The pain of summer exercise

I had a rather unfortunate incident yesterday. There’s no easy way of saying this, so I’m just going to say it:

I got stung on the cock by a wasp.

I had worked an early shift, so I was home just after 2pm. The sun had broken through the Norfolk Summer cloud for the first time in a fortnight so I thought I’d go cycling. It was so hot, and I’ve got so used to it not being hot, that when I stopped for a break I decided to strip off and sit naked for a while. I’d gone off-road and biked about two miles down a bridleway so there was no risk of anyone seeing me. It felt great, exposing my sweatiness to the glorious country air. But while I was getting the sun on my taut, muscular body, the bastard wasp must have crawled inside my discarded cycling shorts.
As soon as I put them on, I knew something was wrong. I felt a little lump near my bum, but I just thought it was the edge of the padding in the shorts, so climbed on the bike anyway. Then I felt it vibrate as if trying to escape or take flight, and I realised it was some kind of insect, and panicked. I could feel it making its way over my scrotum and scurrying slowly up the length of my manhood. Scared by visions of it crawling down inside me and laying eggs in my bladder, I leapt off the bike, and that was when it stung me.
I won’t go into details, but the ride home was eye-watering to say the least.
I put ice on it, but that just made everything else shrink, so the swelling from the sting now looks bigger than my actual thingy, and I’ve got freezer burn as well.
I got the usual sympathy from my beloved Philippa. I told her yesterday at 5pm, and she stopped laughing about a minute ago.

RC 29-7-11