Since my cock’s current adventures keep getting me in trouble, it seems I’d be safer writing about its past. What do you mean you’re bored of reading about my penis can we please go back to evocative descriptions of farmers markets?

All in good time. First, we have to cross this one off. As part of Ed Uncovered’s best/worst series, I’m compelled to recount the best fap ever. Not target/volume/intensity best, but best in terms of most memorable. What I’m trying to say is this is the only historical fap I can legally write about.

Erudite uncovered

With How to Take Coke in Public, 50 Great Names for Breasts and How Many Boners Does a Man Get in a Week, Ed Uncovered has hit an intellectual all-time high. Now it’s time to raise the bar further still with The Best Fap Ever.

You’re welcome.

Jacketty jack

In 2002, I was extremely poor. I was also extremely immature. In that respect, nothing has changed. Back then I wrote a priapic blog that makes me cringe when I look back at it. These days, I write a priapic blog that’ll make me cringe when I look back at it. My writing’s improved, but everything else has stayed the same.

Bored, skint and horny, I hit upon a plan – one that would furnish me with both money and pornography. I’ll let young, immature me (not to be confused with old, immature me) pick up the story:

My latest job-creation scheme occurred while watching a movie on Sunday night. The film was Road Trip and yes, you’ve probably guessed the idea already: sperm donation. Getting paid to do what you love best and were going to do anyway.

But where does one find out about such work? At a loss for answers, I turned to a friend that had seen me through some of the hardest times in my life – the internet. I went to AltaVista, typed in the magic words and ten seconds later there was sperm everywhere. Even I’m not as fast as that.

[AltaVista. Ten second page loads. Cum jokes. Yes, I’m patronising my former self.]

The first link I tried led to the Department Of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at Aberdeen University. During the course of the next ten minutes, I learned a lot about sperm. If I was to get my sweaty paws on that elusive porn, I would have to meet the criteria: “Sperm donors should be healthy men and of normal intelligence and fertility with no history of mental disorders or genetic or inherited diseases. The donors should be between 18 and 55 years old.”

Yeah I was normal, or close enough.

“Preferably, they should have had healthy children of their own.”

Nope.jpg.

Show me the money

Nostalgia’d hard

Lest there be any doubts as to how my tadpoles would be extracted, the website set the record straight: “The donor produces a semen sample by masturbation. After liquefaction, the semen is mixed with special culture medium to prevent the semen from being damaged during freezing. The mixture is then loaded into plastic straws. These are uniquely coded and sealed. Thereafter the straws are frozen in liquid nitrogen at -196C and remain in storage until required.”

In exchange for offloading my precious cargo, I would be offered counselling if required. I’d never felt guilty about expelling my future children, and suspected I could muster one more round without incurring emotional trauma.

“The sperm donors in the United Kingdom are altruistic volunteers. This means no financial gains to the donors in donating their sperm, they are only paid reasonable expenses.”

Dammit.

“In America you get paid, but not in sexually retarded Britain,” I lamented. Nevertheless, I decided to proceed with the plan, reasoning, “Free porn was just too good an opportunity to turn down.”

NHS-approved porn. How quaint.

I downloaded and completed the sperm donor application form. “I am interested in becoming a semen donor and I would like an appointment to discuss this further” it said. At the bottom of the form, it continued: “Please note any specific requests here – we will try to accommodate you.”

Taking hold of the black pen, I scrawled a request for Asian porn and then posted the application before I could have a change of heart.

Then I waited.

Can you spell success gentlemen?

A few weeks passed before the story was picked up in my blog again:

My application to join the Semen Donor Programme arrived today. “Thank you for your reply indicating that you may be willing to help us by participating in the above programme,” it began. It would appear they had forgiven me for requesting Asian porn. What sort of a desperate outfit were they?

The letter continued: “In order to discuss this further I would be grateful if you could attend as indicated below.”

On the bus to the clinic a few days later, I filled in the questionnaire I was expected to submit upon arrival. It was basically a detailed survey of everyone I’d ever fucked or been related to. Which was the same thing really.

At the top of the form there was a cheerful disclaimer: “Any person born disabled as a result of your failure to disclose information you ought reasonably to have known about may be able to sue you for damages.”

