Boner
His right hand was holding his flaccid penis and Ted sat on his couch, waiting for the inevitable but it was taking them too long.
What the fuck is taking them so long? Christ!
He had set the bait. He waited until she came home and parked their car on the street outside the apartment. Once she had gone upstairs and he heard her shut the door, he had run out to the street with the hammer and a towel. He smashed out the passenger side headlight. He knew her husband would blame her so why was it taking so long before the melee ensued?
When the pandemic hit, the world crashed. Lockdowns, quarantines, masks. Stay-at-home orders. It was nuts. It affected everyone's business, their mental health, and, most important, Ted's dick. Almost overnight, he couldn't get it up. Nothing helped. Viagra was like taking Skittles. Porn—even weird stuff—did nothing.
He called one of those erectile dysfunction companies and they sent him literature because they were closed due to COVID. Ted even pulled out a VCR and popped in a videotape he'd gotten as a gag that featured a guy fucking a horse.
Nothing worked.
Until Frankie and Mae moved into the apartment upstairs.
He heard them move in—like a herd of rhinos moving furniture. Ted hadn't realized how sub-par the construction of these apartments was until then. He could hear almost every word spoken, every shuffle of feet. The walls were thin and the ceiling/floor integrity must be just slightly strong enough to keep the upstairs neighbors from cascading through like a scene from a Kevin James movie.
The next night, Frankie and Mae starting fighting. He heard it. Mae had done something that set Frankie off and the yelling came all at once like a geyser.
And something miraculous happened.
As Frankie screamed and Mae screamed back, his useless cock hardened until it hurt to breathe. He grabbed some Purell because it was all that was handy and lathered it up. He came within forty seconds and he was awash with a sense of joy, confusion, and shame.
The fighting above him kept going and his boner did not abate. He moved to the more traditional hand cream in his bathroom. They fought for 27 minutes; he came six times.
They fought at least once a week. Just enough for him to start to sweat things. Just enough to begin feeling that despair at his inability to get it up. Then BAM! A fight. A hard-on. Some spectacular jacking off. World class, Olympic-style masturbation.
Then it stopped. Frankie and Mae were getting along. He hadn't spanked in three weeks. He knew Frankie loved his car. It was a beautiful restored 1979 Mustang. Candy Apple Red. He hatched a plan.
What the fuck is taking them so long? Christ!
