In the course of history, scientific breakthroughs have been made with the promise of changing life as we know it. Few actually achieve their intended purpose, giving little more than false hope only to be ripped away by an unexpected and unintentional side effect. But for Dr. Oliver Goodson, that hope was still quite alive; so alive in fact, that he could taste it. His boss – Bradford Way – had vetoed using any company funds for the project on numerous occasions, calling the project “costly and stupid.” But Oliver’s private time was his alone, and the garage of his home had transformed into a laboratory. Days became weeks, and months turned into years. Compound after compound was finalized and then rejected. Too thick. Too thin. Too acidic. Too basic. Too salty. Too bitter. On and on, the man toiled until finally one night, at precisely 9:18pm, the final product stabilized. With shaking hands, he filled a hypodermic needle and shuffled out of his pants. He took a deep breath and plunged the needle into his right testicle, filling it with half the concoction before repeating the process with the other.
A little discomfort was well worth the advancement of science.

Emily Goodson had long ago grown accustomed to sleeping alone. She didn’t like to remember the first year of her marriage, as it only served as a reminder to how much things had changed. In the beginning, Oliver was kind, caring, and passionate. He became an addiction, her own drug that she had no desire to quit, and she knew without a doubt that it was the same for him. The married couple were insatiable in every sense of the word. But in the ensuing years, things had changed. It was to be expected of course, but never to this degree.
Oliver was still the caring and patient man he’d always been. But he was distant, and Emily had no idea how to bridge the gap. He loved her – she never doubted that – but for years now, his work had taken precedence over her. She never blamed him; such was the life of a scientist’s wife, and it was his passion for his work that had attracted her to him in the first place. But she wondered sometimes about what might have been, and she hated herself for it.
In other words, sexual intimacy – or a lack of it – with her husband was a problem, and had been for a while. A drawer full of unworn negligees and other lingerie she had bought with Oliver in mind now concealed the trove of vibrators, dildos, and pornographic material that were now her closest friends. It wasn’t because Oliver couldn’t get it up. He was much to young for erectile dysfunction, and if his father was any indication, he was in no danger of ever needing a Viagra prescription. It was her fault, at least partly. She hadn’t stopped caring about her body. Emily had kept herself in good shape in the hope that Oliver would notice her again, and it showed. She stood 5’5 and kept herself at 110lbs. Honey brown hair fell in natural curls to the middle of her back; plenty to reign in when Oliver was feeling especially dominant. And when he wanted something more fleshy to hold onto as he rammed her from behind, Emily had a pair of moderately large breasts with fat pink nipples for him to pinch and hold onto. Plenty of crunches kept her stomach flat, and her well-ridden bicycle ensured her ass stayed tight and round.