Good male hygiene, thats what it’s about! Crotch Rot, trouser funk, dick or head cheese, seem to be hot topics of conversation these days amongst the men and their partners. I must say, I’m not sure what the cause of the frank conversation is all about, but I’m all for it and why not. The women are already inundated with ads about products that help to keep things fresh in the panties, so why not the men?
Merritt k makes a compelling presentation in her article, On Smelly Dicks, worth the read, and advice to be taken!
Ok, so maybe personal hygiene sprays, lotions, potions, and powders are not the answer, just a good washing. It does however, beg the question why some folks just don’t know what personal hygiene is? Bathing, the process of washing the body with a fluid, usually water or an aqueous solution, or the immersion of the body in water. Not to be confused with religious ritual, therapeutic purposes, or sun and sea bathing. I’m talking about cleaning yourself!
Why is it important to bathe? If it’s not that obvious to the oblivious, let’s try the maintenance of good health, warding off infections, illnesses, or ailments. Your cleanliness is also good for your self-confidence, physical and emotional well-being, next to godliness. The main purpose; TO REMOVE DIRT AND ODOURS!
I’ll admit I love the sex smell of the human body. However, having my olfactory receptors blasted with the foul funk of someone’s nether regions before they make it through the door is not my idea of a turn on.
It’s no secret that I spent a good portion my adult years as a pro-domme, and since people are sharing as of late, let me share with you a little story of my own.
CBT is not a particularly common interest for the masochistically inclined, so when I get calls requesting this particular service; I get a little excited.
All geared up, the candles were lit, music on, and my hands encased in my favourite worn and weathered cracked leather gloves. Perfect for scraping the underside of a set of nuts in need of a rigorous scratching.
So dude shows up, well dressed I might add, and as agreed, he keeps his business suit on. I get to work tying him down, immobilizing him and verbally humiliating him on how terrible of a finance banker he is, throwing whatever mind fuckery his way I can.
Whack, and I let him have it with a sharp calculated slap between the legs, not to hard, none to soft, enough to feel it through all the layers of clothes he has in. With the smack down over, it’s on to the next stage of rough play with a bit of sandpapering, some ball bondage and a little of what I call “pull the peen”.
It wasn’t long after I began the process of exposing the meat and potatoes that I was greeted with the an all to unpleasant odour of cheese shop proportions. With my nose hairs curling, and my breath held tight, it was all I could do to stop my eyes from watering. This guy was conducting an experiment on producing his own head cheese, or so I thought. For someone who had impeccable hygiene everywhere else, his dick was clearly a part of his body he forgot.
So…….I got to work.
What was to be a simple case of slap and tickle with leather gloves, was now going to be a scrub down of epic proportions with the soapy water, nail brush and rubber gloves. Hey, it was to be a session of CBT, so why not throw a variation onto an old theme?
Get to work I did! I pulled back that skin, and peeled off the layers of cheese, using my rubber covered porno nails to pick and pull at the smegma covered glans, taking great care and time to work it all loose. With all that pasteurization gone, I got to the business of giving that sausage a good scrub with the brush. Back and forth, rinsing in hot soapy water before getting back to scraping and scrubbing in my pink Rubbermaid gloves all to avoid getting dick pan hands and the possibility of after smell.
Lost in thought of the good job I was doing, bringing back the pink to that pork sword, I almost completely forgot, I had a client under my housecleaning. I only became aware because of the last little whelp that squeaked out the side of that ball gag I had wedged in his mouth. A whelp that on second thought, sounded more like the squeal of a puppy having had enough of mom’s tender loving care.
I wiped off the remaining soap to more whines and squeals and gently powdered the now rosy appendage staring back at me. I untied dude, let him do up his pants and adjust his jacket and instructed him in a firm, yet soft voice before leaving, to “never to come to another session without making sure he was properly washed.”
I never could figure out why I never saw him again, and that was ok, at least now he’ll know what good hygiene is all about.