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The Four Hour Erection



The Four Hour Erection

by Robert Lubrican

Bookapy Edition

Copyright 2010 Robert Lubrican

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.


Erectile dysfunction is neither fun, nor funny. Commercials about it, however, are often hilarious. Most contain the famous warning "If your erection persists for longer than four hours, seek medical attention immediately." And while this dire warning is issued, the actors cavort and smile, because they are so obviously in love, and relieved they can have all the sex they want, whenever they want.

This book is not intended to make light of a serious medical condition. One shouldn't make fun of a ghastly problem.

On the other hand, most men don't have that problem, and the ridiculous commercials that mention it raise more questions than they answer, particularly since the actors who do "have this problem" seem to get younger and younger every year.

It's also important that you know I have nothing but respect for the medical profession. Fortunately, I have encountered only medical personnel who are dedicated to providing the best medical and ethical care for their patients.

Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of Madison Avenue.

It is also important for the reader to understand that certain stereotypes lend themselves to plots in many books of fiction.

All this is to say it is not my intention to make light of either a serious medical condition, or the people who treat it. Nor am I suggesting that any group of people in any given part of the country are uneducated, practically incestuous dolts. The purpose of this book is simply to have some erotic fun, based on commercials that are a hoot. This book is the result of those commercials, and I think it's fair to say that the plot is no more ridiculous than the commercials are. If they actually gave out the information about the problem they allude to, this book would never have been written. But they don't. They gloss over it in their fervor to squeeze ever higher profits from worried men. I do touch on the real issues with extended erections in the book, but fiction allows me to put forth an … um … alternative treatment.

So have fun with the book, but take any erectile problems you have quite seriously.

Finally, I have to make a note about language. Language serves many purposes beyond simple communication. For example, there is a lot of vernacular used in this book that is intended to give the flavor of the imaginary hills in which the story is set. There is another set of "vernacular" that applies to things sexual. These are words that everybody has heard, and that most people have used at one time or another, even though they are rarely used in polite society. We are taught the "proper" names for various body parts, but for various reasons we seem to prefer (in private) to use vernacular. For my purposes, this conversation is a private one ... just between you ... and me. For that reason there is a generous sprinkling of what some people might call "gutter language" in this book. It's not there to shock you, or make you blush. It's just how people talk sometimes, particularly when they are excited. If it makes you feel better, you can just imagine that you're spying on the characters, who don't know you're there, and because of that haven't cleaned up their language.

Of course sexual vernacular also sets a tone, or mood, and that's the primary reason I decided to use it in the places it appears.

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good time with the story. I hope you laugh.

I hope you feel other emotions too.


Table of Contents

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten


Chapter One

Dr. Angela Webber tried to be patient as she ushered Mr. Pinkney out of the exam room. Mr. Pinkney shuffled, and his steps were about six inches apart.

"So I just soak it in hot water at night before I go to bed," said the old man.

"Hot as you can stand it, and mix in some Epsom salts," said Angela. "You'll sleep a lot better. That's a promise."

"I'll hold you to it," said the old man, peering at her. "What do I get if you're wrong?"

"What do you get?" She was puzzled.

"A date?" The old man cackled and slapped his thigh. Thomas Pinkney was in his nineties and could barely walk. Angela thought it was cute that he still had an interest in sex.

She was used to that. While she was growing up she'd always thought of her good looks and killer body as a curse, primarily because she was interested in science and math as a teenager, while every man within sniffing distance was interested only in getting her naked and on her back. She'd avoided that by virtue of spending all her time on advanced courses that were designed to - and did - get her into medical school. She didn't have a lot of friends, but dreams of being a doctor soothed her whenever she felt alone or neglected by her peers.

And she did love being a doctor, despite the fact that it was very different than she had envisioned. She didn't even mind that her first practice was in the hill town of Turkey Hollow, North Carolina. Because of the staggering debt she had incurred in medical school, the only way she could pay it back was by working in an under-served, rural area. And Turkey Hollow, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, was the poster child of under-served, rural areas. If she hung in there for five years, almost all of her debt would be forgiven.

That she ended up in Turkey Hollow was a complete accident. Having lived her whole life in the city, she had no idea how to pick a "rural area" in which to work, so she just put her finger down on the list in the placement office and took what fate handed her.

Actually, other than the fact that there was very little to do for entertainment, now that she didn't have to spend all her time studying, she liked little Turkey Hollow. She hadn't thought air could be so clean, and smell so fresh. The people were a little standoffish, but she didn't mind that. She'd never had a lot of friends, after all. The cost of living was dirt cheap and, while men still glanced her way, they were a lot more polite about it than the men she'd been around before this.

On top of that she had a wonderful mentor in Doctor Robert Kimble, who was old enough to be her father but insisted she call him Bob. Even after only a few months, she was convinced he knew everything under the sun about medicine. The clinic didn't have all the latest and greatest equipment, but Bob taught her how to do things the old fashioned way. Nine times out of ten it was just as fast and just as good as some technique newer and much more expensive.

So she settled in and was happy with her new life. Hill people weren't demanding about things. If you could help them, they were appreciative. If you couldn't help them, then they lived with that fact and did the best they could.

Then, just five months into the job, Bob had fallen ill. He was going to require gall bladder surgery and would be out of the office for weeks. Angela panicked, until he put his arm around her and told her she'd do fine.

"You're my doctor too," he said softly. "So buck up, and carry on. I'm only a phone call away if you want to consult."

Today was, in fact, her very first day without him there to lean on. Still, things had seemed almost maddeningly normal thus far.

"What's next, Holly?" she asked, turning toward the reception desk.

Holly Cranston was a Turkey Hollow girl, born and bred, and the only time she'd ever been away from town was to go stay with her uncle to go to the Vo-Tech over in Durham. It seemed that Doctor Kimble had saved her father's life after an accident in the mine, and becoming an LPN was how she repaid him. She was also the receptionist, bookkeeper, and any other title that was needed at a given moment.

