Ever since I was a teenager I've had problems with impotence. They weren't terrible at first, but I remember other guys getting embarrassed because they would get hard just sitting around a coffee shot when some sexy girl would walk by. Or when they were sitting having lunch with their girlfriend or something.
That never happened to me. I had to stimulate my cock directly to get it up, and sometimes that took a lot of work. I got a girlfriend when I was 16, and she wanted to have sex. We did, but it wasn't always easy. Neither of us knew any better. When we broke up I was 17, and I went out with several girls and ended up trying to have sex with one of them in the back seat of a car... well, she almost called the whole thing off because I was soft and she didn't want to suck me off for 10 minutes to get me hard.
After that I knew I had a problem. And it just got worse. By the time I was 20 I couldn't get an erection without viagra. I got a prescription, and it worked, but was such a pain. I had to plan sex in advance and when you are asking girls out on dates... you don't know whether you are going to fuck them or not and you can't be walking around with a hardon two hours before hand.
Eventually even the viagra didn't work very well. I started withdrawing from women. When I did try, girls would laugh at my limp dick, or make fun of it.Eventually I stopped dating. Girls became "just friends" a lot. Some girls thought I was gay.
When Dr. Simpson saw me and explained that there was a problem in my nervous system, a disconnect between my brain that recognized and governed arousal, and the nerves in my pelvis that controlled erections and ejaculation, it all made sense.
And she said she had a cure. Dr. Simpson had a potential cure. Experimental. Not guaranteed to work. In fact I would be the first human. They had tried it on rats, and pigs, and dogs. They are sure it will work.
If means meant I could have sex again, I wanted it. I begged her to let me be the first subject for this procedure.
It was risky, she explained. But it was my only chance. She said yes. I signed a ton of wavers, all promising not to sue them if something went wrong. What could go wrong? That it would not work? My cock wasn't working now. That I could die? I seriously had been thinking I didn't want to live if I could never fuck.
So here I am. Laying in the hospital bed with bandages on my lower back, on my hips, and around my head. Two new chips implanted. One in my brain, one in a nerve bundle in my lower back and hip area that serves my cock.
They won't let me try it out until it is healed. It requires something external to activate it. So... two weeks from now. Two weeks of recovery then we shall see if this procedure will restore my erectile dysfunction. A fancy name for, will I fuck again?
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