18-05-2009, 21:58
The Master Says This...
As a counterpoint to the frankly hysterical Embarrassing Erections thread, I'd thought I'd start another for personal accounts of erectile dysfunction. Don't be shy or embarrassed, you're only sharing your shame with a potential audience of millions!
If it helps, The Master himself is no stranger to the dreaded Melty Man. Our first encounter took place one Saturday night when I was 16. Myself and my girlfriend at the time had been out to the cinema and got a late bus home. We were on the top deck and we realized we were alone. We started getting a bit frisky, and my girlfriend suggested we take it further. I was young, impressionable and didn't really know what it was all about (it could be argued that I still don't) but I was all for it. My girlfiend unzipped my jeans, slipped her hand in and had a good rummage, and before long my crusty nub was exposed and reaching for the stars - until I remembered that little window thing in front of the front seat, the one that lets the driver see what was going on in the top deck. My budding chubby shrivelled and died in about five seconds flat, and we spent the rest of the journey in an uncomfortable silence. I couldn't tell my girlfriend why I had performance anxiety because I didn't want to embarrass her (though I finally did tell her about a week later), and I couldn't look at the bus driver when we finally reached our stop. I wouldn't set foot on a bus for months afterwards, and I still think about it when I get on a bus nowadays if the driver looks old.
As a counterpoint to the frankly hysterical Embarrassing Erections thread, I'd thought I'd start another for personal accounts of erectile dysfunction. Don't be shy or embarrassed, you're only sharing your shame with a potential audience of millions!
If it helps, The Master himself is no stranger to the dreaded Melty Man. Our first encounter took place one Saturday night when I was 16. Myself and my girlfriend at the time had been out to the cinema and got a late bus home. We were on the top deck and we realized we were alone. We started getting a bit frisky, and my girlfriend suggested we take it further. I was young, impressionable and didn't really know what it was all about (it could be argued that I still don't) but I was all for it. My girlfiend unzipped my jeans, slipped her hand in and had a good rummage, and before long my crusty nub was exposed and reaching for the stars - until I remembered that little window thing in front of the front seat, the one that lets the driver see what was going on in the top deck. My budding chubby shrivelled and died in about five seconds flat, and we spent the rest of the journey in an uncomfortable silence. I couldn't tell my girlfriend why I had performance anxiety because I didn't want to embarrass her (though I finally did tell her about a week later), and I couldn't look at the bus driver when we finally reached our stop. I wouldn't set foot on a bus for months afterwards, and I still think about it when I get on a bus nowadays if the driver looks old.
