February 08, 2008
How I met my neighbor
Originally published June 26, 2003
When I went back to my urologist six months after my surgery and complained about a dead dick, he suggested the fix-a-flat option. My late friend Steve Hamby told me all about THAT after his surgery, so I said, "Hell yeah! Why not?" I was really missing a genuine hard-on by then.
A very businesslike nurse came into the room, grabbed my limp dick, stretched it out nearly as long as its former length and said, "Pay attention. You need to learn to do this." Then she picked up a needle and loaded it from a vial.
I paid close attention, as least as much as I could with my eyes closed and every muscle in my body tensed tightly enough to strike a kitchen match on. She gave me the shot and it didn't hurt much.
Then she said, "Watch this video and we'll check back on you in ten minutes." She plugged the video into a 12" VCR and I expected PORNO! What I got was a guy using a suction pump and a rubber band to simulate an erection.
That didn't matter. The juice was taking effect. The nurse told me that I might need to "play with myself" to get things going right, and I've never had a problem with THAT, so I did. Roscoe got hard. Roscoe started to resemble his old self. Roscoe also started to hurt like hell.
I stopped playing with him. I pulled two chairs together and assumed a fetal position while I broke out in a cold sweat. It was like having a terrible phallus-cramp that hurt badly enough to make me want to puke. I thought I was going to pass out. THAT'S how bad it was.
I was curled up that way when the doctor and nurse came back to check on me. The nurse said, "Let me see what you've got there," which would be a GREAT LINE in a bar, but not so good in the doctor's office. She grabbed that blue-steel boner of mine and shook it, saying, "Oh! You'll have no problem achieving penetration with THAT."
I screamed and told her to turn it loose. It HURT to have a woman touch my dick. I knew that something was terribly wrong.
The doctor said that I would need to adjust the dosage to fit me through trial and error and he gave me a bagfull of Celebrix to take before a shot and set of muscle relaxers to take if things went wrong. I could tell right then that this fix-a-flat science was really precice.
I waddled out, paid my bill and drove home, praying that I wouldn't have a wreck and be required to explain the throbbing, painful hard-on I had at the time. I could see some asshole EMT looking at my burned, dead body on the highwayand saying, "He must have died happy! Look at his boner!"
That thing had a mind of its own.
I got home, put on a pair of gym shorts and sat on the couch. That's when my doorbell rang. I answered it. Sherry, my across the street neighbor, came by to visit. She wanted a glass of wine a place to get away from her grandchildren. I told her that she was welcome but I might not be good company. I was in pain.
She asked, "Why?" and I half-masted my shorts and said "THIS IS WHY!" The damned thing was about to crawl out on its own anyway, so I showed it to her. She was fascinated with my problem. She saw no problem at all. She said "If you don't mind me saying, every man should have a problem like that."
That's when I had to explain that this was a medically-induced, artificial and not granted on a guarantee basis thing that I really didn't like. She said, "I can handle that. Can YOU?"
No, I couldn't.
That's why I'm about to never have to do it again.
I tried every bit of that shit. I didn't want to be impotent. I wanted to fuck when I felt like it, just like the good old days.
I may be able to do that again, finally.
All content © Rob Smith