VICE Japan correspondents Kentaro and Masakazu travel to Beijing, China to check out Guo Li Zhuang, the local go-to penis restaurant in the city. First on the menu is raw donkey penis, followed by “Golden Pike of Iron Horse” (horse penis), “Dragon Moving Through Fire” (Yak penis), “Digging in Sand” (goat testicle and snail penis), and last but not least, a soup made up of some more penises. Watch and learn more about the healthy medical effects these dishes can have.
If You Stick Things in Your Pee Hole, Bad Things Will Happen
Male readers of the internet crossed their legs and let out a unified grimace of pain yesterday when a story made the rounds about a 70-year-old Australian man who got a fork lodged in his dong. While plenty of people who read the report (or even worse, saw the pictures) had no idea why a person would try to shove anything—especially a rouge piece of cutlery—up his pee slit, those of us who frequent the kinkier side of life know this is a fairly common practice known as “sounding.”
If you really want an education, search for the term on XTube (NSFW, idiot), and revel in a variety of videos featuring guys putting all sorts of junk into their junk. Yeah, it’s not really my bag, either. But not everyone is going around putting forks or pencils or other household items up there all willy nilly. You can get a surgical urethral sounding kit for about $60 delivered right to your front door for your own perverted enjoyment. These kits include the same smooth metal cylinders, sometimes curved, that are used in doctors’ offices. That seems a bit safer than a fork, but I wanted to find out if there was a surefire way to have fun with your personal geyser hole without ending up in the ER, so I called Dr. Frank Spinelli, a Manhattan internist and author, to talk about the practice of sounding and its dangers.
VICE: Hello, Doctor. I’d like to talk about the pros and cons of sticking stuff up your pee hole, otherwise known as “sounding.” What is the surgical purpose of sounds? Spinelli: You have a urethra, which is what carries urine and semen out of your penis. For some people that might be small or narrow, just anatomically speaking. A urologist can dilate your urethra by using various sized sounds. They probe to increase the diameter, and they can locate an obstruction.
How far should you go down? That depends on how big the sound is, but you don’t want to go too far. It’s used as an instrumentation. They use catheters in the same way, to get into the bladder so you can relive someone of their urine when they’re in surgery. These are all done under heavy medical guidance by people who have been trained.
In the third and final part of the Sue Johanson interview, she talks with Kara Crabb about important things like dick sizes, vagina sizes, and the female orgasm. She also teaches Kara a valuable lesson about safe sex: how to put on a condom with your mouth.
Hi, I’m Brian Moylan. Welcome to Tubesteak, a regular column where I talk about penises mostly and what I do with mine and what you should do with yours. There will also be some discussion of cocks, cocksuckers, cuckolds, and maybe, just maybe, a clitoris or two. But, honestly, mostly just dicks.
Waking up with your dick locked in a plastic cage is the hardest part. It always takes a minute to remember why there is a crazy contraption squeezing the hell out of it. Your morning wood fills it to the brim and your spasming penis looks like a kid with his nose pressed against a window. It’s trying to break free, to get through the plastic to freedom. But it can’t. It is trapped, and it is dying.
This only happens, of course, if you put your penis in a male chastity device like I did. I wanted to know what being unable to touch my dick for days on end would feel like. For that I needed the CB-3000 (I’m going to assume the CB stand for “cock block,” but I guess it could also stand for “chastity belt”?) which retails for about $150 and came in the mail in a delightfully unmarked package. (Haha. Package.)
While the mechanism seemed simple at first glance, getting it on was a bit complicated. The CB-3000 consists of a dong-shaped plastic cage that holds the penis and a ring that goes around the base of the cock, trapping the balls between the ring and the cage like a medieval peasant’s head in the stocks. Then, the ring locks to the cage, and a small padlock secures the whole kit and caboodle. The directions weren’t much help, but a wonderful animated GIF on the device’s website helped me figure everything out. Who would’ve thought the medium historically used to document adorable kittens and Honey Boo Boo falling down would help me paralyze my hog?
After a series of peen contortions that would’ve put Daniel Browning Smith to shame, I finally got it in there. It wasn’t comfortable. Because of the weight and shape of the device, trying to fit it into tight underwear or pants was nearly impossible. Surprisingly, though, it didn’t create too much of a bulge, even in form-fitting jeans (at least from an outsider’s perspective). To me, my basket felt larger than life, and I initially assumed everyone else was paying as much attention to it as I was. After carefully gauging the reactions of numerous passersby, however, I don’t believe anyone ever noticed (or maybe other people just don’t stare at strangers’ crotches like I do?) That was part of the fun of this whole experiment: knowing that I was walking around, having meetings, going to work, and riding the subway with this weird toy in my pants. It was my own kinky secret, and I liked it.
