It Happened To Me: my vaginal prolapse turned out to be something even worse

It felt like I was chewing gum between my legs when I walked.

My two biggest fears:

  • Ghosts of children
  • Vaginal/anal prolapse

My fear of #2 began when someone had sent me this disgusting link. Warning: this will most likely make your butt feel weird, and haunt you more than a million evil, dead children with vendettas ever could.

So fucking scary, right? After the jump, I’ll tell you about the living nightmare of when that nearly happened to my vagina. (Don’t worry, the following is not nearly is disturbing as that link. I promise.)


It all started (as these things usually do) with a drunken night out with mah gurls, which included lethal to-go margs from the Hat, stealing someone’s bottle service at the Delancey, losing my wallet, and attending an after-hours party at some artist’s Williamsburg studio with a dude from the band Swords.

By 8 am, I was in a mood to make poor decisions. I decided to go home with someone I never would have, had my vision not been impaired by 14 hours of drinking. Every last one of mah gurls advised/begged me not to. But I was in a belligerent state.

My inner monologue was like, “Nobody tells me what to do!”

He was an elfin guy, a typical Williamsburg manorexic, with dainty features. Well-aware of his tiny stature, he seemed determined to compensate by trying to convince me that he had a huge dick.

“We just have to stop at the bodega to get some condoms. I need extra-large condoms. I need to get Magnums.”

His redundancy was irksome, but not as much as the fact that a Williamsburg dude was speaking without a trace of irony in his voice.

“I wear really big condoms,” he repeated. Yeah, yeah, I’m not really a size queen, so let’s just do this, I thought. I have some energy to burn off before I’ll be able to fall asleep.

Quite predictably, my suitor’s dick wasn’t nearly as big as his talk. My memory of the fucking is hazy at best. At one point, though, I realized that the Magnum that was so detrimental to this fuck sesh was not on his D. I flipped out, thinking that he tried to to raw dog me without my consent. He apologized and swore that the condom had just “broken.” Again with the delusions of his dick size! He put on another and finished up his business.


I noticed that it was a little uncomfortable to walk. The truth is, the little guy with the imaginary big dick was the third dude I’d been with in four days. (What? I was having a good week!) I thought that maybe I’d just worked my girl a little too hard.


I got a call from Eeyore, a guy I had been banging who’d earned his moniker by being cute, sad, and pathetic. Although attractive, he was mostly a loser — a homeless, alcoholic bassist for a not-so-great Brooklyn band, who are moderately successful. Having been molested as a child, several times over, he sought approval by being good in the sack. The result is that he was one of the best lays of my life.

Needless to say, I almost always let him come to me when he called, and cum on me when he asked.

That night, I agreed to meet him at Enid’s, but only because he promised to buy me a drink. When I walked in, he was chatting up some girl. I rolled my eyes, plopped my giant bag on the bar, and ordered a glass of red wine. He only had $5 of the $7 the glass cost, and he had to borrow $2 from the girl he had been previously hitting on. The girl gave him the 2 bucks and left, totally annoyed. He’s a piece of work, that one.

But I put up with his shit for the sex. About an hour later, we engaged in one of our usual runs, which included a long session of oral (one of his better talents), some doggy style at night, and spooning morning sex.

About an hour after our morning sesh, I noticed that it was kinda uncomfortable to walk again. It kinda felt like the walls of my vadge where rubbing up on each other. That’s it, I thought, no hitting it below the belt until things go back to normal.


My vaginal discomfort continued at work that week, and I was beginning to get a little concerned. It felt like I was chewing gum between my legs when I walked. I retreated to the bathroom for a much-needed pee break. When I was finished, I gently patted my area with my hand to feel if anything was out of the ordinary.

To my horror, a piece of…something was hanging out of my vagina hole. It felt fleshy. Standing in the office bathroom, legs spread, heart pounding, face contorted into a grimace, I began to gently tug at the U.F.O. (unidentified fleshy object).

It shifted! It began to come out of my hole! My eyes welled up with tears, and my breathing became shallow. This is it, I thought. I’ve finally done it. I had too much sex and I broke my vagina. I’ve fucked it inside out.

The dreaded vaginal prolapse!!!

There was no pain. I must be in shock, I thought. Shaking, I continued tugging, then the U.F.O. tumbled out completely. I thought I would vomit, but before I could even gag, I looked down at my shaking hand and gasped.

It was a very large condom.

That fucker who so desperately needed those Magnums didn’t break the condom — his dick was too small for it and it fell off inside me!

At first I was too relieved to know that my vagina was not falling out from inside my body to be angry at the dude with the average-sized D. On my way back to my desk, I began laughing — manically. I think I was experiencing temporary insanity.

But then, within a few minutes, I was again gripped with anxiety. OMG! How horribly embarrassing would it have been if Eeyore had found that rubber during his lengthy trip downtown?

Well, I thought, with an evil smirk on my face, not as embarrassing as having to borrow $2 from one bitch to pay for the drink of another.