My grandfather died when my father was 22 and his brother, my Uncle Don, was 24. Grandfather was a drinker, and managed to kill himself in a fiery single-car collision. He had some money that my dad and Uncle Don inherited in equal shares two years before I was born.
Uncle Don convinced my dad to lend him his half of the money so Don could buy a mobile home park. Somehow, Dad was never able to get repaid even after Don started accumulating wealth. While Don eventually owned three mobile home parks, Dad, Mom, and I rented one of Don’s homes. It was the only single-wide trailer in the park. To get technical, our’s was a mobile home. Anything made after 1974 is called a ‘manufactured home.’ Dad worked as a bus driver.
Mom ran off when I was twelve. The story goes that Don sexually assaulted her, resulting in her having two broken teeth. She took him to court, but lost the case, since there was no proof that he had done anything. Fearing for her life, she disappeared.
When I was 18, I decided to learn something about business so I started attending City College, which was quite difficult financially, even though I still lived with Dad. I had this notion that I’d like to own a mobile home park someday, seeing how profitable they’ve been for my uncle. Unlike Don, I’d treat my tenants right. I figured I could learn enough about business to manage my own park some day.
I was still in my first year, when something went wrong with the circuitry in our trailer. Without electric, there was no heat.
Don said he’d send his handyman, but knowing Uncle Don, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Don was well-known for treating his tenants badly, even my father, his own brother. After all, his tenants have no choice. Their mobile homes are fastened to the ground. It would cost them tens of thousands of dollars to move.
Uncle Don did invite Dad and I to stay in his place until the electric got fixed. I stayed in Nancy’s room, and Dad stayed in Ned’s room.
Those were my late cousins. Nancy committed suicide at 16, and Ned had taken up drugs and drinking. Soon, Ned was hopelessly addicted. Don threw him out. He was seen around town from time to time, barely hanging on. One day, he had fallen asleep behind a dumpster that was in back of Safeway. The next morning, a garbage truck picked up the dumpster, emptied it, and set it down right on Ned. But that may not be what killed him. According to the police, he might have already been dead, either from a drug overdose, or exposure to the cold. The poor guy had a cast on one leg when he died, so I can only imagine what his last weeks were like.
My first night at Don’s, I went to bed around midnight. It was warm in Don’s house, so I figured I’d jerk off on top of the blankets before falling asleep. I was just about to orgasm when the door burst open and the light came on.
“I’ll have none of that in my house!” Don shouted. He was obviously drunk as he staggered toward me. He was carrying something that turned out to be a tennis racket. He took a swing and hit me right in one testicle and the side of my still erect penis.
I crumpled up in pain as he wobbled out of the room. My balls, my left testicle in particular, hurt so bad, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was choking as I lay there with my hands between my legs. Ten minutes later, I could breathe normally, but the pain was still unbelievable. I couldn’t even get off the bed to turn out the light.
An hour went by as I just lay there, not only in pain, but freaking out that I was badly injured. The testicle pain started to subside, and then I noticed that my penis was in pain also.
I pulled my hands away and took a look. My penis was as large as if it was erect. In fact, it was bigger in diameter than I had ever seen it, but it was soft and squishy. It had a big black lump on the left side, and curved oddly to the right, much like the picture below.
Not knowing what else to do, I yelled for Don to come take me to the hospital. After probably 15 minutes, he came back to my room, evidently a bit more sober. I showed him my penis. He refused to take me to the hospital, saying “It’s not that bad,” as he walked out, closing the door behind him.
The only thing I could think to do was call an ambulance. That’s how I got to the hospital. While the ambulance was on its way, I tried putting on my underwear. I couldn’t straighten up enough to do that, so I ended up putting on my sweat pants. I stayed barefoot.
After two painful hours in the waiting room, still barefoot, during which my testicle pain went away, but my dick started aching worse than anything in my life. My dad arrived and sat with me, occasionally swearing under his breath about Don.
