Porn star Prince Yahshua broke his dick during a sex scene of Aug. 23.

Yes, it actually can happen.

Yahshua, who won the Urban X Award for Male Performer of the Year in July, was working with newcomer Bethany Benz for West Coast Productions when things went south. Benz was Caviar on the reality show “For the Love of Ray J.”

“She’s a newcomer to the game, so I start the scene and I had her in the cowgirl position and it wasn’t working out too well. I didn’t like it and the producer didn’t really like it. So I spun her around for reverse cowgirl because we thought maybe it’d be easier for her because of her height. She’s around my height. Then 10 seconds into it, her rhythm wasn’t matching with my rhythm. As I put my head to the side to talk to her, the next thing you heard was…[crunch].

“She jumped off and I guess it’s the equivalent of going to your backyard, you know how you turn on your garden hose and it sprays out? That’s exactly what happened out of my dick. It was like five to six people got massacred in the room, not killed, massacred.

“I lost a pint and a half of blood. The reason why I didn’t lose consciousness is because I was shocked and I kept on biting my lower lip so I wouldn’t fade out.”

Prince continued, “Luckily for us we had the producer and two other fairly big guys at the scene that were upstairs and they carried my big ass out and put me in the director Terry Burton’s truck and he floored it to the hospital.

“In layman’s terms I broke my dick. In the scientific world, it was my urethra, my pee hole was ripped and the aligning wall muscle to my dick was torn.”

After a three-hour surgery, Prince survived the freak accident with 32 stitches down there.

I don’t have a penis, but AHHHHHH!!!! Ouch! Eeek!!!!

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DO: keep your options open.

I like to think of my dating pool more as like a garden. In my garden there’s various species of vegetation — some are seasonal, some are evergreen … some go extinct. Nevertheless I put my green thumb to work and seeds are constantly being planted and weeds being picked out. I water my garden with my attention, time and affection. With my selection, I’m never bored, and when one rebellious flower isn’t blossoming like I hoped I have a whole field of others.

When you keep your options open, the lack of attention from one doesn’t matter as much. There are a dozen others waiting to be sprinkled with your worthy consideration.

It keeps me from sitting by the phone waiting and wondering, obsessing … and makes me more desirable because I’m not overdoing it with the showering of affection on just one person. I keep my dignity and my mystery. Win-win! Dating should be fun and even when you’re looking for “the one,” why not enjoy the possibly long journey with different people? A little practice on your flirting, seduction, makeout, sexual (etc.) skills can be beneficial in the long run.

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Do: Let it grow a little.

I’ve heard from three male sources that there is written documentation somewhere informing its male readers that women don’t like scruff on the face — going so far as to say it’s unpleasant, uncomfortable and even unattractive.

They’ll let anyone post shit on the Internet these days.

Sure, there are plenty of lady-folk out there who likely prefer a smooth shave to a stubbly mess, and high-5 to them.

But please know that this does not go for the entire female population. That’s like saying all Italians love spaghetti or all hipsters love plaid. It’s just an assumption.

There’s something about scruff on the face that screams masculinity to me, especially when paired with a unconventionally masculine ensemble.

Sweater + tie + slacks + scruff = HOT.

Blazer + T-shirt + jeans + scruff = HOT.

Stained tank top + Umbros + shower shoes + scruff = GROSS.

Moving onto the issue of discomfort. Yes, kissing stubble can feel like kissing Brillo, but usually up to a certain length.

After a few days (or weeks, depending on your facial hair virility) it’ll grow from stick-out-straight to smooth-to-the-side, and that’s when I start wanting to kiss you.

Give it a try. If you hate it, shave it.

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Do: Check your ego at the door.

The ego is a powerful tool. It provides an air of authority, confidence and masculinity — much like alcohol — but at the end of the day — much like alcohol — it’s merely a mask that influences decisions you’re more likely to regret than respect.

Egos have ended marriages, broken relationships and hurt feelings. They offer terrible first impressions, awful second impressions, and give some people reason to never want to talk to you again.

So the next time you find yourself in the position to take responsibility for a mistake, admit fault or simply say, “I’m sorry,” take a step back and clear your mind.

Because if the fog of your pride is too dense to think through, your best interests and those of everyone involved are no longer the crux of your decision, and the odds of making the right choice become slim.

Real success is seeing the big picture through the clouds. What you think is weakness is actually wisdom and speaks volumes louder than any slick-talker in a pressed suit can muster — and that’s where true power lies.

Girls like power.

That means girls will like you.

Get it?

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Do: Clean up.

I left a bullet vibe, bottle of lube and giant stainless steel dildo next to my bed and managed not to notice them as I prepped for a date a few nights ago.

At this point a pink silicone dildo has become as common a decor element as a table lamp, but I find it somewhat tragic that I’m more likely to straighten out my slightly crooked bath mat than put away my arsenal of sex toys before the guest(s) arrive.

The bedroom was the last part of my apartment tour, and I almost choked on my gum when I saw the sexual still life sitting on my bedside table. I had 20 seconds to do one of three things:

1. Suddenly remember I left the stove on and ask him to help me turn it off.
2. Faint.
3. Continue with the tour and hope he doesn’t look to his left.

