Tales of Disastrous Sex 2: Wednesday Cock-Blogging Edition

Since I've started keeping a sex-blog, and reading so many of the excellent ones out there, I have particularly enjoyed two traditions: Wednesday Cock-Blogging and Friday Pussy-Blogging. I haven't actually taken part in any cock-blogging, though. But let's change all that, shall we? Keeping in with my theme for the week, I treat you to some disastrous penile trials...

(Not all of which will be sexual, in the strictest sense, but c'mon, they're all about the dick!)

I think the first clear memory I have of messing myself up pretty good, penis-wise, would have to be early in my fifth-grade year. I was just starting to like girls, too, so this really hurt me. I had been riding my bike along some neighborhood side-street, a little (a lot!) too fast, and something caught on the front wheel. I pitched over the handlebars and slid a few yards along the street. Ran home, dragging the bike and trying not to cry in front of everyone else around. Mom's close inspection revealed a couple of bruises, and some scrapes. Both elbows (of course), one shoulder. And... my penis (I don't even remember what euphemism she used-- I know I didn't hear the word "penis" until the next year in my first sex-ed class). I had scraped a patch of skin off of it (through the friction against my denim jeans) that covered about 70% of the length, on one side. Remember me saying that I was starting to notice girls? I was also starting to get spontaneous erections. Roll that one around in your head for a bit.

Of course, like most men, I've caught myself in the zipper on a few occassions. At least none of those drew blood. And none were of the "There's Something About Mary" severity.

One time, I was having some wonderfully vigorous doggy-style with P. She kept insisting that I do it harder. And I was doing my very best for the person I loved. On one out-stroke, I actually pulled completely out of her by accident. And on the in-stroke, the tip actually met up with one of her thighs. All my weight and force were behind that thrust. I bent my erection. And that was a sensory experience I wish on no other man.

When I first discovered masturbation, my technique-of-choice was to fashion a fake vagina out of tissues dampened in warm water. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Anyway, I'd wrap a handful of tissues around my erection and pour warm water from the tap over them, and then do my thing. Of course, I had to re-moisten them periodically. Not usually a problem, except that one time I was doing this someone elsewhere in the house started the clothes-washing machine on a cold-water cycle. Not knowing this, I filled the small cup with water from the running tap. Water that wasn't warm, but in fact HOT. Which I proceeded to pour over my tender, 15-year-old erection.

One time, a little while out of college, I became curious as to just how many times I could orgasm (from masturbating) in a 24-hour period. The answer, of course, depends on how long you want to be too damned sore to do jack with your dick afterwards. Next time, more and better lube.

Of course, there have been other, less-serious incidents hardly worth mentioning. Getting whacked in the crotch while holding a piñata at a kid's birthday party. Having a cat mistake the twitched erection under the sheet for a mouse. But I think that's enough abuse-imagery for now.

Dausa