Cum jokes are so 2002

Insert future children here

I alighted beside the hospital and located the Andrology Laboratory, which was fittingly situated inside the Maternity Hospital. My appointment was with a middle-aged nurse with a friendly manner. “Thank you for coming,” were the first words she uttered. As I took a seat in the interview room, I couldn’t help notice that she had my original application in front of her, the one in which I had requested Asian porn. I was starting to regret my impetuousness.

Over the next 15 minutes, I learned a lot about sperm – more than I had in a lifetime of wanking. Apparently, only 50% of potential donors were accepted. This was because not all sperm freezes and thaws well.

An appointment was made for me to return and provide a sample by masturbation. The nurse pencilled my session in for 8th May, 9am. “So you’re an early riser then?” she asked. Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face until I had left the building.

On the bus home, I perused an informational leaflet entitled Advice on producing your semen sample.

“Please do not have sex or masturbate for between 3 and 7 days before providing your sample. Produce your sample by masturbating directly into the container provided. Please ensure that the container is tightly closed after production to avoid any leakage. Write your name, the date and time of producing your sample on the container.”

I could picture the inscription already: Anon, 08/05/02, 30 seconds.

The final climax

Today I shot my load into a small plastic container while flicking through a copy of Escort, all in the name of medical research. And now I’m going to tell you about it in viscous detail.

I awoke early after a restless night of turning but not tossing. I showered, shaved and did some sit-ups in preparation for the big day ahead. Then I caught the number five bus to the hospital, dragged my heaving ballbags up two flights of stairs and arrived, ten minutes late, at the Andrology Laboratory.

Without messing around, the nurse showed me to my designated Sperm Depository. “I think the last patient has finished in there,” she said before handing me a tub and shutting the door. The room was small, but perfectly equipped. There was a sink, a box of Wet-Ones, some hand towels and – most importantly – two well-used pornos. I immediately felt at home, as I have a room very similar in my flat. It’s called my bedroom.

[quote_center]”Please do not persist for more than 30 minutes.”[/quote_center]

After flicking through Knave for a few minutes, I remembered that I was here to work as well as play, and turned my attention to the sperm jar in front of me. My task was to fap into the tub and record the date and time since I had last came before handing it in at reception. This was all well and good, only the jar was scarcely wider than a tub of lip-balm. How was I supposed to land it in there without making a mess of the carpet? In the end, I propped Escort on top of the towel dispenser and carefully cracked one off in the name of the fertility gods.

When it was done, and I had inspected my surprisingly neat deposit, a paragraph on the instruction sheet caught my eye: “We are aware that some men find it difficult to produce a sample on demand. Please do not persist for more than 30 minutes.”

If it takes you half an hour to get off, you’re clearly not cut out for donating sperm – though a porn career may still be viable. The instruction sheet added, “If you feel unwell, please stop and let a member of staff know so we can help you.”

Fapping is srs bsns.

Next to the sink was a spare container, which I pocketed as a souvenir of my day out. [Disclosure: I’ve still got that tub sitting around somewhere, if anyone wants to make me an offer for it.]

I said my goodbyes to Escort and Knave and took my handiwork to reception. The woman thanked me for coming, just as before, and told me they would be freezing and defrosting my sample later to check its potency. Her male assistant took my brotein and put in the fridge – next to his packed lunch, I imagined. I bet they don’t eat much tapioca in that building.

Despite having given it my all, the next time I heard from the clinic it was to request a reshoot. I blogged: “The sperm clinic have asked me to shoot another wad for them. The woman from the Andrology Laboratory informed me that my fresh sperm sample was excellent but its thawing potential was borderline. Would I object to providing a second sample for them to inspect, she wondered. Not at all, I replied. I was always happy to help. Plus it amused me to think of lab-coated men staring at my jizz through a microscope.”

—★★★—

I returned and repeated the procedure, but once again my sperm was deemed borderline. My altruistic donation had all been for nothing.

In hindsight, it was probably for the best. Had I successfully become a sperm donor back then, that kid would now be ten. Or perhaps ten kids would be ten, that being the maximum number of times the clinic would consider using the same donor. Ten kids, having to read on the internet of how they were spawned for the lulz. Most of us are happy accidents, but we’re not supposed to know about it.