No Way!

I guess sooner or later it had to happen. It had crept up on me, real sneaky like. I had been noticing these white, hardened patches starting to grow on my foreskin, exactly on the edge that protrudes the most when my dick is at rest. But I didn't think much of it. As a tennis pro I've had calluses on my hands and feet all my life. So I was used to that. You get calluses when you work it hard.

And boy, did I work my dick hard. It's one of my favourite perks: all those nice, tight groupies. Rock stars might have even more groupies than tennis pros, but our groupies are better. Usually they play a little bit of tennis themselves, so they are fit and lean. That's just the way I like them. Other than that I don't care: I like them blonde, brunette, black, red or sporting some dodgy punk dye job. I'd even ball a chick with no hair at all. If she's got A-cups or double D's: I really don't give a fuck. As long as they are lean, in their twenties and dead set on pleasing me. No teens; they're too much work. They don't have the experience nor the confidence. And no thirty-somethings either: they lack stamina. And let's face it: things start to flab and sag once you get past that big thirty-love. No amount of iron pumping can keep gravity at bay forever. Believe me: I know from my own experience.

I was also used to soldiering on when in pain. So even when those calluses on my dick started to get painful, I wasn't worried. It felt very much like a blister: a small burn or a scuff wound that gave me this burning sensation when my pee flowed over it and especially when I shoved my dick into a nice wet pussy. I won't lie: sometimes it hurt like hell. But what the heck: I just dug a little deeper into the Vaseline. A day not fucked is a day not lived, right? And when you're horny and you've got this nice hot hardbody just craving to rest her ass onto your throbbing dick, you don't care about pain.

It really only bothered me when I took a shower. I cringed every time I had to pull back the foreskin to wash the head. But I figured that was just the price you had to pay for all that hard fucking. Like my trainer always said: "Are you a wimp or a champ, a sissy or a man, a quitter or a fighter? Give me all you've got. And then some. Beat the hell out of those balls. Beat them harder. Beat them like you want to break them."

Actually, he never really said that. He always yelled it at the top of his voice. And usually just a few minutes before I was sitting in the locker room with my elbow in a bowl of ice. But that's another story altogether.

But then one night, just after I'd made the finals at Roland Garros, I had this amazing black bitch up in my Hilton room. You should have seen her. She was wild, just like she'd only just left her cannibal tribe in the jungle. Scary Spice, the Williams sisters... they all had nothing on her. She looked at me with her big, black tiger eyes like she was about to bite my dick off. She licked those huge lips that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, cupped my balls with her left-hand and grabbed my dick with her right-hand. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and exposed the two studs she wore side by side in her pierced tongue. It moved like a black mamba with silver teeth. A predator, ready to pounce. She started to go down. In my mind I could already feel that black mamba striking my dick as I looked at her back arching. Her big, round ass was sticking up in the air like a trophy I was about to win. Both my heads were throbbing. I closed my eyes.

"My God, what's that funky shit?" she shouted out. A cry of admiration, I thought.

"Holy coconut, that shit is nasty!" she proceeded.

Startled, I opened my eyes.

"No way!" she said. She shook her head and looked at my dick like she was sitting in a posh restaurant and had just been served a fresh piece of road kill, well done. "Ain't no fucking way Gemima is going down on that." She pointed at my dick with her long, shiny white fingernail and started to get off the bed.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You'd better have a doctor take a look at that shit a.s.a.p." she said as her tits slipped back into her yellow top. A wave of depression rolled over me as I saw that wild, natural afro that she sported between her legs disappear into her black leather skirt again. God, it's so rare to see a natural bush these days, especially a big, black jungle you could get lost in without finding your way out for months. Before I knew it she'd opened the door, her handbag, boots and panties in hand. She turned around one more time.

"And you'd better throw my phone number in the trash right there. Because you can forget about Gemima ever going anywhere near that thing again," she said while I watched the white fingernail of her index finger do a mad tribal dance in front of her face. "I knew I should have gone up with Venus Williams again. She may only have a strap-on, but at least that one looks healthy. And the girl can work it with the best of them."

Yeah, she was right about Venus. But that's another story again. I'll tell that some other time.

Anyway: I was flabbergasted. I rushed into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. You know how you sometimes need someone to open up your eyes so you can finally see something obvious, something that's been right in front of your nose for months? Yep, I guess I have to thank that damn bitch. My foreskin was all red and sported these huge patches of hard, white calluses. The white growth was all round. I could even see some white growth on the head now. I picked at it. I could peel huge patches of skin right off. It looked like a really bad case of athlete's foot. Now, I can tell you that that's something you really don't want to happen: pieces of skin peeling off of your penis. I felt like my dick was disintegrating right in front of my eyes.

