Strange Things I’ve Done to my Penis

29 04 2008

Let me start out saying that if you know me in real life, stop now. You probably don’t want to read further. But if you already stomached my narrative on the horrors of being a man at the doctors office, you’ll be fine.

If you made it this far, I’ll continue by saying that I could just as easily write about “Strange things Ive done to my finger” or “weird happenings with my feet” but that would be boring, which is something I try not to be.

From time to time, I have visited tanning beds. I did it in high school to have a nice color for prom. Throughout college and my early career years, I would get a few sessions in before taking a beach trip to get a nice base tan in an attempt to save myself from a sunburn while on vacation. And this month, I’m taking advantage of a month of tanning that was offered by my new gym. Typically speaking, though, I gave up tanning a long time ago. Having the Vinyl Village pool means that I usually get a little sun before any trips, and having the roof open on the car keeps me slightly tanned year round.

I never was, and never will be, one of those people who tans so much that they turn orange. I saw such a creature this past weekend at a fundraiser. The poor thing must have slept in a sunbed every night…she was literally the color of a basketball, and had almost the same texture. I have also never been one for naked tanning, or clever little “press on tattoos” that leave a pasty white image of a Playboy bunny or something equally tacky on the netherregions. I simply hop into the tanning bed with whatever underwear I have on and leave it at that.

Now, before I learned the supportive benefits of boxer briefs, a nice trunk, or a classic tighty whitie, I pretty much stuck to boxers. And that’s what I had on one day when I got into the tanning bed. I’d already had several sessions, so had a good base, and was up to the point where I tanned for about 10 or 12 minutes a session.  So I got down to my boxers, slapped on those goofy looking glasses, and got in.

All seemed well until later that night. My penis was very tender…the slightest bit of friction from walking or moving about was terribly uncomfortable. And it itched slightly. When I got into the shower I noticed the cause–I’d sunburned my dick! The baggy boxers I had been wearing had apparently gaped open at the fly just enough to expose a lemon-shaped wedge of pasty white shaft skin. Well, at least it had been pasty white. Now it was bright red. The shower water hitting me burned. Rubbing against clothes caused almost nauseating pain for at least two days. And then it itched like crazy. A week later, it peeled! And for weeks I had what appeared to be a lemon-shaped liver spot midway up my wang.

But that isn’t all my poor weiner has had to endure. Skip ahead a few years. My roommate in college got a new computer and for the first time, we had the internet in our home. She and I were surfing ebay one night, trying to find something that we actually needed, though I can’t recall what it was.

We came across an auction for one of those penis enlarging “pumps”. The current price was around $2. Jokingly, J, the roomie, put a bid in on it. Now, since she and I were both new to eBay, we had no idea that what we had just bid on was a dutch auction. (Meaning that there are several of the item up for bids, and there’s a good chance all who bid will end up with one.) But that’s what we had done. Bid two dollars on an instrument guaranteed to add inches to your manhood. A few days later, we got the dreaded email :”Congratulations! The auction has ended and you are the winner of the Long Dong Vacuum Schlong” (or whatever it was called). Not wanting to harm our fresh eBay reputation, we ponied up the two dollars and just paid for the damned thing. Within a week, the pump arrived at our door step. It looked like a combination between a test tube on steroids and a blood pressure cuff. We had a laugh, and it got tossed into my closet.

A few weeks later, I went to bed, and for whatever reason, my mind turned to the device in the closet.

“What the heck?” I figured, “Let’s see if this thing works.” So I squeezed through the rubber gasket at the end, and pumped up the little valve. A few moments later, I was the proud owner of a penis that, while not appreciably larger, was a bit more girthy. But it looked like someone was choking it. It was reddish purple, and the pump was not at all comfortable. Fun over, I released the valve and pulled at the pump.

Only, it wouldn’t move. A few painful yanks, and it hadn’t budged. I walked around my room, giant plastic object hanging from my johnson, and found some lotion–hoping that would provide just enough lubricant to extract myself from the pump.

Half a bottle later, I was still stuck and starting to panic. My mind raced. I thought of ugly lesbians, naked old women, and read a passage or two from the Bible, all in an attempt to wither my weinie. None of it worked.

“I could find a hammer to break the plastic!” I thought. It didn’t occur to me that I would also break my wang. The only thing that swayed me from that solution was the realization that the hammer was in the kitchen, two floors beneath me, and I would have to walk past J to get to it. There was no way in hell I was going to explain the predicament to her.

I wrapped myself, and the giant mass  of plastic and rubber at my groin, in a robe and waddled down the hall to my study. Finding a pair of scissors, I reasoned that I could cut the rubber gasket away to free myself. Then I realized there was nothing but skin on the other side and one false move and I’d have to join a support group founded by John Wayne Bobbitt.

By this point, some amount of time had passed and I was having a major panic attack. I was beginning to think the only way I was getting out of that pump was to go to the hospital and have it removed.

“How will I explain that bill to my parents when they get it?”

“What if I get pulled over by the police on the way to the hospital?”

“How can I even face them at the hospital? This is some urban legend shit right here!”

Too mortified to even think of having to share what I was going through with anyone, I decided to try once more to get it off. The throbbing had subsided some, and I figured that either my dick had fallen asleep or it had shrank a bit and the pressure had relieved itself somewhat. I put on a slathering of lotion and pulled hard at the base of the pump. Miraculously, it flew off and landed on the carpet a few feet away.

My unit was dark red, veins bulging as if they might burst any moment. I was so relieved that a visit to the hospital had been averted that I didn’t even care. Over the next few days, a nasty bruise developed at the base of my penis. Dark purple, then fading away over the next few weeks to varying shades of green and yellow. I guess that’s what I got for wondering if the pump worked…

 

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