Half the Man Ch. 04

Tyler spoke first. "I read over the counterproposal and quite honestly I didn't expect this. First, Mrs. Hunt continued with the only sensible request—to be held harmless from all creditors past, present, and future. Now for the surprises: Mrs. Hunt lowered the $150,000 monetary payment to a very reasonable $10,000. The request for alimony was withdrawn and finally she would make no claim on any insurance settlement that Mr. Hunt received."

Sarah was floored, "This makes absolutely no sense; it's almost as if two different people wrote the proposals!"

Dylan spoke softly, "Regardless who wrote them, can we get this settled quickly?"

"Yes, I'll write up the agreement, and if nothing else changes we should be completely finished in a few months," Tyler answered.

Sarah informed them of the status with the insurance company, "The insurance negotiations are almost finished. I've been able to secure medical expenses for ten years, and the monetary settlement is very close to being finalized. I estimate another month, and it should be done."

Dylan nodded, and thanked them all for their hard work on his behalf. He picked up his cane and walked out. When Tyler left he shook Peter's hand, and proposed that they get together to play a round of golf. He wanted to try out his new XL-5 golf balls. To Tyler's disappointment, Peter politely declined.

Before Sarah could leave, Peter asked, "Sarah I know dealing with this has been difficult for you, considering your personal ordeal is so similar to his. How are you doing?"

"As well as can be expected, and you're right it is difficult. Last week, I was an obliviously happy wife, and now I'm a statistic. So yeah, it's tough. But you know what they say, 'when the going gets tough, the tough get going.' Which with Tyler's help, I am doing. Thank you for asking though, I appreciate it," Sarah replied disconsolately.

"You are welcome Ms. Van...I'm sorry Ms. Morimoto and do remember my door is open for you too," Peter said with sincerity. Sarah hugged him and then hurried out of the conference room.

A month later and two-weeks after an agreement with the insurance company was finalized, Dylan somberly read over paperwork that would end his short marriage in ninety days.

He became indignant when he realized that his divorce would be official three weeks before what would have been their first anniversary. He never asked Mari why she restructured the divorce terms in his favor. He hadn't seen or heard from her since that day, but he certainly remembered the words she spoke when she left: 'Please just sign the papers so we can get on with our lives. I...I...I wish you well, I will re...re...member you fondly.' 'Fond' was not how he would remember her, the end of their marriage, or especially her mother 'the bitch.' But he conceded Mari was right about one thing, it was time to move on. Dylan bitterly picked up the pen and signed the documents.

Later that afternoon, Dylan asked Peter what he thought about Mari's 'change of heart'. Peter presumed the first proposal was done according to her mother's wishes without Mari's knowledge. Dylan agreed, but couldn't conceive that Mari would stand up to the bitch and make such a radical change. Regardless of why, now that the dissolution paperwork was official it just didn't matter anymore. Dylan's cell phone rang. It was the hospital confirming his surgery for the following day—the first of many.

****

Dylan touched the on-screen 'off' button, and slid his phone into his pocket. He looked up into the bright sun and thought, 'I sure hope Peter's okay. From what Ruth said, that surgery took a lot out of him. He's just as stubborn as my dad.' Dylan stretched and placed the folded newspaper under his arm. He looked over at the lunch carts on the park's perimeter, chuckled and decided tomorrow it was Emilio's—again.

Suddenly there was a shout. He turned and saw an airborne soccer ball heading his way. Spritely he chest trapped it and chipped the ball back to the kids. He grinned and continued on his way; oblivious to the blue eyes that now sparkled with excitement.

The next day at noon the weather was a carbon copy of the day before. Dylan had just taken a bite of his sandwich when several large globs of mustard hit him on the chest. He looked down at the unsightly mess on his shirt and quickly grabbed a napkin to sop up the mustard before it did even more damage. He visibly shivered when a woman squealed, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Dylan turned and faced a light beige blouse. He looked up and saw a very tall woman; one hand over her mouth, panic etched on her face. Her other held a bottle with yellow goo drooling down the sides.

"I'm so sorry sir," she said, her doe eyes full of concern, "Please let me do that—I made the mess, I should be the one to clean it up." She reached for his napkin and softly added, "Umm, my name is..."

Dylan interrupted and pulled his hand away, "No, no, it's okay I got this." He looked at the vendor who was trying very hard not to laugh. "Emilio, I know you're enjoying this, but if it's not too much trouble could you put that tank down and get me a glass of water. I'm in a bit of a mess here."

