On Tuesday, I had my eyebrows waxed. I remarked that the skin around the eyes is very sensitive, and has to be almost as sensitive as the crotch area. My conclusion was that women who complain about the pain of waxing are a bunch of pussies. Several of you pussies then commented that I should get my balls waxed first, and then see if I still think it’s relatively painless.
I may still do that, but this reminded me of the time, back in high school, when I tried to trim my balls with an electric trimmer.
It was the year 1991. I was 14, and I had a goatee and could buy alcohol without a fake id. To keep me from looking too bear-like, my parents bought me a beard trimmer for Christmas and encouraged me to use it frequently to keep my beard nice and neat. A trimmer that I used for all of about a month and then stuck it under my bathroom cabinet and forgot about it.
Until that fateful day 9 months later, when, after perusing the latest Hustler’s Barely Legal, I realized that none of the men had hair on their balls, and no man bush, either! It totally made their penises look huge! Now, even though I can wrap my penis around my leg three times, I was always up for things to try to enhance the visual effect.
Let me pause for a second and explain that I used to be very prone to leaping before looking. I rarely came up with a plan and simply acted without thinking, time and time again. This might explain why, in my old, old age, I’m a bit more cautious and much less spontaneous.
I ran into the bathroom. Didn’t have to strip down, since I was already bare ass naked. Reached under the cabinet and grabbed the trimmers. The trimmers that had been sitting for 9 months without being cleaned or maintained, resting in a small puddle of dampness from the last time I used them.
I plugged it in and faced the mirror. Raising my testicles with one hand, trying to stretch them into a flat surface, I pushed the trimmers up against them and flipped the switch.
The resulting electric shock shot me about a foot backwards into the wall. My head missed the corner of the medicine cabinet by about a quarter inch, and the reverberations of my body hitting the bathroom wall made the towel rack fall to the ground, along with all of its contents.
Extremely dazed, I slowly stood up. The circuit breaker in the bathroom had popped, so I reached over, unplugged the trimmer, and hit the Reset button. I bent over to pick up the trimmer and the basket of accessories from the floor when I felt a little flash of pain coming from the bottom of my balls. Fearing that I had flash fried my boys, I maneuvered rather impressively to a spot where I could see that part in the mirror. Instead of a burn, though, I just saw a bloody scrape where I had jammed the trimmer when the shock hit me.
I gingerly washed my balls and even sprayed some Bactine on them, which is something that I recommend you never, never, never, NEVER do. Once the tears had gone away and I could see again, I started to put the trimmer away under the cabinet. That’s when I made the oh-so wonderful discovery of how rusty the blade was. It was a nice orange color that basically screamed to me (in my 14-year old mind), tetanus! With visions of lockjaw and other horrors that I didn’t truly understand dancing through my head, I tried to think of a solution.
Couldn’t go get a tetanus shot by myself. Couldn’t tell my mom that I scraped my balls with a rusty beard trimmer. Couldn’t risk getting lockjaw and diseases and who knows what else from tetanus.
So, I gritted my teeth, went out onto my balcony, found a nail that was poking out, and sliced my arm open about two inches, then went downstairs to tell my mother so that she could schedule a tetanus shot for me. And if finding out that my last tetanus shot was good for another three years wasn’t enough karmic payback, having my father, going upstairs to my room to see what had fallen, find the Hustlers that I left carelessly strewn on the bed, followed by mother asking me why my crotch was bleeding when she noticed the red patch on my white underwear, made it a perfect day of horror, pain, fear, punishment, and embarrassment.
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