At first I thought she might have been on her period but quickly realised what had actually happened – my fabled banjo string had snapped!
It was a cold, dry autumn night. A re-run of Supernatural was playing in the background but we had given up on that long before. There was a faint clicking coming from the old overhead fan as its blades spun around and around. Netflix had run its very specific course, and now it was time for some chill.
By no means would I consider myself a legend of the Kama Sutra, but keeping a few tricks up my sleeve has kept me and my performances at a sufficient level for as long as I can remember. It was during one of my graceful position changes that ultimately led to my immediate downfall. The sharp, cold air grasped the residual moisture surrounding my shaft, rendering it more of a grip than a lubricant. It must have been similar for my partner as disaster struck upon re-entry.
From a calm and sensual position to a more aggressive, four-limbed approach, combined with the lust and passion of two young adults, the catastrophe that followed was inevitable. Not even three pumps in did I feel a slight twang. It felt more like a pin prick at first, but then after a more consistent scraping feeling, I knew something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t so much a pain as it was an annoyance, but I could tell I needed to stop and pull out.
We had turned the TV off prior to our physical engagement so it was almost pitch black. I fumbled around my knob, poking and prodding at the location of where the slight stinging sensation was. At first it seemed like everything was okay. I did feel some warm, gooey liquid but I thought that was just the sexual juices of our interaction. The air flow from the overhead fan had worked its magic again, drying the clammy liquid on my fingertips a little bit faster than I had anticipated, so I decided that it was probably best to turn the lights on to see if everything was okay and we could continue doing the do.
The lights flashed on, illuminating the scene of carnage that spread out across my messy bedroom. Blood was all over my bed sheets and dripping on the floor where I stood. At first I thought she might have been on her period but quickly realised what had actually happened. My fabled banjo string had snapped!
Well, not quite snapped, but torn, and was bleeding everywhere! I hobbled over to the bathroom, scared my parents might come knocking to see what the commotion was about, but luckily they did not. I sat down on the toilet, applying toilet paper to stem the ridiculous amounts of blood. It was spurting out at an alarming rate, at the same pace as my pulse, causing me to go a bit lightheaded.
My girlfriend got some ice for me, so I placed it in some toilet paper and wrapped it around my bloodied, sad little flaccid penis. It reminded me of a wounded, bloody eel that had lost a battle and shrunk back into its cave to die.
As I sat pathetically on the toilet, I wondered how long I would be out of action for. I contemplated seeing a doctor or a surgeon to get it fixed but Google said to just wait it out and let it heal on its own.
So for two whole weeks I didn’t touch the little guy. I tried to avoid pissing, avoided all forms of sexual encounters to avoid getting an erection, and barely touched my foreskin. Waking up each morning with the glory was excruciating, as not only did it sting, but it stopped the healing process, almost like when you pull a scab off too early.
It was a sad and depressing two weeks for my girlfriend and I. Being a 19 year old and having to force yourself not to express the sexual desires that drive you is a hard pill to swallow. But after the two weeks, when I finally pulled back on my foreskin with no resistance, no pain, no scratching feeling, I knew I was good to go. The first thing I did was buy some lube (just in case) and away we went.
Since that day a few years ago, my banjo string has never snapped or torn again, and if anything, is as strong as it has ever been.
Words by Banjo Kazooie
Art by Lucie Cester
IG – @elsicreations_