Sledging....
Years ago, sledging involved finding anything shiny and slippery and throwing yourself down the nearest hill whilst trying to balance on it instead of buying a large plastic plate from Tesco and dribbling down the same hill at walking speed.
It was snowing, so obviously my mates and I wanted to throw ourselves down a hill and get wet and muddy. We all had a variety of home-made sledges, from tea-trays to quite serious '30s looking wooden sledges.
I, however, had found a length of tin about 4 foot long and 2 foot wide and only slightly thicker than the type of silver foil you'd wrap your sandwiches up in.
We all climb to the top of the hill and procede throw ourselves down it.
It comes to my turn.
My 'sledge' was stupidly fast, being all shiny and new and that. Unfortunatly, it was also impossible to steer. That fact only started to dawn on me as I was heading at break-neck speed towards a fucking great big rock...a rock that I duly hit head on, and whilst the 'sledge' stopped dead...I didn't.
I did however tip sideways on top of the extremely thin tin and, like a razor, it cut through my trousers, through my y-fronts and......yes, through my bell end.
Blood everywhere and agonising screams eminating from an 8 year old boy bought quite a lot of attention.
A crowd had started to gather and there was lots of 'oooooh's and 'aaaaah's - this from other kids who normally would have been taking the piss. That's when I knew it was bad.
A grown-up had also joined the crowd and looked - and sounded - quite alarmed.
"What's happened, little boy" she asked.
Not wanting to swear in front of an adult, I barely breathed the words, "I think I've cut my willy"
It got worse from there on.
The lady asked where I lived and told me she would give me a lift home. This was after my protestations that I shouldn't get in a car with strangers. I also informed her that my mother was visiting my grandmother at the time, which she was. She asked where my grandmother lived and as it happened she knew her next door neighber. She took me there.
The next hour or so - it felt like years - was quite easily the most horrifying time of my life (or so I thought at the time).
I had to stand in the kitchen at my grandmother's house with my pants at my ankles with my mum, nan and granddad all looking at my cock and pointing and saying things like "oooooaaaccchhh", and "ooooooooh", before my mum finally bandaged it up.
Thankfully it's all better now, but I think I may be mentally scarred for life, it's my only saving grace that it was only mental scars!

tldr: Went down hill in the snow on a bit of tin. Sliced bell end. It bled.
(dchurch bah, Mon 11 Mar 2013, 11:29, Reply)