Everyone seems to have had nice quickie accidents, my recent debacle was slow but no less embarrassing.
You see I had to go to the doctor’s again and I really didn’t want to.
A month back I’d had a prostate check-up, no problem apart from the deep embarrassment. I kept a close eye on the quack. You know, just in case he was gripping me with both hands.
And now I was returning, and the embarrassment was off the scale.
I’d bought some Cordura pants from Ace here in Norwich. They felt OK in the shop, but either they shrank, I grew, or vanity got the best of me – but they were ‘snug’. Leaping onto the bike snug just became tight. Gripping in fact. Below the waistband, but just above the old man.
So tight the thigh pockets were starting to fail at the inner corners.
But back to the Doctor’s.
Now around the same time a large bulging vein had appeared on the end of my shaft, worrying.
So I’m straight on to Google. (Here’s a tip for your test, if you think you aren’t taking enough lifesaver looks over your shoulder, try surfing ‘Penile Dysfunction’ at work in an open plan office).
Not knowing all the Medical jargon, I concluded it was a blocked lymph duct. “Leave it alone and it will clear on 3 days” was the advice. Cause? Apparently brought on by excessive self-abuse or prolonged (possibly deviant) sexual activity. Not guilty your honour! But also not keen to share with doctor.
Well three days? Ha! Three WEEKS later and I’m still the man with the sensitive tool with the Alaska pipeline poking out of the ground. I’ve also got what appeared to be a piece of fishing line running down the length of the top of the old fella.
I’d have left it and hoped for the best. However my Frustrated Girlfriend is an ex-Nurse (bad enough) and one of her daughters is a Hospital Senior Houseman. So she’s threatening to let the sausage out of the bag, in a sharing, caring get-that-sucker-fixed way. Naturally, I didn’t want to be classed as a perverted w*nker by her kids, so off to the doctors and him on with gloves again.
“It looks like a thrombosis of the dorsal vein” he pronounced. He knew his stuff, a quick look at the internet (Google again) and he even got a name “Mondor’s Disease”.
Of course this time the cause was not only excessive self-abuse and ‘a bit of rough’ in the fecking department, but also possible over enthusiastic use of pervy clamps and S&M fetish equipment. (Believe me - I’m still innocent your honour! But does anyone listen?).
Back to work, back on the web, and back to Penile Dysfunction (got wing mirrors fitted to my monitor now, cuts down the whiplash) but now I knew the beast and its name is Mondor.
Turns out there is a case history there. The subject stated he had been wearing a ‘tight toolbelt’ (unfortunate I know) at work, but the Medics pooh-poohed that. “Too much perverted sex and w*nking with bulldog clips” they said.
Since then I have got bigger pants from Ace and am happy to report all is well. The only things throbbing between my legs now are my SV and my Wee Twin Yamaha XSV125.
I guess the moral of this story is small pants, big tanks and long rides don’t mix.
I told the girlfriend Mondor was a famous porn star and she believed me.
(Now where did I put those Jazz mags and wood clamps…???)