Friday, March 15, 2013

Custard And Jam

A few days ago my wife and I shared an intimate moment that triggered an old foul memory. And when I say intimate moment I mean she burst a revolting growth on my back and then told me I was disgusting. The shame of which reminded me of an old story I wanted to share. A story that involved an even bigger, fouler and more evil pus-filled monster.

"Are you ready?" asked my wife. "Because this is going to hurt."

"Sure - just do it as quickly as possible."

I realize that I hold a certain station amongst the online stay-at-home blogging community. I am not considered to be a beautiful man at first glance. But like a fine cheese or virulent yeast I grow on people with a powerful ferocity. Soon my aesthetic appeal begins to make sense and I hold a throbbing lust to some that causes them to think that any other human being is a deformed mutant in comparison (at this stage I ask you not to look at any photos on this blog of me and actually confirm that this is clearly not the case at all - let's try and maintain the illusion). To a select few I am the pinnacle of what they want in their mouth. So it pains me to temper that reputation with the below story. But here goes...

Not too long ago I felt a mild itch on the back of my leg. I reached down onto the back of my left leg - about an inch or so above the back of my knee - and found a huge welt. I managed to angle myself in front of a mirror and saw the monster. It was massive. It quickly dawned on me that it was either an absolutely massive sebaceous cyst, a pretty deep in-grown hair or one of the local squirrels had somehow buried an acorn in my leg without me noticing. The mild-itch suddenly changed into a warm, burning, ticklish feeling. The thing didn't quite have a head. But it felt like I could burst that bastard if I could get the angle of pressure just right. Quickly the warm, burning tickle became a white-hot stabbing in my leg. It was like it was daring me to pop it. And I was more than willing to. Years ago I had a pilonidal abcess that was so painful I honestly considered digging it out with a scalpel. Actually near the end I would have dug it out with absolutely anything I could have jammed into my skin. In the end a surgeon got it out and I spent weeks being visited by various home-nurses who removed and changed the padding in a seven-inch wound. 23 different people saw my naked bottom and it's accompanying grotesque wound due to that. But this was nothing like that.

I couldn't quite get a purchase on it. So I had to wait all afternoon long - unable to leave the thing alone for more than a minute at a time - until I picked my wife up from work. In the car I told her "I want you to have a look at something for me." She thought it was a gift I had at home. She certainly thought so when I plopped the kids down in front of the laptop (to play with this) and led her upstairs and rapidly dropped my trousers. "How big does this thing look?" I feebly said - and then confusingly pointed at the back of my leg. She gasped so loudly I thought the windows might implode as the pressure rapidly changed in the bedroom. It was a gasp that combined both a sense of revulsion but also equal parts adventure. She bent down on one knee to get a closer look. "That thing is massive!" she told me with just enough glee to let me know we were going to do this. Finally - I thought - we will get to use that safe-word we'd agreed upon.

I suggested possibly a wire coat hanger - things like this may require that sort of barbarism. She went and fetched a weird metal pole-thing that she bought at an Asian store in Ann Arbor years ago for removing blemishes. Next to the termite-hill in the back of my leg it quickly became obvious that this tiny Asian implement wasn't going to work. I told her it was just going to have to be a case of me having a good stab with the Very Pointy Tweezers (their official name in my house) until it was obvious I'd wounded the thing and she could begin pumping. I managed to get the blade of the tweezers in at a good angle and pierced the beast. It hurt like an absolute bastard. But there was also a slight sense of relief and mild pleasure as if I'd let a slow-leak in a completely over-bloated balloon. Then my wife crouched down behind me and asked me if I was ready. After confirming that she should just go for it she crushed her two thumbs into the sides of that massive acorn-mound as hard as she could.

I didn't hear it burst. But if I had to put a sound to it I'd say it would be quite a bit like stamping on a pastry bag filled with custard and jam. This is a good idea of what happened actually. My wife made extremely loud moans of horror as it began to ooze and gush. She then kept handing me brand new unused diaper cloths to, "clean the gunk out of it." And being her she kept remarking how disgusting it was - but in that way that you could hear the excitement that it was still revolting - while still wanting to have another bash at it to make sure she'd done as thorough a job as possible. The crushing that she'd given it had hurt so much that I instinctively wanted to fight her. It took quite a lot of willpower to not do that and I begged her to just let me grit through the pain and get the last vestiges of that crap out of it. That thing just kept weeping evil for a good two minutes. I swear you could have filled a very unpleasant cream cake with the foul discharge that belched out of my leg.

Afterwards my leg felt wonderful. Like I well used muscle. The area that we - the perfect team - burst has a warm sense of complete satisfaction. It didn't have a face but I could actually sense it smiling. Like this.

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