The lunch cart vendor sniggered, set the propane cylinder down and filled a paper cup to hand his sloppy customer. Emilio chortled when Dylan mouthed a sardonic 'thank you' and snatched the cup away. Dylan glared at his friend, wet the napkin and ignored the very apologetic woman while he worked on the numerous stains.

"I didn't realize the bottle was so full! I'm so sorry," she repeated for the third time.

Dylan finally glanced up and tersely replied, "Look, it's no big deal, it was an accident. So please stop with the apologies." Dylan gave up on the shirt and crossly threw the napkin into the trash followed by his sandwich.

"Can I at least buy you lunch tomorrow?" she implored as she watched him toss the barely touched sandwich into the garbage. Quickly she opened her purse and rummaged desperately through it.

"NO! Don't bother, it isn't necessary. Now if you will excuse ME." was the annoyed reply.

Frustrated she pleaded, "Please, it's the least I can do."

Aggravated, Dylan turned caustic, "Ma'am I think you've done enough, the answer is—NO! Have a nice day." Then he stalked off.

He was already across the lawn when she finally found what she was hunting for. Her eyes moistened when she realized he had already left. She stared at the small object in her hand, put her head down and softly whispered, "My name is Harper, here's my card, please call..." then she ran off clearly upset.

Emilio heard everything and could not believe how rude his young friend had been. He would have said something if he hadn't been in the middle of changing propane tanks. By the time he finished, both were gone. Customer or not, when Dylan comes by again he was going to give him a piece of his mind.

The adrenalin rush faded soon after he stormed off. The reality of his boorish behavior hit him hard, and Dylan hurried back to apologize but she was gone. He asked Emilio which way she went. Emilio didn't say, instead he tore Dylan a new asshole.

Dylan took his well-deserved scolding and went back to work. There he endured the good-natured ribbing of his coworkers while they analyzed the shirt splatter in true Rorschach fashion. He listened to the debate as they argued incessantly on what they saw. They all agreed it looked like two figures, but there was no consensus on what the yellow mottling represented. McCarthy saw dancing girls while Mahoney swore they were puppets. But Shari, ever the dreamer, hushed them both. She saw two cute cuddly puppies. All Dylan saw was red.

****

He entered his apartment and immediately kicked his shoes off. He walked with a subtle limp into the kitchen and set the mail on the table. Dylan pulled off his heavily stained shirt and contemplated the many yellow blotches. He declared it un-salvageable and tossed it by the trashcan. Shirtless, the well-muscled man went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He sat down at the table and disgustedly shook his head when he thought of his treatment of the young woman he dubbed the 'mustard lady.'

He sighed, and took a long sip of the caramel colored brew. He rolled the cold liquid in his mouth and relished the flavor. He rewound the event that resulted in his less than stellar behavior that afternoon and found the trigger that initiated his response.

'It was her innocent offer of help.'

Those words brutally reminded him of Rita, his last girlfriend. Suddenly he was reliving the events of eight months before. He groaned, cursing the images of that dark time and how they still affected him. It had taken a lot of therapy sessions to work through the pain he thought was relegated to the past—until today.

****

Dylan strolled into a neighborhood bar and found a booth in the back. Although the day went well, he was glad the presentations were finally done and looked forward to the ninety-minute drive that would take him home. He ordered a beer and scanned the happy hour menu. The waitress brought his drink, and he handed her back the menu without ordering. He admired her ass jiggle and poured a glassful. He watched the game on the big screen and enjoyed the brew. He was about to call for the check when a glass of beer hit his shoulder and spilled down the front of his shirt.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry sir!" a woman squealed, "Can someone please bring me a towel?"

Dylan grabbed a napkin but stopped when he heard, "Let me do that I made the mess, I should be the one to clean it up."

The perpetrator looked at Dylan, and flashed a smile. He returned the gesture, and handed her the napkin. She dabbed at his shirt as she gazed into his golden brown eyes. When the waitress arrived with towels, the woman took one and together they mopped up the spill.

"I am so sorry sir," the woman said once again with warmth, her green eyes brimming with hope and a bit of—lust. "I, umm, slipped and crashed into you."

