Tadger

2005, Liz Rettig, My Desperate Love Diary: by Kelly Ann, Corgi Books, UK, page 302, G says just the thought of trying to bonk in my house was enough to shrivel his tadger and that he′d rather have sex in Argyle Street in the rush hour than try to do it at my place.

I mean childhood doesn′t last long anyway, by the time you realise you are a child ten years later you′re tugging at yer tadger.

[…]we found this very funny and were laughing, sniggering and started washing our tadgers with the soap, copying this guy, the guy took exception to this and started shouting at us.

2011 (2009), Bernardo Atxaga, Margaret Jull Costa (translator), Seven Houses in France, page 97, ‘But just in case, I'm going a bit farther off,’ he pointed to the solitary teak tree and added: ‘That′s the best place in Yangambi for a piss, but l don′t want to risk him seeing my tadger.’

Of course the medical staff had seen all this before, and they were quick to put our minds at ease—“Come of^([sic]) then—get your fucking kit off, the officer said, now move it!” came the caring and helpful advice, or “Come on, move it, these nurses aren′t embarrassed at seeing your little tadger—why should you be?”