The doctor did not seem to hear. He drifted out of his chair and began walking around behind Carl, his voice languid and intermittent like music down a windy street.
“I may tell you in strictest confidence that there is definite evidence of a hereditary factor. Social pressure. Many homosexuals latent and overt do, unfortunately, marry. Such marriages,often result in. . . Factor of infantile environment. “The doctor’s voice went on and on. He was talking about schizophrenia, cancer, hereditary disfuction of the hypothalamus.
Carl dozed off. He was opening a green door. A horrible smell grabbed his lungs and he woke up with a shock. The doctor’s voice was strangely flat and lifeless, a whispering junky voice:
” The Kleberg- Stanislouski semen floculation test. . .a diagnostic tool. . . indicative at least in a negative sense. In a certain cases useful-taken as part of the whole picture. . . Perhaps under the uh circumstances.”
The doctor’s voice shot up to a pathic scream. “The nurse will take your uh specimen.”
“This way please. . .” The nurse opened the door into a bare white walled cubicle. She handed him a jar.
“Use this please. Just yell when you’re ready.”
There was a jar of K.Y. on a glass shelf. Carl felt ashamed as if his mother had laid out a hanldekerchief coy little message stitched on like: “If I was a cunt we could open a dry goods store.”
Ignoring the K.Y. he ejaculated into the jar, a cold brutal fuck of the nurse standing her up against a glass brick wall. “Old Glass Cunt,” he sneered, and saw a