Holly had a great attitude, partly, in Angela's opinion, because she had come back home and married well. Danny Cranston was a soft spoken young man who brought Holly lunch every day, and then stayed to eat with her. Holly brought home the bacon, and Danny stayed home and took care of their little girl. They lived with Holly's mother, who babysat each day during lunch.

"I got a live one for you," said Holly softly, but with a gleam in her eye. Angela's eyes automatically went to the waiting area, where there were only two people, sitting side by side. The pinch-faced woman looked worn, like most older women looked in this town, having worked hard her entire life. The strapping young man sitting next to her brought thoughts of Paul Bunyan to mind.

"Mrs. Fisher?" called Holly. "The doctor will see you now."

Both of them stood up.

"Where's Doc Kimble?" asked the woman, looking suspiciously at Angela.

"He had to have an operation," said Holly. "Don't that beat all? This here is Doctor Webber."

The woman shuffled over to Angela and peered into her face.

"You're a real doctor?"

"I am," said Angela, smiling.

"Good 'nuff," said the woman. "Come on, Dub. Let's get this taken care of."

"Ma," moaned the young man, still seated. "She's a woman, Ma."

"Dub, don't make me call you twice," warned Mrs. Fisher.

He stood, and the Paul Bunyan image firmed in Angela's mind. He had to be at least six-three, and looked like his arms were made of oak.

Angela looked at Holly and raised an eyebrow. Holly shrugged and said, "She'll tell you all about it."


In the exam room, Angela offered Mrs. Fisher a chair, looked at Dub, pointed at the exam table and said, "Have a seat there." Mrs. Fisher kept her feet, ignoring the chair.

"So," said Angela, somewhat at a loss for words. “What seems to be the problem today?"

"Don't know if there is a problem," said the older woman. “My cousin Mildred has one of them tee vee things at home, and t'other night she was a-talkin' about this commercial for that Viagra stuff? Anyways, she said they was saying that iff'n a man has a 'rection for more than four hours to see a doctor, cause it kin be a 'mergency."

Angela looked at Dub. He was the only person in the room who might have taken Viagra, though that was ridiculous. He could only be nineteen at most.

"Ma," he complained. "It goes away after a while."

"And sometimes it don't," countered his mother. She looked at Angela. "So how bad is it if he has a 'rection for more than four hours?"

Angela looked at Dub. "You're taking Viagra?"

"No, he ain't," said his mother.

"I'm confused," admitted Angela, looking back at the boy, and trying to figure out why his mother would know information of such an intimate nature. "Can you start at the beginning?"

Mrs. Fisher clenched her jaw, but then started talking.

"We have to heat our water for baths on the stove. So we got's to share, you know? And whenever he's in there, and his sisters go in to get in with him, he gets a 'rection. An it don't go down, cause they like to tease him, even if I beat 'em, cause they think it's funny. Least ways I hope they just think it's funny. They's more than once that I got a sniff of excited girl at bedtime, and that was after the baths.

Angela clenched her own teeth, primarily to keep her jaw from dropping open. She reminded herself that she was in the hills now, and that customs were different. She tried to concentrate on the medical issue, rather than the social ones. She turned to Dub.

"And sometimes these erections last longer than four hours?"

His face flamed red and he ducked his eyes. "Yes Ma'am."

"Even if you mas-" She stopped and darted a look at the boy's mother. She was completely out of her depth here. She knew, academically, that masturbation was considered a terrible thing in some subcultures. She had no idea if this was one of them or not.

"So is it really bad?" asked Mrs. Fisher. "'Cause we cain't afford for Dub to be down."

Because it put her in scholastic mode, which soothed her, Angela jumped at the explanation.

"If blood is trapped in the penis too long it can clot," she said. "That can deny some parts of the organ fresh blood and oxygen. If tissue dies, it can result in gangrene."

Mrs. Fisher's reaction was nothing short of astonishing.

"You can't cut my boy's peter off!" She almost swooned.

"What?" Dub sounded like something had already been cut off, rending him a soprano, instead of the baritone he really was.

"That's only in extreme cases," said Angela quickly. "If he's not taking anything to artificially maintain an erection, it should go flaccid on its own."

"He ain't taking anything," said Mrs. Fisher firmly. "Them girls just won't leave him alone is all. I been tryin' to avoid this, but as fer as I kin tell, what he really needs is to learn how to make it go down on his own."

Angela blinked. "He doesn't know how?"

The woman looked at Angela. "His pappy died in the mine when he was only eleven. He's been the man of the house ever since. Twin sisters, and no brothers." She blinked. "And I for sure as hell ain't a-gonna teach him myself."

"You want me to teach him how to ..."

"I fer sure as hell don't want nobody cuttin' off his peter neither," said Mrs. Fisher, undaunted. "He ain't used it much yet, but he'll need it one of these days. Once the girls get a couple of years older they'll be off makin' babies, I 'spect. I just need to make sure they don't start on that with Dub here, afore they leave home. So he needs to know how to get rid of them boners of his so they ain't no good to the girls. Then maybe they'll lose interest.

The door opened and Holly stepped in.

"We'll take it from here, Mrs. Fisher," she said briskly. "Don't you worry a bit. When he leaves here today he'll be up to snuff on the issue at hand."

The woman nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for someone to say things like that. "Issue at hand," she said under her breath. Then her worn face beamed briefly, showing a smile that was obviously rare. "That's kinda funny," she said. She snorted, went serious again and, without a word, left the room.

"I was listening," said Holly, in explanation of why she had burst in.

"This is ridiculous," spluttered Angela. "We can't teach him to ... "

"Why not?" asked Holly. "It is to avoid a medical complication, after all."

"Having an erection is not a medical complication," said Angela heatedly.

"It is if it lasts longer than four hours," said Holly smugly.

Angela's eyes narrowed. "You want to do this!" she accused.

"I'm not doing anything," said Holly firmly. "I'm married, and you're the doctor." She turned to Dub, who was sitting there looking on interestedly. "We'll be right with you, Dub. Just be patient."

Angela's eyes jerked to her ... patient. She had forgotten he was there. Something occurred to her. Mothers didn't always know everything. Her own mother never knew that Angela, who had a completely normal load of hormones when she was a teenager, had rubbed off like crazy under the covers most nights.

