(Black and) Blue Balls

A shower. A lathering. A razor. And once again in this long love affair with my freshly shorn genitals, I'm sporting a porn-star cut.

I've enjoyed the look and feel of the clean shaven look ever since a few years ago when I was required to do it for "the surgery". Snip. Snip. Surgically safe. I got compliments from the male nurse who was, thankfully, freed from doing the task himself.

Smooth and clean and refreshed. The boys can breathe.

As I was denuding my nether regions once I again, I was laughing. About the folly of putting such effort into something no one ever sees. About walking around bare naked, at work or in public, under my jeans or slacks - my little secret. And about that long ago procedure, which came to mind tonight.

I should tell the story some time. It's funny. Now it is, anyway. Not then. All you need to know is that when the doctors tell you that there is a three percent complication rate, pay attention. Someone has to be in that 3 %, and hey, I won the lottery. I was on the table for an interminable period while the doc poked and prodded and tugged and searched about for the right thing to snip. The pain killer, the one delivered directly into your sac in that long needle, wore off. Twice.Ouch.

Complications - that's an understatement. I got more than I bargained for with a year of black and blue and sore boys, with a bout of erectile disfunction thrown in just to ice the cake. That's when I got to meet the little blue pill for a while. A miracle of modern medicine.

That was then, this is now. Function is long restored. Mostly. The little blue pill is retired, though missed! And I can laugh about shaving again.

I did learn two good lessons during that period:

1. Never choose a doctor at random, certainly not one who's going to slice into your private parts.

2. Never pop boner pills before walking into a strip club. You'll empty your wallet and drain the ATM. Trust me.