Half The Man Ch 03

'Half the Man' and its associated chapters is a copyrighted production of Mostera1

Postscriptor edited this chapter.

*****

Chapter 3

"Not that godforsaken buzzing again," he groaned and rubbed his throbbing head. "That's what I get for taking an extra sleeping pill at 1:00 A.M. in the morning. Oh well."

Dylan mumbled a few more irritated words and then hit the snooze button once more. He gingerly rolled over and drifted back to sleep. He dozed until his wife's voice beckoned him to wake.

"Dylan, come on. It was time to get up half-an-hour ago." The anxiety and frustration was very evident in her voice as it had been for the past few weeks. This particular morning, it was palpable.

"If you don't get out of bed now you'll be late for work; and don't forget you have a doctor's appointment too!"

"Alright, ALL-right!" Dylan snapped as the alarm sounded again. He threw off the covers punched the off button and reached for his cane. He got up, unaware of the tears that fell from his wife's eyes because of his latest outburst and limped into the bathroom to empty his bladder.

He looked down at his withered member as the stream started and acerbically hollered, "Mariette! Hurry! Come in here. Its itty-bitty just the way you love it. Don't you want to try and make it grow? Remember what the doctor said, 'at first you don't succeed try and try again.'" He paused for effect then with extreme sarcasm, "Oh shit

'honey'

never mind, don't bother yourself, I forgot I'm a..."

"Dylan!" Mari's strained cry interrupted him, "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I got upset. We can talk about it later."

"Certainly dear, but do remember it is 'doctor's orders.'" His voice mocked hers, and under his breath he muttered, "After last night's debacle I'm going to have a long talk with Dr. Fryman today."

He bitterly flicked the remnants of urine off his penis, tucked it in, and began talking to himself. "Yeah sure doc, you did say these things can take time after a trauma but 'don't worry it will get better.' Shit. It's been weeks and still nothing. A 24-year-old with the dick of a 90-year-old fart.

"Damn it!" he cursed with clenched fists, "even after going off one of the meds I can't get the fucking thing to grow—not a millimeter, not one fucking millimeter."

Disappointment didn't begin to describe his feelings as he looked down. Disgust was the more appropriate term. During his teenage years he called his cock 'his little soldier' because it didn't take much for it to 'snap to attention.' It stood straight and proud, and was hard as steel. Now it cowered from its duty; it retreated into the camouflage of his pubic hair and refused to follow orders.

His anger turned to sadness as he thought back to the night before.

"What a nightmare," he told himself, "even Mari couldn't bring it to life. Damn, between the pink teddy, stockings and heels she wore you'd think she could raise the dead. Lord when she put her lips on me and started to suck, oh god I was home again and how her tongue teased me — but nothing...nothing happened," he cried. "It stayed practically as small as the cork from the bottle of wine we had with dinner."

He wiped a tear off his damaged cheek and felt his body stiffen with rage, "I knew Mari was getting irritated, upset, or whatever. When she suddenly clamped down hard and her teeth nipped me I yelped, 'Take it easy!' Fuck, did she get pissed.

"I doubt I'll ever forget her snarky comeback: 'Aww did I hurt the wittle boy? What are you, a fucking...?'" He stopped and shuddered, "No, I still — can't — say — it, I won't—say it."

Rage, melancholy, and distress collided in his bewildered mind. He ran fingers through his hair and sat down on the toilet seat to pull himself together, but couldn't. The events from last night kept going around in his head.

"Why did she say that?" he trembled at the memory.

He remembered getting up and stalking off. Mari was yelling she was sorry and didn't mean it. He ignored her cries, slammed the door and found himself once more inside the only room with a lock. Suddenly, it was 1:00 A.M. in the morning; almost three hours had passed.

"She didn't even bother to check on me," he recalled and then paused, "But I guess that was a good thing. I was in no mood to fight anymore."

It was then he made the decision to take an extra sleeping pill before heading back to bed. His heart sank when he opened their bedroom door. He thought for sure she would be awake and upset. Instead he found his loving wife curled up and sound asleep.

He crawled into bed and before he too fell asleep, he had silently wondered,

'Do I mean that little to her?'

He awoke from his memories and sarcastically laughed, "Oh wow, I didn't realize I made a funny. I'm 'little to her.'"

He chuckled for a few seconds then discovered his earlier headache was all but gone. "Thank God for 'small miracles.' Oh hell yeah I'm on a roll now."

