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Shit Happens

Am I still the same man you love, after all I have been through?
Shit happens, or so everyone tells me.

Working at the same job for twenty-four years, that would be
Enough to drive anyone crazy.

So why should I be any different?

It was all going well until then,
Until June,
And then the cracks began to show.
Paralysis on the simple things,
The things I’ve done several thousand times,
Things I could do in my sleep.

Does it really take two hours to
Dictate a three line letter, enclosing a photocopy?

Crying at my desk, that cannot be good either.

A visit, a blood test, a referral.
And then the dosage. Five milligrams a day.
Then ten.

Sleepless nights, followed by too much sleep.
Slowly the calm sets in and perspective is regained,
But all of my energy is drained,
Each morning I wake up feeling as though
I have run a marathon in my sleep.

Side effects? Too many to count,
But I functioned, and work became work again,
And no longer the black hole I feared.

Do you remember me before then?
Do you remember what I was like before the crash?

Do you remember how hard I would get at the mere
Mention of your name?
Do you remember the pictures I sent you, my
Cock in hand, a stream of creamy white
Dripping down my fist as I held myself firmly?

Do you remember the videos?
You must – you used to write to me about them.
Do you remember the time I was out of town
In that hotel room, with my webcam set up,
And how I bent over and I…with the highlighter pen…?

Yes, I know you remember that one.

June changed all of that.
Maybe the stress of it all,
Or maybe it was a side effect.
Did I even try once in all of June to jack off?
July? I doubt it. August? Same story.
September came, but I did not.

As I emerged from the haze of my spiral
Into the shadows,
What was left of me?
I could not write – I had no words.
I could not perform. I could not
Take matters into my own hands.
Or hand.
I was interested, but it was just too much of an effort.

Too much of an effort?
Since when did masturbation become an effort?
It used to be as easy as…as easy as…?
Who am I kidding?
There really is nothing easier.

Do you remember me before the crash?
Do you remember the feel of me, as you took
Me deep into yourself?
Do you remember my taste? My smell? My feel?
Do you remember me at all?

October came, and the pills became too much.

Shit happens, or so everyone told me,
And the side effects outweighed the benefits.
Besides, the doctor said, you are back on track.

Half a pill each day for a month, then
Half a pill every other day for a month, then…
No pills.

One day, became two days and then three, and
The subtlety of a reduced dosage
Was not so subtle.
Perspective but seen clearly,
The haze of fatigue lifting.

My alarm went off at 6:30 on Wednesday,
And I had my feet on the ground by 6:31,
No longer lying there,
Waiting for 8:00 to come
Before I ascended (or descended?) for the day.

Do you remember me from those earlier days?
6:30 was sleeping in,
And nights were spent reading, and writing,
And holding myself and feeling my hardness,
And closing my eyes as I stroked myself to
Visions of that one photo I have of you.

Do you remember me?
As my tongue circled your nipples,
As my lips surrounded them,
As my hands explored you,
As my senses inhaled you.

Do you remember me?
Please say that you do,
Because I am not certain that I remember myself.

It changes you.
A short walk through the fires of hell changes you.
A moment of paralysis changes you.
A series of moments can destroy you.

I am the science fair exhibit,
I am the image on large pieces of white display board,
A title written in a black magic marker,
And some eleven year old boy standing in front of me,
Explaining the theory.
I am the chemical soup he has conjured up
From some dusty, worn science textbook.
One part human, one part experiment.

Even as the chemicals are weaned from me,
And I am weaned from them,
They still swirl within me,
And the chemical reactions have forever changed
My constitution.

Do you remember me, before I had additives and artificial
Flavors and Colors added to my recipe?

Am I still the same?
Only you can tell me.

Take me, hold me, embrace me,
And tell me when you close your eyes,
Am I the same?

Take me, taste me, smell me,
And tell me when you close your eyes,
Can you tell that it is me?

Take me, hold me in your hands,
Feel me, engulf me,
And tell me when you close your eyes,
Who are you with?

Open yourself to me,
Take me inside of you,
And tell me when you close your eyes,
Do I still feel the same when I fill you up?

Open yourself to me,
Let me come inside of you,
And tell me if I still warm you, comfort you,
Excite you, and
Do I still bring you to the same places?

It has been a long night,
One lasting months,
Lasting months in the darkness,
But today I arose and it was light all around me.

I arose and touched myself,
And when I closed my own eyes,
I knew what I could feel.


Shit happens, and that is what I now tell others.
But people clean the shit off themselves every day,
And they go about their daily lives,
And those they encounter see them, and some even love them, and not the shit.
Despite the shit.

Why should I be any different?
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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