I’m just going to say “sorry” right off the bat. This is probably too much information for many of you. I know that God is on his third martini because I told him I was going to share this story with you. And as for my father who may read this (or any family member) I’m sorry I’m talking about my crotch to the whole wide world. Maybe it would be easier, if you chose to continue reading, to change the word crotch to privates, or whooley-who, or wooly mammoth kitty cat.
So, you’re still here? Well, I hope you didn’t choose wooly mammoth. Okay, well here’s what happened.
I had some muscle pain after working out. So, I took a hot shower hoping to work out some of the soreness. But the heat of the water wasn’t enough to work out the pain. I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself and opened the medicine cabinet to find something that might help. Ah-ha! Tiger Balm – the magical Chinese balm that is a cure-all for sinus congestion to flatulence. (I don’t even want to know where you put Tiger Balm to aid in decreasing flatulence. Who thinks of Tiger Balm when they are farting anyway?)
But flatulence wasn’t a problem I had to deal with today. Maybe the next time I eat egg and broccoli salad…
So, anyway, I scooped out a nice glob of the balm and rubbed it into my aching shoulders. The cool heat began to work its magic. I love the tingley cool-hot feeling it has as it eases the ache in my body.
Then I got an itch in my whooley-who area. Instinct says to scratch the itch, so I scratched the itch. When my scratching was complete, I did not get the relief I was usually so satisfied with. No. Oh, no, no, no. My whooley-who was now on FIRE. Tiger Balm was on my hands when I scratched. And, I’m sorry to say, that I had an itch that required a scratch like I was searching for a gnome in grassy fields (sorry you had to hear that Dad.)
I don’t know about those ads that talk about the “heat sensation” for lubricants to enhance sexual pleasure, but if the fire crotch heat that I was experiencing was even remotely similar, then I’m going into my sexual escapades DRY, (sorry you had to hear that also,Dad. As well as my future sexual escapade’s.) or going to be celibate (you’re welcome Dad and still sorry sexual escapade’s).
My crotch burned like the towering inferno in hell. I was hopping around the bathroom in a horse stance fanning my whooley-who – which just made it worse. I turned on the shower and jumped in and attempted to rub out the fire, but I didn’t get the Tiger Balm off my hands first and managed to rub a nice mixture of cold water and ointment in deeper. Holy hell! My wooly mammoth was going down in flames. I poured liquid honey melon scented soap into my palms and dove into the flames, rubbing and scrubbing.
I only managed to create menthol, honey, melon smelling crotch.
I sat down in the shower defeated by the balm. I was going to have to wait until the “sensation” passed. It took more than 20 minutes. Do you know what it’s like to have fire crotch for 20 minutes?
I am happy to report that I have successfully rehabilitated my whooley-who from its Tiger Balm adventure and that it is back to manufacturer recommended use.
Some male friends of mine were thrilled with this story and adamant that they could have helped and possibly have pleasurably enhanced the experience. I don’t want to underestimate your skills, boys, but why don’t we start with you rubbing Tiger Balm on your dingleberry and you get back to me on that.