Lisa, 42, shares her true life story:
Plonking down on the couch, I took a sip of my chardonnay and sighed.
The house just seemed so empty now that my twin boys had grown up and moved out.
I think I need a man, I decided.
I’d been in long-term relationships before, but it’d been a while.
I wasn’t after anything serious, just a fling with someone I could call on for a bit of fun.
I thought back to a drunken chat I’d had with a mate a few weeks earlier.
“You should download I created my profile.
Was my Mr Fun out there within a 15km radius?
As I got swiping, I saw pictures of guys surrounded by hordes of women, men more intent on showing a picture of their cars than of themselves and one bloke who already seemed to be in a relationship with his hunting rifle!
No, no, no, I thought as my thumb got used to continually swiping left on each profile.
With nothing better to do, I grabbed my phone and found the dating app online.
Then came ‘Barry’*.
Ooooh.
He was older than me, but I liked what I saw.
He had a big, cheeky grin and a kind but mischievous look in his eyes.
I swiped right.
A notification flashed – it was a match!
I giggled with excitement.
Apparently Barry liked the look of me, too!
Hi, I messaged to him.
We got chatting over the next few days.
Barry seemed like a lot of fun and had a great sense of humour.
Want to come over to mine for a drink? I asked boldly.
I thought a first date in my apartment might be a bit forward, but I felt safe at home and liked cooking for my guests.
Besides, Barry didn’t seem like he was much of a danger.
We hit it off.
The white wine was flowing, we ate some pasta, then sat on the lounge and continued chatting.
He told me how he was from South Africa, but now lived in Queensland, and I told him about my boys.
Occasionally, I’d catch Barry looking at me with a glint in his eyes and I’d flirt back, playing with my hair.
One-night stands weren’t usually my thing, but this time, I went with it.
Soon, Barry’s lips were on mine and things started getting hot and heavy.
“Want to take this to the bedroom?” I said, more as a statement than a question.
As he unzipped his jeans and peeled them off, my eyes wandered to his crotch and widened in shock.
He was huge, at least 30cm long. It was by far the biggest I’d ever seen!
“You didn’t warn me about this!” I exclaimed.
He laughed with embarrassment.
Although I was a little intimidated by his size, I was equally as excited.
I’m going to give this a go!
We kissed passionately on the bed, and when the time was right, I climbed on top.
Within 30 seconds, I felt a pinch down below.
“Ouch!” I winced.
I tried to ignore the pain, thinking I might have just been on a funny angle.
He flipped me over to try something different, and as he did, I noticed a red mark on the bed.
Then I looked up at Barry. He had blood smeared all over him!
“Oh God, what’s happened?!” I shouted.
He looked down and saw the pool of blood on the sheets.
“Is that from you?” he exclaimed.
Panicking, I clambered out and rushed to the shower, a trail of blood following me.
I tried to wash it all off, but the flow wouldn’t stop.
Something was seriously wrong. How could a bit of hanky-panky cause so much damage?
I called triple 0 and cringed through the explanation of what had happened.
Then, I held a towel between my legs while I waited.
Barry was pacing up and down the bedroom.
“I’m so sorry,” he kept saying.
I was starting to feel dizzy from the loss of blood.
Minutes felt like hours until I finally heard the sirens outside.
A paramedic helped me from the house to the ambulance.
It was mortifying.
I had to hold the towel between my legs and was praying the neighbours couldn’t see anything.
“You’re coming with me,” I told Barry.
He looked taken aback, but it was his fault I was even in this state!
When we got to hospital, my blood pressure had dropped significantly, so a doctor saw me straightaway to stem the bleeding before they could investigate what had happened.
I was injected with a radio-active liquid to find the bleed.
“You’ve ruptured your bowel,” the doctor said. “We need to rush you off for emergency surgery.”
When I told Barry, he was shocked and apologised again.
I told him that he might as well go home.
No point in him hanging around.
When I came to hours later, a consultant came to see me.
I never knew that size could matter like that!
“We’re not entirely sure how this has happened,” she admitted.
“It might be that the penis entered at the wrong angle, pushing straight through your vagina and into your bowel.”
I felt queasy just picturing it.
Although I was in pain, I was humiliated more than anything.
The situation was obviously very serious, but the nurses helped me see the funny side of it and we all had a good giggle.
“Who knew a giant penis could break me like this?” I chuckled.
Jokes aside, the repercussions were terrible.
Because I’d had surgery on my bowel, I was forced to go on a liquid diet for the next six weeks.
I also had to wear a temporary colostomy bag.
It felt like a lifetime and I couldn’t go to my job as a social care worker while I recovered.
For three long months after the incident, I wasn’t able to have sex again.
But honestly, I wasn’t exactly in the mood.
Barry and I decided not to continue our relationship.
There’s no way I could handle a second encounter with his deadly weapon!
But we remained friends on Facebook, occasionally liking each other’s posts and sending a couple of messages.
I don’t blame him for what happened to me.
It’s not his fault he’s well-endowed, and he didn’t mean to hurt me.
They say that size doesn’t matter but in my case it most certainly did.
Ladies, be careful what you wish for.
