I turned right at a corner and passed some apartment buildings. I reached one undergoing renovation. The door was wide open; laborers were coming in and going out. I went in and climbed the steps to the top floor. There was a small apartment, vacant and open, with only some rudimentary furniture inside it. Entering, I checked the windows, hoping for a neighboring apartment window opposite me. There was, but at a considerable distance. It would have to do. This was the place. Partially undressing again, I found that I was halfway there: half an erection and part of the mindset. I faced the window. No change. I went here; I went there. Half an erection. Semi-tough. I contemplated failure, returning the empty cup to the white-smocked women; their reaction: “It happens to everybody”. No way. Failure was not an option here. At last, still half soft, I willed an orgasm. No screaming, no heavy breathing, just a sigh of relief at having made my deposit in the cup. I could go back with my head high. It would afterwards strike me as ironic that the healthy sperm under the microscope could never have impregnated a woman the normal way with only half an erection.

Now for the fun part. The technician took the cup and prepared some slides for the various tests. I gather if one is inconclusive, another might tip the balance in the sperm’s favor. To make a long story short, I passed all the tests that could be done right away. My count was well within the healthy range. Not having any children of my own, it was emotionally uplifting to see my sperm swimming on the slide, just like tadpoles in a pond. The technician explained that you count the moving sperm in a square and multiply by a tremendous number. My score was fifty million. It was hard to believe. I went home not only relieved, but happy that I had undergone this experience.