As he entered the emergency room, Dimitri was more sure now than ever before in his life that if he died at this very moment, his could not be a more sad and pathetic end. It started a three days ago. Or maybe long before that, when he first met Stephanie. But Dimitri was certain that if not for his girlfriend's fickle and persisting jealousy, he would not be in this mortifying situation.
Hailing from a traditional Greek family, Dimitri always expected to find a nice girl at some neighborhood get-together, where everyone was friendly and already knew each other. A good marriage starts across a fence, he'd always been taught. This was one young man who was never comfortable with the idea of hopping bars and trolling for chicks, like his work buddies enjoyed to do. Too many people in the city were impersonal, impatient, and self-important.
Nevertheless, he once allowed himself to be dragged along on just such an endeavor. Dimitri's friends were enthusiastic hunters of the feminine creature and this time, their catch that night was lopsided: A quartet of bleach blond sirens, bejeweled and bewitching in their own quest for the opposite sex. But the menfolk numbered only three and a fourth was needed to seal the deal. Thus, Dimitri was enlisted to fill the gap.
The corresponding woman, a green-eyed firebrand, was his exact opposite. Where Dimitri was reserved, Stephanie was out-going. Where he quiet, she vocal. The young Greek was awed by Stephanie and treated her with the reverence of a goddess.
Over the intervening weeks, he realized she certainly was special. Special in the way that the Hydra grew more ferocious with each stroke of Herakles' sword. Like the multi-headed monster of legend, every perceived wound inflicted on the street-smart city gal by Dimitri's rural naivete magnified the ferocity of the beast beneath her beauty. Nothing he did was good enough, everything he said was an embarrassment. His mere presence became a nuisance. Whatever captivating quality she first displayed in that bar had melted away like wax, revealing yet another wicked crone, old before her time.
But for some reason, she never got fed up enough to dump him. This alone seemed to confirm for Dimitri the goodness of her heart. Naive, indeed.
The straw that broke the camel's back was laid three days prior. Stephanie was the last of her friends to wrangle her target into bed. The four girls only wanted men for the appendage between their legs, not for the value of their companionship. Her new boyfriend's grasp of modern dating was tenuous at best and much nagging had been required to get him to drop his pants. Stephanie was eager to see if the virility of Greek men was a well-deserved stereotype.
To say Stephanie's disappointment was apparent and acute would be an understatement. The annoyed twist she gave his distressingly average package was clearly indicative of her mood. If she ever made him feel less of a man before then, she finally managed to out-do herself. But poor old Dimitri was a fool. Rather than see her for the Harpy that she was, he was convinced the fault lie with himself. Something had to be done, he decided.
With no small amount of awkwardness, he sought to consult his more woman-savvy work buddies. The prerequisite period of macho ribbing eventually gave way to the semi-serious advice to utilize medicinal supplements. Anyone with a passing familiarity with the Internet (i.e. not Dimitri) knew it was the perfect place to find "exciting new ways to increase the size of your penis!" Amid much snickering, his buddies put in the order for an express delivery of "this generation's miracle drug, no prescription necessary."
The package came into his hand this very afternoon. Anxious to show Stephanie her new and improved boyfriend, Dimitri swallowed half the bottle of small green pills. Though at first enticed by the massive present awaiting her, outlined in cotton boxer shorts like a poorly wrapped Christmas present, Stephanie's joy quickly gave way to disgust. What she found was not a manly tool of lust, but a text book case of overdosing.
Dimitri's member was grossly swollen, veins pounding with an excessive flow. His skin, a healthy olive hue, had darkened about the member to the color of freshly tilled soil. It twitched like a thing possessed; the proverbial one-eyed snake. That Dimitri himself didn't find this to be unusual—beyond the mild confusion of the inexperienced—only served to incite her monstrous wrath.
The shrieked epitaphs that followed him out into the apartment hallway would have made even the swarthiest of sailors blush. Amused neighbors observed through peepholes and doors held cautiously ajar as Dimitri was chased down the hall, his girlfriend screaming obscenities regarding his physical and mental prowess, or lack thereof. She bombarded him with his clothes. The shoes hurt the most.
Discouraged though he was, it did the young man's heart good to hear her final words were well-meaning instruction: "And go to the fucking hospital! Unless you want to loose that thing and finally be just as dickless as you act!" she called down from the fourth floor.
