It’s not the most pleasant of things to wake up to. Waking up to pain never is. Not like that. Surprising is what the human body is capable of sleeping through, I certainly had no idea that natural sleep could be so heavy. The fully formed human body is quite the marvel.
You’d probably swear a lot upon waking. Pain like that doesn’t encourage polite dialogue. A cacophony of fucks at least, half aimed at the pain but also half at the wetness that coats your thighs and crotch, covers your balls then goes past your taint and comes up your midriff too.
The knowledge of what’s actually happened doesn’t come until you thrash the sheets off and go to grab your aching dick and your hand misses. You’ve made the movement thousands of times. You grab your dick to piss. You grab your dick to rearrange. You grab your dick to tug vigorously while watching lesbians face plant each other’s cunts and fill ‘em with enough fingers to go beyond comfort. You grab your dick to angle it in to some girl’s mouth that may or may not be your girlfriend but you’re high and horny so it doesn’t matter and damn that mouth is warm but wait that’s not what you’re feeling now. Your hand just missed your dick and your little finger grazed some ragged torn tissue full of nerves that sends a pulse of pain up to your brain that fills your vision with stars then adds a side of nausea for free. The pain hasn’t started to ebb yet so shock hasn’t kicked in. You’ll be grateful when it does. If you’re lucky it’ll be so bad you’ll pass out too and wake up in hospital, or better yet in hell if you bleed out and nobody finds you. Wonder if you’ll still have a dick in hell? Send me a postcard either way.
But hey you should concentrate - you’re looking at the ragged bloody stump that’s where your dick used to be, stumpy. You may or may or not be screaming too. That’s from the pain but also the horror of it. You’ve just been mutilated on a scale that so few other guys have. Definitely not enough for there to be support groups at any rate. You could go to some testicular cancer survivors group I guess. But yeah, we’re getting distracted again so get up off the bed. Steady yourself. Call out her name and see if she’s here, ask if she knows what’s happened. Scream some more. Cup the wound if you want but it’s spraying blood in little arterial pulses that will soon overwhelm what your hand can hold and leave a trail on the egg shell carpets and floor. You won’t get the damage retainer back for this place that’s for sure. There are already some spots of blood too and let’s be honest it’s best you follow them, right? Going downstairs is gonna be painful bro, be warned. Hug the banister if you have to, but hold on tight ‘cause your hands are sweaty and really bloody. Keep following the other spots of blood.
FOLLOW THE MISSING DICK ROAD. FOLLOW THE MISSING DICK ROAD.
Finding your dick at the end of a rainbow would be nice right? Dorothy would be good with a needle, most girls from that time would be. Wouldn’t trust tin man, too many sharp edges, flashback huh? Maybe Dot could click her heels three times in her magic slippers and whisk you away to a hospital in Kansas and where they could reattach said penis but hold on we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
This is where it starts to get really fucked up. It’s not like you’ve come to terms with the fact your penis has been removed but it’s a definite reality now. We’re dealing with it. We’re even starting to ask questions. Who took the dick? Why was the dick taken? Where is the dick now? I could tell you where the dick is, but it is probably best you find that out yourself. Nobody likes to be the bearer of bad news. Now, into the kitchen with a nice crimson handprint on the white door. You’re shaking now. Shock is setting in finally so it even begins to feel a little cold and numb around the nub that was once one’s penis. You should see your face. But your too busy for reflections. Crazy (shall we call her ex now huh?) girlfriend is leaving though the back door, swearing at you and she’s got a middle finger raised and pointed your way. You’ve managed some more cuss words too, plucky. Keep asking where your dick is. Shout some more. I don’t think she’s coming back. There are some meat scissors on the kitchen table. Bloody meat scissors and yes that’s likely your blood. I don’t think we need CSI to test it. Now, pay attention. She probably doesn’t have your dick with her. That’s a bit weird even in this day and age, to walk around with a penis in your bag no matter what it’s made out of. I didn’t hear the toilet flush so it’s not sailing to a purification plant amidst all the turds of the city. But listen. You and your ex weren’t living alone were you? Listen. There’s someone else to take into account. Someone tucking into some food by the sounds of it. So go on, walk around the other side of the kitchen table and take a look. There’s man’s best friend, licking his chops like he’s just swallowed something down tasty. He knows something is wrong immediately when he sees you and he’s up like a shot sniffing at the hand that’s clutching your little stump and licking the blood running between your fingers. Figure he’s just had something that tasted mighty similar, don’t you? Down boy. Stop barking. Blood in the air does that to an animal.
