Makes yer eyes water trust me!

Yesterday I had to attend the local hospital for a major intrusion into my rear entrance and short arm. I would like to report that this was done with some dignity and tact by the medical staff and all protocols were adhered to. However, that would be a lie as at times it degenerated into high comedy. I arrived in time and was shown after some delay into a changing room where I was given a pair of shorts with one hole and as I was having both of mine investigated it was hard to really decided which way to put the garment on? Hole to the front, or hole to the rear??? I decided to forgo said apparel and instead put on the nightie with the rear exposed and then another nightie on the with the front exposed thus I reasoned both approaches were covered. I questioned the Nurse on the subject and she said "fine". Thus, re-assured I awaited my  appointment with the bum and tum team. The unit was impressive with four operating rooms on the go at once and a fair turnover of idiots dressed like me limping around with their arses in tatters. I have to say it reminded me a bit of a geriatric slumber party and I particularly liked all the festive socks on show.. One pair had snow flakes on them I recall and one brave sole had odd socks.

Ill not go into too much detail concerning the awful implements and their use on show in my dungeon. Lets just say I really didnt wish to see my inner workings on the 41 inch plasma curved screen above my head. Nor did I much like the gale they blew up my bum in order to get a clearer view of what they could view in High def. At one point I swear I felt like I had the entire operating team up my arse and was inflating faster than a life jacket. The only bright light (besides the one up my arse) in all this was Christine the lovely cheeky blonde who kept me company and made me giggle despite the pain. She obviously had heard every bum joke on the market and then some. At one point the Doc up my rear said "stop laughing this is the tricky bit" and I was only too happy to oblige as he burnt off some obstruction or other the smell of which wafted out of my bottom and will forever be indelibly etched on my memory. It reminded me of the smell one gets if you set fire to rubber.  I have to confess by this time I had taken so much antiknox  that I was in a very happy place and couldnt have stopped giggling even if they had all climbed in and sung carols up my arse. Indeed, for all I know Carol may well have been up my arse. Everyone else had been.

Thankfully after much more grunting, gurgling, squeaking farts and snips here and there over I went onto my back for more frontal action up my poor unfortunate John Thomas. This I can best describe as like having an umbrellas stuck up your knob, opened and then dragged out with your internals still attached. I sweated a lot, gritted my teeth and at this point and even Christine winced. I can honestly say that root canal work at the dentist is more fun than having  yer cock tubes flushed and blow dried.

I was then wheeled into a recovery ward, with this wonderful advice from Blondie, "you can deflate in here, ill be back in half an hour". Now try to imagine being in a ward with at least 8 other people all slowly farting themselves back to whatever passes as a normal size in this strange place. Indeed, group farting was the order of the day and I kid you not that is exactly what happened. We all kind of had a community sing song with our arses. Squeaks of operatic perfect pitch were accompanied with large vibrato blasts of a prolonged bass. I managed both a perfect C and a wobbly F at one point and finally ended with a sharp E flat just as I blondie came back with a cuppa and a box of biscuits. Most alarming noises seemed to be the natural background to Christines life and I commented that in my view she should be paid double her salary and receive danger money for working there.

Thinking I was now fine and dandy after a brew and a bickie or six I stood up to get changed and promptly fell flat on my face I then stayed in bed until Christine had taken my blood pressure and heart rate and considered I could stand unaided. After some pain killers and the superb advice of " may bleed a bit, but dont worry. However, if it pours out ring for an ambulance. Do you have someone staying with you tonight" I lied naturally, was given some celebratory pictures of my innards and hobbled out of there intent on only one thing. Food and bed. I had had none of either for two days and I was knackered, sore, empty and my knob was throbbing like someone had stuck something sharp up it.. Which, funnily enough they had. My arse was so frayed by now that it just kind of sobbed a fart and was really plaintive in pitch. But the cold night air never tasted better of smelt so fresh.

To all of you out there who may have to have this done to them, all I can say is. Good luck, dont wear the underwear and it takes at least 6 hours to stop farting. Ohh and my arse and cock are still sore. Have fun.