He grinned and replied, "It was just an accident ma'am and the shirt will dry. But I'll smell like a brewery for a little while," Dylan joked as he admired the beautiful blonde beauty before him. He felt the familiar tingles, and hoped this was karma.

She laughed and extended her hand, "Hi, my name is Rita. Can I get you a drink to apologize for my clumsiness?"

He quickly grasped the offered hand, "Dylan, Dylan Hunt. Despite my soaked shirt, I am very pleased to meet you Rita, and in lieu of a drink—if I may be so bold—would you please sit down and join me?"

"I would love too." Her face beamed and she sat down.

They talked for several hours, exchanged numbers and made a date for the weekend. Those two days together quickly drew them closer. He liked Rita and that she was very easy on his eyes sure helped. Long blonde hair, green eyes and although perhaps a bit too slender, she had curves in all the right spots. After their third date, Dylan enjoyed the swell of her ample breasts and laughed when she playfully swatted his hand for taking liberties with her luscious ass while they walked around town. She in turn cherished his kisses and whispered that his beard tickled her so much she soaked her panties; she was slightly puzzled when he simply laughed. Rita enjoyed the feel of his muscular body, but was disgruntled that he kept removing her hand when she reached for his 'package.'

The new couple spent their fourth date at the beach and Rita gasped at how buff Dylan looked in a swimsuit. He was speechless when she came out in her cover up, and when she shed it he carnally wondered, 'How could she pack so much into such a small piece of fabric?' His awakening cock told him it didn't care how; it wanted to explore the hills and valleys soon—very soon.

It was on their next date, when things got serious. Dylan felt it was time to share more about his life, he told Rita about the auto accident and his subsequent divorce. He didn't tell her everything, but inside he hoped that someday soon he could. Rita listened to his story, and snuggled tight. She slipped her hand under his shirt and caressed his chest, then brazenly withdrew and hurriedly slid lower. When she reached his belt buckle, Dylan gently guided her back up once again. He could tell she was disappointed, but from experience he thought it was too soon. Rita was the third woman he dated seriously. When Marcia learned about his 'complication', she got up to go to the ladies room and never came back. Theresa laughed so hard that he got up from the table, threw enough money down to cover their meal and left.

Dylan tenderly pulled Rita's chin up and made it plain he was a bit gun shy. He cared about her but wanted a few more dates before taking the next step. Frustrated on the inside, she faked a smile and whispered, "Not too many more."

He laughed, kissed her hard and felt his cock throb in agreement. 'Oh yes, definitely not too many more,' he mused.

It was after their seventh date when an impatient Rita made her move and coyly asked, "You've never seen my apartment; would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

"I'd love to," was the cheery reply.

She grabbed his hand and hurried him up the stairs and inside. "Here, sit on the couch while I get out of these shoes." Before she turned towards her bedroom she kissed his cheek and playfully grabbed his crotch. "I'll be right back lover boy," she demurely said.

Dylan's cock vibrated like a cell phone on steroids when she touched him. 'Oh yeah, it's time! he enthusiastically thought then realized, 'But before we get to far...'

"Umm Rita, wait a second! I need to talk to you about something first," Dylan said nervously.

She thought his anxiousness was cute and told a little white lie. "I'm just changing into my slippers. My feet are so hot in these shoes. I feel, I mean they feel so—wet." She squeezed his arm, winked, wiggled her ass, and sauntered towards her bedroom. Before she went in, Rita twirled blew Dylan a kiss, and seductively said, "Don't worry baby—I completely understand your problem."

A very horny Dylan was suddenly panicked at confronting the upcoming moment when he would have to expose her to the truth, 'No, I really don't think you do. Fuck now what? How I am going to explain this without—wait a second I got it, I'll explain—'after we make love'. Yes, of course, afterwards...' Dylan then chided himself, 'Shit–you dumb ass, why didn't you think of that four dates ago. Fuck, now I got to get hard in a hurry so she won't become suspicious.'

Dylan scanned for a bathroom and didn't see one. He decided to take a chance and quickly slid his pants down. He reached between his legs and frantically searched, 'Oh come on! Where is it—damn it, any other time. Finally—there you are–okay—fuck, wrong one—shit, where—there it is–got it–now, squeeeeze...'

"WHAT the fuck are you doing to your balls?" Rita shrieked.

Dylan jumped at her scream and his pants fell to his ankles. He stumbled backwards and landed on the couch.

