Five years ago when I started this thing I didn’t
know what it would be. Just knew I wanted to write some shit. I read other blogs.
I saw an educational blog called “My vag.” Every one
of this woman’s blogs had to do with her vagina. There’s a lot to say about the
orifice, which Wikipedia describes as “a fibromuscular tubular sex organ that
is part of the female genital tract.”
There’s all these parts you learned about in ninth grade
Health class – labia majora (inner part), labia minora (outer part), which I guess was shown in
Bernardo Bertolucci’s final film, The
Dreamers. Roger Ebert gave it a rave review.
It was quite personal, this gal writing about her
vagina and all, but a blog can have that kind of intimacy. I’m reminded of a
2008 episode of House where Laura
Prepon played a patient who blogged everything about her life except her bowel
movements. Now Prepon, who I’ll always know as Donna from That 70s Show, plays a prisoner on Orange is the New Black. Her character is a lesbian. “Haven’t you
ever gone down on a girl before?” she says in one episode.
Which leads back to the vagina.
For my readers, I try to be honest and real about my
life. If terrorists kidnapped me, stripped me nude and poured hot liquid lead
down my keister – in effect, giving me a hot lead enema – I’d tell you about
it.
Ball sack blues
We were at Fratelli’s Pizza at the corner of Fifth
and Main – me and my co-orkers Hank and Jace.
“I have jock itch,” I said.
“You poor
thing,” Jace said.
She’s a kind, nurturing, sensitive type.
That’s what I assumed the incessant itching down
below was. Maria told me it was probably jock itch and gave me cream to apply
to my balls.
“Did you wash your hands?” they’d ask.
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| The Masturbating Bear |
At work, when no one was around, I would sneak my
hand under the desk, into my pants and scratch the evil itch, hoping nobody
would catch me and report me as a weirdo. When I went to pee, if nobody else
was in the restroom, I’d stand at the urinal, and as soon as I undid my pants,
before I peed, I would rapaciously scratch. I looked like the masturbating bear
from The Conan O’Brien Show.
I’d be with my family in Wal-Mart or Target. I’d look for an isolated spot with no people
or cameras – perhaps a place by the bread aisle where I could secretly bring
myself relief. I was always afraid someone would catch me, that I’d get
arrested and it would in the papers and social media about how I was a pervert.
Such a thing happened to a well-to-do business man in Wichita three years ago. Said
he was just adjusting himself.
I finally made a doctor’s appointment. “What are we
here for today?” she asked.
“I have this rash on my scrotum. It’s migrated down
to my inner thighs and to my anus. I’m in agony, itching all the time.”
“I think I know what it is,” she said, then looked
at it and told me it was a fungal thing. She prescribed this gel to put on the
area twice a day. Said I should be okay in a month. She was so sweet about the
whole thing. I picked up my medicine at Cooper Drug, here in my hometown of
Jett, Kan., (pop. 4,000 in the ‘70s).
It’s like a burden’s been lifted, telling you about my
personal pain. It’ll soon be over.
I value the loyal readers of this blog – all five of
you. I hope none of you ever have a fungal, itching thing in the crotch area.
