Warning: sort-of-gross mental images ahead!
So there I was, portly and acne-covered settling in for a little nothing-better-to-do masturbation. Given the time, I’d say I was still under the illusion that silicone-titted platinum blondes with airbrushed bodies and visible-woman ribs stretched out over hay bails and vintage cars were actually good masturbation fodder. Now that you’re good and creeped out, thinking about me spending a little alone time with Hef’s “beauties”, here comes the weird part.
Things were going as planned a few minutes (right, more like seconds) and I’d chalked up another wad to boredom. Aright, I thought, a little quick clean-up and I can get back to downloading Fastball songs on Napster. I’ll just grab this towel and wipe of my dick and…ball? I felt again. Okay, one more time. Roll call: L. B. Johnson, here. John Left Kennedy, present. Right D. Eisenhower…. Right D. Eisenhower…. Ike? And just like that it had happened. No hairy palms, 20:20 vision, but I had jerked one of my testicles completely out of existence! Panic set in. How many more sessions before the remaining one vanishes? I broke into a cold sweat. As I was making a mental schedule for my remaining orgasms (senior prom, wedding night, 12 oz Mouse season finales, etc.) the MIA nut reappeared, sliding gently into place like it had been there the whole time.
Relieved but confused, I tried to reproduce this missing man formation. A little pushing, twisting and moderate pain and voila! It happened again. With a little finesse I could slip the other up there too. Turns out that while whacking I had inadvertently pushed my testicle back up into the inguinal canal, the little cavity where my boys chilled before they dropped. Apparently, this is how sumo wrestlers guard their jewels. Boys, if you’re feeling playful give this tuck-away a try (if you aren’t already familiar). There are few sights stranger than a completely vacant scrotum, truly a delight. In fact, since prehistory human males have used this display to ward off unwanted sexual partners.
Epilogue:
Also worth mentioning is an event that took place some time later. A few friends and I were kicking it, watching CKY2K and lighting farts on fire. Maybe it was because I had a couple of Mountain Dews in me or maybe I felt that, since we were already bare-assed and holding Bics in our cracks, the situation wasn’t at risk of getting any more awkward, I decided to retell this mishap to my buddies. Keep in mind that I still wasn’t sure if this was something that everyone could do. So I gave them a play-by-play and was received with puzzled looks from everyone in the room except my friend Carl (fake name). Carl’s eyes lit up. He explained with a smile and a hail of “dudes” that he could not only perform the same testicular feat, but that his balls had punk’d him in the exact same way. What followed was to be the single greatest high-five of my entire life.
NOTE: my genitals are not actually named after the 34th, 35th, and 36th presidents of the United States of America…. yet.