Still tired, he closed his eyes as the emotional roller coaster took another twisted turn. Dylan slowed his breaths and wondered where she learned that word,

'I bet she doesn't even know what it means, so how...'

his eyes snapped open with a sudden epiphany — he knew who told her. It was obvious. Her mother did. "Of course, that's who," he exclaimed. "That meddlesome bitch is always pulling on Mari's strings, and filling her head with garbage, damn it. More and more it feels like two against one, and I'm the odd one out."

He glanced at the clock and quickly stood. "Shit, no time for a shower now. That'll be two days in a row. Why not add a little more drama to the Hunt household, and I'll be damned if I'm going to say anything about last night. Let her sweat."

The troubled young man stared into the mirror and his mood quickly swung to melancholy. He looked at his reflection as if it were the face of a stranger and softly spoke to it, "It's been a month-and-a-half since the accident, and I still don't recognize you. I don't know who you are anymore." His eyes filled with tears as they trailed down the reflection and he lightly touched the four-inch scar on his soft abdomen.

"Amazing. Down there all that's left is a delicate pink line. Why can't my face be that easy?" He shook his head and looked at his belly, "Well, at least I can fix that, once I get the 'all clear' to work out."

The young husband winced when he moved his left leg and groaned as he flexed his hip, "Damn they say the pelvic cracks are minor and nothing to worry about, but shit, that hurts." Carefully he set his left heel on the toilet seat and stretched his surgically repaired limb. He grimaced as his fingers crawled down the top of his leg towards his toes. The back of his thigh screamed for mercy.

"Fuck," he exclaimed, "Will—it—ever—get—any easier? Ughhhh!" Carefully he placed his foot back onto the floor and straightened up. "It's ridiculous how losing a half-inch off your leg can screw everything up." He wiped the sweat off his brow. There was a soft knock as he reached for his cane.

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah, I'm just stretching," he groused at the unseen voice, "Give me a minute, will you?" The angry young man put on deodorant as the footsteps faded. Alone once more he yanked open the door, hobbled to the bedroom and dressed for breakfast and the day.

***

"Cereal again—oh this is just wonderful. You know dear, it would be nice if you got some fruit or yogurt. I'm tired of eating this crap every morning," he loudly complained to his partner across the table.

The frazzled woman shuddered at his tone and lowered her head. Following last night she didn't want to look at the angry jigsaw puzzle that was Dylan's face. After a brief hesitation she found her voice, "If you would just go shopping with me that would help and the walk would do you some good."

"What?" he countered brusquely, "You want me to go shopping with you? How thoughtful. Gee, I didn't think you wanted to be seen in public with 'little old me'."

She looked up with wet eyes, "Dylan, that's not true. I...I am not ashamed to be seen with you." She paused wiped her eyes, and continued, "I...I'm so sorry for what I said last night. You're not a ..." She gasped when his spoon fell.

After a tense moment the trembling woman haltingly started again, "Y...you know as well as I do how hard—shit, sorry. What I mean is well it...it's been difficult since your accident—really difficult. I let my emotions get the best of me last night. Dylan, baby, I'm frustrated too. I...I only wanted to show you how much I love you, how much you really mean to me."

Aware his wife wouldn't look at him, he bitterly replied, "How much I mean to you? Don't make me laugh. You dressed the part, and acted like I meant something. But when 'nothing' happened what did happen—Mari?"

Mari stuttered, "Dylan I...I..."

"Damn it Mariette, WHAT happened?" he screamed.

"I...I...c...c...called you...a..." Mari shot out of the chair and ran out of the kitchen crying.

His voice broke noticeably when he finished her sentence, "A eunuch. You called me a eunuch."

Dylan scrunched his shoulders when the bedroom door slammed. "That went well," he whispered.

The moody husband sighed, pushed the soggy cereal away and smirked, "At least she didn't say anything about me not taking a shower."

He finished the juice and stared intently at the remnants of pulp that clung to the sides. "Just like my face, bits and pieces of soft tissue held together with superglue."

He picked up the bowl and glass and shuffled to the sink. He set them down and put his hands on the counter. A tear fell, "Why do I act like that? Yes, she called me a eunuch. Yes, it hurt, and it certainly pissed me off. But it's not that simple. Hell, I know she's discouraged, and I can't blame her, so am I." He pondered a bit, "All the bullshit and frustration is ripping us apart. So what do we do now?"

