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 “I’m sure we all have those doubts,” Professor Woocheck said. “That’s why we should, in a general way, try to break down just what we have learned. Now, on the positive side, our prostitute subjects have demonstrated many techniques which may prove helpful in cases of male impotency and female frigidity. They have been able to perform under laboratory conditions without undue psychological strain. In laying the foundation for our work—I can’t imagine what you find so amusing, Mr. Newton — their cooperation has been invaluable. However, we must also consider the negative aspects of that cooperation.”

 “The negative quality which most strikes me is their lack of emotional involvement,” Mercy pointed out. “The film we’ve just run is typical of what we’ve seen happen‘ again and again. Sex is simply a job to be done to these people. We have as yet no concrete evidence to support this, but my guess is that this is uncommon among the population as a whole. I don’t think ordinary people separate the emotional and the physical during sexual activity the way our prostitute subjects have.”

 “Are you talking from personal experience?” “Fig” wondered. He was ignored.

 “From my own previous researches in Peru and elsewhere, I think Mercy is right.” Dr. Peerloin backed up her assistant. “The more highly developed the civilization, the more emotional involvement in the sex act. But prostitutes, of course, would be an exception to this.”

 “I suspect physiological discrepancies as well,” Professor Woocheck said. “Particularly in the male. Both size and ability to sustain the erection may well be beyond the powers of the non-prostitute male.”

 “Thank goodness,” “Fig” said. “I was beginning to get an inferiority complex. Back in college we used to call it the ‘Locker Room Syndrome.’ ”

 “It would be interesting to determine,” Professor Woocheck continued, “whether this superior sexuality is due solely to the development of professional expertise, or if-—as with other professions—-our prostitute subjects chose their profession because of some innate talent or inborn physical characteristic of size and musculature. But right now that doesn’t fall within the scope of our project.”

 “What you’ve just said about the male,” Dr. Peerloin remarked, “also applies to the female. Not only is the prostitute’s technique superior, but also her control over her reactions during coitus. Sociologically, this is very interesting. It may be one reason why men go to prostitutes. Her superior muscular control and sense of timing heighten the male’s enjoyment. However, the very fact. that men do go to them should indicate to us that prostitutes aren’t typical of the general female population. If they were, most men would be satisfied with their wives.”

 “Exactly.” Professor Woocheck picked up the ball. “we doubtless still have much to learn from prostitutes, and I think you’ll agree we should continue to make use of their services. However, we should not enlarge our subject population in that direction. It would weight our survey unfairly. Therefore, I propose we swing into Phase Two of our program and utilize non-prostitute volunteers. Now, as we discussed at the inception of the project, I have been in contact with a number of doctors who are willing to recommend certain of their patients willing to cooperate with the study. I refer to married couples, of course. Some of these will participate out of humanitarian concerns. Others will wish to be paid, just as we pay our prostitute subject population. I have taken the liberty of establishing a fee structure with cooperating physicians.”

 “What about the legal aspects?” Mercy was concerned;

 “That’s all taken care of. We’ve been fortunate in having an excellent lawyer—a‘ friend of Mr. Newton’s-- donate his services to the Observatory. I’ve taken the matter up with him and he assures me that so long as the couples are married, we’re breaking no laws which have been enforced in the last fifty or so years. There are, of course, archaic laws on the books which could be used against us, but that is a most unlikely eventuality.” Professor Woocheck looked at the others. “Then we’re agreed that Phase Two of the project should be inaugurated,” he said.

 There was a general murmur of agreement. It was a murmur which was even then drawing strange echoes in doctors’ offices throughout the city and in the surrounding countryside. In one such office, in a middle-class suburb not far from Flintsburgh University, for instance, the echoes went something like this:

 “I guess we could use the money,” the man admitted.

 “That’s what he always says.” His wife sighed.

 “I can assure you that it won’t hurt a bit.” Jovially, the doctor made his little joke.

“And that’s what he always says too!” It was no joke to the wife. “But it always does!”

 “I over-react when I’m excited is all,” the husband whined. “Can I help it if I have an enlarged condition?”

 “Permanently enlarged!” the woman snorted.

 “These are just the individualistic factors which the Observatory is interested in observing,” the doctor said hastily. “Now, if you’ll be there at two o’clock on. . .”

 About two miles away, in a wealthier section where the mansions of the rich perched on the hills overlooking the campus, another physician was meeting with a slightly different reaction:

 “Sex!” the youngish man in the polo outfit tapped his mallet on the patio beside the swimming pool and repeated the word. “Sex!”

 “With my own husband?” The beautiful young woman in the bikini pulled the mink lap-robe up over her knees against the chill of the late afternoon air and signaled to the butler to bring her another martini.

 “With my own wife?”

 “What a drag!” she said with disdain.

 “Well, it’s different,” he pointed out. It’ll be a change. You have to admit that.”

 “Yes,” she admitted slowly. “It might be a kick at that,” she decided.

 The society doctor leaned back on his chaise-longue and beamed at the couple. “Fine. I’m glad you’re willing to cooperate. Now the preliminary interview will take place at . . .”

 Some distance away, in the farmlands to the east of Flintsburgh, a beat-up old Ford with MD license plates stood in front of a farmhouse and attested to the fact that the country doctor is not quite yet an anachronism. The doctor himself, almost as creaky as the Ford, had just finished telling the farmer and his wife about the Venus Observatory project. Now he sat back in the rocking chair in the parlor and listened to their reaction.

 “I don’t want to!” The voice of the farmer’s wife was flat.

 “She never wants to,” the farmer complained.

 “You can’t blame me, Doc,” she reminded the physician. “We been married ten years. Nine kids in ten years!”

 The doctor puffed on his pipe. “I don’t seem to remember,” he mused. “What happened ?”

 “That was the year we got the TV.” She refreshed his memory. “Nine kids in ten years . . .”

 “Nine times in ten years!” the farmer protested. “You think that’s right, Doc?”

 “Your husband has a point there, Emma,” the doctor agreed. “Why not make it an even ten?”

 “You can say that! You’re a man! You’re all the same! I say nine kids is enough for any woman!” She scowled.

 “I didn’t mean conceive another child,” the doctor explained. “I meant--umm— Well— The Observatory will see to it that you don’t become pregnant.”

 “I don’t care,” she whispered. “I don’t really like it anyhow.”

 “Just one more time, Emma,” the doctor wheedled.

 “You sound just like him after the spring plowing!” She thought a moment and then gave in with a sigh. “Oh, all right.”

 “Thanks.” The doctor knew it would give his prestige a boost and he was truly grateful. “It’s for science, you know. I’ll notify them to expect you next . . .”