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.
When it came for Alois to achieve an erection, nothing happened. Prudence tried direct manustupration (that's jacking off, to you) but again, nothing. Finally she asked him, "What gets you up?"
He whispered into her ear. Her eyes grew large. Then she came into the Monitoring Room where Valerie and I were watching through the one-way mirror. "He needs a hard cock up his ass," Prudence told us.
I was about to say bag it, but Valerie gave me one of her looks. "Let's be objective about this," she ordered. "Surely you can get it up for Alois?"
"I really don't want to stick it into some guy's bum," I told her.
"You would be wearing a Sir Lance-A-Lot condom. There would be no physical contact," she said. Her eyes were starting to glow at the prospect.
"But," I began.
"You would stick it into a woman's bum," she pointed out. "Prudence's bum, for example."
I looked at Prudence in desperation. Actually, she had quite a nice pair of hips on her ... she had the nerve to smile and do a little shimmy in my direction.
"OK," I said. "If I can get it up."
"Prudence and I will get it up," stated Valerie. "You get it in."
I shed my clothes and got into one of those God-awful gowns. There was no point to the gown, of course. It was just a token covering.
The three of us entered the Measurement Room where Alois and Nurse White were patiently waiting. "You don't have to watch this if you don't want to," I told Nurse White. But she stayed. She had the glazed expression of a white mouse watching an approaching pit viper.
Valerie held out one of Sir Lance-A-Lot's heavy-duty condoms, the Back Door Man model. It was an ominous black color.
"I can't put it on," I told her. "I'm totally limp."
Valerie nodded to Prudence, who lifted up her skirt and stuck her hand down into her panties. Lacy ones, too, I noted. I could see her hand working at her crotch for a few moments. Then she removed her hand, straightened up, and stuck her fingers under my nose. I couldn't name the chemicals that I smelled, but they sure were potent. Wow! It was a wonderful natural perfume and I was instantly rock hard. Prudence could have bottled and sold it as a replacement for both Chanel Number Five and Viagra. Or maybe it did the job just for me.
Valerie smiled and unrolled the condom onto my prick in a most professional manner. She then applied some sort of goo to it. "Never use petroleum based lubricants on a condom," she reminded me.
They bent Alois over the desk and spread his buttocks apart for me. I could see his anus. It was winking at me. He had wonderful sphincter control. With a sigh, I slid myself into him, Back Door Man and all. I could feel his anal ring sliding up my cock. Physically, it wasn't bad, a warm and tightly sheathed sensation. His buttocks were cool against my stomach.
"It's coming up," reported Prudence. "But not all the way."
Alois whispered into Prudence's ear again. "He says you need to hold his penis from behind. Then you need to pump slowly," Prudence told me.
Arrgh. It was the first time I had ever held an erect penis, except for my own, of course. But I grasped it and started slowly to pull out and thrust in. It was embarrassing--I was actually starting to get into the moment, even through the thick black rubber of the Back Door Man.
"It's up!" reported Prudence. "Now hold still," she told the two of us, joined as we were.
They quickly took Alois' measurements (which were just average) and then decided that it would be wise to perform the ejaculation here, rather than in the Ejaculation Room. Nurse White scurried off to get a plastic cup.
But now Alois started to grind his hips against me. I could feel his anal sphincter grabbing and stroking me. The son of a bitch was milking my dick! God! It felt like he was trying to pull it out by the roots, prostate and all.
"I can't hold out much longer," I gasped. Fortunately, Nurse White was there with the plastic cup.
"OK, Mark, pump him hard," ordered Valerie. It was a relief to begin stroking vigorously into his rectum. Alois and I fell into a spontaneous rhythm, partners in a curious sexual rumba. I still had a grip on his penis, and could feel it beginning to swell. The sensation communicated itself to me--I could not help myself and began to discharge deep into his bowels. He ejaculated at the same time. It was strange to feel the spurts of semen traveling up his penis at the same time that mine were blasting into his large intestine.
With a sigh of relief I pulled out and removed the condom with a paper towel. By the time I cleaned myself and dressed, Alois was gone. So were Valerie and Nurse White.
"Doesn't he want his honorarium?" I asked.
"Oh, no," said Prudence with a smirk. "But he left his phone number for you."
"Jeez," I remarked. "There has to be a limit."
She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't feel bad. You did a good job," she said.
"But I feel, well, besmirched," I told her.
"Now you know what it feels like," she patted my shoulder. "Let's close up and go get a pizza."
We went to the Phlegraean Fields and gratefully drank two large drafts while waiting for the pizza. "There has to be a better way," I told her. "Some sort of ejaculation device for problem penises."
"Can I spend some money out of the project funds?" she asked.
"Sure," I told her. "We have tons of money. I think they would even be grateful if we spent more than we currently are. Why do you ask?"
"I'll solve your ejaculation problem for you. Can we go up to $5000?"
"No prob. Go for it," I told her. And then we talked of other things. Gradually I began to feel better. You could talk to Prudence about anything without feeling like an idiot. The pizza helped, too.
I ran some distributions and correlation functions over the weekend. The data was looking good. Preliminary results were a mean of 15.1 centimeters and a standard deviation of ... well, you don't want to hear about the statistics. It's all in the book. The American Penis, by Dr. Mark Lyte, et al. It made the MacNeil News Hour, 60 Minutes, and Jay Leno. And, of course, South Park and Robot Chicken.
Monday Prudence came in sneezing and teary-eyed. "Allergies," she explained apologetically. "I'll be OK once the antihistamines kick in."
"You can't be the erection facilitator if you are going to sneeze all over them," I told her. "Go home. Get some rest. We'll do OK here."
"Hah-choo!" she said in reply, and left, handkerchief pressed to her face.
"Nurse White, could you possibly be the erection facilitator and take measurements too?" I asked.
"I guess I can," she said, eyes on the ground, feet shuffling nervously. "But who will record the measurements?"
"I'll do that part. If you just call them off, I will be listening over the intercom, behind the mirror. It's better if the subjects have only women to deal with. But I will be watching, in case you have any trouble."
"But how am I to--you know--get them--get them--"
"Erect?" I supplied helpfully.
She nodded and blushed. I studied her. She was actually an attractive woman, with a nice trim figure and severe blond hair, which she kept tucked up under her cap. But she hid her best assets by hunching over, usually holding a clipboard to her chest.
"Lose the cap," I told her, and pulled hairpins out so that a wealth of blonde hair tumbled down to her shoulders. "And those top buttons on your tunic..." Suiting the action to the words, I undid a few buttons, just enough to disclose a hint of lace and a very nice bosomy valley. "Wow," I told her. "Just stand up straight. Hips a little forward. Smile. Excellent. Now, when a subject comes into the Measurement Room, focus briefly on his penis, and smile."
"Smile at his penis?" she asked.
"Warmly. Pretend it's all for you and you're hungry for it. Pretend you're a very wicked little girl."
"But--but I am, you know," she told me.
"You are what?" I asked.
"A wicked little girl," she said. "That's been my whole problem here. I keep seeing all these penises and I want--I want--" She was unable to finish.
My God, I thought. I've totally misjudged Nurse White. But we have to get through the day. I took her by the shoulders and looked into her blue eyes. "Whenever you feel you can't stand it any longer, just let me know," I told her. "We will try to use Nurse Scott. But she is nowhere near as attractive as you are," I said, making my voice as warm as I could.
"OK," she said, with a brave smile. "I'll try."
"Can I call you Stella?" I asked her.