Cock rings and silliness, a bubble bath to remember, and a failed future as a fashion designer

Back when my SO and I were first dating, we took a wonderful trip to Europe.  I can’t remember why, and indeed, had even forgotten about the incident, but was reminded of it yesterday.  

For some reason I was curious about cock-rings.  The missus and I had wandered into an adult novelty shop at my suggestion, and were perusing the assorted cock-rings for sale.  I do vaguely recall that I was intrigued.

“How do you know how big?” I asked.

“Well, don’t want it too tight, and you don’t want it too loose,” the shop assistant said.  The models we were looking at were just solid metal rings.

“What about that one?” I asked, pointing to one somewhere in the middle range of sizes.

“Oh no, you need a much bigger one than that,” my then GF, and future wife chimed in.

“You think?”

“Are you kidding?  That one you chose is tiny.”  The shopkeeper looked on with a bemused expression.

“How do you put it on?” I asked.  The shopkeeper semi-graphically explained using his fingers to emulate the bits and bobs concerned.

“And then what?”

“Well, you put it on before, you know, you’re aroused and all, and then, when you get aroused, well, it keeps you aroused.”

“And you can’t get it off,” I said.

“Well, you will eventually.  But the idea is that it keeps things going for longer.  You know.”

“I see.  We’ll take that one,” I said, indicating the largest size, which still seemed a little small now that I understand exactly what was involved.

Anyway, this ring was along on our trip.  And one day, back in our hotel room, I slipped it on.  Actually, slipped is a bit of a misnomer.  It was actually bloody difficult.  I had to slip one nut through very gingerly, then the other, and then finally, kind of fold and push my johnson through.  It was actually not so easy, and it was already quite tight.  It lay there, cold and heavy, a big fat flat ring around my equipment.

We also had a jacuzzi bath and thought we might climb in together after a rollicking good play time in bed.  So we put on the water, turned on the jets and added a little bubble bath, and then went back to the bedroom.

And then she took me in her mouth and played with me a bit, and I was rather painfully erect within seconds.  We fooled around a bit, and we even tried to screw, but I found that the ring pushed my balls so far forward that I couldn’t quite thrust with the same gusto as usual.  It was all rather ginger in fact. 

Some minutes in I noticed that my whotsit was turning purple, and I thought, not a good sign.  So, I suggested that I try to get it off and we revert to standard procedure.  Easier said than down.  I tried to will things down, but with the steel ring blocking my mental radiation, nothing was happening.  I thought maybe I could stand awkwardly at the sink and run cold water on it, and that might reduce things a bit—enough to get it off.

I trundled to the bathroom and to my surprise, floor-to-ceiling bubbles.  It was not possible to see anything.  If you have ever made the mistake of putting even one little tablespoon of bubble bath in a jacuzzi with water jets, you know what can happen.  The bubbles were so thick that I couldn’t see the tub, the sink, the window, nothing.  And the water was still running.  

What followed was a desperate scramble to feel and find our way to the tub to turn the water off, and then a frantic cleaning process.  After all, we were staying in a former convent!  The cock ring got put away never to be used again.

Later, we went out to dinner, and I was feeling dreamy and romantic.  I had always fantasised about being a fashion designer, so I promised her that I would make her a dark, blue silk spaghetti strap gown.  Clingy, long, open legged, a real number.  I can still see it.  She is still waiting for it.  My one foray into clothes-making was rather short-lived.  I made a rain jacket.  It was rather nice and functional but for one flaw, I sewed the sleeves on backwards.  My gesture of showing how I had to stand in the coat so that the sleeves wouldn’t bunch up still evokes laughter to this day.  What can I say?

And funnily enough, it is my incompetence as a fashion designer that got her to thinking about cock-rings.  Ahh, the good ol’ days.