Part 4

Subject: My anal fissure Bob
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 93 23:49:00 +0200

It's been a while since my violent anal dilation.

I'm afraid that I have neglected my duties by not telling you about it sooner. But I have been at some loss for words about it.

My anal fissure Bob who had plagued me for the last three years is in the process of dying.

After the violent anal dilation I had expected to awaken from my anaesthetized slumber to find that Bob had been completely destroyed. Annihilated by modern medicine in a small sterile room of a hospital in Seinajoki Finland. A rich heritage of blood and pain wiped out in minutes by strangers in mask and gown.

It all started a couple of Mondays ago at 7 am. I hadn't slept much the night before. Bob was quiet, but I lay awake thinking about what was to come the next morning. I was a little worried. I was about to experience something called violent anal dilation and I was a bit concerned. I found out later that my fears about the procedure where in fact pretty close to reality.

I arrived at the hospital in good spirits. I was shown my bed and given the button up the back surgical minidress. Even though the procedure wasn't scheduled until 1:30 I was required to change into the garment. I suppose that it's a mandatory indignity to humiliate and degrade potential troublemakers. Maybe word had gotten out that I had been asking questions about the procedure. What kind of drugs that they would be giving me, if my physician had performed many of these procedures etc. Medical personnel here don't like being quizzed by foreigners with anal fissures. It had taken lots of explaining just to get permission to have a videotaped documentary of the procedure made and released to me. I had to get my local practitioner to request it. It has since been explained to me that most procedures are taped anyway. They just don't release the tapes to the public.

I was in bed dozing when I felt a sharp pain in my ass. I whirled my head around in bed to see a rather stern and matronly looking woman with a large enema bag. Presumably it was her and her nozzle o' fun that was causing the distress. I admired her technique. I was asleep. She probably figured that I would sleep right through it. What, and miss all the fun? Not likely. Besides, she was about as gentle as a bull elephant. Anal fissure Bob let out a sharp cry of pain. And so did I. She smiled and patted my head like a lap dog as she filled my rectum. As I looked around the room, I realized that we were not alone. Not 10 feet away was the wife and 2 teenage daughters of the varicose vein strip down in the bed next to me. They were all checking me out. I smiled my best grimace and tried to enjoy myself.

At 1:00 my doctor dropped by for a chat. The first thing that I noticed about him was that the hand that he extended in greeting had a slight palsy. Actually, it was more of a tremor. This is true! "Halloo," he said with a poorly forced smile that revealed his large yellow teeth. "I spoke anglish warry badney."

"Uh ... hi," I stammered. "I speak a little Finnish; we will try to talk."

"OK," he agreed.

We chatted about the usual stuff ... pain, etc. I'm trying to ask the guy about the procedure when out of the blue, he looks up and says "We will tear you a new asshole." I am not making this up. By this time, I am not feeling very confident about what's going on and am giving some serious thought to just getting up and leaving. I knew about A.F. Bob. He was something that I could understand. I could live with him. This surgeon was something else. An unknown X with a license to dilate. He gave me two tiny white pills to swallow. "For made you relax" he said. Hmmmm ... now this guy was starting to speak my language. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Seee yuuu in da operashunn place" he said, and was gone.

I began feeling a little light-headed from whatever drug it was that he had given me when two orderlies came in. They spoke low and softly to me in Finnish. Who knows what they were talking about. I just kept nodding my head stupidly. I couldn't have answered them anyway as my toungue was stuck to the roof of my parched mouth. As they rolled me down the hall I tried to count the number of acoustic tiles in the ceiling.

Eventually, we arrived at the big swinging doors of the operating room and are met by two others in surgical greens. It is like a prisoner exchange at the Rhine. They greet each other. The two that transported me there wish me a happy dilation, hand over my file to the others, then turn and leave me with the dilation team.

As we enter the operating theatre I begin to feel quite apprehensive. My tongue is thick in my mouth. I am transferred to the main operating table. The anesthetist walks in and without so much as a hello starts tapping my forearm to find a suitable vein. I try to greet him but all that comes out is a horrible squawk.

I am relieved of my meager garment and I lay there, alone and naked. I look down in horror to see that my penis and testicles have completely withdrawn into my abdomen. Perhaps they had seen it first and were trying to warn me because there, on a stainless steel tray, nestled amongst strange looking devices is the object of my apprehension. It is some sort of anal battering ram.

It is stainless steel and is about a foot long. It has two handles bolted to it. And for all the world it looks like one of those Stanley thermoses.

