Touring my Bathing Suit Area

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.