But that was the most enjoyable part. The weirdest thing about the chastity device was that it made me think about my dick all the time, while also rendering it completely obsolete. I wanted to fuck everything, but I couldn’t fuck anything. It was sort of like having a black hole in my pants, pulling everything toward it, but there was nothing there.
The hardest part was peeing, which is done through a hole at the end of the enclosure. Since my dick is a bit shorter than the molded plastic (go me?), my urination was more a sad dribbling than a steady stream. This meant I couldn’t use a urinal and had to pee in stalls in public restrooms. It also meant I had to mop up the floor a few times. Showering with it on wasn’t so great, either, because there is no good way to get everything dry. After my second day wearing the CB-3000 (which, now that I think about it, sounds like an evil castration robot, amirite?) a little bit of steam had collected on the inside, like in a terrarium. It was condensed dick sweat. Nasty.
US Soldiers in Afghanistan Are Hot and Need Your Cock
“aaaaauuuuuhhh … aaauuuuuyyyy.”
An American soldier stationed in Afghanistan whom I’ll call “Steve” keeps texting me moaning noises. He’s not in pain, he just wants me to fuck him, or more specifically, wants me to “shove that mother fukin’ cock inside my pussy and watch me ride that cock with my tight pussy walls…” A handsome, mixed-race serviceman from DC, Steve is very, very horny because he’s been on active duty for months, which means it’s been at least that long since he’s gotten laid. So he spends a lot of time on an iPhone app called Scruff spelling out elaborate sexual fantasies of what he’d like me to do to him. Most of them involve me choking him with my dick.
Scruff is a gay hook-up service that allows you to check out dudes living anywhere in the world and basically take a gay vacation without having to leave your apartment. You can enter the address of your childhood home, for example, and you’ll probably run into most of the dudes you thought were gay in high school looking for sex. If you punch in Saudi Arabia, you’ll get a bunch of hairy headless torsos and pictures of cars. But if you select Afghanistan, you end up with dozens of US Armed Forces personnel posing in their uniforms or with their assault rifles, desperately looking for distraction.
When I downloaded Scruff, I didn’t have much interest in chatting with guys down the street who wanted to get in my pants as quickly as possible (“Wanna fuck?” “No”), so I started chatting with soldiers overseas, which seemed a lot more interesting and hot. Plus, given how paranoid the military is about people talking to soldiers in war zones, it seems like a weird loophole that you can just download a free app on your iPhone and get them to send you a picture of their penis.
The first guy I started chatting with was a muscular black guy who likes to post photos of himself in his underwear. He’s been mostly stationed in Germany (he really likes German guys), though now he’s in Afghanistan trying not to get killed. He likes to show off his dick, which is legitimately impressive, and sent me a lot of photos of himself shirtless in his barracks in front of an American flag. Although he seems pretty horny most the time, he says he’s never used Scruff to hook up with other guys while deployed, but he did once use Adam4Adam (a gay dating and hookup site) to meet another soldier for sex in the showers at 3 AM when nobody was around.
Hey, you rapidly decaying protoplasmic sacks of calcium and shit, my name is Dr Mona Moore. Obviously, that is not my real name, but I am a real doctor. Don’t feel bad for me, though, because it means I will always have a job, an apartment ten times bigger than yours and the right to tell you what to do simply because I will always know better. Enjoy my column!
BOLLOCKS TO THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH - PLEASE DON’T STUFF YOUR COCK
In my experience, people will get weird shit lodged in every available orifice—and the urethra is no exception. Now, I don’t have a penis, so perhaps it’s hard for me to understand, but the only time anyone has put anything up my urethra was during an STD screening and I was moments away from kicking the doctor in the head. Painful, humiliating, and categorically not erotic. But apparently this is exactly what gets some people off, though they normally regret it after.
I had a 45-year-old man come in recently with a big, grizzly beard and a pained expression complaining of urinary retention—basically he couldn’t piss and it was causing him terrible pain. So I popped a catheter in (allowing free flowing pee) and sent him for an X-ray. When it came back, I could see big lumps in his bladder and girded myself up for late-stage bladder cancer. Fearing the worst, I told him he would need to be sent to surgery, where the surgeon would put a camera up his urethra to see what was going on—and still he did not mention a thing.
As the camera slid into his bladder, the whole surgery stopped in disbelief. Those were not cancerous lumps writhing around in horrible humping masses, but maggots. There was a rampant maggot orgy in his bladder.
It turns out he enjoys fishing on Sundays, and while waiting for a tug on his line would pop a maggot up his jap’s eye because he liked the way they wriggled up his tube. I’ve never understood fishing (or bestiality), but I’m pretty sure baiting your bladder isn’t the way to bring in the catch.