Chapter 1

“I’m, sorry,” Tim Travers said quietly for what seems to him the hundredth time as he rolled over and away from his wife.

“It’s okay Honey, really,” replied his wife Miranda.

“No, it’s not and we both know it. I just can’t ... can’t give you what you want and need, what you deserve.”

“Sweetheart,” she said lovingly, “All I need and want is you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but we both know how much you miss sex ... real sex.”

“Honey, I get quite enough...”

“On come on Miranda, since the accident I haven’t been able to truly satisfy you.”

“But the accident wasn’t your fault. Beside you touch me, kiss me...”

“Which we both know is not enough.”

“It is enough, Honey. I have your love and devotion. The very fact that you want to give me more shows how much you love me.’

“My love for you has never been in question. What is in question is my ability to show you ... physically.”

“I just don’t need that any more.”

“Of course you do! Do you think I can’t remember how many times we used to make love and how many orgasms you would have?”

“All right,” she interrupted, “yes, I admit our love life was wonderful, but through no fault of your own, we can’t have that anymore. We simply have to adapt and make the most of what we have.”

“No, we don’t,” he countered looking at the fetching sight lying next to him.

Miranda Travers might be small at just a little over four feet tall, but her face and body were as attractive now at twenty-eight as when she had first met Tim in college. Long straight black hair flowed almost to her waist. Expressive dark brown eyes, high cheek bones, a flawless light chocolate complexion, indicative of her Latin ancestry, and a small pouty mouth gave her a beauty that few women could match. But it was her body which still never failed to attract attention wherever they went. Despite her lack of height, her breasts were full and firm, mounds which Tim delighted in kneading and pinching to arouse her which did not take much as Miranda Travers had inherited her mother’s sexual prowess and need for frequent stimulation and satisfaction. Her waistline was also diminutive but Miranda’s hips were to die for. Full and round, forever naturally swaying when she walked. Unusually curvaceous legs led to small feet which, when she wore heels, gave her an almost Barbie appearance, as if she might topple over at any moment because of those protruding, provocative hips and bustline.

And now, thought Tim, here I lie next to her, wanting her but unable to perform as I once did. His thoughts went back to the accident at the mill. A chain had broken allowing a large carriage to crush him against another piece of machinery amounting to instant castration and permanent damage to the penis as well. Although there was a large settlement, most of it went to a host of doctors and specialists who, once all the tests were completed, agreed that the damage was, unfortunately, complete and permanent. While his libido was intact and his interest in sex would remain, he would be unable to perform ever again.

Miranda had been great, insisting that oral and manual ministrations were enough. Tim knew better and continued to feel guilt for being unable to satisfy what he knew were unsatisfied needs in his beautiful wife.

“What do you mean, no we don’t? She asked, puzzled.

“I’ve ... I’ve ... talked to a friend who knows somebody.”

“Tim, what are you saying?”

He was stumbling and knew it, but was determined to follow through on what he had planned.

“Ernie Blakemore. He’s one of the guys I play poker with on Tuesdays.”