"I'm sure you already know how to masturbate," she said, her voice level.

"If that's got something to do with fishing, I might," he said helpfully. "I kin find just about any kind of bait you want, and I know where to use it and all that."

"No," said Angela, impatiently. "Masturbate. With your penis."

"I ain't using my willy for no kind of bait, Ma'am," he said firmly. "And I ain't gonna let nobody cut it off neither."

"She's talking about whackin' off, Dub," said Holly, smiling slightly. "You know ... spanking the monkey? Chafing the weasel? Choking the chicken?"

Angela's jaw dropped before she could stop it. She stared at Holly.

"I have wrung the necks of a might few chickens," said Dub, looking confused. "But we don't have no monkeys or weasels around our place."

"Dub," said an exasperated Holly. "Don't you ever rub your pecker up and down when it's stiff?"

"You mean in the bathtub?" He brightened. "Sure. Feels mighty nice too."

"Yes, that!" said Holly. "But don't you ever do it in private, maybe in your bedroom?"

"I don't do nothing in private," he said. "We don't have private at our house. They's only three rooms. Ma sleeps in one. Me an the girls sleep in another, an nobody sleeps in the other one, 'cause that's where the stove and the table and chairs and that kind of thing is."

"You sleep with your sisters?" squeaked Angela.

"Where else would I sleep?" he asked. "I help keep 'em warm in the winter time."

"I do not believe this," sighed Angela.

"I'm tellin' the truth, Ma'am," said Dub, obviously distressed. "I swear on Tillie Walker's grave I am."

"Who's Tillie Walker?" asked Angela, blinking.

"Never mind," said Holly. "This isn't a problem. We just show him what to do and send him on his merry way."


"Okay, you."


"As I said, you're the doctor." Holly grinned. "Don't worry. I'll be here for moral support."

"There's nothing moral about this," grumbled Angela. She leaned close to Holly. "I've never done this!" she whispered. "I don't know what to do either."

It was Holly's jaw that dropped then. She frowned, and then smiled. "Don't tell me you're a virgin," she said.

"That's none of your business!" snapped Angela.

Holly covered her mouth. "A package like that and it's never been opened?” She held up a hand as thunderclouds gathered on Angela's face. "Okay, okay. There's nothing to it. I'll help you explain it, and then he can take it from there." She turned to Dub. "All right, young man. The doctor is going to tell you what to do make your erection go away the next time you have one."

"Like now?" he asked hopefully.

Both women stared at him. Holly asked carefully "Do you have an erection now, Dub?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said.

"Why?" asked Angela. Holly snorted, but Dub stole her thunder.

"It always happens whenever I'm around a purty woman," he said. His eyes flicked back and forth between Holly and the Doctor. "Two purty women," he corrected, apparently afraid one of them might be offended if she wasn't included in the category.

"Why thank you, Dub," cooed Holly.

"You're welcome," he said dutifully.

"Oh good grief," said Angela. "This is ridiculous. Drop your pants."

Dub stood, his head only half a foot from the ceiling tiles. He unbuckled his trousers and pushed them down. He wasn't wearing underwear.

Both women froze.

"Oh my word!" sighed Holly.


“It can't be real," whispered Angela.

"He doesn't need a doctor ... he needs a veterinarian!" yipped Holly.

"What's wrong?" asked Dub, looking down at his crotch.

What all three people in the room were now staring at was a stalk, reminiscent of a hickory sapling, stripped of its bark, and just a little shy of being the right size to fashion a policeman's billy club from. The white shaft jutted from a forest of thick brown hair. It leaned to one side, and slightly upwards, but was otherwise straight as an arrow. If you're thinking John Holmes, you're pretty much right on the money.

"It's enormous!" said Holly.

"It is?" asked Dub.

Angela leaned forward, peering to see if there was a seam somewhere. She was half convinced this whole thing was some prank, done in extremely poor taste. After thirty seconds of inspection, though, she had to admit it was obviously real. Nothing had been glued on or slipped over the real thing. Her eyes fell to the testes under it. They were dark brown and swollen. She'd never seen any that large or that swollen.

"Are you in pain?" she asked.

"No Ma'am," he answered.

She remembered bits and pieces of both formal education and school yard lore. The term "blue balls" flitted through her mind. She'd always thought that boys had invented the alleged malady to get girls to do something out of pity. If this young man had never ejaculated though, based on those testes, she could believe the condition both existed and was, in fact, painful.

Except that he said he wasn't in pain.

"Are your testes always that full?" she asked.

"My what?"

"Your nuts," said Holly.

His hand went to feel them, as if he couldn't see past his penis. "They feel all right to me," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"You're just hung like a horse," said Holly. "That's all."

He laughed. "No I ain't. I seen plenty of horse dicks, and they're at least twice as long as mine. Maybe more."

"Where's a tape measure?" asked Holly.

Angela whirled. "You are not going to measure that thing!" she barked.

"Party pooper," said Holly, grinning.

The door of the outer office opened and closed. Holly reached for the knob of the exam room door. "I'll just go see who that is."

"You can't leave me here alone with him!" yipped Angela.

"Oh grow up," said Holly. "You're a doctor. He needs to learn to beat off. How hard can that be?"

She opened the door, slipped out, and closed it firmly.


Perhaps it was the fact that she was rattled. Maybe there was something else going on. After all, deep in her subconscious, she had all the needs and urges that any other woman had. She'd just never let them out. She'd been too busy.

It would have been relatively simple to say, "Dub, grab your peter and stroke it like you were washing it in the bathtub." Then, while he did so, she could have urged him to keep rubbing until the desired result was achieved.

But, flustered as she was, that's not what she did. Instead, she sat on the short steel stool in front of the patient ... and reached for the thing that so fascinated her.

Education is the basis for understanding, and understanding is the basis for making the best choices. So education is a good thing. In the next few minutes there was a lot of education going on in that exam room.

