I always knew someday my prince would come. I just didn’t think it would be Prince Albert.
Like many girls raised on Cinderella stories, I spent my single years looking for Prince Charming. Online dating didn’t seem like the best place to find my prince – I mean, under occupation, you hardly ever see it listed – but that’s how I met the royally fine Trevor, a buttoned up lawyer with a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew something you didn’t.
On our fifth twelfth date, after a hot and heavy makeout session, Trevor lured me into his bedroom and slowly undressed, stopping just short of removing his boxer briefs. “Before we go any further,” he said, “I should tell you something. I have…jewelry.” Wow, I thought, that’s romantic. He bought me a present! I knew guys sometimes offered ladies jewelry to get them into bed, but we were already there.
As I waited for him to produce a little blue box, he pulled down his underwear and instead revealed an enormous steel rod. I wish I could say I was talking about his erection. But no. He had a ginormous penis piercing, looping up from the underside of the head around the tip and back in through the urethra.
Yes, I always knew some day my prince would come. I just didn’t think it would be Prince Albert.
Much later, home alone with Google, I learned that the Prince Albert penis piercing (NSFW) was named for Queen Victoria’s husband. Apparently in the early 1800s, tight trousers were all the rage and Prince Albert had issues with his junk showing through his pants. He pierced his schlong so that it could be attached to a hook that pulled his package to the left or the right, giving him a flat front, just like Banana Republic khakis.
At least Prince Albert’s piercing was practical. I didn’t know what to make of Trevor’s. I mean, I knew peens came in all shapes and sizes, from gherkin to kielbasa, cut and uncut, every color in the Benetton rainbow. Penises that go left, penises that go right, and penises so curved they’re like boomerangs – they come back when you blow them. But this guy had let somebody shove a metal post into his pee hole and left it there. It looked like…an hors d’oeuvre. Like a skewered mushroom cap. Except when you eat one of those, you pull the toothpick out first. How was this going to go down, so to speak? Was I willing to get up close and personal with his balls and chain?
Short version: I didn’t want to be impolite to lovely Trevor, so we had the sex, and it was fine, but our burgeoning relationship, um, petered out soon after. Probably because I kept staring at his crotch in a not so sexy WTF manner.
A few years later, my real Prince Charming came a-calling. I was a little nervous the first time we got naked together, but the only secret he was hiding was that beneath his flannel shirt and sexy scruff was a sweet guy who actually wanted to have kids, get married and let me eat off his plate. That’s happily ever after to me.