The Side Effect, part one
Rodney stared at the three pills in his hand and weighed the consequences. Three weeks in the hospital to examine his head, and three prescriptions later, the doctor arrived at the conclusion that his problem was chemical and not psychological, and therefore required a chemical solution (it was all so embarrassing). Viagra wouldn't work (or so he'd been told). Test after test, hard-wiring his genitals, massaging the underside of his testis, provoking no response. Rodney hadn't known so much as the relief of masturbation, never mind the act of making love to a woman. To cure the problem of his acute impotency required all the wisdom of modern science, and he hated what it did to him.
There were certain things he had to remember on medication. Don't mix it with alcohol, or with caffeine. Don't drive for at least ten hours after a dosage (?).
Rodney could handle all that. What he couldn't handle was an unfortunate side effect: The medication made him retarded.
No, not just any sort of fun and harmless sort of retarded. It's not a cute way of saying it slightly incapacitated him. It made him an overbiting, drooling, hairline receding nuclear accident victim retard . While on the drug, he would lose all ability to form a coherent thought. He would develop an apelike gait, and he suddenly only would answer to the name "Jimmy."
This utterly unattractive appearance was the ghastly cost he'd have to pay for being able to have sex again. He'd yet to develop the courage to seek out a woman who could handle him while medicated. The drug gave him the ability to get it up, but his ability to exercise the organ in question was greatly diminished, due to the ...unfortunate side effect.
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