The first thing Angela thought of as her hand closed around the warm, throbbing shaft was that it felt completely different than she expected it to. It looked so cold and hard that she expected to feel cold and hard. It was neither. There was an undeniable firmness to it, of course, but it gave slightly where her fingers pressed into it, and it was so warm that her first thought was that he might have a fever. Her second thought was astonishment at how good this thing felt in her hand. Her third thought was that, while she knew it was larger than normal, it felt like her hand fit it perfectly. She gripped a little tighter and moved her hand up and down experimentally several times.

The only thing that Dub thought of was that her hand felt about a thousand times better than his own did when he gripped it. A thousand times is a lot.

"Ohhhh wow," he sighed.

"Does that feel nice?" asked Angela, and then felt stupid immediately. Of course it felt nice. Still his breathy, "Oh yeah!" made her feel good in ways she hadn't felt good in a long time.

It was then she realized what she was doing. She let go of the thick stalk like it was on fire and leaned back. She felt her face heat up and knew she was blushing.

"Uh ... well ... that's what you're supposed to do," she mumbled.

"Like this?" he asked. His big hand went to grip his member. He skinned it up and down the shaft a couple of times."

"Yes," she said, staring at the tip.

He let go and leaned back on both hands. "It feels a whole bunch better when you do it," he commented.

"I really shouldn't," she sighed.

"How come?"

"Because I'm a woman and you're a man and this is strange enough as it is," she said.

"But it feels so much better when you do it," he complained.

"Dub, you're going to have to do this whenever you get an erection. I won't be there to do it for you then, now will I?"

"You're here now," he suggested hopefully.

She ignored him. "Now keep rubbing it up and down until I tell you to stop."

He looked unhappy, but reached for his rod again. His hand settled into a relatively smooth rhythm.

"Does feel good," he commented calmly.

"And you've really never done this?" she asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

"Just in the bathtub," he said. "It's always felt good, but it don't take hardly no time to get it clean."

"Well we're going to go longer today," she said.

"I can see why," he sighed. "This feels really good!"

"Excellent," she said. "You'll keep doing this until you have an ejaculation. Semen will come out and then your penis will relax."

It sounded academic and, truth be told, Angela was thinking about it academically, for the most part. She was fascinated by watching the slab of meat be manipulated, but she expected something fairly academic in the end.

Dub, on the other hand, didn't know what was coming at all. Such things normally being the product of instinct though, as it felt better and better, he speeded up, until he was flailing away at what Mamma referred to as his "root".

"Damn," he panted. "It just feels better and better. It's even starting to hurt, kind of, except it's a good hurt."

"That means you're close to ejaculating," said Angela, leaning forward. "Keep going.

The culmination of her efforts was, in fact, academic, but it was academic in the same way that Newton's discovery of gravitational theory was academic. Both had spectacular consequences.

To put it in the most simple frame of reference, Dub's face scrunched up and his penis produced semen. The problem was that Angela, who had never actually seen an ejaculation before, was expecting it to be the half-ounce that the books in med school had said was normal. She also assumed it would dribble out of the tip of the penis which, were that penis ensconced snugly in a vagina, would have been the perfect outcome. The half-ounce of semen would be deposited politely at the cervical mouth, and the sperm in the semen would then do what sperm were supposed to do. It never occurred to her that, considering his abnormal size, his ejaculation might be other than normal as well.

Her first clue, and most definitely part of her education that day, came when, for a split second, her eyes registered a stream of thick white erupt from the slit in the end of his penis. After that split second, she couldn't see anything except a world that was suddenly foggy. Her mind registered the fact that what had been way more semen than she was expecting ... had just hit her in the face and splashed into both eyes. Her head went up and back, instinctively, but it was too late. Then the second spurt splatted against her upper lip where it made a seal on her upper teeth.

Her hands came up as she lurched backward with a shriek. Her body overbalanced on the short steel stool and she fell backwards to land with a solid thump on her back. All the air in her lungs blew out of her lips in a rush.

Dub, who had just about decided he'd done something wrong, because his penis suddenly felt like it was on fire, was both shocked and surprised to feel something soothing race through it. That something soothing leapt out of the tip of his root like he was in a pissing contest and impacted the doctor's face right between her blond eyebrows, where the top of her nose was. Before he could react to that, though, another stream of the white stuff was launched. It felt just as good coming out. He watched that shot strike her lips and then all hell broke loose as she screeched and fell backwards. He saw a cloud of droplets that looked just like his white stuff blast upwards from her mouth.

He let go of his root, even though he wanted to keep rubbing it, and lurched forward, passing by the stool to stand over the doctor. His intent was to help her up, but she wasn't trying to get up. Instead her mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her fingers were scrabbling at her eyes, wiping his stuff out of them and she was shaking all over like she was having a fit.

"You okay?" he asked fearfully.

The door to the room flew open and Holly, wild-eyed and brandishing a stapler, burst in. Her eyes took in Dub, standing over Angela, his horse cock still naked and hanging, dripping onto the doctor, who was gurgling and wiping what looked like cake frosting from her eyes.

"She fell down!" said Dub helpfully.

Chapter Two

Angela was again sitting on the metal stool. Holly was swabbing her face with gauze and paper towels. Dub had been told to "put that thing away!" and was standing next to the two women, wringing his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said for perhaps the tenth time. "I didn't know that was gonna happen."

"I know," said Angela. She licked her lips and realized his semen was both on them and had gotten in her mouth. Her education went on as she then realized that the taste was not going to make her throw up. She'd always been sure that, if anything like that ever got in her mouth (which she was quite sure she would never allow) that she'd simply puke her guts out. Instead, she was shocked to find that the taste, though indescribable, was not offensive at all.

"It's all right, Dub. I didn't quite know what to expect either, apparently."

"Are you sure you're okay?" he moaned. "My ma will kill me if I hurt you."

"There," said Holly standing back. "The worst of it is taken care of." She surveyed the woman and saw a blob of semen in her hair. She dabbed at that with the paper towel. "Your blouse is stained, though," said Holly. "You need to go home and change."

"Sure," said Angela, sounding defeated.

"Hey, come on," said Holly. "It's not the end of the world. A year from now we'll be laughing about this."

"If you mention this a year from now you're fired!" snapped Angela.

