Experimentation with Tampons
November 2nd 2006 02:57
Tampons.
We all see the ads, with their strangely disconcerting use of blue liquids, and ingenious use of pads and tampons to plug leaks ranging from holes in convertible roofs, all the way up to the frigging Hoover Dam. There’s not really much that you can’t do with the things, according to these ads.
Speaking as a guy, they’ve always been a bit taboo. Yeah, I’ve done the run to the shop to buy a girlfriend a pack, but I can tell you, I’d have probably rather been there asking if anal lube came in industrial sized tubs. Who knows what it is about "Women’s sanitary products" that project this aura, that makes men want to loudly change subjects...
Anyway, I was at home one sultry summers day, home alone. My girlfriend at the time was out with friends, my friends were all at work, and I was bored, rattling around the apartment, like an old widow on speed; actually looking for things to clean. In my random searchings, I head into the bathroom, and start to go through the cabinet for things to throw out, when I come across her flowery little box of tampons. I’m particularly squeamish about the whole period thing, I don’t know why, I understand it’s just a bodily function, I’m just squeamish. I open the box; look inside at the little woolen soldiers, all at attention in their pristine plastic dress uniforms, waiting to be deployed into action. Close box. Move along, nothing to see here.
I go back to rattling around, but can’t seem to remove the image of the tampons from my mind. Revulsion and attraction are just two sides of the same damn coin, and I can’t seem to shake this curious magnetism that the tampons have suddenly pulled over me. I resist. I turn on music really loud - no good. My mind’s hearing a tune far more insistent than the one bombarding my ears.
I go back to the bathroom. Take out flowery box. Open. Eject one (1) into the parade ground of the palm of my hand, atten-SHUN!
Unwrap.
Vague medicine-y smell, maybe it’s the bathroom, more likely my imagination. Silky woolen texture. Hospital-wall blue string. I study the tampon, study it like it’s a venomous snake, its long, blue tongue flickers at me, threatening.
An idea comes to me. Or rather, I acknowledge an idea that had been floating around in my head from the moment I opened up the box.
I put the tampon in my mouth.
If you’ve ever taken a prawn cracker - like the ones you get at Chinese restaurants, and just put it on your tongue, and feel it stick to your tongue as the cracker soaks up your saliva; then you have a small idea of what this feels like.
I feel as though my skull is shrinking, my brain is going to ooze out my eyes; every last drop of liquid in my head is being absorbed by this thing. I start to hear a noise like someone sucking the last bit of a milkshake up through a straw, again I suspect my imagination of fucking with me, so I ride it out. This thing can’t keep sucking me up for ever, can it?
Can it?
Still the sucking continues, and my heart begins to labour under the strain, but I realize I can’t pull out now; this has become epic. This has gone beyond some bored guy doing some randomly stupid thing; it’s now become science: how long can I last? Can I be killed by exsalivation? Does this really need to be this absorbent? How much do chicks bleed anyway?
Question followed by bewildered question races through my now delirious mind, when my body takes action, overriding the commands sent by the misguided brain. I watch as my arm reaches up, grasps the string and flicks the tampon, “splat!” Into the wall, like a giant spitball.
I read somewhere the human body is something like 57 percent water. I reckon I got mine down to about 40 percent that day.
We all see the ads, with their strangely disconcerting use of blue liquids, and ingenious use of pads and tampons to plug leaks ranging from holes in convertible roofs, all the way up to the frigging Hoover Dam. There’s not really much that you can’t do with the things, according to these ads.
Speaking as a guy, they’ve always been a bit taboo. Yeah, I’ve done the run to the shop to buy a girlfriend a pack, but I can tell you, I’d have probably rather been there asking if anal lube came in industrial sized tubs. Who knows what it is about "Women’s sanitary products" that project this aura, that makes men want to loudly change subjects...
Anyway, I was at home one sultry summers day, home alone. My girlfriend at the time was out with friends, my friends were all at work, and I was bored, rattling around the apartment, like an old widow on speed; actually looking for things to clean. In my random searchings, I head into the bathroom, and start to go through the cabinet for things to throw out, when I come across her flowery little box of tampons. I’m particularly squeamish about the whole period thing, I don’t know why, I understand it’s just a bodily function, I’m just squeamish. I open the box; look inside at the little woolen soldiers, all at attention in their pristine plastic dress uniforms, waiting to be deployed into action. Close box. Move along, nothing to see here.
I go back to rattling around, but can’t seem to remove the image of the tampons from my mind. Revulsion and attraction are just two sides of the same damn coin, and I can’t seem to shake this curious magnetism that the tampons have suddenly pulled over me. I resist. I turn on music really loud - no good. My mind’s hearing a tune far more insistent than the one bombarding my ears.
I go back to the bathroom. Take out flowery box. Open. Eject one (1) into the parade ground of the palm of my hand, atten-SHUN!
Unwrap.
Vague medicine-y smell, maybe it’s the bathroom, more likely my imagination. Silky woolen texture. Hospital-wall blue string. I study the tampon, study it like it’s a venomous snake, its long, blue tongue flickers at me, threatening.
An idea comes to me. Or rather, I acknowledge an idea that had been floating around in my head from the moment I opened up the box.
I put the tampon in my mouth.
If you’ve ever taken a prawn cracker - like the ones you get at Chinese restaurants, and just put it on your tongue, and feel it stick to your tongue as the cracker soaks up your saliva; then you have a small idea of what this feels like.
I feel as though my skull is shrinking, my brain is going to ooze out my eyes; every last drop of liquid in my head is being absorbed by this thing. I start to hear a noise like someone sucking the last bit of a milkshake up through a straw, again I suspect my imagination of fucking with me, so I ride it out. This thing can’t keep sucking me up for ever, can it?
Can it?
Still the sucking continues, and my heart begins to labour under the strain, but I realize I can’t pull out now; this has become epic. This has gone beyond some bored guy doing some randomly stupid thing; it’s now become science: how long can I last? Can I be killed by exsalivation? Does this really need to be this absorbent? How much do chicks bleed anyway?
Question followed by bewildered question races through my now delirious mind, when my body takes action, overriding the commands sent by the misguided brain. I watch as my arm reaches up, grasps the string and flicks the tampon, “splat!” Into the wall, like a giant spitball.
I read somewhere the human body is something like 57 percent water. I reckon I got mine down to about 40 percent that day.
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Comment by Stuart
Mediated
It gave me quite a well timed laugh.
Comment by Joanna
Comment by barelylegalalien
Comment by woolly days
well done!
cheers,
Derek
Comment by Barracuda
What in the world would make you stick it in your mouth?>??