Chapter 3 – Darren
“What seems to be the problem?”
Dr. Milton was using his hallmark question for what seemed like the millionth time since I was young. He had been our family doctor since before I was born, so it just made sense that I would keep seeing him now.
I had gone to see him shortly after the helicopter crash. He didn’t say much. He just hemmed and hawed, looking at me from over from the top of his glasses, his lips pursed as he evaluated me.
I had just been glad he didn’t recoil in disgust or respond in some other way that made me feel uncomfortable, like every other person in my life. Well, almost every other person. My maid, Eve, never made me feel like the monster that I knew myself to look like, either.
So, I kept my regular appointments with Dr. Milton and would even call him, like I was doing now, if I ever had a concern.
“There have been some… uh… developments,” I said, my voice trailing off.
Even though Dr. Milton had been very understanding of my situation, what I called to talk to him about was not the easiest discussion to have with anyone.
“Developments?” he asked softly.
“Yes… I… uh… it seems that I am having trouble performing sexually.”
I said the last part in a voice so low it was nearly a fucking whisper.
“Oh, okay. I think I understand. This is not uncommon given your condition. Are you able to have an erection?”
I couldn’t believe that I was talking to the man who had given me a lollipop after my kindergarten shots about the functioning of my penis. Or, rather, the dysfunction of it.
"Yes. But, well, honestly, Doc, I don’t really get them that often, but it seems as though they don’t last very long and I can’t quite… finish.”
“Yes, that seems to be pretty straightforward. Of course, we should run further tests to be sure, though.”
“To be sure of what?”
“The accident probably has had more of an effect on you than you realize. It may have affected your testosterone level and sperm count. And, if that’s the case, then it’s very possible that your possibility of having children would be drastically lowered.”
“Really?” I said.
I was annoyed. Annoyed by the situation and, in that moment, by Dr. Milton.
“How can you say that without having run any tests?” I demanded. “I mean, um, is that just your best guess or a certain diagnosis?”
I backed off my initial anger, because it wasn’t Dr. Milton’s fault I was in this mess. I knew he was just trying to help.
“Oh, trust me, we will definitely have to run some tests just to make sure,” he answered, not seeming to be bothered by my testiness. I was sure he was used to all kinds of push back from patients. “But, I was actually afraid of this from the very beginning, due to where you have sustained injury. The tests will confirm it, but based on what you’re telling me and the results of the preliminary testing, due to the burns you suffered while in the helicopter, your sperm count is likely declining.”
“Don’t mince words with me, Doc,” I demanded, suddenly not caring about my tone. “Exactly what does that mean?”
“Well, it means that if you still have the capability of producing children, then, every passing day, the odds go down. The longer you wait, the odds are slim to none. It means if you would ever like to try, the time is now.”
There it was: the death sentence that no man ever wanted to hear. For various reasons, I wasn’t as concerned about the fact that I couldn’t make a baby right now, but not having the option to choose in the future was devastating. So was the fact that my dick was limp and it seemed that wasn’t going to improve, either.
“So, what about sexual performance?” I asked Dr. Milton. “I’ll be just as frank with you as you’re being with me, because I appreciate that. At this point, I can hardly see how I’m supposed to work on making a baby when I can’t even get it up. Or at least, I can’t keep it up.”
I wanted to tell him how it starts off good: I would think about someone sexy, or the thought of sex in general, and get hard. But then after a while, it all collapsed, literally as well as figuratively. But, as I struggled to find the right words, Dr. Milton cleared his throat to answer my question, and I realized he knew more about what I meant than I thought he did.
“Have you had sexual contact with a woman?” he asked. “Or are we just talking about one on one, on your own?”
“That one,” I answered, feeling rather embarrassed about how long it had been since I’d been with a woman. “The on my own thing.”
It wasn’t that I couldn’t get a woman. Since I was over six feet tall, with a full head of hair and a powerful presence, the women threw themselves at me. But I had been burned before— not just in the accident, but in relationship matters— and I was determined to stay away from women because it only ended up damaging me even more.
“Well, the good news is that it’s different with another person,” the doctor said. “We’re not really sure why. There have been inconclusive studies. But sexual arousal can often be sustained by another person, during intimate contact, even when it can’t be sustained by oneself. I would recommend you try that out and see what happens. Responsibly, of course.”
The only thing I was worried about being responsible with was my fucking heart. My body and spirit had been broken, and I wasn’t about to hand my heart over to a woman to have her way with. In the past, a relationship had come close to destroying me and I was determined not to let that happen again.
But, I thought, realizing my cock was getting a bit hard from just the thought of being with a woman again, a little fucking hanky panky never hurt anything.
I would just have to leave my heart out of it.
“Thanks for the advice, Doc.”
“When can you come in so that we can run further tests?”
I guess I would have to leave my peaceful palace and venture out into the world I’d tried so hard to leave behind. That happened every now and then, for a doctor’s appointment or some other urgent need. But I tried to have it not happen, because I liked staying here, away from everything out there.
Just as I was about to answer, I was startled by a sound that I had never heard in my home. It was a voice, someone singing. Although the voice belonged to a female, it didn’t sound familiar.
I knew that it wasn’t Eve because she knew to never come to this side of the house. I had only told her one time and she never forgot and left me unbothered.
Plus, she never sang. She knew better than to disturb me like that. In fact, most of the time, I didn’t even know that she had been in my house until I found one of her refrigerator notes. And I liked it that way. I had built an isolated cabin in the woods for a fucking reason.
“Hello? Darren, are you there?”
Dr. Milton was getting impatient. He wanted to know when I could come in for follow up questions, so he could get off the phone. I understood his position, since I so hated talking on the phone, or to anyone at all. But all I could think about was whoever was fucking singing in my house.
Who the fuck was in my house? And how did she get in?
“Yes, Doc,” I hurriedly said into the phone. “Let me think about it and get back to you.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding confused. “I really do mean that the sooner you address these problems, the better the likelihood is that…”
“Yes, Doc, I know,” I assured him. “My time is limited. I have to get in to see you right away. And I have to make a move on knocking someone up.”
“Is that possible?” he asked. “Are you in a committed relationship?”
Most definitely not, I thought, but, before I could answer, he rushed to continue.
“I mean, I don’t want to be nosy. It’s none of my business, personally. But, I’m asking because science and technology have many options available. There is surrogacy…”
“Doc, it’s fine,” I told him. “I appreciate your help. I’ll figure it out.”
If being intimate with a woman would help me keep my cock hard, and if having a baby was something I needed to do sooner rather than later, then impregnating someone the old fashioned way would be the best of both worlds. I could kill two birds with one stone that way.
I just had to find a willing participant. Someone who would want money to carry my baby, and who would want me enough to let me do it the old fashioned way.
That might be the hard part, because even though I was used to having a lot of women at my disposal, I wasn’t so sure they’d still want me when they got up close and saw my scars. I hadn’t tested that theory, and, for many reasons, I had purposefully stayed away from women after I got home from Afghanistan and my stay in the military hospital.
I guess it was time to see if I still had swagger, even with my scars.
I hung up the phone and grabbed a bat that I’d had tucked away in the closet. Then, I headed toward the sound of the singing.