Singing Soprano

So...

I alluded to a medical procedure last Friday...


Yes. Per the agreement with my wife, who pumped-out twins, I got a vasectomy.

Now, really, the procedure itself wasn't that bad. I was out of there in about 15 minutes, and really, despite some very very minor swelling and a tad of residual soreness (nothing regular Tylenol can't handle), it was no big deal.

There was, however, one part of the procedure that truly sucked, though. It was the worst, most painful thing I can remember, short of ones that may have been so painful I blacked-out.

It wasn't the shot of local anesthesia.

It wasn't the incision.

It wasn't the tugging of various internal organs.

It wasn't smelling my own burning flesh as the doctor cauterized the cuts shut after removing an inch of my ball tubes.

No.

You see, the doc had to tape the shaft of my penis to my stomach to keep it from flopping in his way.

Allow me to paint a picture. Warning: what follows is not for the faint of heart, or children.

So the procedure goes according to plan. We chat about politics. He is Iraqi and while he disagrees with the war, as I do, he also disagrees with last week's Supreme Court decision to grant habeus corpus rights to those individuals incarcerated at Gitmo. We discuss this, and I noted with humor that I just disagreed about a heated topic with the guy with a knife in one hand and my balls in the other. I asked him not to hold it against me (HA! rife with puns...), which garnered a good laugh. He asks me about Somalia and we draw a few parallels to gang warfare and sectarian violence. You know, good conversation between two well-educated gentlemen, one of whom is hacking merrily away at the other's balls.

He finishes with little fanfare. He removes the few layers of gauze and absorbant barriers, and say's "oh yeah, I have to remove the tape. This'l just take a second."

"Oh, okay," I start. "So as I was sayyyyiiiieeeuuugggnnnn!!!!!!"

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "We use good tape here."

He tugs again. I scream as what feels like 3 feet of skin is removed from the shaft of my cock.

"Jesus, doc, what did you use, duct tape??"

"Only a second more..."

Again, the same feeling that at he is removing no less than 20 inches of tape off of my penis.

"Doc! Dammit! How much of my dick did you tape down??"

He chuckles. CHUCKLES. "Only as much as I had to."

Rip. Scream. Writhe.

"I swear you wrapped the whole damn shaft in tape, didn't you!"

"I promise you, only ths bit of contact. It's just I can only take off a bit at a time before you bellow like a dying Euphredes tiger." He snickers.

"Are you sure it's that you can only take off a few FEET at a time?? Sweet Mercy of Mary, doctor, just YYYYAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"There. It's off."

"G...great," I pant, writhing on he bed, sweating profusely. "Did you leave any skin at all, or do I need to see a plastic surgeon."

"Plenty of skin. Plus, you know, it grows back."

"You did it just because I disagreed with you about the supreme court, didn't you? I want my money back."

"I still have the tape in my hand, and you're still laying down," he smiles.

"You win. Hand me my whitey-tighties."

Yeah, for the first time since I traded-in my underoos, I had to wear whitey-tighties. You're supposed to wear "tight-fitting underwear or an athletic supporter" and so I had to go buy those silly-looking underwears, which for a boxers guy like me, was akin to buying porn at an upscale bookstore. More on that later.

And there you have it. I sorta wish he asked me to hold it instead of using tape, but then you all wouldn't have been able to share in this riveting tale.