I chose option 3, and as he checked out a painting on my wall I stealthily knocked the dildo under my bed (careful to muffle the noise) and hoped the guy would assume the purple egg-shaped object was a cat toy, and the bottle next to it some kind of hand lotion.

He looked to his left but managed not to lock eyes on anything other than me. If he did notice the sex toy arrangement, he made no comment, facial expression or physical recoil to make it obvious, and the fact that he still wanted to take me out for cookies and conversation made it clear he’s probably a good guy.

He hasn’t asked me out on a second date yet though. I hope he does.

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Do: When you can’t remember the name of the chick who just ran over to say hi and ask how your mom’s doing, mask your terrible memory with a compliment.

Girl says, “Hey Brett! Nice haircut! How’s Tina liking her new job?

ALERT: You and this chick obviously had some kind of deep conversation that left enough of an impression for her to remember you, the name of your sister, and the fact that you’re no longer rocking that fauxhawk you thought was cool three months ago.

Once you determine that her hotness level is high enough to care, it’s time to go into survival mode.

Pick the first thing you notice about her that’s worthy of a (polite) compliment and then work it into your response.

Example: “I forgot your name, but I’d never forget those eyes.”

It sounds cheezy, maybe even something that douchey Mystery guy would recommend, but it works. You’ve told her you can’t remember her name, but you’ve let her know that her beautiful eyes were bewitching enough to have stuck in your mind for months. Anyone can simply stamp the name “Kimberly” into his longterm memory bank — but only YOU were able to recognize her using a physical feature other than her tits, and that speaks volumes.

At least that’s what Kimberly told me right before she took off her top.

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Don’t: Don’t reach for the Calgon body mist when you think you might smell less than fresh.

Believe it or not, your natural smell is a biological attractor of the opposite sex — that’s where pheromones come into play — and if you mask it with vanilla sparkle dream or masculine muscle musk, you’re essentially repelling the very people you want coming at you with drinks and phone numbers.

Plus most of these strong scents don’t 100% cover your own B.O., so chances are you’ll end up smelling like a combo of sweat and Sunflower Rain/Amber Fever. Not only is that the opposite of sexy, it’ll prob make everyone sneeze, and allergies like totally kill your game.

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Don’t: Don’t use FacebookChat to vent your feelings.

Using that sometimes-functional service, rather than email, text or (GASP) conversation, shows me that, for one thing, you’re a total coward and think it’s the safest way to release your wrath without having to stick around for a response.

And if you “ping” my Facebook page at 2 a.m. on a weekend, it shows me that you’re not only a coward, but also likely drunk and alone in your room, which makes you even more pathetic.

If you’ve got unfinished business, or you just want the opportunity to call me a douche/slut/bitchface, at least use a communication method that I might actually be inclined to look at. When Picasso was inspired to create his next masterpiece, he didn’t reach for the nearest Arby’s napkin and start painting. That shit only would’ve worked for Warhol.

You could be pouring your heart out in the most eloquent prose, but the fact that it pops up in a little box in the lower right corner of my screen makes me not only squint to read it, but also enticed to copy/paste and send it to all my friends. Why? So that we can laugh at you.

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I was reading gossip blogs working really hard this afternoon when I saw a photo of pop singer/fashion experiment Rihanna that inspired me.

I’ll give you a moment or five to wipe the drool from your chin and clean up that mess.

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OK. What’s the first thing you do when you see a pierced nipple? How about when that pierced nipple is attached to a naked chick lying in front of you ready to have lots of sex?

If you answered, “Tug on it and never let go,” pull up your pants and do your best to let the door hit you on the way out.

Newsflash: People don’t pierce their nipples because it feels amazing when they’re accidentally ripped out.

It’s different for everyone, but piercing a sensitive part of the body can heighten sensitivity, and SOME people enjoy the sensation of light tugging. You can find out what your pierced partner prefers by lightly attempting an intermittent tug or two while licking/touching, and if she doesn’t recoil in horror, then you’ve got your answer.

But if the girl’s entire body stiffens and she screams, “What the hell is wrong with you?!!” your best bet is to stop if you want to avoid having your eye jabbed out by a dildo.

Or if you’re into that sort of thing, by all means carry on. Eye patches are bad-ass, and I think Rihanna’s got one with rhinestones.

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Don’t: Not sure how to put this lightly…

…please don’t cum all over me.

The porn scene: Guy is banging girl. Both are about to cum. (She’s probably faking — sorry, had to insert that. Pun intended.) Then just as he hits his mark, he pulls out and finishes all over girl’s stomach/back/face/whatever. Girl coos in delight, and might even rub it all over herself.

The real life scene: Guy is banging girl. Both are about to cum. He pulls out and finishes all over girl, and girl lies there wondering what just happened, where the nearest towel/shower is, and what’s the fastest/cleanest route to get to it.

Just like not every guy likes his salad tossed, not every girl likes spooge in her eye. If she does — especially if it turns her on — she’ll likely give you the green light beforehand.

If that green light never cums comes, take it as a hint: either she’s not into that sort of thing, or she forgot to take out her contacts first.

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