Drop and Give Me 50

Chapter 21: Kim Jong Kitty

Me: (Whispering) Don’t move. Freeze.

Brent: What?

Me: Shhhh! Grumpy is asleep between our feet.

Brent: That counter-shitting hateful bitch.

Me: Bitches are dogs. She’s a cat. Let’s see if we can get out of bed without waking her up. I’ll check the litter box. You go open some food for her. Maybe we can win her over.

Brent: You are unrealistically optimistic. But sure. Yeah. Let’s negotiate with Kim Jong Kitty. You better check the sheet behind you before you roll over.

Me: Nope. All clear. I don’t smell anything.

We quietly slipped out of bed while Grumpy was curled up like an angel. We both knew it wouldn’t last long. But we were supposed to be house sitting for her. The litter box was clear, which was good, but it also meant she was locked and loaded for another bomb drop. Brent was scooping out a can of food when I walked into the kitchen.

Brent: I’m starving.

Me: Ditto.

Brent: How about scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

Me: You’re just a goddamn Martha Stewart, aren’t you?

Brent: No. Just hungry.

Me: Seriously, it sounds perfect. Need any help?

Brent: How about you make the coffee. Assuming you can figure out how to operate that Italian monster over there.

Me: On it.

Brent wore an apron over his naked body to avoid the burning splatter of bacon grease. His hairy butt showing out the back behind the apron strings was a charming picture of homosexual domesticity. I was eighteen, but I always felt like a child. Losing my virginity changed my perspective. I felt more like a man. Here with Brent playing house, I felt more like an adult. We were fucking each other. But we were also caring for each other as well. I had never related to another person like that.

We sat down at the breakfast table to eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, and the closest thing I could muster to a cup of coffee out of the espresso machine.

Brent: So, how did you win over this doctor in just one sports physical?

Me: Well, it’s been a lot more appointments than just that. He’s helping me with a birth defect.

Brent: Oh. Sounds scary.

Me: Nah. I’m not dying. But it is serious. We are trying non-surgical treatments to deal with it. You’re the reason I brought it up with him.

Brent: Me? OK. Explain.

Me: If you don’t count my mom and my doctors, you are literally the first person in the entire world I have told about this.

Brent: Well, aren’t I special.

Me: Actually. Yes. You are. Enough of the flattery. I have a congenitally constricted urethra. Had it since birth. It’s normally something old men get. It just means when I piss, it sprays all over the place, which is why I’m not a fan of urinals.

Brent: I’ve never called you out on it, but I have noticed you are 100% on TEAM STALL. I thought you were just pee shy or something.

Me: Well, not by choice. Dr. Grant is helping me with some therapy.

Brent: OK. That’s great and all, but what does this have to do with me?

Me: Remember the first time we watched porn together?

Brent: Like it was yesterday.

Me: Remember the look on my face when you popped your load high over your shoulder, and I stared at you like you were a three-headed alien?

Brent: Yeah. I couldn’t quite tell if you were in awe or offended.

Me: I was sad. Between the porn and watching you, I realized my condition was severely limiting my ejaculations. I had always just dribbled, and without any other basis of comparison, I just thought that was normal. That was the moment I realized I wasn’t normal.

Brent: Well, you sure cum a lot. That’s for sure. More than normal, if that’s what you mean.

Me: Well, there’s a reason for that as well. One of the exercises Dr. Grant has me doing tends to pre-load the tank so to speak. Hence the flood on the couch last weekend. And hence the gallons of cum that went up your ass by the pool.

Brent: Teach me! Seeing you cum like that is hot.

Me: Sure. It’s a pretty simple exercise, but it is tough to do. At least the way Dr. Grant wants me to.

Brent: Go on. . . .

Me: So, when I went to my physical, I told him about the issue. I also told him about seeing you and how inadequate it made me feel. He didn’t mince words. He told me sexual performance had a lot to do with self-image, confidence, and mental health. He encouraged me to see what I could do to fix the issue.

Brent: How do you fix that?

Me: This is kinda embarrassing, but you remember the big metal rod Dr. Grant used on Darren?

Brent: Yeah. The one he hooked up to that machine and shocked the holy livin’ shit out of him with?

Me: Not that very one, but a smaller one that looks just like it. He is dilating my urethra with one of those rods. No electricity. Just sticking it in there to stretch it out. This toast is really good.

Brent: Diversion. Back to the topic.

Me: And he taught me to do Kegel exercises, which are much harder than they sound. But they are supposedly good for prostate health, which is good for my condition, but also have a positive impact on my ejaculations. And then there is prostate massage, which is my favorite. Remember what I did with my finger out at the pool. OK. That’s the third therapy.

Brent: That hot doctor shoves rods down your dick and sticks his finger up your butt until you cum?

Me: Yeah. It’s all for the sake of getting better.

Brent: Oh, I’m sure. Is it helping?

Me: Slower than I had hoped, but yes. At the last appointment, I actually hit my chin with cum rather than just dribbling. It was like a miracle. I’ve never done that. Like, ever.

Brent: So, why have I not noticed this problem?

Me: I’ve been very sly about that. It’s been dark or my dick has been up your ass or in your mouth every time I’ve cum. You don’t seem to notice the length of the volley when it is happening in such an enclosed condition.

Brent: Clearly. I think there’s something wrong with my dick. You think Dr. Grant could help me?

Me: You wish. I must admit, I do look forward to the treatments.

Brent: How could you not?

Me: The Kegel exercises are tough. And he’s worse than coach when it comes to counting out reps. He has a metronome on his phone to keep pace. It’s brutal.

Brent: What is a Kegel exercise?

Me: Here. I’ll show you.

I went to my backpack and pulled my phone out. Two messages. Mom, nope. Dr. Grant, nope. Don’t care. I opened the metronome app and started it at the pace I had been using for my training. I sat the phone on the table, scooted my chair out so my dick was facing Brent, and flexed, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Relax, repeat, repeat, repeat.

After you get decent at it, it doesn’t look that difficult or impressive. But Brent was transfixed by my performance.

Me: You try. Just flex and hold for ten. Then rest for ten. The goal is to do fifty.

Brent: And this does what again?

Me: You’re stalling. Just try it. Flex, 2, 3. See, it’s tough to go all the way to ten. Try again. Flex, 2, 3, 4. OK, you get it. I’ve been doing these non-stop since my first appointment. I’m well over thirty. I’m looking forward to showing Dr. Grant my progress on Wednesday.

Brent: What’s the name of that app?

Me: Just google metronome.

Brent: Clearly, I’ve got some catching up to do.

Me: We can train together. You can be my gym buddy.

Brent: Maybe we can do that prostate massage training as well. Couldn’t hurt.

Me: I’m sure Dr. Grant would approve of your interest in my health.

Brent: Just call me Mr. Therapeutic.

Me: More like Mr. Horny Bastard.

Brent: Look whose talkin’.