The Big Show Starts Now (10/2008)
This is sort of a long and involving tale I figured I have to cover up on the main page due its sexual nature. You’ll no doubt have a good time but some of these drawings may not be suitable for work. So keep that in mind (no they aren’t real, I did indeed draw them, but still…). This is the most intimate tale I could ever spin for you. So enjoy it. Think of it as a gift since I don’t update as much as I used to. I know you hate it. I get e-mails telling me so. Get ready…
In January of 2003 was probably one of the darkest periods of my lifetime. I was still in Orlando. On a particular day in the beginning of the month, I called up Number 4.
“Hey. What are you doing right now?”
“Nothing,” she said. “What are you doing?”
There as an odd pause between us. We both knew this was to lead to the inevitable sexual adventure.
“Do you want to hang out?”
She agreed. I headed over to her house and we joined as one for about 20 or 30 minutes. I went home.
Two or three weeks went by without another sexual encounter. I was dry again.
It was a Tuesday and I came home from work at 5:32pm. It was a lonesome day. I was a lonesome person. I sat on my couch for a while (waiting for some Seinfeld reruns) when the mood for “self-pleasure” hit me. So I did what everyone does when that mood hits. I headed to the bathroom to stand over the toilet, as the flushing made for easy clean up.
As I was going through the motions (literally and figuratively) and I noticed that there was some odd burning sensation. I didn’t care though because I was on a mission. And it took me about 2 minutes to accomplish it.
Afterwards, I hit the flusher and terminated about 2.3 million of my little children. I mean, what good are they to me? Right before I was to put myself back into a pair of jeans, I looked down. There was something clearly wrong. My cock burned like my sockets during an episode of Friends. “What the fuck?” I asked myself before collapsing to the ground, looking at the tainted merchandise, trying my best not to cry. I knew what was to be wrong with me/it before my bum finally collapsed with the ground.
For the next 20 minutes, I examined it closely. Before I describe it for you, my dear friends, let me fast-forward a bit. If there is one thing I can be excited about the internet (the destroyer of all things) it would have to be its extensive knowledge for all things STD (sexually transmitted disease) related. I googled “Herpes” and found various websites dedicated to it. Including some official ones run by various governmental organizations.
I looked at pictures. I looked at my cock. I turned the light on to give her a closer look, as the sun was going down. My little man was full with red, burning, bumps of doom (as I began to call them).
Looking Around… There’s Nobody There (10/2008)
It matched a lot of what I was seeing on these awful STD websites. As of this time, I was pretty sure I had herpes. I put it back into my clothes and sat back down.
So many thoughts ran through my head that night. I had one conversation with “myself” over and over. “Nobody likes you. Everybody hates you. You’ll never be in anyone else’s mouth, vagina, or anal cavity (for those days when I am absolutely out of my fucking mind) ever again. You lost Winona Ryder. You’re completely useless to me. I fucking hate you. How could you have been so stupid? You’re gonna lose. So smile you fuck…”
Before I could finish that last sentence, he looked right back at me and said, “You should have wrapped it up, asshole.”
This was the first and only night of my life I didn’t sleep a wink (without the assistance of alcohol anyway). It’s marked as the worst night of my life.
As the sun started coming out the next day, I started calling every doctor’s office that my insurance carrier listed on their website. I made it to the first office I could even before they opened the doors.
After they weighed me and took my blood pressure and such, I was put in the final room to wait. After a few moments, a small Indian lady came in, complete with full accent.
“How are you doing today sir?” she asked friendly.
“Not so good at all.”
“Alright sir, I am going to ask you a series of questions you may not be used to. Are you ready?”
Her accent was actually quite soothing in my time of desperation.
“How many people have you had sexual intercourse with during the past year?”
“Have you had sexual relations with male?”
“Not oral or anything?”
Have you had anal intercourse with anyone during the past year?”
Not that I recall, but maybe 1…
“Have you received oral sex contact from someone you did not have intercourse with during this past year?”
She then stood up from her doctor’s stool and set down her clipboard. “Alright sir, I must now examine the penis, so I will need you to drop your pants.”
I’m Going to Need to See Your Penis (10/2008)
I stood up to oblige her request and she got on her knees and inched real close to my crotch. “What a day this is,” I thought. So I took it out, frightened as it was, and there it sat, eye to eye with the tiny doctor. She examined it closely, turned it to the left, then to the right.
She asked me more questions about fucking, most of which I said no to. They were too weird for even I to recall at this moment, some many years later.
“Alright then sir, you can pull your pants up now.” After I did, she continued, “Though we have to wait for the results to come in, I’d say that what you have there is definitely herpes.”
I just about cried. As far as I was concerned, my cock was dead to me.
She drew up blood, asked for my consent to an Aids test, then sent me on my way. “It takes about two weeks for the results to come in,” she said. And for the next two weeks, my cock was dead to me. I didn’t even wake up in the usual position. But it was all I thought about. Those two weeks drove by like a decade on fire. After that time was up, I finally went back to the doctor. I was clean. No herpes (or any other STD to mention). For once in my life, I walked away clean.
The doctor concluded that it had to be an allergic reaction to a soap or something of the like. Coincidentally, I just changed to a new soap that week but stopped using it once the shit broke out. Something told me to stop using it. Since then, I started testing myself every year, regardless of my partner count. I’m probably one of the few males who can say that.
Everything is going good so far.