Chapter 3

The patient was still processing what was said about him in the hallway as he was pushed into the operating theater. His wife, Madeline, was in the audience. Catholic schoolgirls were in the audience, and had been encouraged to fondle his erection and balls while the nurse explained male anatomy in the hallway. And they were all here to watch what exactly? A special technique for vasectomy? What could be that special about a vasectomy?

A chill ran through him, and not just from the frigid temperatures in the operating room. He looked up at the circular gallery. The windows angled down over the room, and were mirrored so that he couldn't see who was there, or if anyone was. He guessed that his wife would be seated at his feet, since the nurse had said Madeline would have the best view of the procedure, but there was no way to know for sure.

For a moment, he was alone, though he could feel the eyes studying his naked form, he could imagine the conversations they were having about him when they knew he couldn't hear.

Another nurse came into the room. This one completely covered in a crisp white surgical gown, white pants with booties, latex gloves, a cap and a surgical mask, and carrying a basin which she placed on a tray next to the patient's legs.

She stood at the side of the gurney, right at his hips, and turned a crank. The back of the table rose beneath him until he was sitting up at a 45 degree angle. He could see his body now, both directly and in the mirrored surface of the gallery windows, and the nurse was right, he had no hair at all. The bush of pubic hair, the hairy legs, chest, belly and armpits, all smoothly shaved.

She turned another crank, and he watched as his legs were slowly raised toward his face. It seemed like she was going to fold him in half, but she stopped with them raised at an uncomfortable 30 degree angle.

More cranking, and the table bent at the knees, forming his body into a z-shape on the table. Still more cranking, and his legs started to spread, wider and wider. The tendons in his groin were stretched tightly, painfully, open at more than a 90 degree angle, and now his softened cock and tightened balls were completely exposed and vulnerable, hanging off the lower edge of the table.

The nurse picked up the basin and sponge and started to bathe the patient by hand, with the antiseptic fluid. It stung the freshly shaved surface of his skin, and was especially harsh on his balls, which burned terribly. Once he was fully disinfected and in the appropriate position, she left the room, and again he was alone.

He knew the girls must be up there, examining him, looking at him like a teaching dummy, not a man.

His wife would be watching too, if the nurse had been truthful and she bothered to even show up. He would be surprised if she had. Since their marriage she hadn't seen very much of him.

The closest they came to sexual contact lately was when she "supervised" his morning and evening sperm collections. She insisted on staying completely dressed, usually reading a magazine or talking on the phone with her friends. She insisted that he knelt at her feet, naked, and stroke himself quietly until he came in a cup. She told him that she couldn't risk touching him or, worse yet, allowing him any intimate contact with her, since the clinic had said that such contact could contaminate the sample or interfere with proper semen development.

Other than that, he thought, it had been a long time ... he stopped keeping track of days because it only depressed him when he did.

He saw the close-up image of his manhood flicker into focus as the monitors in the theater powered up. Blood started to rush back into his flaccid organ as he imaged the girls and his wife all up there, looking at the monitors in the gallery, staring at him in close-up HD. Though he dreaded what might be happening, he was excited be the center of feminine attention.

A woman's voice crackled over the loudspeakers in the operating room. "Ladies of the gallery, we at the Institute of Concupiscence and Epicene Surgery hope that you will please excuse the brief but unavoidable delay."

The patient's heart raced. Ladies, but no gentleman? What kind of teaching clinic was this?

"The patient is in position and prepped, and the doctor and her surgical assistants are nearly finished with their preparations."

How many assistants are needed for a vasectomy?

"The 'full safety' vasectomy procedure will begin momentarily. In the pocket of your viewing lounge is an illustrated program of today's event, custom made for this patient's procedure with detailed pictures of the patient's own anatomy as illustrations. Please, take this with you to commemorate the event at no charge, with our compliments. Also, remember to use the reading light at your seat, and not cell phones or flashlights, in order to maintain the low-light conditions necessary for the one-way privacy glass."

"What the fuck?" ran though his brain, over and over, as he imagined the little Catholic girls and his own wife flipping through their own personalized, commemorative, illustrated guides complete with pictures of his naked cock and balls.

"If you would like photographs or a video of the surgery, please remember that cameras, even cell phone cameras, are prohibited in the gallery, but you may visit the gift shop, or access the website using the security code on your program, to purchase HD videos of this procedure and still photographs suitable for framing."

Now he imagined the students lining up to buy pictures of his dick in a paper frame, like it was some sort of theme park thrill ride.

There was a shuffling of papers and the soothing female voice returned. "I would like to extend a special welcome to the patient's wife, Madeline Lorsange,"

Lorsange? Why was she using by her maiden name? Why not Mrs. Kevin Baker?

" ... and to her gathering of lifelong friends, Danielle, Sasha, Iveta, Stoya, Hunter, Bobbi and Lorena."

Oh, fuck fuck fuck! Her whole inner circle was there! What the hell was going on?

These ladies were the wealthy, high-society socialites that were constantly with his wife. According to her, this group had been inseparable ever since grade school, and stayed together through their education at what his wife called the 'world's best' private high school and college.

All of the "inner-circle," as Madeline like to call them, came from old money, or European aristocracy, or both. All except for Hunter, the tall, dark chocolate-brown woman of incredible beauty. Her mother was a supermodel and her father was a rock star. In many ways he found her to be the most arrogant of the insufferable group, maybe out of defensiveness for her more common heritage.

He should have expected them to be in attendance. When he met Madeline a mere year ago they were all there, sharing a table at the elite Country Club where he worked as a busboy. He had heard Danielle begging Madeline to invite the attractive busboy to her upcoming party, as a special treat for the inner circle.

In his presence, Danielle admitted to the group that he would have to be brought in as a member of the wait-staff, of course. They all snobbishly agreed that there was no way he would be able to pass as a guest at the exclusive affair for the rich and famous. Arrangements were made and the young man found himself assigned to work the party, since it was catered by the Country Club.