Zipped! The Tale of Frankendick
I grew up in a very religious strict family. Church on Sunday, prayer group on Saturday. Both followed by family dinner where we would share our personal thoughts on the scriptures we learned.
I always found this tedious especially when I hit puberty. There was hardly any jerk-off material to be found around our house. By the time I turned 17 years old, I knew I needed to have sex.
I would pray that it was great and repent only if it wasn’t. At my Saturday prayer group I noticed the new girl, who had joined our group a couple of weeks back, staring at me.
She was tall and not very attractive. Pale skin, acne around her mouth, and a little manly. Truth be told, she was more muscular than me. But she was the only girl who seemed in the slightest bit interested.
It took a couple of weeks of manipulation and maneuvering but eventually we became friends. I learned her parents had brought her to our church because they were concerned she might be a lesbian.
She had made the mistake of telling her parents that she wasn’t attracted to any of the boys at her school. I shared with her that I might be a little freakish too.
I thought about sex almost every second of the day. We made a pact. We would ditch Saturday service, she would steal some beer and vodka from her dad.
We would go to the beach and become the solution to both our problems. She would know if she could make it with a male, and I would get the sex I craved.
Saturday came. Our plan of action to escape our saintly duties went smoothly. After several beers and shots of vodka, we got into the backseat of the car and started making out.
I avoided kissing because the pimples around her mouth made me paranoid. All week I kept envisioning them popping puss into my mouth.
I almost came a couple of times when she let me suck her titts, and I did come as soon as I got her pants pulled low enough to touch her pussy.
She noticed, but didn’t embarrass me about it. We took a break, downed more beers. She didn’t bother to pull her pants up or close her shirt.
Seeing that tuft of blond hair peeking out at me from her lap and watching her tits bounce when she laughed had me ready in no time.
From the way she kept hesitating when I tried to get her back in the position we left off in, I knew she was having second thoughts. I wasted no time and pushed my dick up over her zipper, down the inside of her panties, and as deep as I could inside her.
I forgot all about the pimples and the awkward position as soon as I felt her close around me. I couldn’t stop pumping and humping, even when I felt some burning on my penis.
The feeling of actually pushing myself into something other than my hand was more intoxicating than the alcohol. Sorry to say it didn’t last long, but it was the best 5 minutes of my teenage life.
We didn’t say much on the way home, didn’t really look at each other either. In front of her house, we thanked each other and that was it.
By the time I got to my house, the slight burning on my dick had turned into a stinging pain. I went into the bathroom to shower and take a good look at it.
I couldn’t possibly have caught something that quick, could I? Panic was starting to override the now throbbing, white-hot agony.
I cocked a leg on the bathroom sink and contorted my body to get a clear look at the underside of my penis. It was ripped to shreds.
Where there should have been dark brown skin, instead was raw pink flesh. A train track pattern of ripped skin dotted with bright red dabs of blood. I freaked.
We hadn’t used a condom and my mind raced to the possibility of that being her blood on my open wound. Visions of syphilis, typhoid, and mysterious yeast infections pounded in my brain. I grabbed some rubbing alcohol and splashed some on my dick.
My knees buckled and I fell to the floor. Dumb shit, you dumb fucking shit. Oh Jesus! I wanted to scream but the last thing I needed were my parents on the alert.
I crawled into the bathtub and turned the shower on cold. Laid there with my legs cocked up and spread in the air so that the cold stream of water hit my poor dick, soothing it.
A long while later, I pulled myself out of the tub. Gingerly holding my penis away from my body, I crab-walked to the sink.
Grabbing a big wad of toilet paper I wrapped it around my sore dick. Over and over again. Secured it all with gauze, and made a quick dash to my bedroom.
I had no idea how I could get through family dinner like this and I knew for damn sure I wasn’t telling my parents anything.
I stuffed my Charmin coated dick into some sweatpants, put on my over sized jersey and tried to walk as normal as possible to the dinner table. The meal passed in a blur of throbbing pain in my crotch, meatloaf, and Leviticus.
Alone in my bedroom, I opened the windows to let the cold air in, turned off the lights, unwrapped my penis, and once again spread my legs.
Hoping that the air would somehow heal my dick faster, I prayed as I never had before. Oh, please Lord, don’t let my dick fall off. Please, please, please fix it. He didn’t.
My mom came into my bedroom early the next morning while I was still asleep. She was greeted by the sight of me sleeping froggy style on my back, upturned dick oozing in the morning breeze.
Thankfully the doctor they took me to, after several lectures and multiple prayers, was able to limit most of the scarring. I told my future wife it’s a birthmark. Yes, honey, it is odd that it resembles a staircase.
Anonymous
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