I guess sooner or later it had to happen. It had crept up on me, real sneaky like. I had been noticing these white, hardened patches starting to grow on my foreskin, exactly on the edge that protrudes the most when my dick is at rest. But I didn't think much of it. As a tennis pro I've had calluses on my hands and feet all my life. So I was used to that. You get calluses when you work it hard.
And boy, did I work my dick hard. It's one of my favourite perks: all those nice, tight groupies. Rock stars might have even more groupies than tennis pros, but our groupies are better. Usually they play a little bit of tennis themselves, so they are fit and lean. That's just the way I like them. Other than that I don't care: I like them blonde, brunette, black, red or sporting some dodgy punk dye job. I'd even ball a chick with no hair at all. If she's got A-cups or double D's: I really don't give a fuck. As long as they are lean, in their twenties and dead set on pleasing me. No teens; they're too much work. They don't have the experience nor the confidence. And no thirty-somethings either: they lack stamina. And let's face it: things start to flab and sag once you get past that big thirty-love. No amount of iron pumping can keep gravity at bay forever. Believe me: I know from my own experience.
I was also used to soldiering on when in pain. So even when those calluses on my dick started to get painful, I wasn't worried. It felt very much like a blister: a small burn or a scuff wound that gave me this burning sensation when my pee flowed over it and especially when I shoved my dick into a nice wet pussy. I won't lie: sometimes it hurt like hell. But what the heck: I just dug a little deeper into the Vaseline. A day not fucked is a day not lived, right? And when you're horny and you've got this nice hot hardbody just craving to rest her ass onto your throbbing dick, you don't care about pain.
It really only bothered me when I took a shower. I cringed every time I had to pull back the foreskin to wash the head. But I figured that was just the price you had to pay for all that hard fucking. Like my trainer always said: "Are you a wimp or a champ, a sissy or a man, a quitter or a fighter? Give me all you've got. And then some. Beat the hell out of those balls. Beat them harder. Beat them like you want to break them."
Actually, he never really said that. He always yelled it at the top of his voice. And usually just a few minutes before I was sitting in the locker room with my elbow in a bowl of ice. But that's another story altogether.
But then one night, just after I'd made the finals at Roland Garros, I had this amazing black bitch up in my Hilton room. You should have seen her. She was wild, just like she'd only just left her cannibal tribe in the jungle. Scary Spice, the Williams sisters... they all had nothing on her. She looked at me with her big, black tiger eyes like she was about to bite my dick off. She licked those huge lips that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, cupped my balls with her left-hand and grabbed my dick with her right-hand. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and exposed the two studs she wore side by side in her pierced tongue. It moved like a black mamba with silver teeth. A predator, ready to pounce. She started to go down. In my mind I could already feel that black mamba striking my dick as I looked at her back arching. Her big, round ass was sticking up in the air like a trophy I was about to win. Both my heads were throbbing. I closed my eyes.
"My God, what's that funky shit?" she shouted out. A cry of admiration, I thought.
"Holy coconut, that shit is nasty!" she proceeded.
Startled, I opened my eyes.
"No way!" she said. She shook her head and looked at my dick like she was sitting in a posh restaurant and had just been served a fresh piece of road kill, well done. "Ain't no fucking way Gemima is going down on that." She pointed at my dick with her long, shiny white fingernail and started to get off the bed.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You'd better have a doctor take a look at that shit a.s.a.p." she said as her tits slipped back into her yellow top. A wave of depression rolled over me as I saw that wild, natural afro that she sported between her legs disappear into her black leather skirt again. God, it's so rare to see a natural bush these days, especially a big, black jungle you could get lost in without finding your way out for months. Before I knew it she'd opened the door, her handbag, boots and panties in hand. She turned around one more time.
"And you'd better throw my phone number in the trash right there. Because you can forget about Gemima ever going anywhere near that thing again," she said while I watched the white fingernail of her index finger do a mad tribal dance in front of her face. "I knew I should have gone up with Venus Williams again. She may only have a strap-on, but at least that one looks healthy. And the girl can work it with the best of them."
Yeah, she was right about Venus. But that's another story again. I'll tell that some other time.
Anyway: I was flabbergasted. I rushed into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. You know how you sometimes need someone to open up your eyes so you can finally see something obvious, something that's been right in front of your nose for months? Yep, I guess I have to thank that damn bitch. My foreskin was all red and sported these huge patches of hard, white calluses. The white growth was all round. I could even see some white growth on the head now. I picked at it. I could peel huge patches of skin right off. It looked like a really bad case of athlete's foot. Now, I can tell you that that's something you really don't want to happen: pieces of skin peeling off of your penis. I felt like my dick was disintegrating right in front of my eyes.
And another thing you don't want to happen is your nice, family doctor going "Good Grief!" the moment you unveil your dick for him. I swear his eyes became twice their size as his face turned green with disgust. For a moment he looked exactly like Kermit the Frog would look if he'd just got a karate handjob from Miss Piggy. Albeit with the addition of a pair of jam jar glasses and a Jewish nose.
"Is it bad, doc?" I whispered as I lifted my head off the table so I could glance at my dick. I felt the paper sheet riding up in my crack. I'm not sure I wanted an answer.
