It Could be Worse, Really

You stirred a few days later. Carrie was at your bedside, nodding off. You squeezed her hand.

"Oh, Junior!" Carrie said, giving you a kiss, but stopping as you winced. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," you said, aching. There were bandages over your groin. "What's the damage?"

At that, the doctor came in. He checked your vitals.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I've been better. How does it look?" He shook his head and frowned.

"We should really get some water and a popsicle in you first ..." You shook your head this time.

"No, fuck all that doctor. Just give it to me straight."

"Well, he missed your penis. But he got your testicles really good. I'm sorry to say it, Mr. Putnam. But he's effectively gelded you."

***

It wasn't great news. Part of you had always wanted kids with Carrie, despite all your psychological hangups and likely lack of potency. And of course your sexual orientation. You and her moved back in together, but Roger also moved in. And the three of you became a throuple. He had sex with you both. Carrie pegged you. You ate Carrie's pussy. And Roger definitely did not lack for potency, keeping Carrie pregnant constantly until she hit 40. Despite the many traumas that led you to this point, it ended happily for you.