I got a vasectomy in 2007. The doctor told me that I was going to have to ‘rest’ and take it easy for about a week after the procedure. I figured since I was going to take a week off from work, that I should maximize the experience. So I scheduled a trip to Vegas that started the day after the vasectomy.
They told me to ‘keep ice on it’ and take Advil. . . . blah, blah, blah. But I was on a plane the following morning and never had any real quantifiable pain associated with it. The sheet of instructions that told me what to do and not do said that I shouldn’t ejaculate for at least ten days after the procedure. I was like yeah, right. By day four in my hotel room, I grabbed the remote and ordered some porn. And I couldn’t say no to Tera Patrick. In terms of porn, my first post-vasectomy round that I fired off was due to her.
I was walking from my hotel the next day to go to a bar at the South Coast Casino to pre jam right before Skid Row played outside near the pool, and the urologist’s office called my phone and the nurse asked how I was doing, and wanted to make sure I was resting. I told her I was celebrating my new freedom in Vegas, slamming shots of Jagermeister a couple of hours before Skid Row hits the stage. Needless to say she was speechless.
Now: There is another reason I had to escape and extract for a week from my own house immediately following the vasectomy. I was currently immersed in a relationship with a flight attendant that lived with me and we had been having sex at least three times a day and sometimes five times (within a 24 hour period of time: including oral). I knew I was going to have to keep the vasectomy a secret so by scheduling it on a morning right before she had a 3 day flight schedule, then bolting for Vegas – I knew I could buy myself a week of time to heal up in her absence. I was running a risk that once she knew I was gone, she would just grab a flight pass and try to meet me where I was and I couldn’t have that. So I enacted a plan that included, once I left the urologists office and I knew she had left for the first of her three day flight schedule to call her and tell her that my grandfather had passed away. Note: my grandfather on my mother’s side passed away when I was 4 years old but she didn’t know that. I created a convoluted and totally non-logical plan to throw off any attempts she might make to try to meet me where I was with a flight pass by telling her that I would be going to ‘Iowa’ for the funeral (I’ve never been there. LOL) and that I needed to take my cousin who was afraid of flying, so we would be driving. . . for almost three days. She seemed suspicious at first, but it worked. Anyway – to stretch out the artificial timeline well over the one week mark, I called when we were ‘on our way back’ and of course my Wrangler (that I had parked at the airport when I left for Vegas) broke down, and it was the clutch so we had to wait to get it towed and fixed. That covered my absence for a week.
However, upon arriving home, she was suspicious. She fortunately was too dumb to check the mail at any point and I had received something from the urologists office while I was gone. The return address on that envelope would have caused her to open it and the game would have been over. Anyway, there was no way I was going to survive the first night back without having to bang her after a week, so I had to break protocol and pound away despite the doctor’s recommendations.
Strangest thing happened that night. She swallowed about 40% of the time after sex. I assumed she had done that with plenty of other guys prior to being with me. But I suspected that night that she probably had a long history of taking loads down her throat and so many that she actually had some way of knowing what was up, because after she did that the first night back, she looked up at me and said ‘Did you get a vasectomy?’ I was like WTF? There is no logical explanation for how the cum-jockey would have known except for having some kind of inherent sensor capability in the back of her throat and/or the ability to tell if a load had sperm in it vs. not blowing sperm out. I laughed it off and said no, but the look in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe me. There are only so many ways to spell the word slut and if she was so far gone in terms of her slut powers at that point that she could actually tell there was a difference then in hindsight I know now that I was with a true super slut.
MrMe 4 years, 11 months ago.
