I Got It From Lucy

It happened suddenly. I couldn't get it up any more. Lucy thought it was because I'd stopped loving her and got upset. When I protested she made me go to the doctor about it.

Doctor did a whole load of tests. I was perfectly healthy. They suspected some psychological cause for my condition. A psychiatrist ran up a huge bill asking me a lot of questions about my life, my marriage, sex and my attitude toward them.

My life was fine. I had no anxieties or problems. My marriage had been fine up until this impotence thing had started and Lucy thought I didn't love her any more. I'd been bonking her at least three or four times a week ever since we were married, and from some time before that. The only time I hadn't was a year ago when she'd gone to stay with her parents for a week while her mother got over an operation. But we certainly made up for it afterwards. Sex had been fine too until that day when my prick stopped working. Now it didn't stir at all. It was flaccid and limp no matter what.

Doctor gave me a penis injection device that worked but it was an artificial erection that stayed up for an hour or so, even after I'd come. Lucy saw the benefit of that. She took control of it and gave me an injection once a week.

Over the next few months it turned out that my condition was becoming an epidemic. Millions of cases were being reported, all over the world. It was like HIV when that started spreading. There was a whole load of frantic research going on into it. They decided it was some new sexually transmitted disease, one that had been previously unknown.

They eventually found the virus that was causing it. Women carried the virus but it didn't affect them at all. During intercourse the virus transferred into the urethra. It made its way up to the prostate where it took up residence. It didn't seem to spread beyond the prostate, or if it did it was destroyed by the immune system. In the prostate it was safe. A by-product of its residency in the prostate destroyed the erectile nerve where it went through the prostate. It took between one and two years from the time of infection. After that, regardless of what the man was thinking or doing, the brain could no longer initiate an erection because the nerve was no longer intact.

"So it's all your fault," I told Lucy. I was just chaffing her and expected her to come back with some riposte. Instead she went pale. She opened her mouth as if to say something, thought better of it and walked out of the room. She seemed distressed.

One thing that our thirty months of marriage had taught me was when Lucy was like that it was best to keep out of her way. So instead of going after and consoling her I carried on reading the paper, wishing I'd had enough sense to keep my mouth shut, knowing it was her bad time.

She came back an hour or so later. It looked to me like she'd been crying. It must be terrible to be a woman and get all irrational like that.

"Would you like some coffee, sweetheart?" I asked, hoping to cheer her up.

"Oh shut up Ben. Stop trying to be nice to me."

This was obviously a particularly bad time. "Why can't I be nice to you if I want?"

"How do you think I feel, messing up your prick?"

"Oh! I'm not blaming you for that. I was just teasing you."

"So if it wasn't me you got it from, who was it? What have you been up to?" There was the slightest emphasis on that last 'you.'

Suddenly I had a moment of truth. I knew I hadn't been unfaithful to Lucy. We'd been a committed couple for the last five years, from before this virus was ever heard of.

"Oh! I see." I looked at her. "Is there something you don't want to tell me?"

She nodded. This was a pivotal moment for her too.

I stood up, gave her a hug. "Maybe something stronger than coffee is called for."

I poured us a drink each. We sat down.

"Ben, I am so sorry."

Just at that point my mind was boggled and I couldn't think. I certainly couldn't think of anything to say. I am a clam-up person at the best of times, that's what I did then. I just took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Lucy is a natural communicator. Her instinct is to talk through moments of stress. "It was that time I went to stay with mom after her operation. I ran into Mike Duggan."

I knew that Mike Duggan had been her first real boyfriend. He'd been in the same year as Lucy at school and the object of her puppy love.

"It was all sort of unreal there, Ben, being back in the old house. My old room hadn't changed at all. The town hadn't changed either. Without you there it was a kind of time warp like I was still a teenager; no husband, no responsibilities. The weather was warm and the days were long and sunny, just like I remembered. Mom was no problem and she was coming on fine. She wanted to regain her independence. Mike was there for a few days vacation, just for old time's sake."

"There was no-one else from the old days, no one who mattered. We just kind of hung out together. We were both seventeen again."

Lucy paused as if bracing herself for the next part of her story. Her throat was constricted and she spoke in a soft small voice. "One night we drove out to the old pond. It was warm and dark. We dared ourselves to go for a swim again. And we did. Skinny dipped. Afterwards we huddled together to dry off and it was Mike's skin on mine. For a while he was my guy again. We were still together and had never broken up. You were in the future for me. We kissed and made love on the blanket by the pond.

"When I got in Mom was still up. She didn't say anything but she probably figured what had happened. She told me she could manage on her own and that I ought to get back to you. I came home next day."

There was a long pause. I just sat there, still holding Lucy's hand.

I remembered how pleased Lucy had been to be home. How loving she was. How nice it had been having her back. I hadn't suspected a thing. The possibility hadn't even occurred to me.

I felt so stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. Why? I don't know, I just did. I wasn't angry or jealous or anything. Just stupid. I knew I wasn't thinking straight. I needed time to sort out this bombshell in my mind.

