Is a man without manhood just a hood?

Learning to get by without the major tool of your chosen trade is a difficult prospect, and Steven J Clancy, or Steve Cock as he was known to his fans, was finding every day to be a constant struggle. He'd lost a part of his identity, he'd lost that which had earned him fame and considerable fortune, he'd lost a part of himself.

True to form, Steve's friends spent considerable energy consoling him, and reassuring him that there was more to life than his previous career. The adult film industry had been good to Steve, and why not? He was a perfect, bulging, muscular 28 year-old, with thick dark hair. His chiseled jaw and likeable, but devious look were some of the attributes that had brought him from his previous job as a warehouse manager, to a life in front of the camera. A life spent doing that which came naturally to almost everyone, but came even more naturally to Steve. The sheer number of beautiful (if, surgically enhanced) women Steve had "acted" with in his long list of starring roles was beyond his recall, but greatly enjoyed and appreciated nonetheless. From his first break in the industry co-starring as the evil T6900 in the adult sci-fi "The Inseminator", to his last great role as Big Dick the Third, in "My Kingdom for a Whore", he relished every role, and every chance to show off what made him the king of the industry. Or at least, the former king, as now he lacked one essential item in the toolkit of an adult film star. As a hammer is to a carpenter, a Penis is to a male pornographic actor, and Steve would, much to his dismay, be unable to nail anyone or anything in the future.

Steve was, after some soul-searching over the last few weeks, now of the opinion that his current predicament was totally his own doing, and that if he hadn't let stardom go so completely to his head, the appendage that was previously his trademark might still be tucked away safely, and tightly, in his trousers. Although now realistic about the part his ego had played in the injury he sustained almost a month ago now, he was still having the flashbacks, and nightmares. The recurring image of his mangled member, the laughing as they looked down on him in agony, and most of all the words "Steve No-Cock", which hurt him now more than the pain of having been shot on the genitals ever did.

Steve had until that point, had a fantastic night out at the premiere of a film, not actually starring himself. The film, "Curse of the Mammary", starred a new talent, and although Steve believed with almost arrogant conviction that the performance given by "T-Gizzle fo Shizzle" was at best ameteur, a premiere was a chance for him to shop for new female talent for his next venture. He'd been flanked by young hopefuls all night, never having to lift a finger, at his beck and call were budding young actresses hoping to score a part with Steve's part. They spoke softly in his ear, saying all the things he was accustomed to hearing, inflating an already imposing ego to a point where the stench of self-satisfaction trailed him and his harem everywhere they went.

This of course, did not go unnoticed by the hot new thing in Adult film, T-Gizzle fo Shizzle, or as he preferred thse days, T-Gee. A self-made, and self-styled bling-laden gangster badboy of porn, his star was rising fast, and Steve's presence at his premiere was cramping his completely obnoxious style. There were, to be fair, plenty of young ladies to go around, and more than enough film directors and studio owners willing to haggle for either of their services. But T-Gee wasn't interested in that, this was supposed to be his big comeback. After a 3 month stint in prison for what was rumoured to be serious physical abuse of one of his co-stars, he'd worked hard to lay of the powder and get himself straight for this role, which he'd negotiated long before his arrest. This was meant to be about him, but instead, Steve Cock was stealing his thunder. This greasy self-centered prick, who looked like he'd fallen asleep in a tanning bed had gotten further up T-Gee's nose than the coke he wasn't supposed to have snorted about ten minutes ago.

Steve didn't care though, in fact he was quite more than happy to sit there watching act 1 of "Curse of the Mammary" and point out any slight flaw to his cohort, who of course, completely agreed. Steve sat through the entire ninety minutes of grunting, implausible situations and token effort dialogue, giving a critique that could have been used interchangeably with one of his own flicks. Much to his delight, the girls around him swallowed every bit of it, making no effort to hide their tittering from it's target, T-Gee.

Steve knew now, with hindsight, and a wound he could no longer lick, that his behaviour was largely to blame for everything that happened afterward. T-Gee was incensed enough to walk out of his own premiere, which delighted Steve. The party afterwards went on into the night and the leading man had been very conspicuous in his absence, as he'd not only left, but taken his minders and groupies with him. Everyone presumed that they'd retreated to their suite at the hotel next door, and Steve openly wondered whether the ladies that accompanied him "have 911 programmed into their phone, in case that coke-head tries some shit with them again". The irony of this statement was not lost on Steve these days, for him to show faux concern for the safety of others around T-Gee was yet another sad memory that he couldn't erase.

Steve tried not to think about what happened soon after that. He'd been trying to block it out, to remove the memory from his mind, or to avoid it, hide it in the back of his conscience, or truncate the recurring memory at least.

