Violated by my Dyson

My bedroom is upstairs in my house. It was in the house I grew up. I'd pretty much slide, fly down the steps or rail to get downstairs. My friend had a retractable ladder/stairway that went to his attic room that we'd slide up and down..far too often..and no..not in a sexual way. I can barely walk down stairs now..I hop them..its almost..annoying for some.

So, years of striding down my ladders have resulted in a certain degree of schoolboy arrogance and blatant showboating on my part.
4 steps at a time, no hands, 360 degree turns in mid descent, were some of my more daring moves.
In college, I also lived upstairs and I have managed to navigate these ladders in all states of drunkenness, carrying crates of beer; fuck I could have probably juggled while hopping backwards on these ladders, until the fateful day.

On those ladders, gravity was my bitch.

However this particular morning, gravity it seemed, was in no mood to be taunted, and had conspired with Dyson to teach my sorry disrespectful ass a lesson... quite literally.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The wife was off to work and I had some chores around the house to do. The vacuum was downstairs, I was all set to take it upstairs. Being a boy, being cocky, being the uncontrollable stair-freak, whatever, I decided to do my usual run/hop/glide/fly down the stairs at breakneck speeds.

I'd made this journey many times..about 5 steps and I am at the bottom.
The first 3 strides were uneventful, the 4th stride unflipping forgettable....
There was no 5th stride.

For at this point, I was almost raped by my Dyson.

If I needed any further clarification that inserting anything up my ass was not going to be a suitable lifestyle choice then this was it. I am 100% heterosexual.

The speed that I was travelling coupled with the all too perfect positioning of the vacuum cleaner meant that the attempted anal entry was fast and brutal.(Seriously, I reconstructed the scene many times after and there was only one position the Dyson could have been sitting at to enter me with the precision it did that morning). I did not tell my wife about this..for fear of this story getting around. Occasioanlly, she reads this blog..but very rarely. My parents also read my blog on rare occasion. Let's hope this story passes them by as well.

In hindsight, the lack of lubricant, and my heterosexuality saved me.

Any previous tampering with my anus, KY jelly, vaseline, or spittle on that handle and that fucking Dyson would have gone so far up my butt I would have been able to wash dishes and vacuum at the same time, if in fact I actually did either. Actually, I do both..but for the purposes of this story, I dont do either..sounds better.

Such was the ferocity of the assault, man-made materials were no defense for this custom-built ass raping machine masquerading as a household appliance.
The shaft of the Dyson tore right through my boxer shorts, finally meeting its resting place in the shape of my tailbone. The pain was like nothing I've ever experienced.

Let me take this opportunity to tell you what I have learned about my body's natural defense mechanism to different forms of pain over the years:

Punch in the face = Punch the fucker back
Punch in the stomach = same as above
Kick in the nuts = drop to the floor

To this I can now add,
Vacuum cleaner up the ass = run like fuck with minor tourettes..the laughing comes later, let me assure you.

This was the first type of pain that my body has ever told me to fucking move, and move fast. Not in any particular direction or to any specific location, just to keep running. Kind of like Forrest Gump.
The desire to run was accompanied with the desire to swear, and swear continuously.

So I did.

I sprinted down the stairs and must have ran round my kitchen a good 15 times clutching my ass shouting expletives at the Dyson

"HOLY GOD FUCCKKKK!!!, YOU FUCKIN'DUST SUCKING BAGLESS BASTARD!"

This was followed by a continual stream of swear words.

As I rounded on what would be my last lap of the kitchen, I found myself slightly impressed with my ability to formulate incoherent sentences purely with swear words.
This brief sense of pride however was quickly overshadowed by the realization of what had just happened to me:

I'd just been anally assaulted by my Dyson.

My experience undoubtedly has emotionally scarred me.

You will never now see me descend ladders and stairs without a thorough initial scan of the area below, accompanied by a tentative outstretched hand feeling around for any object potentially obstructing my landing area.

You also will never see me do any housework.
Everyday is a struggle, but I have to be strong.
What kind of example would I be setting to the rest of the household appliances? That its ok to sexually assault the occupant and then carry on as if nothing had happened?

To Mr Dyson I say this,

You've managed to pay millions to remove the troublesome bags from Hoovers, and thus prolong the suction, but would it have really have hurt you to go the extra mile and maybe have foam padding on the handle?
Surely no other man should have to endure the hell having to watch their parent or partner near collapse lifting a vacuum cleaner up a flight of stairs.

To confused teenage boys I say this,

If you think you stare just that little bit too long in the gym and locker room at your school chums, go squat on a Dyson.
Years of hormonal based confusion answered in a painful/gratifying second.

Beware the Dyson.