Okay, quick recap: This is the worst possible thing that could happen on any given day. Not only has your ex girlfriend left, she’s cut your dick off in the process and fed it to the dog. We know this because there’s a little splash of blood in his food bowl. I’d say smell his breath but once that fact is cemented in your mind you might pass out which is somewhat more’n likely now ‘cause your hands are getting kinda tingly aren’t they? Shock and blood loss impinging. So, it’s probably best you get the phone now and call the emergency services while your fingers are still functioning. Any second now you get to tell someone that the dog ate it and for once it wasn’t a lie. Don’t panic though, don’t blabber and scream down the phone because that will mean the emergency response will take longer because they’ll wait for a police escort. Calm and collected, just say it. (I promise I won’t laugh.) My penis has been cut off by my (ex?) girlfriend, and then she fed it to the dog. Repeat yourself if need be. There likely to do a double take on that one. Do as they say. Apply pressure to the bleeding. Stop the dog from licking the blood, you don’t want him to get more of taste for human flesh or raise the chance of infection. Keep warm. How long ago did it happen? Five minutes? Ten minutes? Anything under fifteen is good. The EMT team will be another ten minutes it’s a busy night. Your penis probably won’t be recoverable by the time they arrive. Oh shit, sorry bro. Nobody wants to hear that do they? You don’t need to answer it’s rhetorical. Well go on then ask them, ask them if it’s recoverable now. Maybe, but you’ll need to act fast to save it. Is there anyone there who can help you? No. You might not be physically capable now, losing blood and all. Already being in the kitchen helps. Every second counts. If it hasn’t been completely chewed to mush the dogs digestive acids will be ravaging the penis’ skin, tissues, exposed blood vessels, urethra. The damage will be worse if the dog’s teeth have punctured the member too. How does one retrieve the penis from the Dog? Not like you have dog laxatives about. Can you make him sick it up somehow? That’s not easily accomplished either. Don’t beat around the bush. You know here this is going. Nope, put the scissors down. Get a carving knife from the unit on the counter. You need something sharper to recover your penis, something serious, murderous.
So you’re gonna be stood there above your dog. He’s quiet. He knows his master is hurt. He’s fairly content ‘cause he’s got a full stomach but he’ll know something’s afoot as he looks up with his big puppy eyes at you, stood there with your dick missing and the phone in one hand and a knife in the other. This isn’t going to end well for one of you. Scratch that, it’s gonna end pretty badly for both of you, but it’s just degrees of severity now.
So put the phone down. Call his name. Kneel down. Watch as your best friend paws a circle around you and then comes and licks at your tears as they fall from your face. Go on, scratch behind his ears one last time. Listen to that appreciative little whine. Tell him to roll over. Stroke the fuzz on his belly one last time. Grab his snout but don’t waste too long letting him bite your hand. Look him in the eye at least. Your best friend. Loyal to the end, except for when he ate your cut off dick. But you can’t blame him, that was the bitch’s doing. Meat is meat is meat, right? And you can’t live without your dick can you? So feel for his heartbeat then take that knife and ram it through his ribcage. Don’t listen to him yelp and whine and cry, ‘cause it won’t be for long. Do it a few more times if you have to. He’ll stop scratching you soon, dogs have a fast heart beat and bleed out fast so I’m told. Now while your kneeling in that puddle of yours and your best friend’s blood take the knife and run it along his belly and watch it all peel apart. His liver will come out in more or less one chunk depending how deep your cut then you should find the that acid filled bag we call a stomach. That’s the treasure chest. Nobody warned you about the smell huh? It’ll more or less burst once you prick it with a blade but gently though, the stomach lining is exceptionally thin and we both know the merchandise inside is delicate.
And there you have it. You’re reunited. Your stinking, torn, blotchy penis is back in your hand. That’s an improvement. Degrees of severity remember?
So they’ll find you shivering wrapped in a table cloth barely conscious listening to the nice dispatcher lady on the phone. (She’s not going to fuck you by the way.) With one hand you’ll be pressing a towel to your balls and the wound where your dick used to be and with the other which is now completely numb you’ll be holding a hastily ripped open bag of peas which also contains your penis. It’s nothing new to the ambulance crew or the police. While you’re getting strapped on to the stretcher and wheeled to the ambulance you’ll drift into wakefulness just enough to hear one of the police officers gripe and say “Oh shit, another dick dog?”