My Poor Little Ball Sack

My Poor Little Ball Sack ☹

First off I would like to say that the word “little” in the title of this story has nothing to do with the size or anatomy of my scrotum. It’s just a phrase that is said to describe the bad situation that my nards were involved in.

Moving on.

The other day I slept through my alarm clock, and when I finally arose, I had to scramble. I had to get everything together, my gym clothes, work clothes, soap, shampoo, shaving cream etc… My morning workout was a necessity before a 12-hour shift at work. After stuffing it all in a duffle bag I grabbed a nutri-grain bar, banana then jumped into my jeep and sped off. Fortunately I made good timing and my workout was great. As I got out of the shower, I glanced at myself in the mirror and was happy with what I saw. It looked like I was losing weight and gaining pure muscle. Yes I know… you ladies love it… After realizing I was wasting time in front of the mirror, I quickly returned to my locker to change into my work clothes. This is where the fun begins.

I reach into my duffle bag and grab my black fruit of the looms. I pull them up my legs and secure them in the correct position covering the crotch and buttocks areas, something wasn’t feeling right. Everything from my waste down was losing circulation, including my most important parts. I came to the abrupt conclusion that I grabbed my 12-year-old little brother’s underwear instead of mine. This raised a problem that needed to be solved quickly. I had to be at work in 20 minutes. Wearing tight underwear could potentially be a dangerous situation. I’ve always heard that it lowers your sperm count. Now, the sperm count is an important thing in a man’s life. It’s what defines the man. For those men that have a low sperm count I would like to take the time right now to laugh and point at your faces.

The issue of circulation is also something to worry about. I wouldn’t want everything below my waste to get amputated due to lack of blood flow. And what if I needed to perform sexually? How could blood get to my love pump if the tight underwear causes permanent damage? What was I going to do? Should I just free ball it? (Meaning not wear any underwear at all) I quickly removed the briefs, which caused a euphoric feeling as the blood returned back to my legs. I slipped my pants back on, zipped up, and took a few steps. To my disappointment a feeling of discomfort began and I knew I couldn’t spend the day without under garment support. (This is a subject all of its own, irritation caused by the carpet burn effect at the tip of your penis rubbing against the denim jeans, not to mention the zipper. Also the lack of support causes a blue balls type of pain, which leads one to believe they are suffering from testicular cancer.)

Free balling it, was simply out of the question. And I couldn’t just drive back home and pick up another pair; I’d be late for work! Then came my brilliant idea. I would simply rip the waste line of the underwear thus alleviating the tightness around my waste. So I grabbed the underwear and yanked as hard as I could. Nothing happened. Why wasn’t it ripping? I have muscle; remember I was just lifting weights? Hulk Hogan used to rip off his tank top shirts easily before his wrestling matches; I should be able to do this! After about five minutes of yanking, pulling, and stretching, the underpants started to rip. I did it! Everything would be OK now. I proceeded to put on the ripped underwear and to my surprise it felt much better. Problem solved! At least for the time being.

While driving to work I had a smile on my face. I was able to get my work out in without being late for work. I had outsmarted the underwear problem, and the sun was coming up. It would be a good day. Then I started feeling an unusual pain in my forearms. I must have worked them too hard at the gym. It started to feel as if I was suffering from tennis elbow or tendonitis of some sort. Then I realized that this pain was probably caused by me attempting to rip the underwear. The seams on those babies must have been sewn by sweat shop workers on steroids!

After about 20 minutes at work and taking a couple ibuprofen's for my fore arm pain, I started to feel a bit nauseated. My thighs began to throb due to the tightness of the boxer briefs and a sudden sense of extreme discomfort overcame me. I tried not to think about it but the nausea worsened. My balls began to feel as if someone had grasped them in their hands and squeezed them as hard as they could. I began to worry that my testicles would break into a thousand pieces and then drain out of my torn up ball sack. I had to act immediately for the sake of my future seed.

I ran to the bathroom stall, dropped my pants and underwear, and while standing there mostly naked with my dick hanging out I proceeded to rip the edges of the boxer briefs from the inside thigh area all the way to the under groin area. After much struggle and more tendonitis pain, I was a success. By now the underwear was simply two pieces of cloth barely attached by the already ripping waste line that would hang down over the front and the rear. I thought of those Indian civilizations in the Amazon rain forest and how I would fit in quite well with my genitals freely hanging behind a small piece of cloth. Problem solved! I had done it this time, no more problems, no more worries about testicular cancer, no more nausea, and no more discomfort.

The rest of the day went by very well, I just found that I needed to grasp on to the piece of hanging underwear through my front pocket when I walked to avoid it from ripping completely and falling down to the floor.

The End.

So what’s the lesson we have all learned by reading this deeply significant story that is so profound it haunts people on account of its everlasting effect?

…Or is it the image of my cock & balls that is haunting people?