A Frenulum In Need

Hindsight is an amazing thing. It wraps the rose coloured glasses around your mind’s eye. It tacks an extra 100 IQ points on how you could’ve handled a tricky situation. It can also make utterly traumatic events hilarious (given the right amount of time), as is the case here.

Yeah, it’s a dick story; but I promise that I’ll spare you the usual laborious and clichéd ‘My massive member’ allusions, as this is a penis story where size really isn’t crucial in the story… despite the tremendous girth of my massive member.

Horrifically, it was my 25th birthday; or rather, the day after my birthday and the morning of my 25th birthday party. The Summer rains had been pissing down all week and suddenly, the weather clicked over to a ‘glad I’m in Australia’ level of warmth and sunshine. It was a good day to be me and I was on a Birthday high. Carrying on from said high, my girlfriend and I decided to engage in some morning sex. Now, I’m a gentleman and the exact details aren’t important here; but certain things are crucial and must be distinctly understood (or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate).

The most crucial of all aspects to this story (other than the fact that I have a penis), is that I’m not circumcised. This is possibly the most integral piece of information, as the foreskin is attached to the head of your penis by a thin strip of skin called the Frenulum. You also have one under your tongue and behind your top lip (where your gums meet your lips). They are odd little membranes indeed, and in younger… male circles; they are refered to lovingly as “The Banjo String.”

You can see where this is going… no?

While enjoying my favourite part of birthday sex, something strange happened during entry. Even if I had the luxury of some sort of sexual 3rd Umpire, I’m sure all parties concerned would be going straight to the video ref for some slow motion, up-close examination.

Let me also explain that being 25 I’m no novice to intercourse; and being with my girlfriend for a long time, we both know the score. Foreplay was over, conditions were perfect; the support band had finished and it’s time for the main show. What I’m trying to say… without being too gutter-worthy, is that I was in no matter rushing the entry point of the proceedings. I had taken my time, done everything right – and now it was my turn to get mine – capiche?

Back to the point of entry…

Something went terribly, inexplicably, horrendously wrong. Like a graceful Russian Prima Ballerina tripping over nothing in mid-air and landing on her face… I felt like screaming for my mum and phoning Mulder and Scully. You see, upon insertion something happened. And my (mighty) foreskin had rolled back too far… way too far. My frenulum went from fine to breaking point in nanoseconds, and like a piece of brittle brie – it ripped.

Yeah, it fucking ripped, and because I was erect as can be imagined – my manhood was extra full of blood. The instant my fucking cock ripped apart I knew something had gone astray because sex is awesome, and my cock was telling my brain that something not so awesome was transpiring. A herd of wild rhinoceros couldn’t have yanked my dick out quicker.

In the time it took to grab my dick to look at it, my hand was already covered in blood… COVERED in blood. It was like a fondue fountain of pinot pain, and it was now overflowing over my hand and was Niagra-falling on my recently purchased mattress.

My (lovely) girlfriend was shocked to say the least, but I oddly knew exactly what had happened. The same thing happened to an old high school friend of mine, and you don’t forget a ripped dick story… they’re some of the best urban legends around.

I looked at my (lovely) grilfriend, and said as calmy and plainly as possible (in a rushed, panicky soprano) ‘I’ve ripped my dick.’

While running to the shower in an awkward hop and screaming like a six year old. In the shower, the blood just kept on coming, as fast as the water was washing it away. When my boner finally receded – so did the Dante’s Peak torrent of blood. At this point, I started to shake – shock was taking over my body.

I decide I should peel back my foreskin and survey the damage. BAD IDEA! There is a rumble in my stomach and I start to get dizzy. Again, I go for a peel; only this time it’s a half peel. I’m terrified by what may be lying under that hood and assumed that the head of my cock was now a free agent. I could only assume that it would drop right off if given the chance to leap out from under the hood.

I slowly achieved the half peel. Out pops my severed frenulum.

Blackened at it’s stray end as my blood clotted and the repair work was beginning, and man – it stung. I note it’s a clean break and my dick lips aren’t split, which is the new high point of my morning. At this relief I let the shock take over and I crouch down in the shower and feel like puking for a while. My girlfriend comes in to check on me – she also informs me the mattress is ruined. I had to decide on some action. Medical attention. It’s Sunday. Someone needs to assess my bloody (massive) cock, pronto.

