My husband gave a sperm sample in a parking lot

My husband and I have been trying for a baby for over a year. During that time, I had more sex than a prostitute and spent enough money on pregnancy tests to buy a fully-equipped Kia. Hope emerged with each late period. Knowledge has been gained from every Google search on infertility. And the confusion arose when trying to decipher the code language on the TTC forums (i.e. BD, AF, LP, DH, DPO, WTH?)

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After 14 months of heavy sex with urine-soaked negative sticks, I made an appointment with my gynecologist. We discussed our options. I had blood tests done and scheduled a procedure to check that my tubes weren’t blocked.

With this procedure, I endured the most horrible cramps I have ever experienced in my life. And although I called my gynecologist SOB and conspired to cause him bodily harm for manipulating my tubes, he smiled sweetly, apologized, and seemed genuinely happy to find that all of my female parts were functioning as they should. should. He said the next step was to check on my husband’s swimmers.

When the day came when my husband had to make his deposit, he had suddenly become a scared little virgin boy. His face turned crimson as the attractive nurse confirmed that he was there to give a semen sample. He was biting his nails like it was his first time in a brothel.

I tried to calm his mind, assuring him that thousands of these samples were taken every week, but he wouldn’t hear it. He said something just wasn’t natural or sexy about the whole script. I told him to get over it.

My gynecologist, who is the spitting image of Aziz Ansari (and hilarious at that), entered the exam room.

He handed us a cup for the semen sample and gave us a wink. He said there was no special place in the clinic filled with dirty magazines to “get the sample”, but we could go home and collect it as long as it was returned to the lab within 30 minutes.

This is exactly what we would have done if we lived no more than 30 minutes from the clinic.

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When I told Aziz where our house was, he clicked his tongue and told us we were big kids and we were going to find out. I know he lives in one of the doctor’s mansions just minutes from the hospital, but my husband got me out before I asked if we could use his place.

“Maybe we should go to the hotel?” We walked to his truck in the parking lot.

“I don’t check into a hotel for 30 minutes. That’s how the rumors start,” he said.

“Who will know? We’ll go cheaply on the highway,” I suggested. “Maybe that would be exciting. We could check in under fake names!”


So we sat in his truck and watched the clean cup on his console.

“Let’s do it here,” I looked around the parking lot.

It was a nice place, as far as parking lots go. Mature oak trees shaded the grounds and a stone wall surrounded the property. The birds were chirping and bathing in the fountain next to the beautiful old office building.

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“Your windows are tinted. It’ll be fine. Let’s do it here.”

“Look how many people there are in this lot! We can’t do it here!” He waved at a couple passing just in front of his truck.

I agreed it was a busy place, so I looked around and noticed the land to the side of the building was very quiet and empty. It was also right in front of the entrance to the lab, which would make “drop off” even easier. So, I told him to drive over there. After looking at the vacant lot, he agreed.

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He parked in the back and tilted his seat. I turned on Sirius and, ironically, ZZ Top was singing, “You didn’t have to rush it like you did, but you did, and thank you for that.” We had a good laugh and continued with the task at hand. Literally within my reach.

I adamantly refused to take off any clothes, so my husband was forced to close his eyes, hold a handful of my t-shirt covered breast, and use his imagination. It took him almost ten minutes to forget he was in an OBGYN parking lot, but once he did, he gave away a hearty sample.

He put his gentleman back in his pants. I securely fastened the top of the sample cup and opened the door to bring it into the lab. That’s when I noticed the security camera was pointing straight at his vehicle.

I haven’t even mentioned the camera to my husband because I know he would have chickened out. He’s a recognized figure in our little community, and the last thing he needs is this footage being shown and then being arrested for solicitation at the next town hall meeting. In addition, its windows are tinted. He probably didn’t check us in.

Most likely.

When I opened the lab door, I was greeted by a nice lady wearing latex gloves.

“How old is the sample, dear?” She took the cup from me.

“Uh,” I blushed and nodded out the window, where my husband was getting out of his truck to casually tuck in his shirt.

“So it’s pretty cool, then?” She gave me a wink like it was completely normal.

For the record, my husband’s little swimmers came back normal, but we are not pregnant yet.

But if and when I do, I think I’ll leave that story out of the baby book.

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Alex Alexander is a blogger for YourTango who has written extensively on love, relationships, and lifestyle topics.

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