Here’s a story that’s ripe for yet another one of Tom Haverford’s “would you rather” questions. What medical news would you rather hear: You’ve got 100 days to live, or you’ll ostensibly live out a normal lifespan? I forgot to tell you though, you’ll only have 100 boners left in that lifespan. It sounds crazy, but that’s just what one man is facing.
Our good friends over at BroBible received an email from a man they’re identifying as “R.L.S.” who is apparently a friend of someone over there — so this story is 100% credible.
His tragic predicament is as follows:
I’m 34 years old and I have a finite amount of real, working, orgasm-capable erections remaining. They estimate I have about a hundred nuts left.
You cannot imagine the feeling. I go in for what I think is a routine physical, and I’m blindsided. My whole life changes in an instant; like hearing you have six months to live. I honestly thought the doctor was fucking with me– how do you even process that kind of information?
But I’ve now seen the full battery of experts and specialists. They call it ideopathic fibrosis of the corpora cavernosa. Catchy, right? Basically, there’s a reservoir in your penis that fills with blood when you have an erection. In my case, every time I get hard, it causes an autoimmune reaction, which causes a scar tissue build-up in the reservoir. Ultimately, the scar tissue will make it impossible to ever get a boner again. I’m the first case anyone’s ever seen, and no one can tell me why it’s happening. I don’t wear briefs or hang out in saunas. There’s been no blunt force trauma to the balls. Some of the women from my past have suggested it’s karma, and I’m actually starting to believe it.
I’ve tried every conceivable therapy and medication there is, but nothing works. So I’ve been through the five stages of grief. I accept my fate. But that’s not the same as knowing how to cope with it. Masturbation’s obviously out of the question. I feel like I need to be super selective with women, as if all of a sudden I’m gonna start banging Victoria’s Secret models. Like I deserve it now, in some sort of twisted Make a Wish for a Dying Penis bid. And lately, I’m terrified of sex itself. I slept with one woman since the diagnosis, but when she wanted to go for a second round, a wave of incredible panic swept over me. I burst into a cold sweat and my chest felt like it was gonna cave in on itself. Since then I’ve been chaste as a fucking nun, but I toss and turn all night with crazy, disturbing sex dreams, and now I’m worried that I’ll lose a nut to a wet dream.
So I’m hoping to start a dialogue here. Has anyone out there experienced anything like this? How does one go about planning a farewell tour- a goodbye forever- to sex? Any advice/suggestions are truly appreciated.
Personally, I would not sit on those boners (pun intended). Have you ever saved some really good chocolate or something because you want to make it stretch out for as long as possible, and then all of a sudden you look and there’s that white stuff on the chocolate? Don’t let white stuff sabotage your remaining boners. (I don’t even know how that would work, just run with it.)
Might I suggest starting a boner bucket list? Ever wanted to try virtual porn? There you go. A five way orgy? Craigslist is a magical and terrifying place. Whatever you do, just don’t waste those boners, dude. #NOBONERSLEFTBEHIND
(Via BroBible)