"Not only does our sex life suck we are getting further behind with the bills. Maybe Mari and that bitch are right perhaps we should take the settlement money offered, be done with it and move on. What the hell am I accomplishing by dragging it out anyway? I don't know much about insurance but every time I say no, that asshole Quade calls back in two days with a higher amount. Shit, $55,000 is a lot of money, but he said it was their final offer. Should we get an attorney? I mean what more can we gain from suing?"

He reflected on the recent past, "We're lucky Peter allowed me to come back to work early and generously gave us a no interest loan to help out. Even with his kindness, because Mari had to miss so much work we are in a world of hurt. The money from the insurance settlement will help and there should be plenty left over to reconstruct my face."

He thought pensively for a brief moment then slammed the counter, "Damn it that daughter of a bastard ruined everything cause she was on her fucking phone texting her girlfriend! She doesn't even get hurt! It's not my fault, and I end up like this? It isn't fucking fair. Why shouldn't we try and get more? Screw their offer! I'm going over the business cards I got at the hospital and in the mail and choose a lawyer!"

Dylan limped back, sat down at the table and practiced again the calming techniques taught by his therapist. He looked at the wall when he finished and saw the pictures taken in Las Vegas. He stopped at one in particular. It was inside the wedding chapel, a newly married couple beamed as they held their freshly lit unity candle standing next to—Elvis. Dylan smiled caringly, "Look at us. So happy, but now—after all that's happened..." He paused and reflectively gazed out the window, "Fuck it, even if she did make my blood boil, I shouldn't have been so nasty. But after all this, I wonder if I really knew what I was doing back then, do I know what I'm doing now and do I even know her?"

He took a deep breath rose carefully from the table and turned toward the bedroom. His cane made a distinctive thunk on the hard floor. He heard soft sobs inside and lightly rapped on the door. In a peace-making voice, "Mari, I'm sorry for being such an ass this morning. I know it's been very nerve-racking trying to figure out all this shit. Between the bills, doctors and why umm, it isn't working; I guess it would be more of a surprise if we didn't fight. Anyway," he stopped and fought back the tears, "I...I...I forgive you for what you called me last night, and won't bring it up again, and I'll work on my temper. Let's get past this, okay?"

He waited a few moments and heard a soft whimpering, "Okay."

He watched the clock and after one minute, "Sweet heart—maybe the doctor will have some good news at my appointment today. Do you want to come with me?" His voice was tinged with sadness at the hurt he caused her.

"If I could I would. Good luck at the doctors." was her choked reply.

He lowered his head, dragged his hand down the closed door and stoically said, "It's alright, I understand. Thanks for the luck. I have to get to work. Be safe driving; love you." He turned wiped the tears, and quietly left.

***

The blinds were open just enough so she could see the parking lot from the bed. Mari twisted wet tissues in her hand and sympathetically watched him struggle to get in the rental car. She winced at his grimace when his leg caught on the door. She found herself breathing with him as he took several short breaths to psyche himself up for what came next. She silently cheered when he grabbed his pant-leg and pulled his injured limb inside. She chuckled at his ingenuity as he used the cane to pull the door closed.

When the car was out of sight, Mari dabbed her eyes and gathered the used tissues from the bed. Her hands full, she got up, dumped the wet mess into the bathroom wastebasket and looked at the mirror. She was afraid of what she saw. It wasn't the tear stained cheeks or the mussed eyeliner that scared her. It was the young woman who stared back that frightened her. She sat down at the makeup table and pulled out a fresh tissue and dabbed her eyes.

"Why did it have to go all wrong last night? It should have been magical. His eyes burned through my teddy as soon as I walked in the bedroom. He was so hot for me and me for him. But he was also worried and scared. Almost like a little kid at a haunted house. I could sense it." Her mind flew back to the previous night.

***

Mari looked hungrily at her husband as he lay on the bed. She sensuously sauntered over, kicked off the high heels and teasing Dylan, slowly released her luscious full breasts from their prison. She saw his eyes widen when she curled up alongside him and began rubbing his leg with her stocking clad foot. She gently kissed his good cheek and felt him relax.

