When I Blew Up My Dick

Okay, I guess I can talk about it now, but mostly because Always Aroused Girl said a few times that she wanted to hear the story. All in all, if I were going to tell cock stories around the campfire while making s'mores, I'd want her there - and in my sleeping bag later on too.

Remember that this was back in those miserable years during which sex was pretty much something I did on my own. Dee gave me some when I got ornery on her about it, but most of the time I tried to keep my mouth shut and just tended to my own needs as often as I could. This, of course, led to a lot of experimentation. I wanted bigger and better ways to get off than the old up and down stroke, and in part I tried to continue my workshop explorations of my teens when my goal in life was to invent the ultimate hands-free jerk off. (That amounted to soldering fishing sinkers to hobby motors and strapping them to my cock with elastic, powering them up with model train transformers, and hoping to escape with only minor penile trauma.) So, there I was, pretty much left to my own devices - literally - in trying to pleasure my pound of prized flesh.

Now and then I'd hit up Ye Olde Adulte Shoppe to see what the truly desperate were up to, and the cock pumps always caught my eye. Oh, of course I knew that I wasn't going to escape the curse of poor pee-pee genetics to add anything meaningful onto the old average, but if they were offering at least a half dozen different varieties of pumps, one with a great looking picture of Jeff Stryker on the box as a bonus, well what the hell was $30 when it came to potential pleasure? I imagine the clerk was on the phone to whoop it up as soon as I got out the door. "Hey! Guess what? (Snicker!) Another asshole just bought a pump!" What did I care? I was on the way home to turn my dick into a dirigible!

Naturally my extended self abuse sessions had to wait till Dee took the kids out somewhere - preferably for a weekend out of state to visit her dad while I selflessly volunteered to stay home to take care of the dog. Yeah, I was tending to the dog - the ol' hot dog I was born with, spending most of such weekends without clothes on just going nuts with my little buddy. I don't remember the first time I stuffed my dick into the sheath of the cock pump and put it through its paces, but after that first session, whenever it was, I was eager to head back for more! It felt fucking awesometastic! (I got that new non-word from that college girl's blog that I read faithfully, and yes - I'd still love to bang her up, down, sideways, and diagonally till the cows come home or at the very least call to say that they're at an all night milkin' and they'll be getting home late.)

To the folks who asked if it hurt - NO! It felt great! Any guy who's ever had a hard cock knows how wonderful it feels when his dick is like a piece of oak. The whole thing just strains and throbs and aches to cum, and why not? It's what it's supposed to do when it gets all stiff. The harder the dick, the more likely the guy attached to it is to allow it to do most of his thinking. I watched my cock swell to mammoth proportions within the hollow tube of the pump and the sensations were maddeningly pleasurable. Enter Joe's addictive personality and cautions? Warnings? What warnings? They were for those OTHER guys. And so, Mr. Happy spent much longer than recommended in the vacuum tube of penile nirvana.

Mind you, I don't really know if the vacuuming is to blame or not, but somewhere along the line of rabid self abuse in various forms, I lost my youthful ability to get rock hard from just thinking about arousing stuff. Thus, the sex "scar" I bear is of a different kind. Pop my dick into a warm mouth and juggle the balls a little and he's up and at 'em, but hand me a Hustler and tie my hands behind my back and I'm at a loss to achieve anything resembling a respectable woody. It could be any one of a number of factors, or a combination. It could be having used the pump WAY beyond the recommended maximum time limit. It could be that I smoked way too many cigarettes for way too many years. It could be my generally sedentary lifestyle and my resemblance to Cartman from South Park. It could be that I just burned myself out on sex - too much thinking about it, reading about it, looking at dirty pictures. But I miss that amazing steel hard dick of a lifetime ago when all I had to do was have a fleeting thought of so much as half a nipple or two and a half female pubic hairs and I was walking like Quasimodo so not as to embarrass myself with the bulge tenting out the front of my pants.

And so middle age continues. On occasion I eye up the hobby motors downstairs in the shop and get that dirty gleam in my eye. But, I have a wife who loves sex now, and I love how her pussy calls my name. I believe I hear it calling me now, as a matter of fact...

Another view of the beast.

And I really did break after typing that ellipsis up there to go upstairs and have sex with Dee!
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