Monday night, I made pasta for dinner. As always, I was naked. When I went to pour out the water I used to cook the pasta, some splashed out of the pot and scalded my balls. It wasn’t a bad injury. A small area was red and hurt. It still hurts a bit, but not really a big deal. This isn’t my first naked cooking accident.
It’s painfully obvious that male, external genitals are in just the right spot to bump into hot surfaces, get splattered with grease, or, as happened to me on Monday, get splashed with scalding water. You’d think that by now it would be second nature to keep my junk out of range. I fail miserably.
The obvious solution is to wear an apron that covers my sensitive bits. I did for a while. I have a nice, long, black apron. At one point, when we cleaned the kitchen the apron went into the laundry and got put away. Since it wasn’t immediately at hand in the kitchen, I just enter au naturel and go to work preparing food.
It’s not an issue of sanitation. I’m not stirring food with my dick. Even if there was a bit of food-penis contact, my penis is at least as clean as my hands. It’s always out in the air. Mrs. Lion likes to watch me cook. She enjoys the rear view when I bend over to pick something up. The apron is open in the back so her view will be undisturbed.
Heat isn’t the only safety hazard in the kitchen. When I fill glasses with ice from the ice machine in the refrigerator, it frequently shoots some ice out. More often than not, the ice ricochets off my chest and gives my penis an icy surprise. Most of the time, I fry, bake, broil, and barbecue. But sometimes there’s a splatter or a spill. At those moments, I think I should find the apron and bring it out.
A number of years ago, Mrs. Lion gave me a chef’s jacket as a gift. It occupies a place of honor in my closet. When I yelp in pain from hot grease or water, she asks me why I don’t wear the jacket. It is long enough to cover the sensitive areas. The reason I don’t wear it is that if it should get food on it, I have no idea how I would get it cleaned and pressed. Neither of us has good laundry skills.
When we expect company for dinner, I’m allowed to wear clothes. I have to admit that cooking is a very different experience with jeans and a t-shirt. Wow, all I collect are stains instead of burns and scalds. Don’t get me wrong, injury is extremely rare. Annoying grease splatter is fairly common. I’m sure Mrs. Lion would allow me to dress before cooking if I asked. I don’t want to stop, dress, then go make food. I guess I am too lazy.
I have to admit that I am a much neater cook. There’s something about having my penis in the line of fire that makes me much more careful. Bon apatite!