A horrible accident saw me lose the most important limb I have, my penis. I will not go into any details but suffice to say, one should never be cheap and use knock-off lube that can pass convincingly as axle grease with one’s fleshlight, especially if it’s for a vigorous session.
But thanks to the miracle of science, all was not lost. Just to be clear, all the penis was lost, everything from the pelvis onwards. All of that gone! I was left looking like a mannequin with a pair of saggy balls for comedic effect.
Medical science has come a long way from the days of leeches and spells (MODERN medical science). I did not have to go through life with the humiliation of having to be the only chap to argue for leaving the toilet seat down. Because really!? Who can’t be bothered to take the single second to actually look to check the position of the toilet seat before getting down to business.
A radical new procedure, the penis transplant, meant that I was able to get a new lease on life. I could consider myself a man in all the relevant ways. I would only have to comprise in a few minor ways; length, girth and skin tone. Small sacrifices to still be able to have a penis.
Surprisingly, the concept of having a penis that was from a corpse was surprisingly easy to get used to. It’s amazing what the horror of having to live with no dick will do to your sense of perspective. Even the skin tone thing was pretty easy to get used to. Flashing it became an amusing party trick as no one could actually believe they saw a lightest-skinned cock on this darkest of dudes. It was hilarious. And it was more than once where I was propositioned by women looking to experience the cock to believe the story *wink wink, nudge nudge* i.e. white man meat from a black mandingo.
But these little things did not take the edge off the hardships of having a second hand sausage.
Masturbation was never the same. It never felt like I was pleasuring myself, more like a phantom handjob, and an amateurish one at that. The technique I had perfected since my teens was off thanks to the new thickness and length of the shaft and its different nerve endings. I always had to be conscious of the strokes or I would end up almost ripping my head of as I overshot. The natural grip I had was suddenly not right and it felt like I was jerking a disembodied penis that mysteriously made me orgasm.
Sex with the girlfriend was always awkward. After the initial new dick novelty wore off, she became uncomfortable with having the Frankenstein weiner all up in her. Blowjobs are at an end when you have to convince her that no really, it’s totally fine to have what was once a dead man’s schlong in your mouth, it’s not at all necrophilic. Sex became a dutiful chore that even a Puritan would deem it frigid. Of course the lack of release has made me more of an ornery bastard, which weird enough, is suddenly gaining me more female attention. Which just amps my need for release, making me more annoyed. It’s a vicious cycle.
Even months after the operation, a simple morning wee can end in disaster, with pee all over the floor, due to misjudgement of positioning and trajectory of the morning wood due to the foreign stiffy that is now attached to my body.
Deep down, I don’t think I will ever get accustomed to having a new tool to work with. But still, better used dick than no dick at all. A philosophy most women, gay dudes and, now one straight guy, can live by.
As a red-blooded, heterosexual, misogynist male, I have been busy scoping out chicks’ asses, hips, waists and breasts. It’s not because I want to mind you. It’s because society expects me to. I’m just a victim of my conditioning. I can’t help it.
With the disclaimer out of the way, I have been noticing a lot of parasite-bearing ladies happily flaunting their distended bellies everywhere. It’s seems that spawning time is almost upon us and a new crop of leeches will be loosed on humanity i.e. lots of heavily pregnant women be waddling around.
Now, while I lament their misplaced joy at bringing new life in the world, I have been noticing that my troublesome 2nd brain twitches when the women are in sight going, “You know you wouldn’t mind gutting that fish.” And I go “Dammit penis! I don’t need a new perversion to add to my CV!”
But it has a point. I’m more than a bit curious at stabbing the cat of a heavily pregnant, about-to-break-their-water kind of woman. First of all, the mechanics alone would be worth it. Missionary suddenly becomes a maneuver on par with handling nuclear material. If I jackhammer with abandon like a horny rabbit, is there a real chance of inducing a premature birth?
And if the baby can hear all the soothing sounds of classical music while in the womb, will it also be privy to the sounds of it’s mother bumping uglies? Science, I NEED TO KNOW!
Can I punch a baby if I fist the mother hard enough? Will I feel the soft head cave-in as I tickle the lady’s g-spot? How far would my arm have to travel to accomplish that? And would it heighten her pleasure? (See, ladies! With me, it’s all about you! 😉 )
How about 69’ing? Can the body even contort and stretch over that huge hump to get to the gash? Or is that simply a pipe dream at that stage of gestation?
I don’t know if it’s just sexual curiosity that’s the cause of my new found re-evaluation of the baby ejectors, or my maturity as a person (hehehe) that has allowed me to take notice of their attractiveness. But this is a venture that has to be explored at some point in time. Something else to add to the bucket list, along with setting fire to dog’s balls and wearing a suit of bees.