A few days later, there was a bounce in Howard’s step as he bounded up the stairs to the medical office building after parking his Suburban in the lot. The unseasonably cold winds of late November whipped his charcoal grey overcoat around his legs as he hauled open the glass doors of the medical office building against the chilly blow. He knew from the urologist’s excited tones over the phone that the doctor had good news for him. Howard was quickly ushered into the urologist’s office and was invited to sit by the smiling doctor. The doctor blurted out immediately that Howard’s sterility had reversed itself and that his sperm count was that of an exceedingly healthy eighteen-year-old. Howard was ecstatic; his skyrocketing opinion of himself had been vindicated. The doctor commented in an aside after delivering the good news that Howard had the most extreme case of seborrhea he had every seen and recommended a dermatologist. Howard laughed and said he would look into getting treatment for his scalp condition. He was lying. He had not the slightest desire to take any new medications as long as he was feeling so good. Howard thanked the doctor for the referral and paid the receptionist for the visit. He left the office and went directly to the company to give a presentation to the executives that he had been putting off for weeks. The executives were so impressed with his work that they voted to accept his ideas on the spot. They took a straw vote and asked him to develop a plan based upon the outline he had discussed with them. The expressions on the executive’s faces left no doubt that his presentation had been an overwhelming success. Even the secretary taking notes gave him an approving smile. After the meeting, one of the executives came up to Howard and invited Howard to lunch with him and his secretary. Howard smiled and accepted gracefully. He had done it. He was accepted. The miasma of doom that had hung over him since the second chemical accident had finally dissipated.
During the power lunch that followed Howard noticed that the secretary was eyeing him with a “come hither” glance. At first Howard was embarrassed by her attentions, but as the meal drew to a close, he felt a tingling in his crotch that he had not felt in a long, long time. His martial relations with Anita had improved with his health, but this was different. He had not felt an unbridled sexual attraction for a female since high school. The three Tangaray martinis he had had at lunch had relaxed him considerably and allowed his subconscious urges to surface unbidden. He positively ached for sexual release. His eyes kept being drawn to the secretary’s enormous boobs to the woman’s evident delight. She positively glowed at him each time she caught him staring at the objects of his lust. Howard had had a fascination with women’s breasts since puberty. He had a collection of salacious magazines featuring full-color, foldout pictures of women’s breasts that he kept hidden in a locked tool chest in his garage workshop.
Actually, Howard’s interest in that particular portion of the female anatomy had begun long before his sexual feelings had developed. His consciousness had edited out his babyhood memories of his intense longings to be breast fed. His mother had been a rather prim and proper sort who had disdained animalistic breast feedings in favor of the more hygienic and convenient baby bottle. After the minimum necessary feedings at her breast that her obstetrician had recommended for her baby son’s health, she had put Howard on the bottle as soon as it was respectable to do so. Howard had rationalized his attraction to women’s bosoms as the normal sexual response of a healthy male to the opposite sex. Infantile cravings for women’s teats as a source of food and comfort weren’t consistent with his view of himself as a virile man. His subconscious had violently suppressed the offending memories in an attempt to maintain emotional stability. Unfortunately for Howard’s sexual development, the enormous amount of psychic energy that was being invested in maintaining his sanity had caused his attention to be focused on the exact object that were causing his mental strain. The result was all too predictable. Howard was a tit man. His emotional development had been stunted due to the dearth of free psychic energy available for the normal growth of his personality. As a consequence, Howard had stopped maturing emotionally at an early age. Since the phenomena of arrested development is not unusual in a man, he was considered normal by both his male peers and women at large. His male compatriots interpreted his tantrums and self-centeredness as the mark of an aggressive masculine personality. Women were attracted to his dominate personae and his no-holds-barred approach to life. From a statistical standpoint, Howard’s personality was disgustingly normal.