I Didn't Think Penises Could Break Until I Broke My Husband's

Have you ever tried to give a blow job, and heard a scream of pain? It really does wonders for your self-esteem.
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Publish date:
August 6, 2016
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Tags:
dicks, penises, sex accidents

Penises are all very similar. Sure, they have their quirks. They come hairy, or bald, or with some awkward patchiness in-between. They're accompanied by scrotums of all shapes and sizes and asymmetries. But they all behave the same way. They all respond to the same pressure points: The frenulum, the rim of the head, the behind-the-balls spot. I saw and played with a lot of penises before I learned to really enjoy them. I made a game out of it. I used to think that this was what "exploring your sexuality" meant.

I was pretty proud of my blow job skills until they were put to the test by my husband, Toby*. Have you ever tried to give a blow job, and heard a scream of pain? It really does wonders for your self-esteem.

His penis was very different, not just because it was uncircumcised. When Toby and I started dating, he told me very proudly that he was uncut. Apparently, that's a big deal for some folks. You can broadcast that fact and people will be all, "OMG!! So exotic!!!"

Sadly, my husband's "exotic" dick was complicated by something the medical community refers to as phimosis. Phimosis is a hardening and narrowing of the foreskin. With time, it can become so bad that it needs to be surgically repaired.

At first, the condition was a minor complication. I just had to be delicate. I had to relearn a lot of the techniques I had spent so many high school afternoons studying in parking lots. But if I readjusted my hand a bit, changed angles, and loosened my grip, it was no big deal. Toby and I could still be sexual, give and receive handjobs and blowjobs, and finger each other.

Of course, this demanded I be more present during our sexy times which was actually really awesome. Consent culture had only just been gaining attention in the media, so for the first time while touching a penis, I also was asking, "Is this okay? How does this feel?"

We were aware of each other's bodies and we talked a lot during sex, which, once I got over how awkward it felt, became really fun. Actual talk, too, not just saying dirty nonsense to each other. That was really important. It was the first time I had asked those questions in my ten-odd years of sexual activity. And it was the first time I'd heard them, too.

It feels very obvious to me now that communication in bed is a game-changer. But I think most women ride for years on the expectation that sex is something that happens to you. You just have to wait for the right partner, as if orgasm were something that occurs to you, not for you, not because of you. That's how I had thought it was, anyway. Looking back, it kind of angers me to think back on all the crap sex I had before I met Toby.

With him, I was finally secure enough to talk about what I wanted. And I got it. I was orgasming every time. Most women can tell you how friggin' rare that is, I can't tell you how many of my friends jumped when I told them.

"Really? Every time? How?!"

We just aren't done until we've both come. That had literally never happened to me before. I have never orgasmed so much in my entire life. It was insane and new and unfamiliar and amazing. I blame that for how eager I became. I began to crave and initiate sex, which eventually pushed poor Toby's phimosis over the edge. For Toby, phimosis was initially a gradual hardening of the foreskin. It was still able to retract, but doing so would be slightly uncomfortable. Eventually, the foreskin hardened and tightened enough to make it impossible to retract at all. It was red and swollen and painful. It was sore and tender to the touch. The more sex you have, the worse it becomes. While for some men, it is a very minor problem, for others it can get out of hand very quickly. Scarring, rashes, itchiness, and cracked skin can be a byproduct, as well.

I wanted to touch Toby more than ever, but I had done damage. We tried to be more delicate, but it eventually became unbearable for him. He was wincing in pain any time his penis came into contact with anything. Actual intercourse was completely off the table. Occasionally, with enough lube and patience, I could give him a handjob, but if my grip slipped even a little, it would lead to him yelping in pain. Painful screams really ruin the mood. (Well, for me, at least.)

Meanwhile, emotionally, we had at this time become pretty much inseparable. We had moved in together. We had rescued a stray cat. We were talking about marriage. It was ironic that in the most sexually liberated stage in my life, we were unable to actually have sex.

But I think that would have been fine, honestly. We were really happy despite not having intercourse (which was something teenage-me, that girl that saw sex as a tool to make high school boys pretend to enjoy her company, would never have understood about adult relationships). We fantasized about it getting better, but it was clear that his foreskin was only getting worse. So we discussed surgery, and kept coming back to eventually hoping to have children.

While there were always other ways of conceiving, (and let me be clear, those ways are perfectly valid options) we were really excited about at least trying to conceive through intercourse. And even if we can't one day, having unprotected intercourse was still important to Toby. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's awesome for me too, I was just really worried about causing him more pain. So, we set up the appointment with the urologist.

It took a few months but we eventually got a surgery scheduled. He went under general anesthesia, and then they chopped his penis up. Well, specifically, they sliced his foreskin off, detached his shortened frenulum, and sewed the skin edges back together. He woke up in severe pain, nauseous from the anesthesia, with his penis covered in gauze. Over the next few days, it bled constantly. It swelled. We iced it daily for a week, and he was on prescription painkillers. I busied myself taking care of him, trying to make sure he had to move as little as possible. At night, we set up a little pillow fort that would suspend the blanket a few inches above him so it wouldn't rub against the gauze.

When we first took the bandages off, we saw a Franken-penis (If Frankenstein's monster had a penis, that is what it looked like). There was a thick line of ugly black stitches which took a month to completely dissolve and were constantly oozing. We checked it three times a day and applied antibiotics like it was our job, constantly terrified that an infection would develop somehow and then the whole thing would be removed, but we were lucky.

Heads up for anyone who is considering this procedure or an adult circumcision of any kind with their partner: Toby was completely immobile for weeks. When he went for a check up, he only had to walk three blocks. He waddled slow as a snail but any type of movement or walking would lead to excruciating pain. It's been four months, but the healing process has been much slower than we thought. It is still incredibly tender. We've still been unable to have sex, and I'm under the impression we won't for a very long time. Hopefully, with time and patience, we have our fingers crossed that actual intercourse may be in our future again. If not, well, I'm actually okay with that. I married him anyway. We'll find out soon enough. Until then, we have had a killer time exploring the other aspects of our sexuality.