E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
jealous? click here to get your website on ehowa.com for as little as $5 per day
Now, I'm a 32 year old guy, and I've taken my fair share of dumps in my life so it wasn't very difficult to tell something was wrong right away. Dropped trou, sat down, followed the urge to purge and was rewarded with a very unique shooting pain from down under. It wasn't so bad that I fell off the john, but it was bad enough that I took immediate notice. I gingerly finished my duties and reached for an extra large handful of tissue, not really knowing what to expect.
credit given to original author if known
Everyone, from time to time, experiences a nasty or messy bowel movement. The kind of dump where you feel like calling in the Hazmat team to handle the clean up. I was expecting something along these lines, maybe even some blood. I was prepared. I can handle gross, bloody messes. After all, with enough TP and some clean water everything ends up back to normal.
So down I reach with a huge wad of white, fluffy Charmin anticipating the chore ahead, but as soon as I touched my ass I was practically knocked unconscious by the pain. Sharp, immediate all-consuming pain. After taking a moment to recover, I began gingerly cleaning up and discovered that my problem wasn't coming from the asshole, but just above it, and to the left.
Sort of like a pimple, but unbelievably sensitive. "Ah shit, (no pun intended) I've got a zit on my left cheek," I thought. "Well, I'd better pop the little fucker." So I brace for the pain, grab either side and give a big squeeze expecting it to let go like a geyser. No such luck. All I got for my trouble was enough pain to make me see stars. Since I was clean and had been in the office bathroom for way too long at this point, I decided to just deal with it later and go back to work.
The rest of the day passed without too much trouble, but I was constantly shifting around and uncomfortable. I figured after all the manipulation that morning that the little fucker plaguing my ass would come to a nice head and I could dispose of it when I got home. No such luck. What followed was three days of self-inflicted torture. The thing just kept getting bigger and bigger, and more and more painful. Several times I thought I had it beat. I could have sworn that I felt it pop a bit, but the surface remained unbroken and it would always fill back up.
Eventually, after four days of pain, I had had enough. While taking a nice hot shower I got the bugger nice and big and, instead of trying to pop it, I grabbed the surface skin between my fingernails and RIPPED the sucker open!
I was rewarded with an immediate and satisfying gush of nasty pus. It felt immediately better. I thought I'd beaten it. Man, was I wrong. For the next week, the damn thing just kept filling up. Sometimes heroically so.
It was amazing, no matter how much I emptied it, it just kept filling back up. About this time I noticed something else very strange. I was at a party, and had eaten a big bowl of chili for lunch. The result was a massive case of gas that I didn't really want to release in a crowded group, but every time I'd feel it coming and bear down to keep it in, I'd feel a little tickle of gas escaping.
This happened several times that night, and into the next day. I was beginning to think maybe something was seriously wrong. I really began to think so when after taking a fairly soft crap, I was amazed to find that shit was coming out of my pimple head!! But the only way that could be was if... OH MY GOD! THE FUCKER GOES ALL THE WAY THROUGH!! I felt sick. This was just too weird. I was defective.
Genetically aberrant. I'd have to go through life shitting out of two holes. I called my doctor.
Why is it that every time you've got something nasty wrong with you, your doctor's nurse has to be the cutest, youngest possible nurse in the state?
Anyway, I tell little Miss Washington State my story and she, after giving me a look that says how nasty I am, puts me in a room to wait. In comes the doctor and asks for the story again. I ask him, so why the hell did I just tell it to the cute nurse? Something about procedure, he said.
He then told me what the hell it was. It seems everyone is blessed by nature with several anal glands. These glands are internal versions of the pores on our skin, but go deeper. Usually, they don't cause anyone any problems and we go about our lives blissfully unaware of there existence.
For an unfortunate few, like myself, they become infected. When this happens, they back up but instead of just resolving themselves internally, the sadistic little fuckers make for the surface and come burrowing out of your ass creating a tube connecting the outside world to your inside ass.
This tube is a fistula. More good news, the only way to fix it is with surgery. More, more good news, it's not the kind of surgery where they simply give you a shot and stitch the hole closed. Oh no, that would be far too simple, for you see the entire length of the tube needs to be opened up and scraped raw so that it can heal closed from the inside out.
Imagine starting a small tube about 5 inches inside your rectum. Run that tube perpendicularly away from your rectum for a couple of inches into your body, then begin to veer it out. Eventually it'll reach the surface, but might be several inches away from where your rectum becomes your asshole.
Fun, huh? This entire tract that the tube takes needs to be sliced open.
Basically, this amounts to having the doctors butterfly your ass open. Then they don't even have the decency to close you back up! You've got to heal closed on your own so as to not risk infection.
I spent over a month with raw, oozing, butterflied ass tissue dripping nasty yellowish fluid, bleeding from time to time all over my shorts. I stuffed myself with gauss, panty liners and tape, but it would still seep through.
I couldn't sit for over a week. When I could, I would trigger a new round of bleeding every time I sat down. I'm not even going to go into what it was like to take a shit under these conditions. Pure, condensed nasty.
Eventually I just started going directly from the toilet to the shower. It saved at least 20 rolls of toilet paper. I'm fine now, but if it ever happens again I think I'll just take a Ferrari for a test drive and help myself to a nice, painless High Speed Flaming Death.