"Well, say something then. Scream or shout at me if you want. I know I deserve it."

I realised that Lucy had her own problems arising from what had happened. I had to say something. "Er, you should have told me this before. As soon as you got back." It wasn't the most relevant thing to say but the best I could come out with at that stage.

I got up and headed for the kitchen. I needed another drink but alcohol wasn't going to help. I put on the kettle.

Lucy followed me out. "What difference would that have made? I was infected by then but didn't know it. Nobody knew at that time."

I got the feeling that Lucy wanted an argument, a good shouting match. "That's true," I replied quietly. "But it would have made it easier."

"Don't be stupid," Lucy snapped. "God! I feel bad enough without you rubbing my nose in it. Why do we have to have this awful disease? Men are daft enough about their pricks as it is. We don't need this on top of it."

This would be a lose-lose argument. "Let's sleep on it, sweetheart. We'll be able to think better in the morning." I switched off the kettle as it was coming to the boil.

Next morning Lucy woke me up just after five with tea in bed. Her excuse for this terrible deed was "I couldn't sleep. We need to talk." Lucy meant that she needed to talk. I needed some more sleep.

"Eh? Oh yeah." After I'd peed I felt a touch more awake and a few sips of tea got my brain started.

"So tell me how you feel. What you think. I need a reaction from you. Dammit all, do we still have a marriage?"

Just after being woken up is not the best time to get into a serious discussion. Perhaps I should have stalled for time so that I could have managed it better. As it was Lucy got what I really thought, undiluted by tact and consideration. The only thing I remembered to get right was not to raise my voice. I spoke softly. "What I think is that you had sex with another man and kept it secret from me. You cheated on me and then compounded it with deception. You've made your husband a cuckold; a laughing stock and an object of scorn."

I looked her full on. "If that's what you think of me do you still want to be married to me?"

Lucy was looking at me wide eyed. Her instinct was to protest her undying love for me but the words stuck in her throat.

I went on. "If you prefer Mike Duggan or any other man to me then go to him. I don't want to be your second choice. Someone you settle for rather than who you really want."

I left her and went to shower. I realised now that what was pissing me off was the deception. If she'd come back from her parents' place, told all and was suitably contrite I could have taken it as a once off lapse. I'd have understood as I'd have probably lapsed too under similar circumstances.

The one thing that really did worry me was that at some level she thought Mike Duggan was a better man than me. Did she have some primordial instinct that told her his DNA would produce better children than mine? Conventional wisdom had it that a woman doesn't stray unless there's a reason for her to do so. I'd have said we had a good marriage. She was well looked after, she was loved and that love took frequent physical expression at the time. I'd have sworn that she was happy being married to me. So what had she lacked that caused her to betray me?

I put that to Lucy after I'd dressed and before I left the house.

She had all day to sort out her thoughts. Maybe she'd talk to someone about it. She'd probably feel a need to and in doing so she'd tell the whole damned world what she'd done to me. Why do we need a woman in our lives? A man certainly takes a risk when he gets married.

I decided that if the marriage didn't work out I wouldn't get married again. I did consult a lawyer on the implications of a divorce. He advised against it. The law was capricious on the subject and I'd probably lose everything. There were a few damage control measures one could take but it needed secrecy and a long time period to do it successfully. And these days there is always an audit trail

if anyone really wants to find out.

When I got in that evening it was interesting to see that Lucy was making an effort. Instead of the usual old slacks and top she was wearing a nice dress, had done her hair and put on some make up. There was a good meal too, ready and waiting.

I complimented her on her appearance and on the meal. She looked pleased. We ate together and afterwards she cleared up.

"About what you said this morning," Lucy began. "I've been thinking about it all day."

"Perhaps I was a bit harsh."

"You had every right to be. And every word you said was true."

"You do prefer Mike Duggan to me?"

"No. Of course not. I don't want any other man but you. Oh Ben, I love you so much. I don't want to lose you. Honestly."

I couldn't think of a word to say. I just looked at her as I tried to come up with a reply. What was going through my head was 'Lucy doesn't want a divorce. That matches the lawyer's advice not to get one.'

"Ben, understand that what happened was a mistake. A foolish, silly mistake. I just got unlucky. It was that combination of circumstances... "

"So what do you want to do? Where do we go from here?"

"I'd like us to carry on together. Eventually we'll put it behind us."

"We'll have to work at it. I'm not sure it will ever be like it was before."

Lucy couldn't hide the relief she felt that I wasn't going to kick her out. "I'll work at it, I promise you Ben. I swear I'll be a good wife to you."

"Know what you're in for, Lucy. It'll take me a while to get over this. It's not going to be easy."

"Don't worry, I understand."

I'm no actor. When I'm pissed off it shows. I was pissed off with her and it was the lawyer's advice rather than Lucy's pleading that saved our marriage. About the only consideration I was able to show her over the next few weeks was to be courteous. I didn't scream and shout and I didn't send her on a guilt trip. She went on that all by herself.

