I used to grab my cock when I was a child. I mean, I really used to hold on to my penis at
all times, as if it were some sort of lifeline and it was the only
thing keeping me tethered to the planet. There's pictures of me, and
there I am, holding my dong. You'll see videos of me, my father
asking aloud, “Mr. Charlton, why are you holding on to your penis?” and
I would shrug, and wander off with my pecker in hand.
This is something I did for years, to
the point where my penis actually curves to the left now a
little bit. I'm not sure if this is a direct result of
having been holding onto the thing as much as I did, but I can be
assured that it certainly didn't help. So yeah, I was the dick
holding kid. It stopped for the most part when I got old enough;
where it was no longer cute but seen as incredibly inappropriate. I
can't remember the exact time in my childhood, but there was a very
definitive line from where my father would gently ask why I was
holding my johnson, to where he would angrily shout at me to relinquish
my dick grip. But it still sprouted up from time to time.
Mostly it was when I was playing video
games. I has a tendency to be a bit of a hog when it came to taking
turns and playing fairly with my brothers or whichever of our friends
happened to be over at the time. This was even more apparent when I
had to use the wash room, as I would use the bottom half of my hand,
the ring and pinky fingers, to grab my pecker as the other half of
the hand, the far more dexterous part of my hand, to hold the
controller and continue playing, leading me to hold in my urine for an extended period of time. I believe it's this act alone is
why, at the age of twenty-six, I had to see a number of doctors, even
one urologist, to ascertain why at such a young age I was pissing
like an old man.
I remember first going to the doctor's
to see about my problem. This was a private clinic, not far away from
where I was working at the time. My first doctor was an incredibly
attractive Vietnamese woman who was in her early thirties. She took a
few samples of urine and blood, then let me out. I came back a few
weeks later. Tests came out negative, no STDs or irregularities. Now
the good doctor was going to give me a prostate exam. I was dressed
smartly, I always was for work. Here I am, suit and tie, pants around
my ankles while this cute Vietnamese doctor with knee high leather
boots and smelling of lilacs is sticking her index finger up my
asshole and checking my prostate. I remember, when she was done,
turning around and, after a few exchanged words regarding the health
of my inside cock, I looked at her and said “Nice boots, by the
way”. I remember her looking at me, her face saying 'Did you just
flirt with me after I had my finger up your ass?' and I shot her a
look back with 'Yes, yes I did just flirt with you after you had your finger up my ass'. I did not get her number.
There were more tests, a visit to an
ultrasound clinic, a few more prostate checkups. I was lucky that,
for whatever reason, the doctors performing the exams were always
attractive women. My idea of a prostate exam may be skewed as I
haven't had an unpleasant one. Finally, they sent me to a urologist
at Rocky View hospital in Calgary. My father took me there, as he was
in town at the time. To lend support, I guess. I was nervous, because
I was informed that the procedure would be to take a camera and stuff
it up my urethra, a procedure called a cystoscopy. Not a particularly
fun procedure. We waited in the dick surgery department, I being the
youngest person in the room; my father being the second.
My name came up, and I was led to a
room. After waiting no more than thirty seconds, a nurse came in. In
the most clinical way possible, she told me to take off my pants and
underwear, lay down on the table, and that she would be administering
a numbing cream on the tip of my penis. There was no flirting here,
this woman meant business. I did as I was told. I stripped, laid
down, and she unceremoniously put the cream on, as if she were lubing
up break pads in a car. I had to admire her professionalism to turn
what most would find to be an embarrassing situation into a grease
job at a garage.
The doctor came in. He was a nice man
who very quickly explained the procedure. He would be cramming a tube
like apparatus up my no-no area, he would look around and make a
diagnosis depending on what he saw. There was a large television in
front of both of us and he slid the camera into my body. As we took a
stroll into my bathing suit area, he narrated the adventure as if he
were a tour guide and I was a tourist. I was almost hoping to find a
kiosk outside the room, where I would be able to get a photo in a
cardboard frame, with the caption 'My First Cystoscopy'. Perhaps a
hat with a slogan that read 'Dick Adventurer' would suffice.
The procedure finished, and to my
dismay, everything checked out fine. There was no reason for my pain
or my difficulty urinating, it may just have been a small start to
the eventual and complete breakdown of my body. I grabbed my father
and we began to leave the hospital. Just before the exit, I had a
sudden urge to pee. This made sense, as the cystoscopy procedure
pumped the bladder full of saline solution. I opened the door to the
boys room, found a suitable urinal and proceeded to take one of the
greatest pees in my life. It was glorious.
Now, the doctor mentioned that he's be
pumping fluid into my bladder. What he didn't mention is that there
would be some air in there as well. So as I'm whizzing away,
blissfully re-leaving myself, the air started coming out of my cock.
I'm now farting out of my dick, my penis whipping around like an
elephant's truck as the bathroom fills with the sounds of dong farts.
THPPPIIIIPPPPPPP, THPPIIIIPPIPIPPPP, rang out my knob as I howled
with laughter as my dink spun around violently. It had to be one of
the funniest things I had ever seen.
A man came in and I've tried so hard to
picture what he saw. There's this young man, laughing to with point
of tears as he stares at his penis, while the audible farting is
coming from the front of the body and not the back. I remember
hearing him coming in and I stopped, looked over my shoulder, then
loudly proclaimed “Don't worry buddy, I'm just dweefing.”
And that was when I, like many
storytellers before me, had been presented the opportunity to create
a new word. Dweefing; the act of farting out of your dick.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. The wiener works great now, I
couldn't tell you what was wrong with it. Maybe it was the stress of
being an awesome penis.
