The True Penis Fracture Story That Is Also A Love Story And A Dramaby Lauren Passell on March 09, 2012
Oh my God. Remember how earlier this week we shared with you 7 Things Everyone Should Know About Penis Fractures? Well we were uncomfortable. We were freaked out. We were holding onto our dear penises, even if we didn’t have one. But sh*t just got real, guys. In case you were to think this “penile fracture” stuff was totally made up in some right wing attempt to scare people out of having aggressive sex in airplane bathrooms, The Awl ran a true (harrowing) minute-by-minute account of one man and his penis fracture.
There’s lots of black-and-blue bruising around the base and the balls. Dr. Hwang had used my old circumcision scar as a cut-here guide; dried streaks of blood crust around the ring of thick crude stitching that encircles the shaft and is tied up on the backside like a Christmas bow. Above that, bloated, shiny skin of deep maroon puffs out and up, as if I’d taped a half-deflated balloon to the top of the shaft. The whole thing looks exactly like a mongoose-slaughtered snake stuffed through a mini life-preserver.
If you can handle that excerpt, you can handle the rest of the essay. It’s actually a beautiful story. At first you think it is just a story about a penis fracture, but then you read on and start wondering if it might actually be… a love story? Yes, it’s a love story!
The girl involved in this situation apparently has only been acquainted with the author for 24 hours, yet spends days caring for him, picking up his stool softener, and later, hooking back up with him as best he can with a broken penis.
1 week a.i.
In the mornings, we often walk to her favorite neighborhood restaurant for breakfast. At night, there’s a lot of near-naked pillow talk because we can only fool around for so long before it just becomes too painful.
Somehow the conversation turns to Margaret Thatcher. Somehow Margaret Thatcher becomes a recurring topic. Somehow Margaret Thatcher becomes our go-to sexual depressant. Somehow Margaret Thatcher ends up sitting naked on a suburban fence, legs swinging and twirling a top hat. Occasionally Reagan makes an appearance, too. There’s a lot of glitter involved. I invoke the former Prime Minister whenever I need to cool off. For emergency purposes only.
Just when you think the worst is over:
13 days a.i.
I’m limping again. The incision has opened in one place. It may have happened the day before and I ignored it. I read WebMD’s page on “gangrene.”
You’re going to have to read the essay to find out what happens in the end (hint: drama, and stained-sweat pants.)
I guess we should have used an eggplant for our previous penis fracture post. Now we know.