"I'm really sorry!" moaned Dub, unhappy with the sound of discord.

Angela whirled to face him. "Whenever you get a damn boner, just do that to make it go away! Got it?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said, ducking his head. "Can I go now?"

"Oh yes," said Angela. "We are very finished."

"Go on home yourself," said Holly to Angela. "You don't have any more appointments today and it's only an hour from closing time anyhow. If there are any emergencies I'll call you. Get cleaned up and relax and you'll feel much better," she finished.

Angela looked down at the semen stains on her front. She couldn't help licking her lips again, feeling like she should cringe. She didn't taste anything this time. She'd never thought about what it would be like the first time she did anything sexual. Well that wasn't technically correct. Rather, her thoughts about sex had been misty and lacked detail. She certainly hadn't thought her first experience with semen would be to get it all over her. She sighed.

"Yeah, I could use a bath right now," she said.


Angela opened the door of the house and went in, glad, for once, that Bob wasn't there. When she had interviewed for the job and he had offered it to her, he also offered to let her stay in a spare room at his house until she found her own place. He still lived in the big old two story house he'd raised his family in. His kids were all grown and gone, and he said he'd never gotten around to getting a smaller place after his wife had died. She was looking forward to a quiet evening so she could recover from her day.

She groaned as she slid into the hot water, looking forward to the relaxation she knew a hot soak in the tub would provide. She let her head slide under the water until her hair was floating beside her face, and then pushed with her feet to make her head and neck slide back up out of the water.

She lay there, just vegging out. What a day. Nobody would believe it ... not that she ever intended on telling anyone about it. That little fiasco was the last thing in the world she'd ever share with anyone.

She lay there until the water began to cool, and then quickly and efficiently washed her body. She decided to wash her hair later. She was suddenly hungry.

She drained the tub while she dried off. The cool air on her skin felt wonderful after the heat, so she just stayed naked while she padded to the kitchen. It was another plus to her mentor being gone.

Opening the fridge, she looked for something to snack on while she put leftovers in the microwave for supper. She saw a box of Velveeta sitting next to a tube of summer sausage and pulled both out.

As her hand poised, holding the knife over the thick tube of sausage, an image of Dub Fisher's penis flashed into her mind. She snorted. He was big, but he wasn't that big. Still, she couldn't help but wince, though, as she cut into the meat. Feeling silly, she picked up the tube to re-wrap the end, and found herself staring at it. She felt her nipples crinkle and tingle, and looked down to see they were erect. While she had no real experience with sex, that didn't mean she was uneducated about the things people did while they were engaged in it.

"This is ridiculous," she said out loud.

Her hand squeezed the firm tube of meat and she licked her lips. She couldn't believe she was thinking about trying to put the round end of the sausage in her mouth. It was horrifying! It wouldn't fit! What was even more confusing was that she had never in her life contemplated putting her mouth on any penis, real or imagined!

She was standing no more than six feet from the door in the outside wall of the kitchen, which let out of the side of the house, when someone thumped on it repeatedly. She was so startled that the slippery summer sausage flew up into the air. She squawked and tried to catch it, but it evaded her and bounced to the floor. The thumping came again and she looked at the door.

Then, to her horror, she saw movement in the window beside the door. A face pressed to the window, and two hands formed brackets around the face as Dub Fisher peered into her kitchen.

"Doc?" he called. "Are you home?"

She saw his eyes move around the room and find her. She saw them fix on her. She saw his eyes widen and his mouth drop open as he realized she was stark naked. Her hands fluttered in a vain attempt to cover three things with only two obstructions.

"Dub!" she squealed, turning around. She looked over her shoulder to see him still there ... still looking at her through the window.

"Good!" he called out. "You are home!"


Angela ran from the kitchen. Thoroughly flustered, she slipped into her robe and then returned. She opened the door two inches.

"What are you doing here, Dub?" she asked.

"Mamma sent me with your pay," he said. He stepped back and held out two chickens. He was holding them by the neck and they were both very dead. "I'm supposed to help you get them ready for the pot or freezer, whichever you want."

"I just got out of the bathtub, Dub," she said.

"That's nice," he said, smiling widely.

"I don't have anything on," she tried again.

"I kind of saw that. Sorry. I was just tryin' to see if you was here."

She looked at the tall young man, holding two dead chickens, and decided her life had entered the realm of science fiction.

"You can't pay me with chickens, Dub," she sighed.

"It's all we got," he said, looking worried. "An I wasn't s'posed to kill 'em until I got here, but they was peckin' at me, so I carried em by the neck an I guess I squeezed too hard, so we need to get 'em cleaned right quick."

"I don't know how to clean a chicken!" she yelped.

"It's okay. I do," he smiled. "You just get a big pot about half full of boiling water and I'll show you."

Angela found herself backpedaling as he put a shoulder into the door and pushed it open. She instinctively pulled the upper part of the short robe together to cover her cleavage.

"How big a pot?" she asked, slightly dazed.

"Big enough go dunk a whole bird," he said, laying the chickens on the counter.

"I don't think we have a pot that big," she said.

"Then a bucket will do. You prob'ly don't have a hatchet either, huh? How about a butcher knife?"

She dug through a drawer and handed him the biggest knife she could find, watching in horror as he held each carcass over the sink and casually lopped the heads off. He held the birds up while blood drained into the sink, and then left them there as he washed his hands. He turned around.

"The boilin' water?"


Angela looked at the two chickens with something like awe. They looked just like the ones in the store now, except they were fuller, plumper somehow. She wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of wet feathers, remembering how he had dunked each bird into the bucket of boiling water and then, like magic, stroked them in some mystical way that made the feathers just fall off into the trash can.

She had seen in his hands the same skill a surgeon had then, as he quickly and efficiently butchered the now bald carcasses. The whole process had taken no more than ten minutes per bird once the water was boiling.

She watched him bundle one chicken up in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer. He had already offered to cook the other one for her and, at a loss for words, she had simply nodded. He called for things and she supplied them, until there were suddenly browning pieces of chicken in a pan of hot oil.

"You got any taters?"

