Gut Rumbles
 

April 07, 2008

I have a new toy

Originally published August 5, 2003

I learned two things today. I have a new bionic dick that works, and I'm going to pay a lot of money for it. Learned thing #1 trumps learned thing #2 hands-down.

After prostate cancer and the resultant humiliation I went through at the hands of medical science, I have no shame or embarrassment left in me. When I was sitting on the examination table, nekkid from the waist down with the doctor steering my fingers all over my crotchital area to show me where the on-off switches were in my nether scrotal hideaway, I never even flinched when a nurse walked in.

Hell, I wouldn't have flinched if we had been on the fifty yard line as part of a Super Bowl halftime show. That's how little physical modesty I have left in me.

He said, "I'm going to squeeze here," and he did. I heard a muted gurgling sound and Roscoe woke up and looked around with his one good eye to see what was going on. The doctor said, "That's about all you need for now. When you are less sore, you can experiment with the pressure you want to use. To deflate the erection, you press here and squeeze your penis." Roscoe went back to sleep.

He sent me off into a side room with an instruction book. I pushed and squeezed and probed for 15 minutes and I couldn't get the damn thing to work. My immediate thought was, "My $35,000 dick broke on it's first semi-outing!"

About that time, the same nurse walked into the room. "You doing okay, honey?" she asked, as I was still probing my nutsack for the keys to the riddle. She has shaved my balls twice in my life so far, once when I was asleep. I am NOT going to piss her off. She might be around there with a razor again someday.

"No, I ain't doing all right. I can't get the damn thing to work. You want to try it?"

She didn't try it, but she brought me a model implant and demonstrated it outside of my body. She let me do it. Once I figured out how THAT worked, I was successful on my own. I just needed more training.

I'm still too sore to go for a real long-jump, and I'm pretty sure that the bionic Roscoe won't be nearly as good as the one I had before prostate cancer. The pumped-up erection still feels unnatural to me. But I can surely tell that he's gonna be better than the dead Roscoe I've lived with for almost two years now.

Now I know how it works. And practice DOES make perfect, doesn't it? I intend to practice a lot.

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