The hazards of trimming pubes…
It seems that I can’t stop abusing my crotch.
I exist in a “live and learn” world. Like (many years ago) I learned to NOT blow a shnot rocket in the shower while I’m facing the shower head. I found out that little gem of knowledge the hard way. I girl I was dating was (finally) about to go down on me. Well, just before insertion, apparently she came face to face with a semi-sticky nose gremlin embedded in my pubes. Kinda ruined the mood.
I learned three things that night: First, rip a booger blast into my palm then rinse it down. Second, keep my pubes trimmed. And, third, date women that don’t have high standards.
Here we are again. At my crotch. Today was “trimming” day. I hit all of my zones: Buzz my head with the clippers, shave down the goatee, shave around said goatee, and yes, deforest my bush.
There I was sitting on the toilet facing the tank with my junk over the bowl, trimming away with the clippers (quarter inch attatchment), happy as a clam. Maybe I was lulled by the soothing buzzing mixed with pubes being cut (kinda sounds like sleet on a window pane, but quieter). All I know was I was mowing up and down around my package and evidently when I was sliding that voracious bastard on the underside where I couldn’t see, it struck. You see, it seems that the patch of skin (where it stops being ball bag and becomes pecker) is skinny enough to slip between the platic tines of the attatchment and can snuggle right up to the metal blades.
Oh, yes, it kinda stung… There’s nothing scarier than seeing blood on your junk that’s not yours.
Of course all of this was before my shower, and when I got in, that soap worked it’s way right into that cut flap of skin (looked like a tiny light switch actually). I’ve had better times…
Take this as a lesson learned. From your Uncle Porno.
Maybe I should get a Prince Albert…
Marc(o)