T-Gee had indeed been in his hotel, but not in his room, rather in the bar drinking. His attempt at moving away from the white powder had seen him transition to dependance on a legal drug, and he'd been doping himself up on it for hours. The bar afforded him, and his cronies a mostly unobscured view of the theatre, and it was as soon as Steve exited that he made the move to confront. Steve wasn't at all prepared for the ugly scene that ensued. The torrent of abuse directed at him, or the guns that were being waved in his direction. But in spite of all that he still managed to retain that aura of arrogance that had attached itself to him, and there was no way he was going to allow himself to be shown up in front of so many of the people that had become glued to him throughout the evening. That was, until T-Gee, with a surprisingly well-directed and very deliberate shot from his handgun removed the manhood froom the man, hurled some followup abuse, and fled.

In the days following, Steve consulted doctor after doctor, hoping for reattachment, or prosthesis or some other form of miracle, but the diagnosis was consistent through all of them. He was just going to have to learn to live without that particular appendage.

Steve's initial hatred for T-Gee turned to self-hatred over the proceeding period. The knowledge that he'd contributed so completely to his loss of dignity, respect, and Penis followed him everywhere. And now, at least partially recovered and also partially drunk, he stared into the barrel of his own gun, which he'd since bought for self-protection, but now wondered whether it represented the only sufficient solution to his problems. Had Steve bought correct ammunition for the thing, he might have ended it all there and then, but as it turned out he didn't understand the callibur of the weapon he chose, and the bullets wouldn't fit into the clip. Steve tossed it aside and turned to something he could shoot. Vodka. Eventually, he finished the bottle and passed out.

The next morning Steve awoke to feel the depression before he felt the headache. After dressing and having a huge cooked breakfast he listened to his voice messages for the first time in weeks. After skipping through the series of offers from sensationalist tabloid journalists, and amputee fetishists he came across the news that T-Gee had been convicted and sencenced to 10 years jail. This news was the first form of good news Steve had heard in weeks, highlighting the fact that although he blamed himself, there was still enough blame to account for T-Gee's role in things too.

After a period of contemplation, Steve continued on through the messages, past the painful offers of work that had been left before news of his demise had become widespread, past the message from his mother, whose disdain for his occupation was still evident even now, and past the mesage from the amputee support group "The John Bobbit Foundation". Steve continued through the messages, surely nearing the end of what had been a month of being completely incommunicado, but was drawn to a halt by a message from a company he'd been working with called "Dildonics 10k":

Steve,

Many thanks for your time in the studio last week. That piece of yours certainly is a work of art. Anyway, I thought you'd like to know that the first prototype SC-10k has gone into small-scale production. The first one has arrived from the factory in China today, we've still got to wait for the software to be completed, but that shouldn't be far off now.

That's why I'm ringing you. We need some more voice samples for the software. The ones you recorded for us a while back were great, but we think the ladies wont be able to get enough of the real Steve talking dirty to them, so if you don't mind, could you give me a call as soon as possible. I know you're a busy man, so we'll up your fee by 25% to get this done quickly.

Call me.

Steve thought the cooked breakfast had made him feel better, but nothing could compare to this news. With the recent events, he'd completely forgotten that earlier in the year he'd been involved in a project that would see the first ever fully interactive tele-dildonics package. He'd been and had plaster casts taken of his manhood and recorded some dialogue for a internet based computer program that was going to allow people to have real-time simulated sex with each other across the internet. Or if they'd prefer, with a male or female analog, the male and it's accompanying pleasure device was to be based on Steve.

This was Steve's shot at practical immortality. He was to have a chance to pleasure women (and men too, he guessed, a prospect that had taken him a while to become agreeable to) all over the world, in a way that he'd never thought possible. It was the sort of thing that was previously limited to sci-fi movies (particularly ones from Steve's section of the movie industry). Steve was never going to get back the use of his Penis, but plenty of other people would, regardless of whether the source of the original mould existed any more.

Steve's mood had taken an almost complete about-face. Whether it was permanent or not, he didn't know, but ever the sort of man to seize life by the cojones, he decided he'd make his way over to the studio immediately, wasting no time at all. The message had been left weeks ago, and the only thing stopping Steve's Cock achieving immortality was that maybe they'd given up on hearing from him in the meantime.

Steve showered and dressed, and with almost feverish vigour, made his way out of his apartment and into the street. his head buzzed with the possibilities, and his ego was even beginning to return. All he needed to do now was catch a cab to the Dildonics 10k studio. Or failing that, a bus. A big white bus, driven hurriedly through the streets, not stopping for anything to get it's passengers to their destination. A bus like the one that honked at him briefly before he noticed the makers name bearing down on him, smashing into him and sending him many metres down the road, breaking bone after bone.

The road surface was warm, and Steve felt absorbed by it. If his chance at adult-services immoartlity was to come now, it was in the hands of fate. Fate, and a small company run by sex-obsessed geeks on the other side of town.