Men. Some things get better with age. Then, there are some things that don’t age quite so well.
Sometimes medicine can fix those things... Sometimes medicine can be a miracle.
This is, of course, a work of fiction. If it happens to represent some phase of your life, more power to you, and I am quite envious. To the rest of you, if you’re not of legal age to be here, then be gone.
All characters are over the age of eighteen.
Anything Can Happen
Chapter 1
Several years ago I went to see my doctor. Since I’d recently turned fifty, he decided I needed some additional tests ran on top of the standard battery of blood tests, and when he called me back into the office a week later, he told me that everything was great except for my ‘T’ count. I guess I had a rather bewildered look on my face because he went on to tell me that that just meant my testosterone count was off. When I asked him if that was something bad or not, he started asking me some other questions, like ‘how is your energy’ and ‘do you still have a sex drive’...stuff like that.
I started thinking about what he was asking, and to be truly honest (to him AND myself), I had to admit that I wasn’t really feeling like I used to... I had energy, but it didn’t seem to go as far as it used to...and my sex drive? The wife had been complaining that when we DO do it… well, let’s just say that I wasn’t ‘up to the task’ like I used to be either...
My doctor recommended that I start a series of injections (once a month for the next six to eight months) and retest after to see if the shots made any difference. I actually went ten months before being retested, and when those tests came back, the doctor said that the results were ‘less than ideal’ and that my ‘T’ count was still lower than what he was expecting to see. So now he recommended something new. He told me that what he was recommending was still in the experimental stage, and that this was an opportunity to get in on the ‘ground floor’—the human testing stage of a new product (come on, doc. You can say it—the ‘Guinea Pig’ phase). He handed me a referral letter and wrote the address on a ‘sticky note’ to a building across town, (1313 N 13th Ave W? What? Really? Was this a sick joke of some kind?) along with the phone number (113-213-1313? Oh come on! you’ve got to be kidding me!) and told me to give them a call to set an appointment to register for the tests. When I left the doctor’s office, I went out to my car, grabbed my phone, and punched in the number and called them. A woman answered the phone, I told her who I was and why I was calling, and all she asked was how soon could I get there.
I looked at the address again and told her I could be there in about an hour and a half, since it was lunchtime and I wanted to get something to eat on my way over. She said that they would see me between two thirty and three.
I pulled into their parking lot at two forty-eight and anxiously walked into the building. The blonde behind the reception desk asked me for my referral letter and I handed it to her. She stood up, walked around the desk toward me. She was quite tall—I mean, I’m six foot one without my shoes on, and my eyes were even with her nose. But to be fair, she WAS wearing ‘fuck-me’ pumps with five-inch stiletto heels…
She handed me a clipboard and told me I needed to fill out the forms on it, then led me down a hallway to an exam room. She told me to make myself comfortable and turned to walk out the door. Before she closed it, she leaned back in and told me there would be a nurse coming in soon to get my vitals…
I made myself comfortable, filled out the forms while I sat there and waited, and when I was done, started looking around the room.
The first thing I noticed was that it didn’t have the ‘normal’ stuff you would find in an exam room. There was an exam table but not the flashlight thing a doctor would use to look in your ears, nose, and throat. There was a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, and there was a thermometer…a couple of chairs…not much else.
When the nurse walked in, I think my jaw hit the floor. This girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen, maybe 5′4, violet eyes (I had never seen natural violet eyes, so they had to be contacts, right?) wearing a classic nurse’s outfit and what would be considered smart comfortable shoes. Her silky brunette hair hung down to the top of her butt and her lips were painted a soft shade of pink. She took my temperature, pulse and blood pressure (seems both were a little above normal—can’t imagine why…), got everything written down on her clipboard and left. I honestly don’t remember if she said anything after “good afternoon Mr. Phillips” while she was in the room.
When the doctor walked in, I nearly fell off the table. She appeared to be European. “’ello. My name iz Dr. Elzabet Castallanos and ve are here to make zum rezearch about people over fifty.”