It was a struggle just to dress. Dimitri's jeans didn't fit well around the rigid tool. Even the act of driving was bittersweet torture, as each bump and pothole he hit sent tremors through his sensitive loins. Now that the adrenaline rush of anticipated intercourse had passed, an ache began to sink in that laced each pleasurable jolt with an equally sharp pain.
The hospital's emergency room was a madhouse. Summer was the busy season as people felt more adventurous and found new ways to hurt themselves. Everyone else was in there for a legitimate reason. Dimitri felt like a moron for showing up with nothing more serious than a troublesome erection.
He approached the triage window with as much nonchalance as he could manage. Thanks to the uncontrollable jerking of his hips, it came across as the stagger of a gimp, attracting every eye in the room. The nurse on duty was accustomed to seeing all kinds of hideous injuries and was, at the moment, more concerned with the thorough mastication of her bubblegum. Her attitude of indifference vanished as Dimitri approached.
"Hello," he greeted genially. "I am having a problem."
"No kidding!" the nurse replied. She was a young little thing with chestnut brown hair the curled up at her shoulders. Not much of her figure could be seen behind the desk, but her azure blue smock hugged her curves flatteringly. "So what happened to you, pal?"
Dimitri put the bottle of remaining pills on the counter. "This."
The nurse examined them. "You have erectile dysfunction?" A snicker rippled through the crowd of waiting patients. She eyed the pole in his jeans, causing him to blush fiercely. "No, I suppose not."
The young man shuffled in place, feeling extremely self-conscious under the nurse's examination. Whenever her gaze strayed from the bulge protruding in front of him, it would be drawn back like a magnetic attraction. She bit her lip, colored the same glossy pink as her gum, internally debating something of obvious importance. Her cheeks flushed. When she spoke again, her eyes avoided his face—and thankfully any other part of his body.
"I'm...gonna have to...check with a doctor," she murmured distractedly. The nurse pushed away from her desk and hurried down the hall, barely able to keep herself from running, her chair clattering across the office. "You can take a seat!" she called back.
Satisfied that everything would be taken care off, Dimitri minced his way to a row of seats. He eased himself down as carefully as possible, but was unable to stifle a gasp as the rough material of his jeans squeezed the bulbous member contained within. The amusement of his fellow patients shifted to ire. Shame filled him as he heard more than a few mutters of "pervert" and "sick fuck-o."
His wait was mercifully short. The nurse hurried back, pushing a wheelchair. "The doctor will see you now, sir. I'll wheel you in."
Gritting his teeth against this latest indignity, Dimitri transferred quickly and willed the young nurse to cart him away from this public embarrassment will all due speed. She took him down a wide hall with various offices lining either side; one of the florescent bulbs above flickered in an ominous fashion.
A tall woman with long, black hair greeted them at the door to one of the offices. "Here's our poor, suffering man," she said in a thick tone. "My name is Doctor Morales. We'll take very good care of you, sir."
Equally dark eyes gazed at him hypnotically behind her spectacles. She took control of the wheelchair from the nurse, who didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Inside the office, he saw quite a lot of equipment he didn't recognize, including some strange contraption sticking out of a padded table.
The doctor removed her coat, revealing a tight sweater and gray pleated skirt. She leaned over a counter to fill out some paperwork. The shapely curves of her hips, buttocks, and thighs did little to abate the pressure in Dimitri's pants. Doctor Morales asked the typical questions; name, age, family history, et cetera. When it came to the reason for his visit, Dimitri tried to be as forthcoming as possible, but he stammered terribly. The woman laughed warmly, amused by his boyish clumsiness.
Finally, Doctor Morales filled a syringe with some clear fluid from a bottle with print too small to read across the room. "Just need to give you a shot to help you relax, Dimitri. This won't hurt a bit."
"And then this...problem...will go away?" he asked hopefully.
"You'll need to undergo a minor procedure," she admitted. "Nothing to worry about at all."
The tiny smile on her rouged lips gave Dimitri pause, but he didn't have much time to consider it after she'd pricked him in the arm. A fog like that of early morning intruded upon his consciousness. His head swam. He was vaguely aware of the triage nurse entering the office and then he was asleep.
