Too weeks had gone by since Eric told the witch to at least let him keep his humanity.
He still had the prominent, dark sheath hanging on his lower abdomen, and the thick, mottled penis within it--but only part of it, with an abrupt hole at the end instead of the great flared tip of a stallion. He also lacked the testicles that would keep the sex hormones flowing through his body. His incomplete equipment was a poignant mockery of an unfortunate, alcohol-induced wish.
The most humiliating part, though, was the incontinence the witch had left him with. Every time he had the slightest urge to pee, his broken penis emerged and dropped a long thick spray of urine wherever he was. At one point, he had to run away to the woods outside the college, skip class, and walk around without pants for a few days while he tried to retrain himself. There, he could at least go freely outdoors like a real horse, but it also meant that he always had the results of his curse in plain view.
Finally, after much mental discipline, he had learned to control his bladder. He still had a few accidents when he came back to campus, but for the most part he was reintegrated to society. Nonetheless, there were still barriers to be overcome.
Everywhere he went, his huge penis made an obscenely obvious bulge in his pants. Nobody said anything, but he knew they saw, and he was self-conscious. Everyone knew he had the largest equipment on campus. If only they knew it was only to pee with, as though he were still an underdeveloped child.
And even that was a difficult and embarrassing ordeal. One time he went to the men's bathroom, and all the stalls were full and there was a man at one of the urinals. Eric now rarely used urinals, but he didn't want to lose control of his bladder so he walked up to one, spread his legs, and unzipped his pants. He knew the man beside him was looking but trying to be discreet. The inhuman hose barreled out of its wrinkly home, and had to be held just right, at just the right distance, to get at least some of the yellow spray into the urinal. The other man fainted.
Since he no longer had the level of testosterone, cheerleaders and football didn't have the same appeal to him as before. But he still went and tried to make it work because everyone expected him to. And everyone still thought he was some big jock who deserved every woman he could get.
Sometimes in his room, Eric would still sit and manipulate his penis, trying to bring back at least some of the sexual feeling he had lost. But he never got a full erection, never found any porn that worked, and never managed even a twitch of orgasm.
A life without sex, without manliness, without the possibility of offspring human or equine--he felt like he was in a shadowy limbo of his former self. He only tried to go on, and chose to believe that one day, emotionally, he would begin to heal.