One time, when I was 17, I broke my boyfriend's penis.
We had been cooped up for days in his mother's basement which had a kitchenette and a bathroom and a TV, so we saw no reason to leave. This was summer in East LA, so the sounds that floated in our window were of chickens and barking dogs and car alarms. One time, there was a foot chase that we watched cautiously out his bedroom window, the tottering, overweight policeman tripping down the ravine with his flashlight, the person he was chasing already lost in the dark.
In the midst of this, we were two quasi-intellectual weirdos, content to read poetry, eat peanut butter sandwiches, and screw each other's brains out. Which is what we had been doing for a full 72 hours before I broke his penis.
As to how it actually happened, I am still unclear. My experience was this: It was the middle of the night. I had taken my contacts out, so I was almost entirely blind. The room was dark. We had tried to sleep, but we simply couldn't and had started touching each other again. He pushed inside me and faster than I could register he leapt off of me and was screaming horrible piglet-y bleats. I scrambled to get to the lamp. "What's wrong, what's wrong, what's wrong?"
Read more at xoJane: IT HAPPENED TO ME: I BROKE MY BOYFRIEND'S PENIS