The Erection

It all started out as an unusual Thursday in an unusual series of events.

The first thing occurred when I got to work. The office was abuzz with the scandal about one of the senior vice presidents being caught in the conference room the night before with one of the young girls from the secretarial pool. It wasn't really much of a scandal, she was an adult and he was old enough to have been an adult three times over. They were both single. He was handsome and she was hot. Really, the only question was who was taking advantage of whom.

Then Marvin Epstein and I got stuck in a meeting that ran on and on and on. It was after 2:30 when we finally got to go to lunch. When we broke out our sandwiches his mouth watered when he saw my ham and cheese. He explained that he loved ham, but since he was Jewish his new wife wouldn't give it to him. I took pity on him and we ended up swapping, my ham for his chicken salad.

The rest of the day plodded slowly along. At 5:30 I found myself on the bus on my way home. I was just sitting there with my hat in my lap, and the briefcase I use to carry my lunch at my feet. I was almost asleep, my head nodding back and forth with the swaying of the bus, when I began to get an unusual feeling in the lower part of my body. It was something I hadn't experienced in well over two years so I wasn't quite sure what it was.

All at once I knew! Very carefully I raised my hat to see a wondrous lump in my trousers. I pushed the hat back to cover this phenomenon and looked around the bus. No one was watching. Cautiously, I peeked under the hat again. It was still there! Quickly I covered it and slid my left hand into my pocket. I was delighted to find the thing, big as a screwdriver and hard as a hoe handle.

I was ecstatic! It had been over two years since such a thing had happened to me. I needed to show it to somebody, anybody. Again, I looked around the bus, but most of the passengers were men. The only two women were sitting together on a seat by the driver. That wouldn't do.

Then it hit me! My wife, I would show it to my wife! I smiled to myself as I held my hand on it in my pocket the rest of the way to my stop. When we got there it was like a slapstick comedy, holding my hat in front of me, fumbling with my briefcase, and trying to ring the bell for my stop using only one hand. I lurched down the aisle until I got to the rear door.

The bus finally spit me out onto the sidewalk a block and a half from my home. I know I looked strange when I took off running; my tie blowing over my shoulder, my hat askew on my head, my briefcase in my right hand, and my left hand in my pocket clutching my treasure.

When I got to my house, I dropped my briefcase and opened the front door. I charged in shouting, "Gladys, Gladys, where are you? I want to show you something!"

Her voice came from the living room, "I'm in here, Stanley."

I sprinted in, yelling, "Look Gladys! Look at this!"

I was greeted with shrieks! "Oh my God, Stanley, put that thing away! My sister Phyllis is here!"

Phyllis was standing just behind my wife. Her eyes were big, her mouth open, and her hand was palm out in front of it like she was stifling a scream.

I backed out of the room, obeying her command with my ego deflated. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on when I discovered it was only my ego that was deflated. Anyway, I stayed out of everybody's way until dinnertime.

Dinner was uncomfortable and very quiet. I was at the head of the table while Gladys was directly opposite me. Phyllis was to my left with her back to the kitchen. Neither one had looked at me or said a word since the incident in the living room.

Phyllis picked up a bread stick and started to nibble on it. Suddenly, her eyes got big, her face got red and she dropped the bread stick like it was a hot poker. She covered it with her napkin, excused herself, and with a sob bolted for the kitchen door. Gladys followed, glaring at me.

I was uncomfortable for her. I liked Phyllis a lot. She was a widow and three or four years older than Gladys. Her husband had died quite some time ago and left her well-heeled. She lived in a big house with a pool in a posh subdivision in our town. She seldom stayed home, instead spending most of her time visiting one of her three siblings or one of her four children and grandchildren that she was spoiling.

My napkin was on my lap, not doing a very good job of covering my bulge. I didn't mind. As embarrassed as I was, I was secretly quite proud of my accomplishment. Now the question was, "What was I going to do with it?" I'm not sure I could count on Gladys and the only other woman I knew was Phyllis. I sure didn't want to waste it on her.

I was pondering this as I was finishing my spaghetti. Suddenly Gladys loomed over me, took the fork out of my hand, picked up the dish with a couple of bites of spaghetti left, and took them back into the kitchen. I had the feeling she would have slammed the door if there had been one.