She looked up at his face to find he was staring at her cleavage. She looked down. The robe had loosened as she moved around and he was getting a good view.

"I need to put something on," she said.

"I wish you wouldn't," he said.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"It's just that you're so pretty that way," he said. "Almost as pretty as when I saw you through the window."

"Dub!" she yipped.

"What" He asked.

"You're not supposed to say things like that to a woman!" she barked.

"Why not?" he asked. "It's true."

"Yes, but you can't just tell a woman you like looking at her naked," moaned Angela, frustrated with his innocence.

"Oh," he said. "Okay. How about them taters?"

She found half a bag of potatoes in the pantry and then somehow found herself in conversation with her "guest" as he boiled some potatoes and then mashed them, adding milk and butter he found in the fridge. He poked through the cupboards until he found spices, and started adding them too.

He asked her where she came from, and about her family. She found out he worked at the feed mill in town, unloading trucks and then loading others. He wanted to know what medical school had been like. Despite the gap in their educational and social status, she found herself quite comfortable with him. He was innocent, but he wasn't stupid in the least. Eventually he asked about her boyfriend, who he referred to as "manfriend."

"I don't have one, Dub," she said.

He looked astonished. "I don't know all that much about courtin' and all that, cause I ain't never got to do any. I danced with some girls at the ice cream social and all, but that was different. But you're so beautiful. I can't just hardly believe no man has chased after you."

"Thank you," said Angela softly, remembering Holly saying the same thing, and finally realizing why she had smiled when she said it. As a compliment it was a little rough, but it was obviously from the heart. "I can't believe you don't have a lady friend of your own either."

"Oh, Mamma says we got enough mouths to feed at home," he said dismissively. "And she says she don't need some girl movin' in trying to take over her house."

"Well I think you're supposed to move into your own house when you get married," said Angela, smiling.

"They need me there," he said. "They'd starve without me to take care of them. Mamma takes in wash, but she cain't do much because of her arthritis. There ain't no work for my sisters. Jed Turnbull is sparkin' Lula Mae, and she's sweet on him, but Mamma says she cain't do nothing about it until they graduate. She feels bad that I had to drop out. It's Lula Mae that won't leave me alone whenever I get all stiff, like you cured me of today."

"I didn't cure you, Dub," said Angela hiding her smile behind her hand. "You'll get erections for the rest of your life."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know. I got one when I saw you nekkid through the window." Angela's jaw dropped at his casual reference and then he threw her for another loop by looking around and saying "I didn't find any fresh snap beans, so I s'pose we'll have to do with some from a can. You got any in the pantry? I need to keep turning this chicken or it'll burn."


Angela leaned back in her chair and sighed. She'd felt odd, sitting at Doc Kimble's kitchen table in nothing more than a short robe, but only until she'd taken her first bite of fried chicken. It was astounding.

She was quite sure she'd eaten fried chicken before. She even remembered doing it, but it had never been like this. And the potatoes just melted in her mouth. She was in heaven by her fourth forkful, moaning with joy at the sensations in her mouth.

She didn't even care about her fingers getting greasy as she tore off a chunk of chicken with her teeth and chewed. "You're a good cook!" she mumbled.

He shrugged. "Been cookin' since Mamma's arthritis got bad," he said. “You do it a lot and it gets to be a habit I guess. This ain't nothing special."

"You can cook for me any time," she moaned.

"Okay," he said, and she realized he had accepted an offer that was made rhetorically.

Now she felt like she had eaten too much and was sure she must look like she had a beer belly. She watched as he basically destroyed the rest of the chicken. She'd eaten two pieces, and he'd eaten the rest. There wasn't much left in the bowl of potatoes either and if she'd have opened a second can of green beans she was sure they'd be gone too.

She looked down and saw crumbs from the breaded chicken on the lapels of her robe. Her fingers were greasy, but she just didn't feel like moving to go wash them.

"I ate like a pig," she sighed.

"No you didn't," he said, as usual taking her literally.

"I look like I ate like a pig," she argued.

"No you don't," he said firmly.

She held up her hands. "Look at me!" she complained.

He got up, grabbed the towel hanging from the oven handle, ran hot water on it, and then came around to her side of the table. He took the chair next to her and sat in it, facing her. He reached for a hand and began to clean it with the hot towel.

Astonished, she turned automatically to face him and, in the process, somehow ended up with her knees on either side of his right one. She was painfully aware that the short robe might be displaying parts of her he'd only seen through the window, but she wouldn't look down to assess the damage. His eyes were on the hand he was cleaning.

It was while he was on her other hand, carefully cleaning each greasy finger, that she found herself staring at the lump in the front of his pants.

"You're still hard," she said and then realized she'd said it out loud.

"Yeah," he said carelessly.

Her embarrassment drifted away. He wasn't embarrassed. Why should she be?

"Have you been hard the whole time you were here?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he said. He was finally happy with the last finger and put her hand down. It landed on one of her bare thighs.

She looked down then, and saw a tuft of blond hair plainly visible beneath the front of her robe. His knee was only an inch from that hair.

Warmth flooded her groin, and Angela realized with academic detachment that she was aroused. She accepted the fact calmly, and was briefly surprised that she was so calm. She was even more surprised at how calmly she said the next thing.

"It's been that way quite a while. I suppose you should do something about it."

"You think so?" he asked. "Can I do it here?"


"Well, I ain't the smartest man around," he said, "but if I do this at home, with the girls watchin' I 'spect that's not gonna go over too good."

"You're supposed to do it in private," said Angela, imagining this tall, brawny man surrounded by teenage girls, watching him masturbate. She shivered. "Like in the bathroom."

"Oh," he said.

Warning bells went off in Angela's head, but she spoke anyway.

"But you can do it here if you like."

"I'd like that," he said. "I like doin' it with you watching." He frowned. "I don't know why, but I just do." He looked startled. "Unless you want me to do it in the bathroom here," he amended.

She felt more waves of warmth spread through her body. He was so honest and open. There was nothing fake or contrived about him. It was astonishing how much that attracted her. And his innocence was genuine. She just knew that. She didn't feel any fear of him in the slightest.

"That won't be necessary," she said.


