For about four months I’ve been suffering with a hernia. Two hernias actually.

The one on the right is small, or so I’m told.

But the leftie? I have an aversion to exclamation points but believe me this leftie requires several. It’s a real mother, and trying not to appear a wuss in public is sapping my determination to tough it out. The pain is truly excruciating and it gets worse as the day goes on. Levering myself into bed, well, my enemies would salivate to witness it.

But there’s also another problem with hernias – or at least there is with mine; they make you cock-conscious. Although it’s not part of the problem – at least I don’t think so – your dick’s proximity to the action makes it seem like a leading player.

And cock-consciousness is not good for me. It may not be an issue for most guys, but it is for me. I’ve always been cock-conscious – and I’m mainly talking about my own.

If it’s an issue with other guys, well, I don’t know about that. I mean, you can’t go around asking ‘in a very general sense, would you describe yourself as constantly cock-conscious?’ can you? That’s unless you’ve got a card from the Government or some Uni. that confirmed you were doing a Sociological Survey for the National Health (say).

And I know where my cock-consciousness started; it was with my Grandma. Due to some family problems I had to live some early years with my Grandparents. The toilet was part of the bathroom. I remember the room quite distinctly as, in additional to the basic facilities, there was a chair with a cushion covered with an attractive moquette. I suspect I remember it well because it was a very unhappy time for me and when I took a leak or did a dump (or whatever you call a 3 year old having a shit) I would speak to a ‘friend’ on the chair.

So imagine it; I’m a 3 year old whose feet don’t touch the ground when I’m sitting there, and one day in walks Grandma. And she sits on the chair watching me. ‘You’ve been a long time’, she says, like I’m an unusually early wanker.

And then, presumably to ‘help’, she came over and gave my itsy-bitsy pee-pee a shake.

I can’t remember what happened after that, but the experience stuck with me big time; it’s made me cock-conscious every waking moment since … perhaps a slight exaggeration….

…and even as it was happening I was aware that it was going to have a deeper significance, like I was being scarred in some way.

It wasn’t only a sense of indignity I suffered – that’s if ‘indignity’ can be applied to a 3 year old – but an awareness that in touching my cock, particularly the way she dismissively wiggled it around, she’d violated the essence of who I was.

And still am.

From time to time since then my cock has been in the hand(s) of others – with rare exceptions of the female gender – but there’s no doubt in my mind it was Grandma who opened the abyss.

And now

with the fucking hernia hovering there’s no longer the occasional ecstasy; only agony.