Applying The Right Medicine

 

As far back as I can remember, I was bashful about my private thing. If I was pissing in a public restroom and somebody else came in, I would try to shut my dickie off and hurry away before I could be noticed. The thought that somebody might glimpse my stream of piss  filled me with horror. Even worse, they might SEE my very private thing. I would command my sphincter to stop urinating so I could zip my pants and hurry out of the restroom.

As all of us know, it is almost impossible to stop pissing once you've started, and I was constantly afraid that guys saw things that I didn't want them to see when I used the restroom.

That is how I happened to hurt my penis one day when I was 13. I heard somebody else enter the boys' room at school and I instantly went into defense mode. Quit pissing! Cram your little pee-pee into your pants! Pull your zipper up as fast as you can!

I was so anxious to hide everything that I yanked on my zipper that day before getting my wiener fully stashed in my underwear. The zipper caught the tender flesh of my penis and created a thin but painful scratch about an inch long on the underside of my dick!

A few minutes later I went back to the now-empty bathroom to examine my damaged dick. A thin line of bright red blood showed me where I had injured my pee-pee. Blood was very slightly oozing from the scratch, not really enough blood for a rational person to worry about, but enough to terrify me and to leave red spots and tracks inside my whitie-tighties.

I wrapped toilet paper around my wounded peter and wondered what to do. Reporting to the school nurse was out of the question. So was the thought of telling any adult. I was stuck with a bleeding penis that continued to seep evidence of what I'd accidentally done to myself.

As soon as I got home that afternoon I locked myself in the bathroom.  Some of the thinnest traces had dried. Others were still active, oozing damp blood in my undies.

What should I do? First I took off my jeans and underwear so I could wash my Fruit-of-the-Looms. Then I sat on the toilet to give myself a thorough inspection. "Medicine," I thought. I needed to put "something" on the scratch. But what?

I looked around the bathroom and noticed a small jar of Vaseline on the counter. Maybe that would help. I grabbed the jar and applied a little dab to the scratch on my penis, rubbing one finger up and down along the injury.

I don't know whether it was the Vaseline or the up-down motion of my fingertip or just "my time," but I began to notice my dick getting stiff and my head feeling funky. "Add a little more grease," I told myself. I spread more and more Vaseline on my penis. Kept rubbing up and down on the bleeding scratch. My body seemed to be telling me, "This is leading you somewhere new. Explore it. Let it happen."

At some point I changed my grip so that I was applying my thumb on the upper surface of my growing stiffie and two fingers underneath. The Vaseline was squishing around on my dick and before I could analyze what was happening, I was applying as much of my hand as would fit around my rigid little erection.

My strokes became faster and faster. Strange feelings made my whole body tingle.  "Enough! Enough!" I commanded myself. But the thought of stopping those urgent up-and-down motions seemed counterproductive. I must see what is at the end of this rainbow! I must allow the feelings to keep growing. I must let my penis continue to stiffen. I must prepare myself because something horribly frightening and yet cosmically important is happening to me.

And, of course, it did happen - happened in a sudden and unexpected climax that I'd never experienced before. My whole body shook. My head went cold. Cum shot all over the tile floor and the plastic shower curtain, then continued to drool out of the tip of my softening dick. It was not the best ejaculation I ever experienced, but it was the first one, and I fully expected to wake up in a coffin. I sat very still, waiting for death.

I still have a thin little scar on my penis, a souvenir that helped me make special friends of certain inquisitive dudes during my important middle-school days.

Anonymous