Monday, June 16, 2008

dick-hole

Public speaking, or on a smaller scale a conversation with a stranger, is not something everyone is good at.

Myself? I'm well above average.

But then again, I'm well above average on just about everything. (Hear that ladies?)

However, just having Thrice Confirmed Huge Junk, World Class Calves, and the body of an Adonis doesn't mean that I'm going to automatically be great at holding a conversation or leading a discussion. No, that's a whole different skill set. One that I have, of course.

I can talk to you, I can talk to your mama. I can talk to your cat. Hell, I'd probably rather talk to your cat. Cats don't have annoying voices and worse stories.

So I'd like to think I know a good communicator when I see one. I can respect the craft.

My Ultrasound tech the other day?

Not so much.

Before I even go in for my ultrasound (A precautionary test based on nut pain we believed to be related to a sports hernia) I met up with a coworker. He attempted to relieve me of any anxiety by talking about the time he had a similar test and the chick doing it was hot. He spent the whole time trying not to unleash the dragon and eventually asked her if that sort of thing happened. She told him that it did happen and it never bothered her nearly as much as it bothered the guy it happened to. He thought it would make me laugh and keep things loose and calm. That's not nearly how I interpreted it, though.

Thanks for putting the fear of the untimely boner in my head. Douchebag.

Thing is, I wasn't worried about it, or even anxious. I recently had another embarrassing test (Detailed in Hell Week, Part 1 and Hell Week, Part 2) which helped prepare me for awkward tests involving strangers and my genitalia.

From everything I had been experiencing it seemed like I had a sports hernia. There was a constant dull ache in the left nut (The wittier of my two nuts) and all of the internet research and conversations with doctors seemed to confirm I was probably right.

Until I finally decided to get it checked out and the doc said he didn't notice the telltale sign of weakness you get during the turn and cough test.

Interesting.

So he started asking some questions about sexual history. I can't remember exactly what he asked, but it went something like this:

HIM: How long have you been with your girlfriend?
ME: Over a year.
HIM: Have you been with anyone else in that time?
ME: Not that she knows about. (Zing!) Haha, no I haven't.
HIM: Any discharge or burning?
ME: No, nothing like that.


He was obviously trying to determine if it were possible I had an std. I guess anything is possible. I've jammed the dragon into some mangy love tunnels in my day. But just because they were the opposite of aesthetically pleasing doesn't mean they were disease riddled.

At least, that's what I was telling myself as my doctor told me about how my age placed me more at risk for something like Chlamydia (as the cause of my nut pain) than it did for a basic urinary tract infection caused by less publicly embarrassing means.

Thankfully, the doctor did tell me that he just didn't believe I had an std and wanted me to come back in for an ultrasound to make sure everything in the nutal region (Medical term) looked alright.

I scheduled it for a few days later and had no idea what I was in for.

I couldn't shake the thought that maybe I did have Chlamydia. It can remain dormant in your system for quite some time before manifesting itself in ways like nut pain. The good news would be a much faster recovery, allowing me to get back to exercising almost immediately. I need to get back down to my fighting weight so I can live out my dream of punching annoying people in the face. The bad news was breaking it to Elizabeth that her dirty vagina gave me Chlamydia if I had it she likely had it as well, and we'd both need a course of antibiotics to kill it.

Here's the thing. Chlamydia is sort of like the strep throat of the genito-urinary system. It's killed by an antibiotic, but while it's there it causes symptoms that really aren't any worse than strep, just more embarrassing because of the area of the body. To me, the stuff that comes out of your throat or nose during an upper respiratory infection is quite gross and abnormal. Swelling, pain, and discharge are pretty much the same type of thing as the big C, yet far scarier when it happens in and around your baby maker (Medical term).

Also, it could have been something I got from anyone. There was the supermodel, the bikini model, the Hawaiin Tropic model, and a few other worthy candidates mixed in annoying 22yr old with bad breath, the nurse who rarely looked me in the eye while talking, and a couple others along the way. It could have been anyone and just remained dormant in my system until now. That made things (assuming I was found to have the Big C in the first place) almost impossible to pin on any one girl from my past and my dreams of making a phone call to one of them were pretty much squashed.

ME: Hey, it's Bracelet. Long time no talk, huh?
HER: Wow! It's great to hear from you. I still think about you.
ME: Really?
HER: Yeah, I've never had better.
ME: Yeah, I know.
HER: I'm married now, but can we get together?
ME: No, and my doctor determined that you have Chlamydia.
HER: ....
ME: IN YOUR FACE!


Coming up in part 2?

The reason this post is titled Dick-Hole, and ultimately what it was I had wrong with me. Then in part 3, how I cured myself through prayer and deep reflection, turning my life of sin around and becoming the man God wants me to be.

Or how I attempted to masturbate the pain away.

Thanks for reading.

3 comments:

donkeypuncher said...

God. I've been waiting for this story.

You didn't disappoint.

one outer said...

I'm speechless.

I look forward to reading the rest in 11 days.

KajaPoker said...

I always thought Chlamydia was the name of some Hispanic chick who got around a lot. Hmmm...