If you're trying to conceive or experiencing fertility problems, the Internet is chock-a-block with resources and forums for women looking for support. It's not often we hear from the men, though.
It's not like I haven't been "interfering" with myself regularly for the past twenty years. I'm not embarrassed by it, never have been. But desperately sweating on myself while galloping the final mile of the Fertility Cup has got to be a personal low.
To prepare, I had to abstain from any sexual activity for three days, which for me is quite a lot. But there you go and there I was - brimming.
I arrived. A quiet nod of the head from the unimpressed receptionist led me up the stairs to a technician in blue rubber gloves who ushered me into a "specimen collection room". Six by eight of stainless steel complete with two litres of disinfectant hand wash, a hazardous-waste bin, a doctor's examination table, and a TV.
Very erotic altogether.
Yes, I was full of sperm and no, I didn't bring it in a cup.
• Lock door.
• Try not to spill any. If there is spillage please notice the percentage lost.
• Wash hands.
• Fill out form.
• Find designated technician.
The technician left and I took in more of the room.
In one corner, a wicker basket with three magazines placed carefully and neatly inside. Sure, it’d be rude not to, wouldn’t it?
The TV, though. No channels tuned in, but sure what station would I watch? Oh, there was a DVD slot in it all right, but not a disc in sight. Not even a shelf for it to be on.
A horrible thought. Are there men out there wandering around with pornographic DVDs on their person?
Nobody said anything to me about films. But maybe that’s the idea, that’s what the table was for - bring a movie, put the feet up and spend the day at it?