Banjo trauma

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by St_Piran, Jul 8, 2009.

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  1. In the early nineties I was seeing a young lady from a small village not far from Plymouth who I'd been introduced to by my best mucker (we'll call him W) on a visit just after our return from Op Granby. We got on well and started seeing each other properly, romance blossomed and I wound up staying at her gaff at weekends rather than bedding down in Ws spare room.

    After seeing her for about six months we were all down the local boozer, took on a skinful and headed back up the hill where we were greeted by the young ladies Dad, a proper boozehound ex squaddie, who had just opened a bottle of brandy, had a few snifters with him then bird takes herself off to bed, a few more brandies down and the room starts to spin so I bid the Dad and W goodnight and stagger up the stairs to collapse on top of the girlfriend. Amazingly given the amount of ale taken on board I start to get a bit of a lazyboy on so decide to try my luck, even better she's likewise feeling a bit fruity. Unwisely I decide to forego the foreplay and even dispense with the 'spit on the tip' school of warm ups and go straight in for the kill, aiming the little sergeant at the target I go for one of those forward thrusts that should have had the girlfriend up and over like a pan of hot milk. Sadly she wasn't even the slightest bit moist, I feel a little bit of pressure on the end which suddenly eases followed by a pain can only liken to having a drop of battery acid land on your bellend. I go static mid thrust; girlfriend looks up at me, eyes wide and says "What’s the matter?" I say nothing, rock back onto my heels and just pull slowly out of her, unfortunately due to the tumescence of the little sergeant and the angle of the extraction I get rewarded with a smack on the stomach as it comes out, spraying blood up the wall, up my chest and in my eye. Girlfriend starts jumping all over the bed screaming "Oh God oh God" further adding to the abattoir look due to the blood leaking out of her as I stare in instantly sober horror at the wreckage of my once proud unit "What can I do!?", "Get me a towel." says I, then reasoning to myself that even though W is hammered he still is a CMT so might be of some assistance follow it up with "And get W up here". She scuttles off to the bathroom, still dripping claret all over the shop and returns with a towel which I wrap around the little fella and try and apply some direct pressure (have you ever tried applying direct pressure to an increasingly flaccid bell end? It ain't easy, let me tell you), she chucks on her dressing gown and goes off downstairs, I hear her talking to her dad then the front door opening as she runs across the road to Ws house, then to my complete terror her dads footfalls on the stairs. "Jesus Christ" I think to myself "can it get any worse? Please please please let him be off to bed" but no, the bedroom door opens and this completely hammered giant stumbles into the room, takes in the charnel scene that is his only daughters bedroom and booms in a voice to put Brian Blessed to shame "Bloody hell Piran me boy, split the old foreskin have we!!!" then exits, pissing himself with laughter. A minute or so later I hear girlfriend and W coming through the front door and up the stairs, they walk in, he goes white and says "F*ckin' hell Piran are you alright?" (He later confessed that when he first saw the amount of blood he thought she’d stabbed me), then as I peel back the towel to show him the damage he does what any caring professional RAMC soldier would and collapses on the floor, p1ssing himself with laughter, after about 3 minutes of this, and bird telling him what a c0ck he is for not helping his mate he manages to take a closer look, “Right fella, just pull your popes cap down and we’ll see what the damage is”. This is the first time that I’ve even dared touch the appendage directly or even look properly since the towel went on, so very gently I draw back to see a gouge about ¾ of an inch long from the bottom of my oriental ocular organ down over my herman gelmet that rapidly filled with blood. Seeing this, and still laughing W says “Right amigo I think we should get you down to RNH Plymouth just to be on the safe side”. So they both help me pull a pair of trackies and a T-shirt on, assist me downstairs and in to birds car. As we drive to the end of the road past Ws house he shouts “Stop the car, I need to get something from the house”, he dives out and runs into his gaff. With me thinking he’s gone to get a first aid pack or some such he re-emerges, dives back into the car and brandishes a 4 pack of Fosters, ‘Just for the journey’ and off we go.

    I can’t remember much of the journey, just W saying it’ll be alright and then bursting in to fits of laughter then me begging him not to him not to tell anyone only to be assured “course not mate, my lips are sealed” followed by more giggling and tales of how its going to sting when they inject the local to stitch it up. When we get to the reception I hobble up to the hatch and give my details, “And what’s the problem” says the matelot medic behind his security screen?” “Uh it’s a bit personal” says I which is quickly followed by Ws voice behind me proclaiming loudly “HE’S SPLIT HIS DICK!” I thought the shore patrol punter guarding the door in was going to p1ss himself as we walked past stopping W briefly to relieve him of the beers and tell him he could pick them up on his way out.

    We sit down to wait amongst the normal scene of an A&E on a Saturday night with W alternately moaning that he’d had his ales lifted and entertaining everyone within earshot with the tale of my misfortune until he gets told by another shore patrol man mountain that if he isn’t quiet he’ll be needing some medical attention himself. Eventually I get taken through to a cubicle just behind where we were sitting. Navy doc asks what happened, I give him a brief on the occurrence pretending not to notice both the less than professional grin spreading across his face and W outside the curtain laughing loudly again as I recount the tale. When I finish doc says “And what did you do to stop the bleeding?” “I wrapped a towel around it” I reply deadpan only to hear from behind the curtain “You big headed b*stard, a flannel would be too big for mine”, followed by the sound of W being lifted bodily off the ground by two shore patrol and thrown through the doors outside. After having a dressing applied and being warned not to engage in any sexual activity until it was fully healed I exited the hospital to find my bestest mate ever who swore blind he wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened on the public telephone outside having rung every single number he could remember, including my mums. Cnut!

    So to all you young swordsmen out there take my advice, make sure she’s warmed up properly before you climb on. Better 5 minute of foreplay than ending up with tackle that looks like Kojak after he’s been glassed. Any other ARRSErs with similar tales of woe, get them on here, you know you want to.
  2. Got bored after the first sentence.
  3. Diddums
  4. Next time remember the Ky
  5. Anyone care to provide a summary?
  6. Dry fcuk. Split banjo string. blood. Chaos. Regret.
  7. Oh, that old chestnut. Thanks for cutting his long story short
  8. Happens a lot. Drink. Appetites. No restraint. Ouch. Regret.
  9. He's a cissy for stopping. The blood would have done as lube and the pleasure would soon have overtaken the pain.
  10. Glad W brought the tinnies, when you all jumped in the car I thought you were heading off without any beer for the journey, good bloke that W
  11. Oh I can read it now :)
  12. B_AND_T

    B_AND_T LE Book Reviewer

    I bet you don't forget Jarrod! I can't remember if I can actually say that though, am I allowed.
  13. OMG that's disgusting ,Jarrod and i thought you were the quiet one .
  14. B_AND_T

    B_AND_T LE Book Reviewer


    Would you mind if I sent you a sample of Ebola?
  15. Jarrod you got her on the brain ,Get a grip will you :)