Screams down the corridor

I broke my (now) husbands penis.

When we were a lot younger, pre kids and madly in love we enjoyed travelling.

We went abroad for a special occasion and stayed in a swanky hotel. First night we were doing ‘the deed’ husband felt some discomfort (I think a lot of pain) to look down and find blood all over the bed. He got a lovely hotel white towel and wrapped his penis in it, in the hope of stopping the bleeding. While I freaked out, offered to call reception or a ambulance, to which he declined. I ended up stripping the bed and soaking it in the bath. While hubby got dressed and stuffed his trousers with a towel. We ordered a taxi and headed for what we hoped was a&e. Turns out this country you go to different hospitals for different injuries (rather than just departments like the uk) so we drove to 2, which were wrong then had to try and explain to the taxi driver what was wrong. He finally understood and whisked us to the correct one. Racking up a lovely taxi bill. Got the hospital and explained. Husband got taken away, and the next thing I hear was screams down the corridor. He was having stitches in his penis. I still am not 100% what or how it happened. But he spend the rest of the break waddling round the city. We ditched the towel in a public bin and left the bedding in the bath. I dread to think what the hotel thought had happened.

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