Embarrassing Boners

 or Can a Man Really Train His Dragon?

The popular Disney film of last summer claimed it’s possible to train your dragon. But can you? I vote no. As males, in our teen years, we learn to expect the unexpected hard-on. Sprouting wood at the most inopportune times is an issue we’ve all faced at one point or another.

I’ve popped many a boner when I was least expecting it. If you’ve read my previous post “On Wood and the Big Whack Attack,” you already know about the raging bone a urologist gave me during an exam and how he took care of the situation. But it’s happened to me many times.

It happens most often when – well, okay, every time – I’m getting a massage. At first it was extremely embarrassing for me. The masseur would tell me it was time to turn over and I’d have to say “in a minute.” Or, “I can’t right now.” If my dick wasn’t rigid before I turned over, it would jump up and wave afterward. Not all masseurs take this with a grain of salt. Though one guy told me not to worry about it because “it happens all the time and we’re taught in school to expect it,” that isn’t the prevailing attitude. Over the years I’ve had a variety of reactions to my cock standing at attention: One got pissed and left, refusing to come back; a couple put massage oil in my hand, tossed me a towel, and said they’d give me “a few minutes to take care of the problem;” most would cover it with a small towel and move on as if nothing was amiss (which it wasn’t! but the towel came in handy at the end of the massage after they left the room telling me to dress).

 I finally got to a point where I didn’t care if my pecker got stiff: Let ‘em see it; they’ll either handle it or they won’t.

The best ones, in my opinion of course, were the ones who said, “don’t worry about it, it’ll go down.” Yet when it didn’t, they offered to take care of it. Once I agreed, one guy got right down to it and made me cum in less than a minute; though it resolved the issue it wasn’t the most pleasant experience.

The guy I go to now took a very different approach. The first time I went to him I warned him. He shrugged it off. Of course I was raging hard when he had me turn over and the fact he kept brushing his fingertips against my nuts tells me he purposely helped it along. He continued to work my legs and arms, then moved to my chest and abs, the edge of his hand constantly rubbing against the head of my cock. Then down against the stiff shaft and alongside my balls. My hips started undulating and he took my cock into his oiled hands and, with the slowest strokes all the way up and down, five minutes later made the first shot of semen fire over my head. He kept slowly stroking and gently massaging my nuts until my cock had wilted to a limp noodle (along with the rest of me). And the pleasant surprise at the end? He’d been naked as a jaybird through the entire thing and stood there proudly displaying his semi-hard-on. (Now, he undresses while I do.)

My latest red-faced episode again took place in an exam room. This time during a scrotal ultrasound. Damn! I wish he would’ve warned me it could happen. He’s down there running the wand along my lubed up ball-sac and slowly my cock started to engorge. It was (mostly) covered by a scrub shirt he’d placed over it, but I still couldn’t believe it was happening! Despite a mantra in my head saying “don’t, don’t, don’t.” He finished up the right nut, grabbed my stiffy and moved it to allow access to my left one. As he did, he uttered “Sorry.” I don’t know if he was apologizing for giving me a hard-on or for grabbing it. By the time he finished a very obvious steel pole poked against the material barely covering it. He looked down at me, told me he was done and I could “clean the gel off with the scrub shirt,” that he would fill out the paperwork at the desk in the corner and handed me a washcloth “in case you need it.” I sat up and put my feet on the floor and was wiping my cock and balls off when he turned to ask me a question; there was my dick bobbing in the air. He uttered an “Oops. Sorry.” and turned away. I tried to pull my briefs on, but it was a no go and knew my hard-on wasn’t going to subside without a little help. So, keeping an eye on him, I put the washcloth over the tip of my cock with one hand and stroked like mad with the other until I blew my load. He must’ve known what I was up to, because after I finished he asked, “Better?” And all I could do was say, “Yeah, thanks.” “No problem. Leave the shirt and washcloth on the table.”

Do not think for a minute we can control our cocks. They act and react without our permission. They get hard due to their own inclinations, they wilt of their own volition. In other words, they’re working as nature intended and I guess the lesson here is: Training is not only unnecessary, it ain’t gonna happen anyway. So enjoy your pecker when it stands up and asks for some lovin’ – that’s all the training it wants or needs.