I sat there for a few minutes, finished my iced tea and, giving up, I moved into the living room to watch TV. I watched 'Wheel of Fortune' and was halfway through 'Jeopardy' when it dawned on me -- SOMETHING WAS WRONG! Gladys hadn't missed an episode of 'Wheel of Fortune' since we had the kitchen fire in 2009!

I watched a few more shows, turned off the TV after the 10 o'clock news, and reluctantly hiked up the stairs to the bathroom comforted by my now ever-present friend. The house was deadly quiet, not a squeak from the ladies wherever they were.

I got my pajamas from the bedroom and moved to the bathroom for my shower. When I undressed in front of the mirror there it was, standing proud and erect as if it were surveying its domain. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of pride at my accomplishment, but wondered what I was going to do with it.

In the back of my mind I couldn't help but be uncomfortable because this one was more than five hours old and I had never had one for longer than 20 or 30 minutes before in my entire life. Even those I hadn't used had waned when it became obvious they weren't going to accomplish anything.

I showered, carefully washing around it, and then decided it needed to be cleaned too. Vigorously I washed, cleaned, bathed, and generally manhandled it. It was no use! It took everything I dished out without batting an eye. Finally I gave up, got out of the shower, and dried off. As a joke, in front of the mirror, I hung the damp towel from it. I couldn't believe how strong it was. It supported the towel with no sag at all.

Feeling I had accomplished nothing, I put on my pajama bottoms and headed for my bedroom. Fortunately the pajamas had a fly, so it stuck straight out like an arrow, leading the way. I hadn't given any thought to what I would do if I encountered one of the ladies.

I got into bed and lying on my back covered up with a sheet. I felt like there was a tent in front of me. I couldn't see my feet. I finally fell asleep, wondering what I was going to do about my six-hour-old problem.

Sometime through the night I woke up and realized that, whatever happened, I wasn't going to roll out of bed. Gladys was on her part of the bed on her side with her back to me, sound asleep. I deliberated waking her, but thought better of it.

Anyway, the reason I woke up was I had to pee. I staggered out of bed and made my way to the toilet. Then it dawned on me; I would be okay if I wanted to pee on the wall, or over shower curtain but downward into the toilet just wasn't going to happen! I solved the problem by digging out an old hospital type urinal from underneath the washbasin. I crept back into bed and again contemplated cuddling up, spoon style, to Gladys.

In all of our 34 years of marriage, our sex life had been excellent. There was up until two years ago when, for no apparent reason, I simply ceased to function. We had both been virgins when we married. Our wedding night was a little disappointing because our initial (and single) union that night only lasted two or three minutes. Nonetheless, for the rest of our married life, every Saturday night like clockwork (unless it was her time of the month) we enjoyed each other.

I remember once, not long after we were married, she even touched me. A few years later, after a Christmas office party, she let me do her from behind while she crouched on the bed. I often wondered what it would be like if she sat on me, cowboy style. (Hell, that's a daydream that won't happen.)

Well, back to the present. I eased up behind her and had barely touched her with my wonderful prize when she scooted forward and leaped out of bed.

There was fire in her eyes when she glared down at me and said, "Stanley, what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

I was cowed when I mumbled, "But I brought this home for you all the way from the office."

"I don't care where you got it, I don't want any part of it, and it is not Saturday! Get back on your side of the bed and go back to sleep. Why are you trying to start something?"

Completely browbeaten, I moved back into the bed and rolled over on my left side with my back to her. I stayed in that position so I wouldn't create a tent in the bedsheet. I felt her get back into bed and I peeked over my shoulder, only to see that she had her back turned towards me. I lay there quietly for hours before I finally dozed off.

Suddenly there was a bloodcurdling scream! It was 6:45 AM and my alarm clock was screeching at me that I had just over an hour to perform all of my morning rituals and get to the bus stop. I sat up in bed to check to make sure my friend hadn't deserted me through the night. I noticed that Gladys's side of the bed was empty and the entire house was as quiet as a tomb.

I armed myself with clean underclothes and bleary-eyed, I followed my guiding arrow to the bathroom. This time, I was glad I had not encountered Gladys or Phyllis on the path between the bedroom and the bathroom. I gave myself a PTA (penis, tits, and armpits) bath, brushed my teeth, and shaved.

