Chapter 1

It was a stunning breakthrough. A cure for cancer! The scientists found it by searching through the DNA sequences of millions of people, studying thousands of genes. I don't know the details; I don't want to know. After the basic discovery, what they needed to develop a practical therapy was people with a very rare combination of genes that would produce a protein that would cure the cancer.

They came up with a test. Given a saliva sample, the lab could within a few weeks determine whether a person had the magic set of genes or not. They set up mobile stations at events frequented by the public, so volunteers could easily get tested. Two people were identified that way, but they needed a lot more. So they offered a $10,000 reward if you took the test and it turned out you had the Right Stuff.

That was incentive enough for me to stop by the station on the street corner instead of walking by: a lottery with free tickets. And naturally, because I am writing this, I was a winner. I produce factor K374-trans-cys-34-oxy-blah-35. Right. We just call it K374.

So I went into Mass General, gave some blood, and came out with $10,000. Well, actually the fine print said I had to give blood three times, a month apart. Then I got the money. It was convenient for me because I lived right in Boston. But already by my second visit, the bigwigs in the plush conference room told me that I held out hope for mankind, and if I volunteered to help them I would surely earn a place in heaven. They didn't use those words, but that was the gist of it. They also offered me $200 a day for my troubles, and suggested they would need me perhaps 40 days a year. $8,000 before taxes. It seemed fair.

But I hated my day job as a telemarketer, and the $8,000 was hardly enough to let me quit my job. I decided to try bargaining. I told them that I might keep doing this for $100,000 a year. They were sorry, but policy did not allow them to pay anywhere near that. I decided to call their bluff, figuring I was a rare enough commodity that they wouldn't hold it against me if decided later I really missed the extra income and was willing to work on their terms.

The hospital's research program ground to a halt, putting careers in jeopardy. Where there's a will, there's a way, and they found an outside foundation willing to cough up the money. $100K a year? Goodbye telemarketing!

But naturally they wanted a fair amount of my time for that sum. They wanted urine samples, stool samples, saliva samples, tissue samples, bone marrow samples, and semen samples. After a few weeks, they decided the semen samples were what they were most interested in. Well, those were more fun to give than any of the others.

I was 25, single, and not sure what I was going to do with my life. So I had time to sleep late, surf the web, go out drinking, hang with friends, watch TV, and jerk off to earn my living.

In the hospital, first I masturbated in a small room and left the little plastic cup on the counter. Then they moved me to a room with a small door in the wall. They asked me to push the little plastic cup through the little door just as soon as possible. I said fine. So after my orgasm was finished and I cleaned my penis off, I passed the cup through the little door. The instant I passed it through, I could hear quick scurrying around on the other side of the wall. Next, they said they didn't mean to be indelicate, but could I in fact provide it any faster? That is, minimize the time between emission of the semen (their terminology) and passing the sample to them?

Well, OK. So I jerked off standing up, right next to the door, and as soon as the second spurt was in the cup, I put the lid on and passed it through. But that still apparently was enough. They brought in a new device. It was a little funnel connected to a short tube leading through the wall. It had a constant mild suction. They wanted me to ejaculate into the funnel. This wasn't so much fun any more. I asked them what the heck was going on. They were evasive, and when pressed said it was right in my contract that they didn't have to tell me anything. I decided to hire a private investigator with some of my $100,000 a year, and he had quite an easy time collecting the info.

What they were discovering was that this precious K374 was very tricky and unstable. It lasted longest in semen, but it still didn't last long. The semen I put in the little funnel was being sucked straight into the rectum of a terminally ill man or woman. No wonder they didn't want to tell me. The idea was to get it in contact with the patient's mucus membranes in seconds. They also tried sucking it right into a woman's vagina. That worked even better, though still not all that well. But then these test subjects were women in their 60s or 70s. So next they had started with women in their 30s who had terminal cancer, women whose reproductive systems were still up and running. I joked to the PI that I could just fuck the woman outright instead of pussyfooting around with tubes. Of course, a woman with advanced cancer might not be such an appealing partner.

The private investigator offered me a bit of free advice, which set me on my path. The scientists had found only twelve people in the US who made K374, and seven of them were women, who were just not very good at producing semen. I had a huge amount of leverage if I chose to use it. I decided to pay him to find out a little more. There were six other hospitals that were salivating for the opportunity to work with a K374-producing man just as soon as another could be found. Research ethics prohibited any of them contacting me. I had been allocated to Mass General, and that was that. But two of those other hospitals were also in Boston. The PI suggested I contact a high-class agent, because there was a lot of money in it. He found me Frank.

