Chapter 1

"Last part – drop your pants and turn your head to the side." I did as I was instructed. Guys will often do as they're instructed when someone literally 'has them by the balls.'

"Cough." Ahem, ahem.

"Other side," and I coughed dutifully.

It was now or never, "uh doc," I started. He looked up. "I've got this problem with the, uh, equipment." Doctor Q. looked down at my rather undersized package and asked "what's it seem to be?"

"Well, um, you see, when I get, uh, you know, aroused, there seems to be a bend in my, uh, my penis." Finally, it was out. "I looked around on the web and I wondered if it was Peyronie's disease?" In reply, he squeezed my unit, which seemed to be diminishing by the second and asked, "where?". Doc Q wasn't a man of many words.

"Sort of on the top, near the base – about an inch out. Uh, that is, when I'm, well, Hard." Feeling around, kneading me rather uncomfortably, he grunted.

"OK, bend over," I must have looked confused.

"The other part of the physical, the rectal exam?"

I bent over, elbows on the examining table as he lubed up his latex-encased hand. "OK, this is going to hurt you more than it is me."

It was the usual prostrate exam, or at least, it started out that way. The usual poking, then I noticed him crook his finger a different way, and to my horror, I looked down between my elbows and saw my cock spring up like a bird dog after a pheasant.

With his free hand, and without a word to me, he reached around (now I know exactly what that means), gave me a couple pumps, peered around the corner, and prodded my poor bent, but very erect cock.

As suddenly as it started, he let go of the front, popped out of the back and retrieving some tissues, wiped the goop from my backside and told me to pull my pants up. My cock, as quickly as it had popped up, shrunk immediately.

"It's definitely a fairly mild case of Peyronies." He said.

Great. "What does that mean to me?" I asked.

"Well, nothing really. We don't really know what causes it, and though in more severe cases than yours, surgery is often the protocol, it doesn't look like your penis will cause pain during intercourse. When did you first notice it?"

"About two months ago, I don't know what the hell happened – I mean, I've had it get bent before while I'm, uh, having relations, but that was a long time ago, at least I think it was."

"No, prior injury might be a factor in the onset, but we really don't know what causes it."

"Is there a cure? ... I mean, something besides surgery? That would be a hard one to explain." "Well, no. Nothing the FDA has approved." He paused and looked at me quizzically.

"Well?" I prompted.

"Well, there is a research program that I'm associated with and they are looking for mild cases of Peyronie's – very similar to what you present. Would that be something you're interested in?" he asked.

"Hell yeah!" Because of my almost non-existent sex life, my wife didn't even know about this. Our bed life was pretty perfunctory. All of a sudden, I realized "Are there side effects?"

"Well..." he paused. Like I said, Dr. Q was careful with words – like they cost him to speak. "We have seen some of the positive results, where the Peyronie's seems to have been completely cured..." He paused again. "there have been some unusual side effects. Nothing dramatic. In fact, I believe that in every case, the subject – the patient – found the results to be much better than before." "Well, then, hell yeah, I'd be interested!"

I didn't say anything that night, when I got home. I'd used some minor arthritis in my foot as the excuse for the visit, and Jennifer didn't seem to give much of a shit about what I did one way or the other. I should explain.

About twenty years prior, I'd cheated on her. Many times. About the time the internet came along, and sexual harassment laws became more omnipresent, I quit other women and took up porn instead. About five years ago, my porn addiction – and it is an addiction – caused me to reach out to one of the women that I'd slept with years earlier, trying to rekindle the affair. Even though I called it off, I forgot about the email.

One night, months after I'd quit trying to get laid by the previous affair, as I lay stoned on a cot in my office (did I mention my problem with pot?), stroking to porn, and completely naked, she walked in. Even though she walked out, that's when it started. While I was at work that week, she searched through my email and found the correspondence with the crazy women I'd considered sleeping with again.

The next four years, I went to therapy and we went to therapy, I joined a sex addicts support group, quit smoking (and drinking) took up meditation and tried to keep from losing my family. It was the hardest thing I've ever done.

For the kids, I'd think, stick around for the kids.

After a while, the screaming and crying matches had stopped, but there was no passion left. After a while, program or not, I started looking at porn again. I was fifty now, pudgy, with my just-about-average-when-hard cock and it wasn't getting hard very often. The porn sort of snuck back in. I was careful – very careful, we still had tepid, occasional sex ... most of the time, when she wanted it, my desires weren't a factor. But there was no passion anymore. And now that the two girls were gone, I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

I was lonely.

Now, I was lonely with a bent, shriveled cock that didn't seem to find anything much of a rise, except for the beautiful women that I read about or looked at on my various electronic devices. If you're reading this on a phone right now, I been there brother, I been there.

So, given this sorry excuse for a sex life, hell yeah, I was interested.

My southern California town stays warm into the late fall, and this late October day was no exception. I'd bailed on work early to make the appointment at the clinic. I sat in the car a few minutes, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Before they'd accept the appointment, there was a raft of paperwork to fill out, all of it basically saying that if I stroked out or popped a blood vessel in my aorta, I was on my own.

Well, I thought, at least I hope there are no women at the reception desk.

Wrong again, boyo, really, really wrong.

Entering the building from the bright sunshine, my eyes were adjusting to the indoor light and the first thing I saw, sitting behind a clear Lucite desk, was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen – anywhere. She looked about twenty-five, long blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful, perfect white teeth and a body that would have made a corpse pop a woody. Through the Lucite, I could see that her legs were long and her feet, strangely, bare. But above that, oh- my- god ... She wore a simple white nurse's uniform, skirt modest enough, top buttoned up to the clavicle, but the breasts that the top enclosed looked to be DD at least, but awesomely perfect. "Donna" was printed on her name tag, which quivered atop her amazing bosom. It felt like I stood there for an hour, until she said, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement, "Mr. Duncan?"

"Uh," I said, ever –witty.

"Mr. Sean Duncan?"

"Uh." Snap out of it, asshole. "Yes, uh, yes, I'm Sean Duncan." Finally, my feet moved forward, stumbling towards the desk.

We went through the usual formalities, insurance, credit card, and I watched her slide off her stool and move around to make copies, affording me a brilliant view of her perfect, heart-shaped ass. She spun around and caught me looking at her, twice, I guess, since when she spun around, my eyes locked onto her magnificent chest.

"Would you mind taking a seat?"

"Uh, OK" You're an idiot, Sean, I thought and I turned and sat on a chair that faced her desk. I finally had enough sense to tear my eyes away from her and look around. It was a small waiting room, and I was the only one in it. Working very hard to flip through the pages of a year-old Sports Illustrated (at least it wasn't the swimsuit edition!), I was startled to see the door next to the desk open. "Thank you Mr. Jordan – we'll see you the same time next week." Out the door came a guy about my age, but in much better shape, grinning like a crazy person.

The door stayed open and I saw a short brunette, wearing the same white uniform as Donna had, but not quite as well filled out. "Toni" looked at me and smiled, her brown eyes crinkling and I was smitten again – she too was perfect, in her own way. Her breasts weren't as generous, but still, for a woman that couldn't have stood more than 5'4", they were very large for her frame – C or D cup, easy. She had short dark hair curling at her shoulders, and the same lovely legs – and she was also barefoot. "Please come this way," she asked – and I did.