Tantalizingly slow she inched the sheet down and tongued his nipples. She got a low guttural moan from him for her efforts. Eagerly the sheet was pulled completely away and the horny mistress licked her lips at the sight of his little soldier ready for her to command. The seductress leaned down and kissed the small gorgeous piece of prime male; the second her lips touched him, his cock twitched noticeably. Her loving husband stiffened and she felt it move. The excitement drenched her bare pussy and the anticipation of making him swell drove her wild. Hungrily she sucked him into her mouth. The short-lived excitement was replaced with anger. She couldn't believe it,

'This can't be happening again,'

she thought and in her brief rage she accidentally nipped him. He yelped, and in her fury she called him 'a eunuch.'

***

Mari wrung the shredded tissue in her hands. "A few months ago I craved his tiny dick. Shit, I longed to make it grow big and hard, but now..." The miserable woman turned back to the mirror and watched the tears fall in her reflection.

"Damn it, I know I shouldn't have gotten irritated when he didn't swell, but I couldn't help it. I lost control—still that's no reason to get mad at him. It's not like he isn't trying. I didn't mean to rake my teeth, and I shouldn't have said those things. But here we are fighting again." She sniffled, "I can't make him grow. I've all but forgotten what it's like to have a fat hard hot juicy cock pumping inside me. The vibrator doesn't do it for me anymore. I can't get any satisfaction."

"Shit!" she cried and used the remnant of tissue to wipe the wet stains off. "No more. No—more. I can't do this it's so unfair; I'm too fucking young to be going through this crap." Her tantrum done, she threw the tattered tissue away, fixed her make-up and left the bathroom to get dressed for work.

Mari, still feeling dejected, closed the apartment door. She just pulled the key out when her phone rang. "Hi mom ... Uh-huh we had another fight ... No it's still not working. I wish I never told you about his problem and I certainly didn't need to hear that word ... What word? 'Eunuch' damn it, I got upset and called him that ... Stop laughing, he isn't ... No I won't believe that; I can't believe that. He will get better ... What do you mean if he doesn't ... What are you suggesting? ... I will not do that mother. ... Consider it? Are you kidding me? Perhaps Dylan is right about you. Look I have to get to work, goodbye."

She pressed the off button so hard her thumbnail broke, "Damn it, nothing's going right."

Agitated and upset Mari felt inside her purse and pulled out an emery board. She began to file the ragged edge and contemplated what her mom said,

'I hadn't thought about what would happen if he doesn't get better, I just assumed he will.'

She bit her lip and remembered earlier words,

'I can't get any satisfaction—I'm too young—I've forgotten what it's like.'

She thought again how it never once crossed her mind that Dylan wouldn't get well—until her mom mentioned it. She wondered if Dylan was right, that her mother was trying to break them up. She pushed that silly notion from her head. Mari felt she was being pulled in two directions at once. On one side was her husband, on the other her mother. She didn't know what to do. She sighed loudly, put the emery board away and started the car. The brooding wife drove to work with a heavy heart and confused mind.

The hours at work, as so many others before, passed slowly for her sad soul. Even her friend Lynne couldn't console her. Finally the long day ended and soon she was home. Surprised Dylan wasn't there, Mari walked to the pond, took her shoes off, sat on the bench and curled her legs up. She stared at the serene water and hoped the gentle motion would soothe the ache in her heart. She remembered the first time they met and all the fun they had. Life was so carefree. The initial months as husband and wife were all she had hoped for. Then it all went to hell. Since his accident, it had been one crisis after another.

Once again she contemplated what her mother said,

'What if he doesn't get better Mariette? What if he can't fulfill his husbandly responsibilities anymore? You just turned twenty-two. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a eunuch?'

A loud vibrant voice woke the chestnut-haired beauty from her musings, "Mari, there you are! I've got great news, no, better than great—FANTASTIC NEWS."

Mari sat up and put her feet down. She looked at Dylan's excited face and was surprised she didn't shudder. His golden eyes and large smile shined brighter than the carnage caused by the myriad of angry scars. Buoyed, she smiled back and animatedly asked, "What news is that Dylan?"

Dylan sounded jubilant as he relayed the news from the doctor visit. "Dr. Fryman examined me and was so pleased with my progress he stopped the Indo, shit...oh hell, Indo metha'something. We discussed the timetable to start plastic surgery and at the end of the appointment, before I could say anything, he asked if I was still having issues in the bedroom. I gave an emphatic, 'YES' and pleaded for help. He looked at my chart, made a few notes and told me he had something that should be of assistance."