As it turned out, Saturday was my birthday. Although I knew our affair was unhealthy, Janet and I kept finding ways to get together, and we both knew why. That evening she treated me to a nice dinner at some fancy restaurant in Wayne, and then we sped back to her place and fucked like there was no tomorrow ... which, come to think of it, there wasn’t for us. I would never see Janet again after that night. And, in fact, it was the last time I had sex with anyone until the day Joan and I got married.

By the time we moved to New Hampshire, and Nicholas was about four months old, and my pretty blonde wife was helping set up a home for us in the lakeside cottage in Spofford until our house was bought, I had pretty much forgotten about my mitral valve prolapse, my anxiety, and my doubts about marriage. We were off to a new start. I looked forward to my new teaching job at Franklin Pierce College. The drive from Spofford to Rindge was nearly 30 miles each way, but it was autumn in New England and the leaves were turning. Everything was beautiful.

My stepfather’s little Mazda pickup truck had a shell on the bed. The bed was covered with a thin mattress for sleeping purposes. I slid out from behind the wheel and climbed into the back. The cab had small windows which certainly nobody could see through, but to make sure I blocked them with a Triple-A emergency sign. Thus assured that people in the apartments across the street couldn’t peer inside, I lay back on the mattress and whipped out my dick and began to stroke. It did not respond. I closed my eyes and conjured images of Siobhan and Violet hopping around on the sand, their breasts jiggling, their bikini bottoms slipping up as they bent to retrieve the paddle ball. Still nothing. I needed lubricant but all I had was suntan lotion. I squirted a glop into my hand and smeared it on my drooping penis.

Bent over like Quasimodo, I hobbled out of the bathroom and made my way outside. My predicament wasn't as embarrassing as it was annoying. How long until this bad boy lost its will? Emily was waiting on the front porch for me. She smiled ever so fleetingly as if to apologize for Regina’s rudeness, but didn’t say anything. I followed her as she walked to her car. She was a tall, well-built woman. Think Julie Newmar, but more Jewish. She would do.

She opened her car door and slid behind the wheel, and gave me that quick smile again. My mind reeled with what-ifs.

Excuse me, but before you leave, could you do me a favor? I'm in an experimental program and I'd like to try something out on you. Really, it wouldn't mean anything. Let me just fuck you a little bit. You’d actually be doing yourself a favor, too. A big favor. If you've ever wanted a gigantic and ungodly hard one, now is your chance.

Emily started the engine and then sat there gazing at me, as I stood in my hunched stance. Finally she said, “Are you going to move your car?”