Life With A Donated Member
A horrible accident saw me lose the most important limb I have, my penis. I will not go into any details but suffice to say, one should never be cheap and use knock-off lube that can pass convincingly as axle grease with one’s fleshlight, especially if it’s for a vigorous session.
But thanks to the miracle of science, all was not lost. Just to be clear, all the penis was lost, everything from the pelvis onwards. All of that gone! I was left looking like a mannequin with a pair of saggy balls for comedic effect.
Medical science has come a long way from the days of leeches and spells (MODERN medical science). I did not have to go through life with the humiliation of having to be the only chap to argue for leaving the toilet seat down. Because really!? Who can’t be bothered to take the single second to actually look to check the position of the toilet seat before getting down to business.
A radical new procedure, the penis transplant, meant that I was able to get a new lease on life. I could consider myself a man in all the relevant ways. I would only have to comprise in a few minor ways; length, girth and skin tone. Small sacrifices to still be able to have a penis.
Surprisingly, the concept of having a penis that was from a corpse was surprisingly easy to get used to. It’s amazing what the horror of having to live with no dick will do to your sense of perspective. Even the skin tone thing was pretty easy to get used to. Flashing it became an amusing party trick as no one could actually believe they saw a lightest-skinned cock on this darkest of dudes. It was hilarious. And it was more than once where I was propositioned by women looking to experience the cock to believe the story *wink wink, nudge nudge* i.e. white man meat from a black mandingo.
But these little things did not take the edge off the hardships of having a second hand sausage.
Masturbation was never the same. It never felt like I was pleasuring myself, more like a phantom handjob, and an amateurish one at that. The technique I had perfected since my teens was off thanks to the new thickness and length of the shaft and its different nerve endings. I always had to be conscious of the strokes or I would end up almost ripping my head of as I overshot. The natural grip I had was suddenly not right and it felt like I was jerking a disembodied penis that mysteriously made me orgasm.
Sex with the girlfriend was always awkward. After the initial new dick novelty wore off, she became uncomfortable with having the Frankenstein weiner all up in her. Blowjobs are at an end when you have to convince her that no really, it’s totally fine to have what was once a dead man’s schlong in your mouth, it’s not at all necrophilic. Sex became a dutiful chore that even a Puritan would deem it frigid. Of course the lack of release has made me more of an ornery bastard, which weird enough, is suddenly gaining me more female attention. Which just amps my need for release, making me more annoyed. It’s a vicious cycle.
Even months after the operation, a simple morning wee can end in disaster, with pee all over the floor, due to misjudgement of positioning and trajectory of the morning wood due to the foreign stiffy that is now attached to my body.
Deep down, I don’t think I will ever get accustomed to having a new tool to work with. But still, better used dick than no dick at all. A philosophy most women, gay dudes and, now one straight guy, can live by.