We’ve long ago discovered that our lives just go so much better if we’re all free to openly discuss things. We do try to have filters appropriate for work, other family members, etc., but I know my own are somewhat weak, at best. At best, I’ll adjust my language to what’s suitable for the situation, but with damn few exceptions, I’m not going to be closeted about anything in my life.
(A few weeks ago, our Computer Science Department had a picnic just off campus. Two of my partners came with me and we wound up having an extensive conversation with one of our German exchange students, who had asked about which of the three of us were together. The CS lab manager said she was quite amused to see the student trying to make sense of us explaining polyamory, but he seemed to take it in stride.)
Sometime in the last month or so, several of my partners and I were having a mealtime conversation about gender norms in American society and how they relate to some of the social interactions that three of us have seen in the kink community. At one point I had to pause and ask “What do normal people discuss over dinner?” None of us had any idea, really.
I had to catheterize a 72yo uncircumsized male patient with grade-4 phimosis (SFW, no pictures non-squicky illustrations).
Empty the contents of a person’s small intestine.
Watch a surgical team put a male patient’s skull in a two-pointed vise so tight that his skull wouldn’t move more than a few angstroms, after which the surgeon cut through layers of fat with a cauterized knife and then proceeded to basically angle grind the man’s bare, exposed T1 vertebra, bits of bone flying everywhere, the spinal cord just millimeters away.
Wait… this makes me wonder about your sex again because the idea of putting wax on my balls and then ripping it off makes me go into the corner, cry, and rock gently.
I was largely raised by my grandmother, in her house, for high school and college especially. She was a hospice nurse for 35 years. My mother was a health inspector.
I’m told that I have inappropriate ideas (by my wife) of what is acceptable dinner conversation, especially if people are chewing.
One of my former neighbors was a veteran ER nurse. At one of her get-togethers, she started sharing her stories, one of which involved a guy with his erect penis stuck in a glass soda bottle. At first they tried simple lubrication, then tried to induce vasoconstriction (I think; my recall is fuzzy), and then finally fracturing the glass in some controlled way I can’t recall.
In the end, the guy ended up just having a really sore penis with a few scratches. Which is great, because if his penis had been in that bottle much longer he might have had to say goodbye to it.
I spent my early teenaged years dealing with him showing that he could gross me out at will.