I couldn't help but admire myself in the reflection of the mirror as I slid on my boxer shorts. Although they were roomy, there was still the tenting effect present. I peeked out of the bathroom, looking both ways to ensure the coast was clear, before I dashed back to the bedroom.

I finished dressing and noticed that I still had almost an hour to make the bus stop. When I went downstairs, no one was about and the kitchen was cold. I made Keurig coffee, orange juice, and had a bowl of cereal.

I finally left the house just after 8 o'clock with more than 10 minutes to make it to the bus stop. As I guarded my love with my hands, I came to realize that I did not have my briefcase and therefore no lunch. I also became aware that I just couldn't go to work like this. Dejectedly, I minced my way back to the house with the intent to call in sick.

I opened the door and went in but there still was no sign of Gladys or Phyllis. I went upstairs, shed my suit and tie, and put on a T-shirt and pair of very loose, stretchy, knock-around trousers. They did absolutely nothing to hide "The Problem."

At five after nine I called my office and talked to my boss. I told him I was under the weather and that he would have to get my partner, Marvin Epstein, to handle the preliminaries for the upcoming meeting later next week.

He said, "Well, that's a problem. Marvin called in just a couple of minutes ago and said he was quite sick, too. I know you two had lunch together yesterday, was it something you ate? Take care and we will see you Monday."

I was slumped in my big easy chair, one foot on the floor and the other leg propped up on the arm with a small blanket on my lap. My hand was under the blanket, ensuring that my problem had not disappeared. I was feeling very sorry for myself. Somehow I felt like I was an axe and there was no wood left anywhere in the world. I almost had a tear in my eye.

The phone rang and it was Marvin. He explained that his wife had been trying to get pregnant and through her brother, a pharmacist, she had obtained some male performance enhancing pills. Marvin took them for a few days but didn't like the way they made him feel so he quit.

His wife didn't like the way she felt without the pills so she ground up three or four of them and put them in his chicken salad sandwich yesterday. When she found out he had swapped the sandwich with me. She ground up three more and put them in his matzo ball soup that evening. We both had the same problem except that mine was about four hours older than his and mine didn't have a cure.

I had barely hung up the phone when Gladys burst into the room. She was standing over me, hands on her hips and glaring down at me when she said, "What the hell is going on Stanley? Have you turned into some sort of a sex-crazed maniac? What do you think you're trying to do?"

I finally got her calmed down and explained to her what Marvin had told me. She threw her hands in air, palms upward, whispered, "Oh my God!" and left the room.

I just sat there in the big easy chair, my hand under the blanket, contemplating my fate. I tried to watch a rerun of 'Two and a Half Men' but it was full of sexual innuendos (surprise, surprise!) and a young, scantily clad girl scampering back and forth between bedrooms. It didn't help at all, and neither did the next two episodes.

Suddenly, Gladys was standing there with Phyllis looking over her shoulder. She said, "Phyllis and I have talked it over. We are going to help you out."

And they did!

EPILOGUE

With their help that afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday, my condition subsided enough so that I was able to go to work on Monday. While I was at work, Phyllis contacted Marvin's brother-in-law and got a new prescription from his doctor friend for 90 (a three month's supply) of the pills in question.

Although I never met him, the doctor charged me $50 for consultation and writing the prescription. My insurance wouldn't pay the doctor at all and would only pay for 25% of the prescription. Phyllis ended up paying $210 for everything. I still ride the bus to work in the morning but the ladies have decided that the bus ride home may be too stressful so they arrange to pick me up every evening at the office.

As for me, I'm doing fine. Although Gladys is cooking better and I am eating better, I have lost 23 pounds and the spare tire around my waist has disappeared. Although there was no insurance coverage for it, Phyllis was able to get a second prescription in her deceased husband's name from the same doctor. She thinks we will be able to get another in her brother's name when we need it in a few weeks. Gladys hasn't seen an episode of 'Wheel of Fortune' in almost 2 months!

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Copyright © 09-01-2021 by E. J. Sheeran. All rights reserved. This work, in part, or whole, is not to be distributed, reproduced, transmitted or posted, in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.