Every Last Drop: Sperm Bank Milkmaid

How did I become a sperm bank milkmaid?

The answer isn’t as weird as you’d think. I was in college and needed a part-time job that came with full-time benefits. As you can imagine, the choices were slim. After reaching out to several friends around campus I continued to hit dead ends left and right. I could feel myself becoming more and more frustrated by the hour. Ultimately the moment I decided to just let it go and call my parents the universe decided to drop a hint. There was a knock at my dorm door but once I answered no one was in sight. All that remained of my phantom visitor was a flyer that read “Sperm Bank Milkmaid Needed – Call 888) 270-7778 to schedule an interview” in black sharpie marker.

At first, I naturally assume that this is some kind of fucked up joke because the university is primarily attended by snobby rich kids on trust fund allowances. It’s a wild and laughable idea that someone would need to work at all while still enrolled in classes. It took a lot of courage to ask around about employment opportunities because of this entitled attitude. I crumpled the paper up to toss it away in the rubbish bin. Right before tossing, I figured maybe I should give that number a ring anyway for shits and giggles. Maybe I’ll recognize the asshole jokester’s voice and turn him into the R.A.’s office?

“Are you calling about the sperm bank milkmaid position?”

The woman’s voice sounds monotone and lacking personality, almost zombified, but the gig pays $30 an hour. Jobs will always suck the literal soul out of you so it may as well bring about sizable compensation. Anyway, my excitement fails me during this pre-interview phone consultation with the hiring manager because I completely forget to ask what I will be doing as a sperm bank milkmaid.

I arrive dressed professionally and ready to impress the heads in charge. As I step out of my car, I notice the new guy from one of my classes stepping inside of the clinic. There’s no way he could be here for the sperm bank milkmaid job, right? It’s decided internally that I must get in there asap to beat him to the punch and it goes right over my head that he may be there to provide a donation.

Mistress Michelle introduces herself to me with grace. She is a graceful yet stern woman wearing a white lab coat and her hair is up in a bun. The pencil skirt she is wearing pairs nicely with bright cherry red patent leather heels. I’m given a tour of the facility  I hear moaning coming from behind a door. Mistress Michelle smiles devilishly once she realizes I have overheard the donor.

“Thrilling, isn’t it?”, she says with a hiss dripping from her lips.

“Go ahead and have a seat here, read over a few of the contracts. As sperm bank milkmaid you are to understand the ins and outs of the black and white.” My eyes dart over the long-winded legal jargon of the agreements and my eyes catch something suspicious. “Mistress, am I reading this correctly? It says the donors have a specimen requirement of 1 gallon per year. How is that possible?” Michelle taps her long acrylic fingernail, pointing to a very special wavier stipulation. “And that’s what the electronic milking machines are for, darling.”

Want to hear more and don’t want to wait for part 2?

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