After Frank completed his preliminary investigation, he met with me in person. I'll always remember his broad smile. He said I could get as rich as I wanted. All I had to do was open the bidding for my services and the cash would pour in, some under the table and some legal. He was into the money, because he was getting a cut. In no time we had offers of $5 million a year. But Mass General won the bidding war to keep me, and I moved to a luxurious townhouse on Beacon Hill, an easy walk away. So for a few months I lived it up, had friends over, and blew lots of cash.

But there was something unsatisfying about ejaculating into a little plastic funnel, knowing that the semen was being whisked into a vagina. I liked vaginas, and I liked the idea of ejaculating into them directly. I told Frank, and he gave me a little smirk before investigating the possibilities.

There were all sorts of legal and ethical problems with a hospital letting a guy fuck the patients, even for therapeutic purposes. But once more, where there's a will there's a way. Many women facing a death sentence were willing to have sex with a strange man to save their lives. Arrangements were made for the hospital to look the other way. But I didn't want to fuck just any fat dog or emaciated wizened old hag. According to the law, discriminating on that basis was illegal, but since we were already operating off the regulations, it wasn't that hard to get around that obstacle too.

I could choose the candidates myself, looking at nude pictures and videos prepared for that purpose. It amused me to learn that it would mean a great deal to them if I agreed to meet only half the women I selected, randomly chosen by them, since the others were going to be in a control group. But that was fine. There are an astonishing number of attractive young women with life-threatening cancer diagnoses in New England!

I was nervous meeting my first woman, Linda. I closed the door while an aide stood guard against any interruptions. The woman was in a kind of drab nightgown, sitting up on her hospital bed. She was as attractive as her pictures promised, but the setting wasn't exactly romantic. Neither of us really knew what to do. It seemed unlikely we were supposed to kiss. Was I supposed to engage in foreplay? She smiled, shrugged, looked sheepish, and then pulled up her nightgown, pulled down her panties, and spread her legs apart. There's less motivation to be coy when your life is at stake.

I took off my shoes, pants and underpants, but left my shirt on -- if she wasn't going to be naked from the waist up, I didn't see why I should be. Socially awkward or not, there was a lovely young woman who wanted to be fucked, and my body responded. She held her labia apart, and I slid my penis in. She was kind of dry, but then this was business, not pleasure. I wasn't trying to hold back, but under the circumstances it took me 30 seconds to come. I allowed myself a little "Ahh", but more did not seem like very good decorum. I mean, she's probably dying, and I'm going to advertise just how much fun it was to fuck her? I pulled out. We smiled at each other kind of guiltily. I got dressed. She thanked me, I said she was welcome, and that was that.

So, I had scored. It wasn't exactly thrilling, though. Frank reminded me that I could write my own ticket. So they quickly created for me a plush bedroom on the top floor of the hospital with a view of the Charles and Cambridge. We asked the women to dress in something alluring, at least get themselves lubricated before I arrived, and make me feel truly welcome.

The women were very cooperative, not wanting to blow a chance at living instead of dying. They were willing to do anything, but they usually weren't good enough actresses to come across as if they really enjoyed it. If a woman was just in it for her health, I would tend to mount her from the rear and thrust away as long as my inner doggy wanted to before extending my thrust way up inside her to come. I loved fucking sexy women. To hell with her pleasure; I could be as quick as I wanted.

But some women saw this as a mystical experience and were very much into it sexually. If the chemistry felt right, I would make a little creative move, and if she responded, we ended up making love. The doctors let me do up to two women a day, but if I did more my precious K374 would get too diluted. That was fine with me.

After six months, preliminary results were very promising indeed. There was something like 50% remission from metastasized cancers. Frank pointed out that I now had it made. There were now millions of women in the country who would do just about anything if I would only fuck them. He said we should go into business on the side, so I cut back my schedule at Mass General.

We set up our own requirements for pictures and videos, since I could now afford to be very picky indeed.

Naturally, the ones I wanted most were young, often under 25. I called them 'girls', and not too surprisingly, not one gave me a feminist lecture on why I should refer to them as 'women'. We rented a nice big house out in Weston, and I happily gave up my Beacon Hill digs to live there. One thing the hospital had provided was all those careful STD checks. An immediate solution for our side business was to use a special condom with a hole in the end. It would protect me from the girls, even if it didn't protect the girls from me. With the alternative being a death sentence, it was a risk they were willing to take. But we also took to requiring STD tests and some pledge of celibacy in the recent past. Girls with a fatal cancer diagnosis don't tend to sleep around much anyway.