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Tha BB


For those of you unfamiliar with medical terms commonly used in a medical household such as ours, BB stands for Butt Bump. I can now add Tha BB to my list of opportunities experienced because one of those thingsappeared on the inside of my right cheek. (I am referring to the lower cheeks.)

My Grandfather called it a boil or a Damned Puss Pocket. He told me it was caused by worms you got when you sat in the outhouse too long. Its effect is like sitting on a baseball with spikes, and moving your cheeks together is even worse. It is kinda like a giant pimple.

Consider sitting down in a car seat. You can not do it without spreading then grinding them together. In fact, sitting down at all becomes an art form attended with the utmost care and caution.

This is where I found myself after using A&D ointment for seven days. It turns out that A&D does not help BB's the way it does diaper rash. So, I go out to seek medical help.

I entered the local shopping center Meds-A-Go-Go. I explained my problem and pain to a group of ladies gathered at the front desk. From the smiles and snickering I can only assume all of them had been divorced at least once and they were enjoying my gruesome description. I was led to an exam room by a nurse with her hand over her mouth and tears of laughter running down her cheeks.

A lady doctor entered the room. I could tell she had volunteered for this exam from the look on her face. I dropped my pants and bent over the exam table. She examined me from across the room using yard ruler. My bottom as pushed, poked, spread and paddled. How much was exam and how much was for fun, I do not know.

Finally she said to me, I have good news and bad news. The good is that you problem can be solved. The bad is that we ain't gonna do it here baby.

This was not what I wanted to hear. As I reached into my pants pocket to pull out my pocket knife, I asked her if they would stitch me up if I went ahead and opened up Tha BB. Then I was restrained at the four corners of the exam table, with my pants still down, as Meds-A-Go-Go found a general surgeon who would take me right away. They convinced me there was light at the end of the orifice, so I pulled up my pants, paid them $80 for a butt paddling and was off in search of a cutter.

When I arrived at the general surgeon's office, I knew I had found the Pros from Dover. For one thing they did not laugh and they gave me a whoopee cushion to sit on while I waited.

The procedure was quick and there was only one moment of concern. I was on my stomach as the doctor began using wide tape to glue my cheeks to the sides of the table, opening my sensitive area WIDE for better access(?). I have stumbled across stories about this kind of thing while surfing the Net, alt.sex.stories.bdsm, but never dreamed it might happen in a doctor's office. It was especially unnerving when I considered the general surgeon's name, Dr. Peter. Anyway, all went well and I was not exposed to an alternative lifestyle.

This was almost the end of Tha BB, but not quit. Dr. Peter left a plug stuck into the inside of my cheek to let it continue draining. That damn plug was no fun to sit on either. After a few more days of discomfort and seven pairs of jockey shorts that I had to throw away, I turned to my wife for the last phase of this adventure. I handed her a pair of needle nose pliers, dropped my pants, bent over, and smiled. She grabbed that plug with those piers and pulled the sucker out with a POP.

All is well now but believe me, a BB is not a pimple.