Where is that accent from???
About that time, my dick decided it wanted to wake up and see what was happening… The doctor was certainly not a short woman—standing about 5′10 and she may have been 110—115 pounds. Light olive complexion with dark auburn hair that fell to about the middle of her back in soft curls. In my opinion, quite an attractive package… Her lab coat was more of a jacket; it only came down to her hips, and her dress fell to a little above her knees, and the part of her legs that I could see would have fired up my boyhood fantasies for days. All I could do is sit there with my mouth hanging open. I don’t think I was drooling…
“How are you feeling today? You haff had lunch, no?”
“Umm… uuhhh…yes, I’ve had lunch, and I’m not feeling too bad, actually”
“Did you eat vell? You did not eat at zum fast-food place, uh, mack doanalds or buger keeng? You had a good meal, yez?”
Is she Mediterranean maybe??
“It was probably better than what I usually have. I decided to go to a sit-down restaurant and have some beef and broccoli.”
“Goot. Goot meals are essential to goot healt.”
She asked me some questions about my home life. “Married?”
“Twenty-five years next February.”
“Are any children still living at home?”
“No, all the kids are grown and living on their own—in fact, the last one moved out just about a year ago.”
“Vere do you vork? Vut do you do zere? Do you deal vit a lot of stress zere?”
I told her I retired comfortably several years earlier, so no, I don’t have to deal with ‘workplace stress’ at all.
“Are you having sex on a ‘regular’ basis?”
Uummm…
“Is it satisfying for you?”
Huh?
“And your partner?”
Wait, what? This one kind of stunned me. “Umm…I have to admit that I’m not really satisfied with the way I feel after sex, and I have to also admit that I am fairly sure my wife is… umm… less than satisfied with my…‘performance’…lately. And no, it really has been rather infrequent lately.”
Of course, with all this talk of sex, and with her being so close (not to mention so absolutely fuckable…), little Tony had been standing at about three-quarter mast—harder than he had been for the last several years. Having looked down at my lap, she noticed the small tent in my pants. Without asking first, she reached out and grabbed it, asking about the firmness and if it gets harder and how long it usually lasts. With her handling it the way she was (she would slide her hand against it occasionally, which, for some reason, felt heavenly…), I was actually harder than I was the last time my wife had me take a little blue pill, but as soon as she stopped moving her hand it started wilting, and she started to ask me questions about that, too.
“OK” she said to me, “Ve are going to take zum blood for testing, zen I am going to haff my nurse giff you an injection uff hormones—mostly testosterone but zere are some uzzer hormones, plus a few uzzer organic ingredients—absolutely safe—at least none uff ze lab animals showed any signs of abnormality…(HUH!?!?)…yez Mr. Pheellips, I am teasing you…zis will get you started on your zerapy. I vant you to come back in a veek for anuzzer blood test, and you can let us know of any changes zat you notice.”
Maybe she’s Greek…no… eastern European…? Hhmmm…
With that, she turned and walked out of the room. I sat there for a few minutes waiting for what would happen next, and a small Asian girl in a lab coat walked in carrying a tray with the accessories necessary for taking blood tests. Like I said, she was small. If she was five feet tall, I would have been surprised.
“What arm you use?”
I gave her my left arm, not able to take my eyes off her. She had big brown eyes, and her silky black hair, tied in a ponytail, hung down past her butt. With her lab coat on, I couldn’t really make out any of the details of her curves, only that she had small breasts since they didn’t really push out the front of her coat very much.
She got done drawing the blood—all ten tubes—and she pulled out a syringe filled with some dark liquid.
“Stand up… Turn around… Pull down your pants. Bend over. Right or left?”
“Huh? What? OOWWW!!”
“Sorry. You too slow, got work to do.” And with that she turned and walked out of the room. The big blond that led me in when I got here was waiting outside the door when the Asian girl left. She told me I was done and handed me a card with a date and time on it, then led me out. “See you next week.”