A mangoes into the doctor asking for a vasectomy
See, they asked me in advance: "Mr. Dahlgren, would you like us to shave you, or would you like to do it yourself?" I Kojaked myself once when I was in high school...on acid, so I reasoned I could handle it. Their only request: "shave the TOP of the scrotum." No problem, I thought.
It's the morning of My Big Day and I'm in the shower. I soaped up, grabbed the Mach III, held my penis, and thought: "hmmm...which exact part is the TOP of the scrotum?"
That's not easy. I mean, where exactly is the top? When you are standing, wouldn't the top be ... the penis? My balls aren't huge, and in a hot shower they dangle below my puny manstraw. Maybe they meant the top from the perspective of one laying down. Whatever. I started shaving.
Now, you know...the balls sort of have a mind of their own. They move around...mine do, anyhow. They shift and roll, I guess trying to find the perfect balance of heat or coolness in an effort to manufacture good sperm. I ran the Mach III across the constantly shifting sea of flesh and goat hair. It wasn't easy.
It's not like at any point in my life my father pulled me aside and taught me how to shave my balls. Not like he taught me to shave my face. I'm not aware of any non-credit course for teenagers intending on tripping on LSD alone in their basement bedroom, doomed to spend the long night in the shower with a razor and a touch of homoeroticism. No, you have to learn this on the fly, alone.
The razor itself was getting plugged up with hair, so I'd wash it out and start over. Soon, the scrotum itself was devoid of soap, so I added more. Leaned over in stubborn determination, I kept at it.
I'm the kind of person who mops his floor every other day, and am usually pretty comprehensive about issues of cleanliness. Before I knew it, I had shaved my entire genital region. Balls, penis, the bridge between the balls and the ass, part of the ass, the legs around the crotch, stomach hair, etc. Totally Kojaked. The skin; it shined.
I had 5-alarm razorburn and 3 weeks of the worst kind of 5 o'clock shadow ever, but it was shiny and I was, for now, satisfied.
When I dropped my undies the doctor and nurse were shocked. "You only needed to shave the top of the scrotum." I asked them to indicate the exact location of the top. I guess it's, well, at the top, just below and to the right and left of the penis.
Anyway, they did their cutting/burning/stitching, gave me some instructions regarding taking it easy, not splitting wood, etc. Told me to come back after "30-40 ejaculations" to test for sperm count ("30-40 ejaculations?" I asked them, "shit, I'll be back here at 3 this afternoon").
And I was returned to the world, successfully emasculated.
There's more to this story. I could talk about how I did in fact split wood, travel all over the US on an airplane, play with my sons, and so on. I could talk about how 30-40 ejaculations was in fact just a couple days later, how I misunderstood the lab's instructions regarding the collection of sperm, and ended up jerking off in several of the hospital's restrooms before I could successfully complete because it's not easy to jerk off in public (not for me, anyhow). How the lab technician scowled at me when I handed her a warm collection cup and told me this could have been done at home (oh?). And so on.
I could talk about all of these things, but I won't. Instead I'll skip to the mangoes, because the mangoes are the best part of the story, in my opinion.
It's 5 days after the operation, and I'm walking into Urology in my ex-wife's flowered mu mu. I'm wearing slippers and a jock strap filled with two bags of frozen peas surrounding what's left of my manhood; each of which are swollen to the size of small mangoes, which is a reddish yellow because it's filled with a mixture of blood and pus (possessing a curiously rancid scent). I've just driven myself to the doctor; an 11 mile drive in my stick shift German car with black leather seats. I have a 103 fever, and it's not easy to drive a stick shift wearing a mu mu when your mango balls are crammed in a jockstrap filled with frozen peas.
Once they lanced my mangoes and drained the yogurt, and after a week or so of antibiotics, my fever finally dropped and I felt back to normal. Mostly.
The first few yank sessions felt like something was ... pulling and tugging, deep inside. It felt a bit off, but now it's killer. I get the sensation that I'm ejaculating into a wall, but besides that it's all good.
The procedure? Highly recommended! The lavender-colored tri-fold pamphlet describing the procedure as "relatively painless?" Total bullshit and clearly written by a woman who has survived childbirth.
this is in or around NE Portland