|"Hey, one of you guys ain't been working all these years."|
In the sexual department, I never had any trouble. Oh, there were the occasional misfires while walking through the mall past Victoria Secret, but those went away, the older I got. Or there were the, "Thank God you were wearing glasses," moments that I managed to clear up with a little Windex. But my last partner and I experienced a completely different malady - I could not fire.
I had no problem getting into the right position, strong and firm - for HOURS. And HOURS. And HOURS. But no bang.
Our love-making sessions became rather boring. Twelve hours of huffing and sweating, she'd have 37 orgasms and I'd have to call 9-1-1 to get some medications to get that grin off of her face. Still no bang.
For ten months prior, I had been taking an anti-depressant and the doctor said that it could be the cause or it was psychological. But he decided to have an ultrasound performed on my... ah... satchel.
The first think I thought was, "Hey, I'm having twins." But he assured me that was an impossibility. As he hummed around the boys, he started to hum himself. My girlfriend was there, grinning - the meds hadn't taken hold yet - and she started humming. I felt like I was in the midst of a kazoo choir as the doctor probed beneath my wazoo.
Something you don't want to hear during any medical exam is, "Boy, this is strange." All kinds of thoughts were going through my head. Cancer? Bruises? Square?
Then, I finally got the news, "Mr. Blazic, one of your testicles is not connected to anything. How long has it been this way?"
"I have no idea. I just assumed they worked and that was all I cared about. I don't check them very often. I have someone else do that."
"Well, sir, one of your testicles is not connected to anything and it it basically floating around freely within your scrotum."
"Maybe the doctor pulled me out of my mom by my nuts?"
"That is possible, but unlikely."
"Kicked in gym class during dodge ball?"
"Another possibility, but unlikely."
"We might have to go with that. You've just had a free spirit down there all these years."
"Will it effect me?"
"Doesn't seem to have all these years. I suggest you calm down, not try to force the issue and you should be able to perform just fine. There is nothing we can do for you."
"What if I call a plumber?"
"Ha, ha... that won't help."
As I left the doctor's office, I kept thinking that I'd been guilty of a dead ball foul all these years. I was half nuts. And what was that other guy down there doing if he had no pipes? Just swelling out of control?
Within a week, I had returned to my usual six second bang and a nap routine, followed by a sandwich and Sportscenter.
Then, my girlfriend went insane and I sent her away. It's been over half a decade since I've attempted any firing. I keep my weapon, locked and loaded. But it has a lot of dust on it.
I still have the creeps and weird dreams that my untethered testicle is sneaking out at night and going places I don't even want to imagine. Or that he's roaming around the inside of my body, looking for trouble. "Is that a lump in your throat?" No, I have a runaway nut.
To this day, I'm still not sure what to think of the mystery of my floating testicle. I guess I am half nuts.
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