And another thing you don't want to happen is your nice, family doctor going "Good Grief!" the moment you unveil your dick for him. I swear his eyes became twice their size as his face turned green with disgust. For a moment he looked exactly like Kermit the Frog would look if he'd just got a karate handjob from Miss Piggy. Albeit with the addition of a pair of jam jar glasses and a Jewish nose.

"Is it bad, doc?" I whispered as I lifted my head off the table so I could glance at my dick. I felt the paper sheet riding up in my crack. I'm not sure I wanted an answer.

"In all honesty," he started as he carefully lifted up my penis with his green latex gloved thumb and forefinger. "That's the worst candida albicans infection I've ever seen in the thirty years I've had this practice."

I certainly didn't want that answer.

"Candy da what's it?" I stammered. It reminded me of the name of a Vegas stripper that once gave me a free lap dance. "Is that bad?"

"Can-di-da Al-bi-cans," he answered. Yep, still sounded like a Vegas hooker.

"That's a kind of fungus," he proceeded.

"You're shitting me, doc? There's a frigging fungus growing out of my di... I mean: penis?"

He burst out laughing. "Well, I wouldn't quite put it like that."

"So, what would you put it like?"

"Candida Albicans is a relatively harmless yeast that lives inside eighty percent of the population."

"Harmless?" I cried out. "You make it sound like I'm baking a damn cake down there. A fucking fungus is feasting on my cock. Does that look harmless to you?"

"Calm down," he said. "No need to panic."

"No, of course not. The next time I'm with a girl I'll just tell her to help herself to the cheese I'm growing on my cock. How did I get this?"

"Probably from a woman you've had intercourse with. Have you been very sexually active over the last six months?"

"Is that a trick question, doc?"

He smiled.

"Candida lives inside the vaginas of healthy women without causing any problems," he proceeded . "But it can turn into an invasive, infectious form if the immune system is compromised for some reason. Stress, chemotherapy, Aids..."

"Aids?" I shouted.

"Don't worry. Probably not. But we'll do a blood test later to be on the safe side."

"So is there a pill to get rid of this Candy da Albi or something?"

"Yes. And there are creams I could prescribe. But I'm afraid they only work on mild cases. Your infection is too big for them."

"But then what? How are we going to get rid of it?"

"As bad as the affliction is, I think we're going to have to have the foreskin removed."

"Say what?"

"It's a standard procedure that's widely known under the name circumcision."

"No way!" I was shocked. "That might be good for your people, but I don't believe in God, Yahweh, Allah or whatever you call that shit. I don't even believe in Santa Clause. I don't want to lose my foreskin. I like it. I'm proud of it. Girls like it. It's a source of pleasure. For me and for the girls."

"Don't worry," he tried to calm me down again. He took a closer look at my penis again. "I don't think penis amputation will be necessary at this stage."

I don't remember anything that happened for the next half hour. Because this is the moment I fainted. Good thing I was lying down on the table.

When I woke up again, my penis had turned bright orange. And it was sticking up through a green sheet with a hole in it. It looked like a weird toadstool on an alien planet. My proud manhood, my male... fungus. I wanted to reach out to it. But the doc grabbed my hand.

"Careful," he said as he handed me a pen and a piece of paper. "Don't touch the iodine. We've prepped it for the operation. You only have to sign this release and in half an hour you'll be completely free of your problem."

I threw the green sheet away, pushed the doc aside and bolted off the table. I tripped over my own jeans which were still wrapped around my ankles. I hit the ground. I pulled up my pants, struggled to get up again and opened the door. As I dove out I was still trying to button up my pants. All heads in the waiting room turned to me. I gave them a front row view of my orange dick. I ran out, trying to stuff my orange cock into my blue jeans... God, I'm glad there weren't any paparazzi around that day.

All that happened two months ago. Fortunately the HIV test came up negative. And another doctor gave me some antifungal cream which I've been smearing on my dick four times a day ever since. It's still not totally gone. But it's a lot less. I wonder if it will ever fully go away. In the meantime: if there are any girls out there who crave the taste of a nice celebrity cock with a bit of Candy Da Thingamajig cheese on top, hit me up, will you? Because I haven't had sex since.

Any ladies who are interested, listen up: just put a letter in the fan mail or come to meet me at the next Grand Slam tournament. Make sure you use this line, so I'll know it's you:

"I love to nibble cheese all night long."

If I take you up on the offer, you'll know it's me.