obviously embarrassed easily.
Prudence had a solution. She found a large cup and filled it with cold water from the drinking fountain. "Here. Stick it in this, Joe," she ordered. And it went down.
After Joe, it was routine. I had planned to do only four subjects that first morning. By eleven o'clock we were drinking coffee and discussing the operation. Obviously we were all excited and were talking rapidly to each other. Nerves. But we agreed that it had gone well. Maybe each morning and afternoon we could do three an hour over four hours. That left me at five o'clock with 24 data sets to enter into the PC. I planned to run trial statistics by the end of each week, to have something to pass on to Valerie at Sir Lance-A-Lot.
By Friday afternoon, we were working well as a team. Valerie had come down to observe. Our last subject of the week was a slender youth named Alois.
"Alice?" I asked.
"No, a-LOW-is," he said. I might have known. Alois had no body hair below his scalp except for a carefully trimmed fringe around his penis.
.... There is more of this story ...