Alcock’s Autobiography 2.4
9 May 2011
“It was sudden. I don’t know what caused it.” I sat down, put my feet on the coffee table and stared out the window at the snow. The only light in the room was coming from the faux gas lamp outside.
“One day a few months ago, when I started to get a hard-on, I found my penis was bent. Before that I had noticed it was shrinking.” I surveyed her face for signs of amusement. Finding none, I continued. “It continued to shrink.”
“L__, you know better than most that I didn’t start out with much.” I had a sudden urge to drink whiskey but I slurped my tea instead.
She seemed about to say something, but stopped.
“I attributed the cause to sexual misconduct.” She smiled at that, but I was plumb serious. “Just like I attribute the cause of my periodontitis to bad-mouthing people for forty years. Karma-results.”
She straighten up and stretched her back. Then she stood up and while beginning to remove her blouse said, “Peyronie’s Disease. CITA.”
“What in the hell is that? There’s a name for it?”
“Yes, Peter.” She tossed her blouse over a luggage rack at the end of the bed. “Would you mind turning up the heat a bunch?”
I found the thermostat and bumped it up six degrees.
“It ended sex for me,” I said. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She let it drop and threw it lightly on top of her blouse. Yes, they were sagging a little— thirty years and two kids worth— but they were pure yin. At that moment they were the most beautiful titties in the world. And the reason was simple: she appeared wide open, ready to give, unconditionally. The mind behind them was beautiful and so they were too. I didn’t say anything.
I felt I was being impolite imposing so much ugliness on a friend, but I began to undress as ordered.
“I had forgotten who you are,” I said quietly. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“What’s worse, is this,” I pointed to my crotch, “has put an end to the possibility of sex with a woman. And that’s worse than not being able to do it right now.” I was not being clear. I took a deep breath and removed my pants. “Can I just leave these on?” I asked referring to my boxer shorts.
“No,” she said and she took off her slacks. Then she pushed down her panties. “Could you help?”
L__ sat on the bed and I went over and kneeled in front of her. I slowly tugged her panties down her legs and over her feet and laid them on top of her other clothes. Completely naked, she pulled herself up to the pillow and lay her head back. ”Thanks, Peter.” I stood up.
“Take them off,” she said.
I gritted my teeth and yanked down my shorts, stepping out of them as they fell to the carpet. “Well, there it is,” I said. “What’s left.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah.” I took a couple deep breaths.
“It wants to fill with blood but it can’t. When the blood comes, it hurts, when it recedes, it feels better. Kinda like an ‘anti hard-on pump’.” I forced a smile. “Look how pathetic it looks!” I was rattling on. “It’s only happy when it’s soft anymore. And I’m not kidding, when the possibility of sex is gone, it’s hard to go on. I never realized how big a thing this is. By having all hope of an affair forcibly removed, in each and every case, I’ve learned what a slave I am, and have always been, to this desire. With no exceptions. For men who think they shouldn’t see women as sex objects, cut off their balls, liposuction their testosterone and see how that works out. Fuck, shit, cunt, whore!” I was starting to pace, and walking there naked with a half hard half bent cock, I presented the perfect picture of The Fool.
“Come here.”
“Okay. Just give me a minute.” I sat down on the bed and tried to meditate a little, to calm down. After I regained my equilibrium, I crawled in beside her. As I lay down she sat up. “Does this make it feel better?” She had straightened it with one hand while she ran her fingers over the corona with the other.
“Your interest makes it feel better L__, no matter what you do.” I said shutting my eyes and letting go of one distinction after another. “Whatever you do L__, it is better.”
***
I awoke early as usual. But L__ had gone. There was a note on the bedside table:
Dear Peter,
I’m so happy we had one left-over chit that we could redeem like this.
I would have stayed longer but your snoring drove me away. <g> God, it’s loud!
Anyway, Ralph’s worrying I’m sure.
Until we met again,
Love,
L__
I left for home at noon. The sun was out again, the plows had cleared the roads. In spite of all the aches and pains of old age, I felt great. It took some gentle urging, but by the time I was back at the ranch, I had begun to realize that this was probably the last time for me. It was a miracle it was with L__. Anything less would only demean it.
[[[My uncle died eight months later. No further mention of sex during 2010 occurs in the manuscript. The rich and varied sex life he describes in subsequent chapters occurred in previous years. Richard Love.]]]
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