Now, there is some trimming required.  Not on the cock, thankfully, but around it.  Whenever I trim the pubes, I'm tempted to cut them into strange patterns.  Bananas, hearts...something along those lines.  Maybe my initials.  I'm afraid to shave my balls because, in 6^th grade, Kevin Cane missed a hurdle, came smashing down and, when the paramedics peeled back his underwear, he'd actually lost a ball.  You couldn't see much because there was enough blood to fill a bathtub but, as we crowded around, nobody missed it when the paramedic whispered, "Mother fuck, his ball's hangin' out!"

We all voluntarily cleared the scene after that.  A sort of death march to the showers, heads down, nobody speaking.

The image is strong in my head where I cut my scrotum and my balls come boiling out in a giant lump of alien scum, or like in a war movie where the guy is trying to push his guts back in after he gets shot.  Help me, Eight-Ball, help me!

My balls aren't too hairy, so I can get away with it.

 After a good trim, the next step is to clean out my asshole.  This is important because, seriously, you never know.  Three of the eight women I've been with have been serious anal sluts.  Good girls on the outside, ass eaters on the inside.  Messy, spit covered blowjob, drift down and play with the balls, then, bang, rimjob!  The first time around, I leapt away screaming.  I soon came to learn that women are psychotic, if they know what they're doing, so you just need to go along with it.  In the shower, I take a washcloth and work it up my ass to the second knuckle.  Get everything nice and clean, drill it out a bit. 

During the date, even taking a piss can be difficult.  There's always that extra drop, isn't there?  Not only does it add to bad scents, but it's one of those things on my mind whenever there's the unexpected blow job as I drive her home from the bar.  Take a slash before you go, hop in the car and before you even get to the road, she's swallowing cock.  I've never gotten a complaint, but I become obsessed about that wayward drop of piss.  Almost all urine fetishists are female, according to studies, but it's a hang-up with me.  The trick is to stand at the urinal and stroke the cock for a bit.  Apply serious pressure, work every drop out.  This also provides the opportunity to turn to other people in the bathroom and say, "More than 15 strokes is masturbation."  That's a real boy's room icebreaker.  It also clears the bar whenever you go up to order drinks afterwards.

I get a bit of a tumbly stomach during social gatherings.  Antacids don't do shit for me but, I've found, the best solution is to spend the entire day drunk.  Wake up and start working at it, reach a buzz to where the nervous sickness leaves, then maintain that buzz.  It's not usually a dangerous level.  It's more the courage level.  Maintaining a buzz is less intensive than binge drinking with an anal slut, as well.  While she swills apple schnapps or whatever the fuck it is women drink, I'm nursing a quiet beer thinking about piss and focusing on her mouth, wondering how much ass she's eaten before mine.

I used to hold off on masturbation for a few days so, when the time came, I could produce an alarming amount of cum.  This was before I discovered zinc, L-Lysine and L-Arginine.  Megadosing, if I remember to do so, for a week helps build up the cum content.  Masturbating at my normal level - three times a day - helps calm the nerves, as well.  Do not, however, masturbate right before the date.  Women can smell that like a shark smells blood.  If you know the girl's a cum slut, then it might be all you need to have sex in the bathroom after the first drink.  If you're not sure, then you want to keep clear and clean.

It's the woman's responsibility to have condoms, KY and whatever else on hand.  I don't mean an after the fact responsibility or something chauvinistic like that.  On the way home, after the blow job, pull off at a convenience store, give her some cash and tell her to run in and buy the supplies.  Large Trojans (a condom should never feel excessively tight), KY jelly and a case of Rolling Rock.  Or Mickeys, if they have it.  While you wait in the car, stare down a few cops until she comes back, red-faced and crying because the clerk mocked her. 

It's vital for the woman to do this because, without fail, you'll run into one of your male friends in the store and he'll walk through the check-out with you, blindly jabbering about that time in 11^th grade when you had a boner in the boy's shower room.  Even if you're 3000 miles from home, stopping at an all night store on County Road 133 at 4am, this will happen.  I won't move on this.  I won't ever buy protection.  If she's not ahead of the game, then I force her to buy it or no sex.  (Unless, of course, I'm sure that she's clean and has had her ovaries burned out by a uranium gun or something.)

On KY -- always use it.  Even if she's a soaker, KY is fun.  It helps you go on forever (especially with a condom) and it's an excuse to fuck her ass.  KY becomes a toy, and all women like sex toys.  But don't fuck her ass if it's hairy because you'll have nightmares about it.  Pollutes the subconscious.

I use deodorant liberally before a date.  Under the arms, on the wrists, and several hard swipes across the pubes.  You can even perfume the pubes, but not too heavily.  They'll have their nose pressed against them, assuming they don't have a gag reflex.  If they do have a gag reflex, stop them and forget it.  The second date isn't worth it.  Unless you're a gag-man.  I knew a guy who really got off on that.  Me, I'm a deep throat man.  Cum against the back of her throat and hope she doesn't sneeze.