When I was finally called into a treatment area, the doctors and nurses all took a look at my penis. I wasn’t embarrassed about them seeing my junk due to the condition I was in. How could something like this happen to me? My fear was such that my heart had been beating really fast for literally hours. A urologist was consulted. It took him another hour to arrive. He looked at my penis, held it gingerly, shifting it this way and that. Man alive, did that hurt!
He quit examining me, and sat on a stool to tell me the situation: I’d need surgery, which was to be performed later that morning. My testicle was fine, but Don had literally broken my penis. The side of the tennis racket, hitting my erect penis like that, caused a fracture of my left corpus cavernosum, the spongy tissue that holds blood when one is erect.
They were going to do something called ‘degloving’ to reach and stitch up the affected area. The idea totally weirded me out. Frankly, it scared the shit out of me. The surgeon was going to detach the skin of my penis all around just behind the head. Then, they dissect and peel the skin away all the way down, so the skin is piled around the base of the penis. That gives them access to the broken area. They’d do the repair and then finally, they would pull the skin back up, and stitch it back in place under the head.
Even with the medicine they gave me, I didn’t sleep much during the few hours left of that night, and was still in considerable pain.
The surgery happened, and my recovery was painful, but uneventful. When a nurse changed my bandages the first time, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was circumcised! I so totally didn’t want that. When the urologist came in for a consult, I asked him why that happened. He said, “I thought you’d like that.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
The afternoon after my surgery, when I was still woozy from the drugs, Don stormed into my hospital room, and started yelling at me about the $2,700 the ambulance company charged him for the one-mile ride to the hospital. Two orderlies came and took him away.
I woke up a couple of times every night with sharply painful nocturnal erections. For days, I wanted badly to jerk off, but that fully wasn’t going to happen.
A week later, the stitches were removed by an attractive young intern. She had flaming red hair. I thought she’d use anesthetic, but she said, “You won’t need it.” That scared me, until she started snipping and pulling the stitches out. She was right. It didn’t hurt a bit. I became erect, and was remarkably embarrassed about that. She only said, “Aw, it’s fine.”
I noticed that my dick was quite numb as she was working on it.
Finally, after three weeks, I was starting to get back to normal and was way overdue for a good wank. Ever so carefully, I tried moving the skin up and down. It was totally numb. I could feel my penis between my fingertips, but the dick itself felt like a broomstick. There was no sensation at all. Still, I was able to jerk off and cum. What a relief!
The numbness worried me very much. I asked the urologist, and he said the feeling would eventually come back. It did, but it took six months. It took even longer than that to get used to being circumcised. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. At least the terrible sensitivity of the glans has gone mostly away. Just touching against my underwear was like an unbearable tickle for the first few weeks. To this day, my penis feels weird when I rub it, like there are little lumps under the skin.
Meanwhile, a friend of a friend had a father who was a lawyer and suggested I sue Uncle Don. The case dragged on for months. Meanwhile, I was back in our trailer with Dad, and back in college. In a courtroom appearance, pictures of my penis were shown. It was terribly embarrassing. First, the horrible picture of my black, lumpy, bent, fractured penis. Then my penis with stitches under the corona, and fully erect. The urologist had injected something called Caverject to make me artificially hard to check his work.
To my amazement, the lawyer won. I was awarded 1.5 million dollars. The lawyer got $500,000, leaving me a cool million. I was planning to buy a mobile home park of my own.
The only problem was, the money hadn’t been transferred yet. Don was pulling some legal shit that was slowing the process.
Just when I was figuring I’d never see the money, something unexpected happened. Don had gone out drinking, and somehow drove his car right into a bridge abutment. He messed up his innards something terrible. He languished in terrible pain in the hospital for three weeks before he died. I shouldn’t say this, but I was secretly happy. The world is better off without a guy like that.
I figured that was the end of my million dollars, but even more surprising was the call from Don’s lawyer. My fucked up uncle had written a will. He had left two of his mobile home parks to my father, and one to me. Mine was assessed at over $5 million.