True to form Dub had stood, ready to drop his drawers and take care of business right there in the kitchen. Remembering his face at the window, though, she took him into the bedroom instead. More warning klaxons sounded in her mind, but she ignored them. She had never felt like this around a man, and it was intoxicating.

She had astounded herself by suggesting that he'd be more comfortable if he took his clothes off, rather than just pushing his pants down. It was when he stood before her naked, in all his masculine glory, that she knew she'd made a mistake.

She stared at his broad chest, with its underlying muscles. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him, and his biceps were enormous. Standing there like that, his penis looked strangely normal, compared with the rest of him. He was simply a giant of a man ... everywhere.

"You can lie on the bed," she said, her voice quivering. "I'll get a towel to catch your ..." She was unable to finish, and went into the bathroom, where she grabbed the towel she had dried off with. She had an errant thought that with this towel, in a manner of speaking, she had cleaned his last ejaculation off of her body. Now it was going to get a full dose straight from the source.

He was lying on his side, his head propped on one hand, while his other hand idly stroked his rampant rod.

"I wish I'd learned to do this a long time ago," he said. "It feels so good."

She sat on the edge of the bed to arrange the towel where she thought it would do the best job and then, for some reason she didn't think too much about, just stayed there to watch.

"I won't get it on you tonight," he promised, his voice serious.

"It didn't hurt me, she said.

"It knocked you over!" he objected.

"I was just surprised. I lost my balance."

"Oh, that makes me feel better. It came out awful hard."

"That's true," she said, smiling. "You're a very healthy man, Dub."

She watched him watching his hand as he stroked his cock.

"It feels so good to do this that I kind of hate to get to the end," he commented.

"Getting to the end is the whole point," she said. Her nipples were painfully hard and she resisted the urge to reach for them and squeeze them.

"Yeah, but it feels so good!" he argued. "The only thing that felt better was when you were doing it."

"Do you want me to do it now?"

It had just slipped out. She hadn't meant to say it. She held her breath.

"Would you?" His anticipation and excitement were so genuine that the warning voice screeching in her mind suddenly dimmed as she ignored it.

"I guess I could," she whispered.

Somehow he knew that it would be awkward for her to reach across the bed to touch him. He bounced, somehow, landing on his back right beside her while reaching for the pillow with both big hands and stuffing it behind his head. He put his hands beside his hips, and his right one landed on her thigh.

All she had to do was reach for it, and then there it was, in her hand, throbbing like it had earlier, feeling so very normal for such an abnormal thing. Her hand slid loosely up, tightened, and then pushed downward. She watched the foreskin slide effortlessly off the big purple knob of the tip. As her hand rode back up, the knob disappeared, almost as if by magic.

"Oh yeah," he sighed. "I don't know why it feels so different, or so much better, but it does."

"Yes it does," she said, her voice a little dazed.

As she thought about it later, Angela was sure it would have all worked out flawlessly but for one small problem. Never having done this before, she didn't know how to do it properly, or at least efficiently. That became clear when, after five ... then ten ... and finally an exhausting fifteen minutes, it simply didn't erupt like it was supposed to.

Not that he complained. He wasn't unhappy. That much was obvious too. He wiggled and squirmed and told her many times how wonderful she was making him feel.

Another thing she was figured out later was that because she was so out of her element, she allowed a small pebble to move that resulted in the avalanche she suddenly found herself buried in. It was his comment "I wish there was something I could do to make you feel this good too!"

What happened after that was something that had transpired so quickly that she could scarcely parse out the individual parts. Somehow she had ended up lying beside him, her robe open and her hand on his, guiding it between her legs. She was quite sure she had told him what to do, but could not, for the life of her, remember actually saying the words. What she could remember was his thick finger penetrating her, and the insane joy that caused. It would not be until much later that they would discover that, in the excitement of her own orgasm, her hand on him sped up, and finally coaxed his gift from those huge testicles.

The outcome was as spectacular as the one earlier that had caused so much embarrassment. But it was memorable in different ways that would resonate with them both for a long, long time. He was lying on the towel that was supposed to catch his issue. When he spurted, his cock was between them, and he painted her breasts, abdomen and chin with his thick semen. She felt the heat of it, but the zings of her own completion were more important at the moment.

It wasn't until they had slowed, both spent, and were catching their breath, that she regained her senses.

Her feelings then were a complicated mixture of acknowledgement that something important had happened, mixed with horror, embarrassment, gratitude and even sadness that it had happened so fast that she couldn't remember nearly as much of it as she wanted to.

Unable to cope, she simply got up and ran to the bathroom, turning on the shower and jumping in to wash his fluids off her body.

In her defense, it is unlikely that anyone in her situation would be likely to remember the fact that this man was both used to and perfectly comfortable bathing with a member of the opposite sex.

Chapter Three

Angela jumped, genuinely startled, when he stepped into the shower behind her. She had been on the verge of breaking down and sobbing, and all she could do was hold her breath to try not to do that. She stiffened, and then his hand reached past her to take the soap from the dish on the wall.

The feel of his soapy hands on her shoulders was probably what saved her from freaking out. He didn't grab her breasts, or dart his hand between her legs. He simply washed her, his hands sliding soothingly across her back, kneading slightly when they found tight muscles, which was almost everywhere. Efficiently he dealt with her back, buttocks and upper legs. When he squatted behind her one hand went between her legs, mirrored by the other on the outside. Together they slid from her ankle upwards, stopping within a hair of touching her vulva as she unconsciously stood on tiptoes. Then they slid back down and he did the other leg too. He could easily have touched her sexually, but he was merely washing her.

When he turned her around she closed her eyes, but stood, calm now, as he did her front. His hands on her breasts felt good, but somehow not sexual, and she was thinking so hard about that that she all but missed his hand sudsing up the hair above her sex. His hand dipped once, quickly between her legs, and he was finished. He turned her back around so the water could sluice the soap from her body.

His motions were practiced and efficient, and without being overtly sexual, were more erotic than anything she'd ever dreamed of. She wondered if he washed his sisters this way. If he did, it was no wonder his sisters were interested in his erections.

