Balls to the Walls
I like to keep my pubic hair trimmed. Not shaved by any means, but occasionally I like to use the electric beard trimmer on it to--so to speak--mow the lawn. After all, I never know when some lusty redhead will demand to take my manhood into her mouth. Right? And of course it would be rude to choke her with long pubic hairs. So that's that.
Anyway, I've been neglectful for many weeks. Just too many other things on my mind. So the other night, while my wife was out walking the dogs, I decided I'd quickly step into the bathroom and fire up the beard trimmer to bring some order to that patch of fur. The problem was the "quickly" part. Instead of dropping trou' and using both hands, I instead pulled down my warm-ups and the running shorts that were underneath with one hand, and exposed the minimum while I attempted to make the turns and go 'round the corners of my manly package with the other hand holding the trimmer. Mostly, I did OK, but as I was catching some of the most downward hair, I felt a pinch as the clippers snipped a bit of ball flesh. Being a Man, I kept right on doing the chore. Then I felt another pinch. I continued until I was satisfied with the trim. Then I turned from the sink, with a palm full of hair to deposit in the toilet, and realized that I was bleeding. Not a little, but a LOT! Have you ever really noticed how many little veins and arteries there are on the surface of the scrotum??
This presented a problem. Remember that secret life thing? I didn't really care to explain this to my wife when she returned, so--since I do remember first aid--I applied pressure to the wound(s) and got some tissue to absorb the flow. The tissue quickly became saturated with blood. I ran to my desk, where I keep a jar of "Liquid Bandage." It turns out, this is quite effective on dry wounds, but not so much on active exsanguination. Plus, since the main ingredients of liquid bandage are alcohol and oil of cloves, it has a certain "tingle" to it. Excruciating, burning pain, when applied to a sex organ, to be exact. Meanwhile I continued to try to stem the flow of blood to my Kleenex and clothing.
I ran to the other bathroom, and the only thing I could find that was of help was a box of band-aids. Keep in mind, we're talking BALLS. Hairy balls, at that. Wrinkly, crinkly, scrotal sac human flesh. I tore open the wrapper of the gigantic bandage that fell from the box, and slapped it on my right sac while splatters of blood went everywhere. Oddly, it seemed to stop the bleeding. I also found some surgical sponges left over from a prior visit to the emergency room, and stuffed them into my shorts for good measure. Then, with the crisis dealt with, the burning from the liquid bandage became even more obvious, and I felt a certain heat rise from Down There. Stoically, I rush around the house cleaning up all the evidence. There was still a big blob of blood on the white towel in the bathroom, but that will have to stay. The house smelled like oil of cloves when my wife walked in, but she said nothing
.The bandage came off in the shower this morning. I was biting on the washcloth to suppress my screams while more hair was removed at the roots.
And life is good.




























































