I had booked a barefoot lawn bowls session at Warringah Bowls Club for my birthday party and it was due to start in 3 hours. It’s my birthday and I’ll be fucked if I’m canceling it on the count of a perforated penis. I dry myself off, wipe the remaining blood of my shrunken, yet swollen member, and head to Mosman Medical Centre.

I hobble in. Each step making my penis move, rubbing it against my pants, equaling a new degree of pain. If the pain was in your toe you’d rate it 4/10, but because it’s your penis it doubles in your mind to 8/10.

I get inside the medical centre, my girlfriend laughing in sympathy at my hobble. There is only one other person waiting in there – awesome. My girlfriend asks if we can see the next available doctor. I stand back, still slightly aghast that what was supposed to be an amazing morning had ended in a fucking medical centre on the account of my dick. The receptionist tells us, ‘Sure, just take a seat and she’ll be right out.’

She?

I don’t know why, but at the time, we both thought that ‘No, we need a male doctor. Prior penis experience essential.’ We inquired, but the female doctor was the only one on duty. Whatever, I didn’t care… I just wanted to be told I wouldn’t need stitches and my cock will heal itself naturally. That’s what my girlfriend told me, and she has a habit of being right about everything.

So we plonk down in those plastic waiting room chairs and wait. Then my girlfriend nudges me and whispers “Baby, look at your pants.” My dick started bleeding again. Though not at the previous flash flooding level. Perhaps my choice of board shorts wasn’t the best option as, of course, my board shorts have a white stripe at the crouch. It had seeped a little, probably from the waddle in. I sighed “It looks like I’ve got my fucking man period.” With that, my name was called and in I hobbled.

The doctor was great. A woman in her mid-forties with short cropped hair. So, I explain my situation. First thing she assures me that this isn’t rare and it would be the 4th time she’s encountered such a situation. I nervously hop on the bench and get my kit off.

“It hurt last time I peeled it back so do we have to do that again?”

“Yes, but I’ll be gentle.”

So on go the gloves as she slowly peels back my swollen foreskin. Out pops the frenulum like a broken guitar string, or banjo string as it were. The pain wasn’t as bad but blood was all over it, as well as some new flow so she had to dab the blood away. She earned her paycheck that day. My girlfriend chose to look away.

“Wow, that doesn’t look normal.” I said. The doctor started laughing.

“That’s an understatement!” My cock looked like a zombie victim.

“It’ll heal fine. We don’t do stitches for this. The ripped frenulum will shrink down and a new one will grow in its place.”

“Thank fuck for that!” I shout, much to her amusement. So pants on, I sit down and the doc explains that pissing will hurt for a few days. So fill a big bowl with warm water and 2 teaspoons of salt, then piss into the warm brine. This was also the method for cleaning the wound. I have to peel it back and let the warm salt water get in there. It was a painful process for a few days and grizzly as it confronted me with my mangled member.

“So, do that for a week, 10 days, and you’ll be fine. Maybe some scar tissue,” she said, “but nothing major. Also, no sex and no wanking until it’s fully healed. If it rips again, it’d be bad.”

I mentioned that I was thinking of looking up ripped frenulum online, but thought better not to.

“No, no! Lets have a look right now!” The doctor basically leapt over to the keyboard and before I knew it we were perusing articles with titles like ‘I Couldn’t Have Sex For Weeks’ and some truly horrifying photos. “Actually, maybe we shouldn’t look.” as she clicked off Firefox.

I got 4 days worth of painkillers and was sent on my merry way. I down the painkillers, waited for them to take effect, and washed my penis in a oven bowl of warm salty water. It starts bleeding slightly. Then, taking advantage of the painkillers, I started my beer intake for the day, because it was my fucking birthday after all.

I rock up to my party, this time in black shorts, and kept drinking, feeling very merry. I walk gingerly but no one seems to notice. I kept the story to myself as everyone was having such a great time, I didn’t want the day to be remembered for my ripped dick story… I wanted the day to be remembered for something far greater, far more noble and impressive – I want everyone in the world to mark that day as the day my team fucking won the lawn bowl comp thanks to my amazing last bowl.

The lesson to be learned here, is that I may be the greatest lawn bowls player in the world – even with a ripped dick.

Rob Abel