Lipo: Day Five

In which our hero jumps back into life and recounts in graphic—and cringingly inappropriate—detail the recovery process from his hopelessly misguided attempts to make men love him liposuction.

All in the name of giving his lipo-curious readers an in-the-trenches perspective on what it’s like, of course.

DRUGS
I didn’t take them last night. My low-level pain hadn’t changed all day, so I climbed into bed after watching the news and fell right asleep without any chemical help whatsoever. I have a couple more days on my precautionary antibiotics, but otherwise I’m back to being completely pill-free.

SLEEP
I woke up on my side this morning. And I don’t remember heaving myself painfully into that position in the night. Woo-hoo! But the spot I was lying on—where the little fucker love handle used to be—was pretty sore from being crushed for however long I was sleeping on it. Warning! Too much information ahead! I also woke up with a … um … functional … um … “friend” that … um … needed attention. So we can all breathe a sigh of relief and dismiss our haunting fears on that topic.

RECOVERY
The doctor had warned me I would be tired after my first full day back at work. “Hogwash,” I’d thought at the time. “I’m always brimming with vim and vigor and other outdated phrases that reveal my rapidly advancing age.” But when 2:00 rolled around yesterday … YAWN. I was pretty worthless the whole afternoon. And when I got home last night I cuddled up on the couch with a blanket, a bunch of corset-friendly pillows, a giant glass of water and the remote and watched three hours of Very Bad TV—including some in-the-field reality-type program on Beverly Hills plastic surgeons and their archetypal patients. (On this episode: the Demanding Jewess Who’d Sued Her Last Plastic Surgeon, the Model Whose Small Boobs Were Undermining Her Marketability and the Ugly Woman Who Thought Her Perfectly Fine Nose Was The Problem When In Reality It Was Everything But Her Nose.) I was too tired to let any irony register in my muddled head.

And my giant black porno cock? It’s still there—only the bruise blood is slowly dissipating and now it’s more like a giant aubergine porno cock. If I could somehow remove and stuff it, it would make a lovely lumbar pillow on one of my morel-colored chenille club chairs.

RESULTS
When I finally took the corset off Sunday night, my first impulse was to collapse on the floor because OH MY GOD ALL THE MUSCLES IN MY MIDSECTION HAD ATROPHIED TO NOTHING AND I COULDN’T HOLD MYSELF UP ANYMORE. But I steadied myself against the wall and took my first look in the mirror. And what I saw was neither good nor bad.

First of all, the little fuckers love handles are definitely gone. But in their place are funky purple bruises stretching out in every direction from my hips like creepy handprints. There’s also a curious bruise on my coccyx (heh, heh … coccyx) that looks like it reaches down between my buttcheeks. I have no idea what it’s from—and it doesn’t hurt—so I’ll just dismiss it as a chafing burn from my surgical stick-on underpants.

My abs look better than my backside. They’re not defined—and they probably won’t be until the swelling completely subsides, which could take three months—but they’re not too bruised. And the whole area looks definitely smaller and tighter. Which was the whole point. (Permit me a cautious smile here.)

The only other bruise is right on my pubic bone where the doctor made his incision. It’s a big ugly bruise—and the only one that’s really puffy and sore—and it stretches out laterally across my pelvis and points triangularly down toward my huge aubergine porno cock. At first glance it looks like I have a giant black muff hidden under my manpubes—like a long-forgotten cache of WMDs in a sparse Iraqi forest. But it, too, is slowly dissipating. Though the bottom of the corset keeps pressing into it, which is NOT a happy feeling.

THE WEIRDEST PART
The weirdest part so far is this: When I take the corset off for my brief showers, my whole midsection feels like … well … like it’s not mine. I can neither hold in my gut nor let it all hang out—though that could be from wearing a very tight corset 23.75 hours a day. I’ve never been ticklish, but when I touch myself (heh, heh … touch myself) through the corset my whole body surges with goosebumps. But when the corset is off my whole midsection is completely numb. Which is what I was told to expect, so I’m not concerned.

THE OTHER WEIRDEST PART
The other weirdest part is this: I can’t believe I actually went through with it. I’ve been thinking and talking about sawing off my don’t-respond-to-diet-and-exercise love handles for at least 10 years—and saving up for it for about 5 years. But it was always this carrot dangling far out in my future: If you can’t erase your stubborn trouble spots naturally, it seemed to say with its little carrot mouth, there’s always lipo.

HA! Like I’d ever have lipo!