Rita stood there as Dylan struggled to get up. She watched his manhood flip-flop lazily on his lap. Initially she was disappointed that he wasn't hard as a rock. All the previous guys she dated had an erection before the car door shut. Suddenly it dawned on her that he never got hard, not once and, when she really thought about it, he always discouraged her from fondling him.

Rita put her hands on her hips and stared. 'I can't touch him, and now he's playing with his balls? What the hell is going on? This doesn't make sense.' Rita got angry, 'No, it sure the fuck doesn't, what's wrong with this—asshole?' Her suspicion and anger flared.

Dylan struggled to pull himself together. He felt the sweat pour off his forehead. He glanced at Rita and almost fell down again. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but marvel at her. She was dressed in a long diaphanous purple gown. Her pendulous breasts rippled the fabric when she moved. Her long blond hair framed the mounds of lust as her tiny nipples, outlined in violet, were clearly visible. His small cock twitched and ached for release. Unfortunately, his possibilities for the evening were going downhill rapidly. Rita was irate, in fact she was very irate. She scowled at him and stormed back to her bedroom.

'Oh fuck, this is not good, not good at all—damn it. I hope she'll give me a chance to explain, but for now I gotta get this fixed.' He took the opportunity, with her out of the room, to adjust his penis. As it shrank out of sight, Dylan sighed with relief.

He had just zipped up when Rita, dressed in a plush robe, returned to the living area. Dylan smiled weakly and was about to speak. She put her hand up and fiercely shook her head. She was furious, "No—you don't talk—until you answer these questions. Why were you playing with your balls? AND WHY, IN FUCKING HELL, AREN'T YOU EVER HARD?"

Dylan winced, "I'm sorry Rita, this may take a while to explain."

"I've got time," she replied tersely.

"Umm, okay—umm let's see." Dylan struggled with the words. "Remember when I told you about the auto accident?"

"Yes, yes, go on."

"As you know I was pretty banged up, my leg was broken, and well, umm I had some other issues too."

"Come on Dylan quit stalling and get to the point." Rita rasped, as her rage grew logarithmically.

"Umm, okay. One of those issues was my pelvis. It was also cracked and it affected my ability to ahhh, get an—erection." Dylan became jittery when Rita's eyes narrowed to slits, "I, we, umm, I thought at first it was all the medications I was on, but it turned out the damage affected the blood supply and it umm," his voice quieted, "it...it couldn't be fixed so, umm the doc..."

Rita was incensed, "Wait just a fucking minute: you mean to tell me that your dick is broken and you can't get hard?"

Dylan sputtered, "Well yes—I mean no, but if you let me expl..."

Rita interrupted and screamed, "You've got to be kidding me! All the time we dated your cock was busted and you didn't fucking tell me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you enjoy playing fucking games? Shit, I was beginning to like you a lot and now you tell me you can't get hard?"

Dylan implored, "Rita, I can explain, it's not what you..."

Rita was furious at being played and tore into Dylan. "You impotent son of a bitch, get the fuck out of my home! Go on! Leave! God damn it all to hell, you are nothing more than a ball-less motherfucking asshole. There's a name for castrated pieces of shit like you. You're a fucking—eunuch, GET OUT!!" she spat.

Dylan wilted beneath her tirade. She refused to listen. So much for 'third time's the charm'. He gathered himself and without saying another word headed toward the door and opened it to leave. He took one step out and froze when he heard—'eunuch'. Old memories of long ago reared their ugly head and they shattered him. Devastated, Dylan sobbed loudly when he left her apartment.

Rita heard his anguished cry and finished her assault, "Aww, did I hear a sob from the itty bitty baby? Go home to mommy you fucking asshole!" She slammed the door behind him as he left.

Dylan shuddered at the vivid memory, and decided to immediately contact his therapist. He picked up his cell phone and punched the speed dial. Just before he hit send, Dylan realized he must make amends with Emilio and find her—to apologize. He pressed the onscreen button and wondered about doing something more for her.

****

"Thanks Emilio," Dylan loudly said as he threw his waste into the trash. Emilio nodded and Dylan was once again thankful that his friend accepted his apology four days before. He walked away to start the day's search for the doe eyed woman. He was perplexed that he hadn't seen her yet; after all she was tall and by rights should stand out. Today, he strode to the east end of the park and after fifteen minutes spotted her on a bench under a tall shade tree.