Five days have passed.
They’ve been five of the weirdest days of my life.
I noticed it Sunday (the day after my failed attempt at the HOW World Title), and thought the situation would simply fix itself. Monday came, and still I had problems. Tuesday, nothing changed. Wednesday, I started to panic, I’d never gone THIS long before! Finally here I am, Thursday morning, gingerly walking through the automatic doors at the nearest Emergency Room.
Slowly walking up to the nurse’s desk I offer a tired smile and ask for some assistance. “I’m sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but I think I may need to see a doctor.”
“What’s the problem?” she asks gruffly. I’m sure seeing so many patients day after day, she’s probably sick and tired of asking that question.
“Uhm, well, it’s a little awkward.” I hedge, afraid to admit my condition, or my concerns. “Can we just put down TBD and I can tell the Doctor when I see him?”
“No sir,” such a simple statement that is filled with layers. On one hand she is annoyed. On the other, intrigued. Yet another, she is bored, it’s been a long shift, and she’s not set to go home for another three hours. “How about you tell me what the problem is, and then fill out of these forms. After that you can repeat it all to the doctor and he can fix you right up.”
“Well,” I begin, stuttering to a stop as I take a moment to prepare myself. “I’ve got a problem. Down. There.” I whisper the last two words, while trying to point down at my nether region on the sly, afraid to draw too much attention to myself, and my problem.
“Uhm, okay?” She answers, as if this problem wasn’t actually a problem at all. “Can you elaborate?”
“…” I don’t wanna.
“For example, did you take any medication and now it won’t go down?” She offers, with a smile. “It’s okay, sir, that sort of thing happens more than you could imagine!”
“Oh, no!” I pause, wishing to myself that THAT was my problem. “I wish that were the case!”
“So, what’s wrong?” she prods further.
“Well, the other day I was wrestling with another man.” I say as casually as can be, as if I were telling someone what time of day it was. “We were going at it pretty rough, and I thought I might finally be able to pin the bastard. Then outta nowhere the guy bites me on the… Well, on the dick.” I once again whisper the end of my explanation, as her mouth drops.
Hearing about two men in their kinky sex play was certainly not what she was expecting to hear! “Oh, uhm, okay. I’m sure we can have the doctor take a look at that for you, sir.”
“The bite isn’t really my problem, per say,” I continue, unasked. “I mean, it still hurts and I can’t seem to get rid of the teeth marks. But ever since he bit me there, I haven’t been able to, well, he seems to be suffering from constant stage fright. As if he were afraid of his own shadow.”
“Right,” I can tell she is trying not to laugh, if only she could try not to smile as well! “Here you are, sir, go on ahead and take a seat, fill these out, and we’ll find you a room as soon as we can.”
Taking the papers in hand, I slowly make my way to a seat and proceed to fill out my pertinent information. Halfway through I see a familiar face walking towards the exit. After a double take about the only thing that is familiar is his face. His hair, which was once a glorious blonde is now silver.
I jump to my feet, and immediately wail in agony, causing everyone to look at me.
“Bobby!?” the sound of Cancer Jiles sounds, as he lowers his shades in an attempt to better see me. He walks over to me, as I stand before my seat, one hand holding the clip board, and the second hand clutching at my bits downstairs.
“What in the world are you doing here!?” Cancer demands, concern in his voice, but also, curiosity as he watches me try to rearrange the boys.
“You know how it goes,” I offer lamely in return. “A match with Mike, a trip to the hospital” I shrug my shoulders, and frown because it’s not even a joke anymore. “What about you, man? They got some sorta salon back there?”
Waving his hands through his now silver hair, a bit self consciously. “Dan Ryan… “ he curses the name as he lowers his hand. “Hey, did you hear!? Rick and ole Zeb put CBD back together again! Can’t wait for everyone to see the best Bandit back in action again! But, shhh, they want to surprise us at the next show, so don’t tell them I told you. I’d hate to ruin it for them.
“Now seriously, tell me, how bad is it Bobby?” Cancer finishes looking at me like his puppy just died, as he once again can’t help but touch his hair.
“You look…” I pause, searching for the right word. I mean, you can’t say old. Doozer has that one locked down. “You look distinguished! Yeah, that’s it! You look distinguished.”
We stand there for a few minutes longer as I explain my situation to him. After a bit, he begs off and makes his way out of the hospital leaving me to finish my paperwork. Once complete and turned in, it’s a matter of simply waiting for my name to be called. And, as you all know, if you’re not having a heart attack or bleeding profusely out of one of the major target zones, you better be prepared for a long wait.
Luckily my friends broke up this extended time lapse with a few text messages…
Doozer: Oh man! I just got off the phone with the Maestro, is it true you’re going to have to freeze your swimmers because they’re afraid you’ll never get it up again?
Zeb Martin: Bobby!!!! CJ just told me! I can’t believe they’re going to have to amputate!
Zeb Martin: If they chop it off, will you go from having an outtie to an innie?
Doozer: Bobby! If you’re having trouble I wonder how ole Fartypants has been holding up. I mean, he’s had Mike’s mouth around his cock for years now!
Cancer Jiles: Hey bud! I told the guys you’re going through a tough time and to wish you well. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them any particulars. Fingers crossed for ya!
Doozer: On a serious note, have you thought about a lawsuit? You’d think Mike biting your dick would have to fall under Sexual Harassment right? That’s like the perfect case of #MeToo! Maybe you can get another title shot outta it? Just stay away from the big one man.
And that’s how my wait went. Joke after joke. Idea after idea on how “we” could cash in on this. And then a very confusing conversation with the doctor. Gave some blood, in case Mike had rabies, I’m guessing? Then he poked and prodded, and cajoled around down there, which did absolutely nothing. Normally I could feel a light breeze and I’d be reporting for duty, standing at attention.
Then, when it was all said and done, my pants still pooled around my ankles, my feet still propped up in the stirrups like this was one of those weird Gyno pornos that Eric Dane enjoys, allegedly. I was given a package of adult diapers, and was told to wear them until I was told otherwise.
How in the world would diapers help my situation?
Two and a half hours after I walked into the Emergency Room, I was finally walking out. Of course now I “Swished” “Swished” with every step, as the diaper rubbed against the fabric of my pants. They made my pelvis look frumpy and did absolutely nothing for the pain.
Fuckin’ Mike Best. Why is it every time I face him, my life gets ruined! First the coma. Now I’ve got a penis coma and a diaper!
Thanks Mike, can’t wait to do it again! [/sarcasm]