Senior Year

\*\* All characters are over 18 \*\*

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I was in a big homeroom – around 40 students – and we had been together since ninth grade. For whatever reason, it had a lot of the stars of the school – the quarterback, the basketball player who got in early to Stanford, all of the class presidents for each year, cheerleaders, brains, and the guys who dropped out of sports early, didn’t care about school, and were now just cool. I was somewhere in the lower half of this group but that was fine – we were all friends, and that meant something in the school as a whole.

In June of our senior year of high school, it began randomly. Or at least at first it seemed random to the guys.

I was in a circle talking with Russ (lacrosse), Christine (goth theatre), and two other girls and another guy. Russ made a joke at Chrstine’s expense. Without missing a beat, she rammed her purse square into his package – he was bulging out of his jeans, and I saw her purse actually sink into his junk. She held it there, pressing in, Russ yelped, backed up, his hands went to his crotch, his legs came together, and it was obviously a struggle to remain upright. We all laughed. Then I saw Christine glance down at me, so I quickly covered up with my hands. The other dude had already twisted away from her. Christine smirked at me – kinda like, I could have gotten you too and we both know it. The three girls walked away. Russ then sank into a chair – he had been standing to prove a point – and said “Fuck, my nutsack.”

At the end of the day, I was reaching up into my top locker – so focusing on it -- and down below I felt something hit my nuts. “Ugh,” I moaned, and Amy, the girl with the locker next to me, started laughing. “I got you!” she exclaimed. I grabbed myself to prevent another shot, although I didn’t think it was too bad – just a glancing blow. I gave her an embarrassed smile. And then pain hit. My legs gave out. In order to avoid falling, I crouched down in a squat, nearly on the floor. Then yet another wave of pain set in, radiating from my nads through my entire body -- I tipped over, winding up in a tight fetal position in front of my locker.

“I just punched Mike in the balls!” Amy yelled to the entire hallway, full of pride. I heard Christine come up, congratulate Amy, and say “get down there with him, let's remember this with a picture.” I felt Amy put her arm around my shoulders and then I could sense the picture getting taken. “How are your balls?” Amy whispered into my ear. “They’re fucking killing me,” I replied. She laughed.

When I saw the picture the next day in homeroom, I was shocked at the contrast between Amy and me: she had a big smile, radiating happiness as she had her arm around me, while my face was a grimace of pain as my hands futilely held my manhood as I laid helpless on the floor.