(Disclaimer – the following true story contains references to private parts, and things done casually to them. If these are the kind of personal details you can live without, don’t read on. But it may be good for a laugh. No intention to shock or offend anyone)
Many years ago it am, and I is lying on my back in bed, next to the current girl of my dreams after some hot and sweaty sex. In those days remember, it was relatively safe to bang away like an armed policeman on a tube train.
We were enjoying a post coital woodbine and staring at the ceiling. Next to my side of the bed, on the floor is a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. The box of matches is made of thin wood – matchwood in fact, not cardboard. Remember this little fact.
Now I am daydreaming away and my right hand strays to my groin. I casually put my dick between my index and middle fingers, as you would a cigarette in fact, and I start to move my hand side to side which causes my now floppy little fella to whip about, making very satisfying “whap whap” noises as it hits my stomach and thigh. Yeah I know, it was a habit I have since grown out of. Thank god.
“Stop it! Does that not hurt?” said the she.
“Eh? Erm, no actually. When it’s down there’s not a great deal of sensation in it till things get interesting.” I give it a more vigorous wiggle and produce a sound like a fleshy helicopter flying around under the duvet.
“Stop it! how would I know it doesn’t hurt – I don’t have one of those you may have noticed”
“Well your borrowing this one quite a bit” – Slap! “Thank you dear”
Then the idea hits me. I lean over to my side of the bed, and but my cig out. I quietly slip the tray out of the matchbox and pry the box cover open into a tube and slip it under the duvet as I lay back. I give my little fella another shake, making the same noise again.
“Please stop, that sounds painful!”
“no its not – you’d be surprised how little sensation there is in it, it’s just flesh after all now, no bones and most of the nerves are at the business end as it were. Look, you can squeeze it quite hard and it don’t hurt.” I lift up the duvet and show her my right hand squeezing the poor thing quite tightly.
“Aaaaargh noooo! Yuck. Don’t do that, I quite like your privates undamaged.”
“you have a go, go on. You’d be surprised how little it hurts. Tell you what, I’ll put my hand over it – you squeeze my hand as hard as you like and if its too much I will be able to stop you”
Now she is intrigued, so giggling she says she will. Now as I made that suggestion, under cover of the duvet I pulled my cock through the wooden matchbox cover and had it hidden in my right hand, which is now round my “person”
She puts her hand on mine and giggling gives it a squeeze, I squeeze harder and the box makes a very satisfying
“KERRRRACK!”
I double up in pain, howling and swearing, writhing in pure (rada approved) agony she is trying to hold me going “oh god oh god oh god baby I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry”
Then she see’s that I am giggling not crying. Then I show her the matchbox round my cock. Then she attacks me slapping wildly
“YOU BASTARD! I THOUGHT I’D DAMAGED YOU FOR LIFE!”
All punctuated with girly slaps, which I try to dodge as I laugh more and more, and within a minute she is laughing as well, but still, trying to slap me silly.
And she had not damaged it or me for life. As she found out about half an hour later, when we had stopped laughing.
Je suis un evil bastid!
Well I was but I am a reformed character now.
Ahem.