She felt a resurgence of the desire that had led to that insanity she'd allowed on the bed. She was trying to decide what to do about it when he stopped.

"Boy," he said. "These shower things are great. I sure wish we had one of these at home."

The incongruity of what was happening was suddenly hilarious, and Angela burst into laughter. She couldn't get over the fact that she was standing stark naked in a running shower, with a naked giant of a man right behind her. That she had just fondled that man's penis to ejaculation made her want to scream. The remembered ecstasy of feeling his finger inside her, so different than her own, made her want to moan. That what seemed uppermost in his mind was how great a shower was made her almost fall down with laughter.

Later she would decide it was his unbelievable innocence that disguised the equally unbelievable danger of continuing what had somehow gotten started. At any rate, as she laughed, she turned, to share her joy with the man who was responsible for it.

She looked up at his face, which had a smile on it. She felt the water from the jets hitting the top of her head. His broad chest shone inches from her face.

It seemed completely normal to reach for the soap and return the favor.


Angela was astonished to find that touching him this way was undeniably sexual from the very first contact. She started with his chest, and her slippery fingers smoothed over bunches of muscles she could have named, had she been thinking in that way. But she wasn't thinking clinically. His arms hung; masses of muscle as she massaged them. His forearms were thick and firm and his wrists felt hard as rock. For reasons she couldn't identify she looked up at his face. He wasn't smiling any more, and was just staring down at her.

She knew, somehow, that if she kept going down his front, something she couldn't control would happen, so she tried to turn him. He felt as heavy as a steel safe.

"Turn around," she ordered.

He did so and she discovered more bunches of muscles on his back. He let out a little sigh as she pressed her fingers harder against his flesh and, without saying a word, communicated perfectly that what she was doing felt good. Her hands reluctantly left his back and slid to a narrow waist as she bent her knees. Then she was on one knee and his butt was right in front of her face. Even that had muscle definition in it, and this time she did think of the names of the muscles. Her hands slid to grip both cheeks. He tensed up and all she could do was dent them.

She was suddenly reminded of the last male buttocks she'd seen. It had been when she'd done a prostate exam on George Hooper under the sharp eye of her mentor. Mr. Hooper had been mightily embarrassed, and she had pinked up a bit too. She'd forgotten all about that, though, when her finger found an enlarged prostate and they began talking about what that meant.

She found herself imagining Dub's prostate, visualized it as a walnut-sized organ with a tiny little six pack on it, and laughed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning his upper body and craning his neck to look at her.

"Nothing," she said. "Have you ever had a prostate exam?"

"Seeing as how I don't know what a pros-tate is, I reckon not," he said. "Do I need one?"

Angela felt impish. This man had overpowered her out there on the bed, even if it hadn't been intentional on his part. There was no other explanation for what had happened. She had vague memories of feeling helpless, but perfectly happy at the same time, even if she wasn't in control of the situation. The urge to get something back was also overpowering.

"You should have regular exams," she said firmly. "Lean against the wall and stick your butt out," she commanded.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm going to examine your prostate," she said.


He did as he was told and she grinned as she soaped up her finger.

"This is going to feel odd," she said. "When I tell you to, try to fart."

"I don't need to fart." he said, looking over his shoulder again.

"Just try," she said.


She pulled one ass cheek aside, exposing his tight sphincter. "Okay," she said, with her soapy finger poised by his rectum. She saw the sphincter relax and drove her finger through it in one firm, quick motion, twisting her wrist so that the pad of the finger would be in position to feel his prostate. She got the briefest touch, when he leapt off the floor of the shower and yelped. She let her hand ride up with him and kept her finger where it was. He landed with his knees apart and bent.

"What the hell?" he yelled, his hand coming back to feel for hers. "You got your finger up my butt!"

"Stop!" she yelled.

"What are you doing?" he whined. He sounded like he might cry.

"Listen to me!" she ordered.

"Damn," he moaned.

"Listen to me," she said again, still firmly, but more softly. "I'm going to push on something inside of you." She found the organ and pressed. "Feel that?" she asked.

"Oh hell yes," he gasped.

"That is your prostate," she said. She slid her finger around one side of it and then back. It was, in fact, the size of a walnut and perfectly firm and healthy. She pressed to squash it."

"Ahhhhhhh," he grunted. She could hear the embarrassment in his voice and suddenly felt bad. She pulled her finger out and sudsed her hands, letting the shower water rinse them.

"It's always difficult the first time," she said, feeling lame.

"That was weird," he said, his voice muffled. "Look what it did." He turned around.

He was fully erect again.

"Is there somethin' wrong with me?" he asked, a little whine in his voice.

"No," she said softly. "A prostate exam sometimes has that effect." Not to mention, she thought, having one done under these circumstances.

"Your prostate is fine," she said.

"Oh," he said. "That's good."

"Yes, that's good," she said. She reached for the soap. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you about what was going to happen."

"It's okay, I guess," he said. "Nobody ever done that to me before. Sure felt weird."

"I'll make it up to you," she said. She lathered up her hands, and reached for his erection.


"Oh man, Doc," sighed Dub as she smoothly stroked his manhood. "You just don't know how good that feels."

"I have some idea," said Angela, who was surreptitiously rubbing her clitoris while she once again masturbated the man she could no longer think of as only her patient.

Again, it was her own orgasm that caused her hand to speed up. He warned her this time, but in the running water of the shower she didn't care. As her own streaks of insane joy washed through her body, she let his hot jets of semen splat against her chest, between her breasts and watched, fascinated as his thick organ supplied multiple spurts. She felt the thing pulse in her hand and, amazed, could already feel it becoming less firm. Curious, she slowed, milking the last drops out of it and held on as it softened even more.

Hearing him panting she looked up to see him standing with his feet spread, staring down at her with something in his eyes that made her belly flutter. His body was shielding her from the spray from the shower head. She stood, facing him, and felt his spend dripping down, across her abdomen. She looked down to see her blond pubic hair catch the drooling liquid until it was thick with viscous, white fluid.

That was a preview of The Four Hour Erection. To read the rest purchase the book.

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