By Kendra Holliday | December 12, 2013 at 3:45 pm
Guess what Matthew got me for Valentine’s Day?
|A peek inside the manjunk.|
It was definitely a gift for both of us, but you better believe I was thrilled that for the FIRST TIME EVER, my male partner was taking on the responsibility of birth control. I mean, BESIDES just slapping a rubber on.
For years I’ve ingested artificial hormones, endured alien objects wedged in my womb, had fetuses vacuumed out of my uterus, burned my vaginal lining with spermicide, gained weight from injections, tricked my body into thinking it’s pregnant, and more.
Finally, a man stepped up to the plate and underwent an invasive, life altering procedure so that I wouldn’t ever need to worry about getting pregnant again (so long as I fuck him).
I’m honored, in awe, and incredibly grateful.
SO many men are afraid of having their balls sliced, which is certainly understandable. But I was amazed to discover how many fine men I know who have joined the V-Safe Club – LOTS of them! Childless and with children, from their 20′s to their 50′s.
We were excited to find out that insurance covered the procedure – it only cost $100. We both did a lot of research, and Matthew finally settled on a urologist he felt good about.
There are SO many stories to be found online – from horror stories to cakewalks. I was most intrigued by this website documenting one man’s experience in words and pictures.
We eagerly anticipated the big V day, had a ball shaving party (a first for him), and when the big day finally arrived, I was NERVOUS. He didn’t seem a bit anxious. It felt like a huge deal to me. I was 99% relieved, and 1% sad. I’ll write about that 1% next week.
Before the appointment, we toasted with some Nutcracker Ale, and on the way there he played his Vasectomy playlist, which included the song Goodbye, My Lover:
So I took what’s mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
I’ve shared your dreams and shared your bed.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one for me.
I teared up a little as he sang poignantly to his testicles.
|Stabbed and Stuck.|
Severing Vas Deferens
I wanted to come into the room while they sliced and diced him, but they wouldn’t let me. I had to sit out in the waiting room with the urologically challenged. Observation: people with bladder issues have bad fashion sense.
So bittersweet! I felt like a man sitting anxiously in the waiting room as my girlfriend got an abortion, but in reverse.
I pictured him like this poor guy on the left.
I know now that I’d much rather be the one in the room getting the procedure done than the one outside waiting and untouched.
I sat hunched over with my fingers in my ears, trying to eliminate my surroundings, which included visions of Matthew being sliced open so a mad scientist could conduct hideous experiments on him like switching his testicles and ears (having a fertile imagination can backfire on you sometimes), and the television above me, where Cesar the dog whisperer wore a mail carrier costume walking dogs while dramatic music played in the background, the kind used for true crime shows when the grisly murder is discovered.
I finished reading a book about the history of marriage called I Don’t: A Contrarian Guide to Marriage, which I didn’t get into much; quite academic and dry with the occasional “what a moron” thrown in.
Then I started reading Methland, which was about people in Iowa melting off their fingers and causing their children to be born without a proper working colon. I was just at the part where they were talking about how a meth high is six times better than sex, and wondering why meth didn’t render people sterile, when Matthew emerged from the confines of the evil laboratory.
He was the walking wounded.
We went right to the closest pharmacy to fill his pain pill prescription and ran into some friends there, who congratulated us on our V Day adventure.
We spent the weekend taking it easy, which means I had to keep beating him off with a stick. He had his first orgasm five hours after getting cut, he’s cum three times in a 12 hour period, we had a foursome less than a week later, and he’s been fiercely counting down his ejaculations ever since. He needs to have 20 before he can get his semen analyzed. I think he’s got six more to go. The plumbing seems to be working great, producing the same copious amounts of energetic, projectile spunk as ever.