Dicks are Complicated. Deal with it.Submitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2009-06-05 12:53:07 EDT
Rating: 1.53 on 34 ratings (34 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
As has been previously alluded to, and pictorial evidence supplied, I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life. Over the past few years I've put on more than a bit of weight, but I'm at the precipice now, where it's already levelled off and is actually beginning to decrease slightly.
That being said, in my state of a. not caring, b. not having enough money and 3. being a moron, I've not bothered to ever buy new clothes to reflect this (unless they get ruined by bastard plants). As such, at any given time my trousers and jeans could either far too loose and show more top of arse crack than many people have arse, or so tight you can still see the arse crack, but this time it's covered in a slight tinge, almost like my clothing was painted on.
Men will already know how complicated it can be to manoeuvre and arrange the items contained. For those of you who thought that was a bit cryptic, I wasn't talking about legs (if you're still confused, I'm talking shaft and sack). Most women only get to see my bare crotch in a different state to its natural, relaxed one, so they may not be aware of the fact that the sack isn't always tight, and the shaft will act like a pissed snake, just trying to coil up and sleep somewhere comfortable. It's actually such a feat of engineering every time a man does adjust himself instead of being disgusted you should really be applauding.
So given the occasional tightness of my trousers I sometimes have to rearrange more than most. Normally I have no shame in doing so, because basically if you don't want to see me with my hand down my trousers, get the fuck out of my house/office/train carriage/restaurant. Today, on the way outside for a quick cigarette break, such a situation presented itself. It was to be expected, as I had been sat down for at least half an hour, and as I half the self-control of a two year old on crack I can't sit still. Shit had been stirred around a lot down there.
There was a ping as the lift (elevator) made it up to the seventh floor, so I made my way on, pressed the button for ground and then went to work. I sucked in my breath, slid my hand down there and got to the arranging. It was only quick, two or three seconds, but the relief was instant. As the lift got to the fifth floor it stopped and the doors began to open, so I tried to casually remove my hand.
And it stuck.
Somehow, in the few seconds between the seventh and the fifth floor I had gained weight. Like I say, I'm use to going up and down, but this was fucking ridiculous. I tried again quickly as the doors opened and in two women.
Instead of drawing attention to myself, I decided to play it cool. Slowly I made an attempt to slid my hand free of my junk, but to no avail. Whether they had noticed at this point I didn't know, but I was starting to not care.
All I could think was what if I couldn't get my hand free? What would happen? Would we have to call the fire brigade to cut me loose? Is 'cock holder' a nickname I wanted in this building? Is 'cock holder' a nickname in any building, for that matter?
As the panic set in properly, I began tugging to try and get my hand free. This definitely did get their attention, so instead of stopping, I pretended I was doing a little dance instead, just bouncing on the spot, which I figured was less embarrassing than seemingly to publicly masturbate. Which just made them more scared of me and both determined to look the other way, and actually worked in my favour.
Given the quick distraction I spun around to face the other side. By now we were passing the second floor, so just a few more seconds and I'd be in the building lobby. Still doing my little act of bobbing up and down, I used my free hand to pull on my other one. I managed to the thinner spot in my wrist to the waist band which in turn gave me a little more space on the trousers, so all I could think to do was undo them very quickly, slip the hand out and then do them back up.
Just passed the first floor...button open...approaching mezzanine...hand out...ping...ground floor...zzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiipppp...
"Oh shit..." Where I had undone the button and pulled the hand out the trousers had unzip from the pressure. At this point I had just had enough. With my now free hand I gripped both sides of the trouser opening and held them together, turned and casually walked out of the lift, passing both the individuals who had stopped to turn and look at me.
Looking like a proper hip-hop motherfucker, I swaggered into the toilets that are next to the ground floor lifts. Breathing a sigh of relief, I was free to sort myself.
Moral of the story: Women, don't get pissing with men doing a bit of tidying up. Take pity on them and maybe offer to help out.