We stopped using the injections too. I think that would have been a good thing in any case. Those over-frequent injections were giving me lumpy hard spots on my prick that were sensitive in a bad way.

The disease meanwhile continued to spread. Babies were being born already infected. There were frequent reported cases of suicides from infected young men who thought their lives not worth living without natural erections. There were even suicide pacts of young couples who died together for the same reason.

The suicides alarmed the authorities who launched a publicity campaign 'There's More to Life than Sex.' It had no effect whatsoever. Neither did the pontifications of organised religion which were discarded as irrelevant. For about the first time in history the world took the sex drive of young men seriously. Researchers re-discovered the aching, burning, irresistible lust that young men have had from the beginning of time. The only way they coped with it was by masturbation and the eternal hope of getting into some girl's pants sooner or later.

But the current generation of young men were unable to masturbate and if they ever did get into some girl's pants, which wasn't really all that difficult, they couldn't do anything when they got there. The sex drive burnt on, with no hope of release. Instead of the promise of infinite pleasure if only you can get it, it was a mocking torment of hell, right here and now.

Maybe I was lucky after all. Lucy's infidelity had dampened my ardour for her. I don't think our sex life would have picked up again even if it could have. And now at twenty-eight, my libido was not what it had been ten years earlier. I could cope. Or I thought I could. One evening I snarled at her, calling her a 'bloody Typhoid Mary.' It was a disgusting loss of control. She handled it well. The women's magazines had run lots of features on how to handle your impotent husband and Lucy had read them all. She knew that I was under more strain than I had admitted to myself.

It takes a real crisis to make society see the truth. Normally we live comfortably unaffected by the lies and falsehoods of politicians and preachers. We even adopt our own lies to let us live our daily lives. Aids was an example. For the first time ever it got people talking openly about sex. The impotence epidemic got people to admit the true strength of the sex drive in young men. Tens of thousands had to kill themselves first though.

Now, when it was too late, society acknowledged the need that young men had for a sexual outlet. There was no hope of a cure. When that nerve was gone it was gone for life. There was no way of regenerating or repairing it. Instead the idea came about that the only treatment for the frustration of a man's sexual lust was to remove the lust. Needless the say, the church leapt at it and for the first time in centuries the theology of Origen was given credence.

Officialdom supported the idea too. The logic was impeccable: remove the lust and eliminate the frustration. No surgery required. A simple injection would do the trick.

Take the injection and you'd be free of that cruel, burning frustration. Take the injection and live a relaxed happy contented life, free of futile longing.

Some of those lumps on my prick from the injections had gone septic. I had pus oozing from tender inflamed swellings. The doctor prescribed antibiotics. Lucy meanwhile had been hinting that perhaps the cure-lust injection would let me lead a happier life. She'd been keeping her promise to be a good wife. She'd been tender, loving and supportive and had put up with my ever-worsening moods. Perhaps she was making the best of a bad job. As a carrier she knew she could never have sex with any other man without infecting him. Condoms helped a bit but any guy whose prick still worked was keeping it exclusively for his wife.

Maybe Lucy had another angle. Women respond to the presence of males. If there aren't any males around their sex drive largely goes dormant until a male comes along. My own maleness was keeping Lucy's sex drive awake without being able to satisfy it. She never admitted it but she too was burning with unsatisfied desire. Plutonium is relatively harmless compared to oestrogen. It is so much easier to control. Lucy had lost control once and now that we'd at last re-established a satisfactory relationship I didn't want to jeopardise it.

By the time my prick had healed up it was shrivelled and scarred, a scale model of its former self. I was disgusted with it, with myself and really I wanted, needed even, to be free of sexual lust. But I still couldn't get myself to take the step. Subconsciously I decided to let Lucy talk me into it.

"Sweetheart, what do you think of this cure-lust injection for men?"

The question made her nervous. Any woman's natural instinct is to preserve her man's balls. "Well, those who've had it haven't regretted it. They say it does solve the problem."

"So what do you think?"

Lucy took a long deep breath, looked me straight in the eyes. "I think it would be for the best."

Saying those words atoned for her infidelity. I loved her unreservedly again. To say them had taken courage and honesty.

I took her in my arms and kissed her. "I love you," I told her.

"I love you too, Ben."

I'd like to say that we had one last glorious night of old fashioned sex. Unfortunately the injection no longer worked and sex was no longer an option. It was an embarrassing, dismal failure and a consequence of the penis infection I'd had. The only good thing was that it confirmed our decision for me to have the cure-lust injection.

There was no great scene to it. Lucy came with me. At the clinic a tough old nurse who'd done it many times before got me to drop my pants and bend over the table. She wiped my balls with a smear of alcohol, shoved a needle in and squeezed the plunger. I could feel it packing my balls with its toxin. It was the end of the road for me; a lethal injection without the mercy of death. As she injected the second testicle I had to blink back tears. Lucy pressed her hand on mine.

I hitched up my pants and Lucy drove us home. I supposed it was all for the best. Unlike HIV this disease wasn't going to kill me. Heck! As a eunuch I'd probably even live longer.

End