By this time, a vein had been found and been hooked up to the Anesthetist. He still hasn't said anything so I find my voice. "How about a little valium to get thing started." He surprises me by speaking perfect English. "Here," he said, "Try this" and injects something into the hookup that *IMMEDIATELY* makes me feel secure and right at home. No more problems. I chuckle at the prospect of the stainless invader.

As this all was happening, the nurses were quite busy. They had stainless steel poles that they were affixing to the sides of the operating table. On top of these poles were large plastic blocks that were deeply indented to accommodate what could only be my thighs. A more compromising version of the stirrups that doctors often use to examine women. And truly, the video has born my theory out. My buttring is bright, exposed, and nearly eye level to the wielder of the dilation tool.

The chief dilator strolls in, and nods at the anesthetist. The latter hooks up a large syringe full of what looks like vaseline to my I.V. line and says "See you later." I remember trying to fight it just to see if I could. I couldn't. A monster head rush, I try to speak, and that's the last thing that I remember.

It's only now that I review the video that I realize the horror of what actually happened to me.

It's strange to see yourself lying on a cold slab, with your penis retracted, falling unconscious. Right after I go out, a nurse puts a black rubber mask over my face. Two attendants raise my thighs into the "stirrups" and scrunch me down so that my ankles are bent straight back towards my head. The camera angle is from straight overhead, so you get a weird out of body feeling watching the whole thing. One nurse manipulates what's left of my genetalia out of the way while another unceremoniously paints my asshole with some sort of red tinted disinfectant.

The doctor wastes no time and before you can say "Is he asleep?" has two of his fingers deep into my ass. He checks around and during the examination gives my prostate a mighty push. I swear that I shoot a load of something straight onto my belly where it just sits there through the rest of the procedure. The doctor gives a grunt of satisfaction and reaches for the dilator.

Nurses squirt some kind of lubricant from a large syringe into and around my ass. The surgeon then inserts the end of the dilation unit into my ass and begins rotating it left and right. Soon he has my poor asshole fully dilated. And I mean *DILATED*. There I am, out like a light, with a stainless steel thermos up my ass. Every thirty seconds or so the doctor does a 360 with the thing.

Everyone is looking pretty bored, especially me.

After about a half hour of this, the doctor removes the dilator and PUTS HIS ENTIRE HAND UP MY ASS. This is the best part of the video. If you have had a few drinks and squint a little it looks for a moment like some kind of bizarre bondage/fisting film.

A satisfied nod and the nurses move in for the clean up. Someone has the presence of mind to wipe the manually ejaculated fluid off of my belly. Someone swabs the shit and blood from my ass.

I get another syringe of something in my arm. The mask comes off my face. A nurse shakes me gently and my eyes flutter open. "Is it over?" I ask with wondrous shining eyes. Lots of nods around the room. "I dreamed" I say. "Wow, I feel fine!"

End of video.

They wheel me into the recovery room where I try to sit up. I carefully reach down in a cautious exploration of my asshole. It is confounded with a giant tampon like stuffing. "Uh oh" I think to myself and try to ignore it. It's only later when they pull the stuffing out do I realize the full extent of what's happened.

The next day, I took the first effortless shit that I had in sometime. Oh joy! Oh nirvana.

After the surgery, Bob was still his usual self. In fact, he was more terrible than usual. He had expected sudden death and when he awoke, believing that he had survived a professional ass (hehe) ass (hehe) ination attempt, he was even more pissed off and motivated than before. He had felt betrayed, and had amused himself for the first several days by visiting a torturous itching upon me, his host.

The hard part about his slow strangulation is that I can feel him dying. He groans and complains like any other terminal patient. I must take him with me wherever I go. We are like the Siamese twins Chang and Eng. Can I survive without my symbiotic buddy?

Well, at least fire and blood won't shoot out of my ass every time that I try to pop a stubborn grogan. I will no longer know the joys of crying real tears when I shit. For a long time I was told that painful elimination was unnatural. Now, I truly understand.

Now, two weeks later, Bob is only a faint echo of his former self. He is still hanging onto life, but only just. He is still there, an ugly slash of an anal fissure. But there is just the occasional itch, and even that is fading rapidly.

And oh yes ... my butthole has sprung back to a more manageable size. Your asshole really is an incredible machine.

I had a small dinner party on Christmas day. After dinner I put on the video. It took about twenty minutes before anyone realized that it was me. I guess they thought it was Nova or something. Ho Ho Ho.

Thank you for your interest in my anal fissure Bob.

-Joe