Circle Of Friends - Buster

The kid’s name was Tony Brown, but despite his objections most of the other guys called him ‘Buster’, like the little kid on the old shoeboxes. Most guys slung with that moniker have a reputation for being scrappy but this kid wasn’t that way at all; he wasn’t any more physically imposing than his high school classmates and I don’t remember him ever getting into a fight. He acquired the nickname for an entirely different reason.

Most boys aren’t really aware of their balls until puberty, when they enlarge and become more sensitive and rather enjoyable to own. At that time the testicles also become a target for other boys who want to inflict the maximum amount of pain with the least amount of effort, and it becomes a matter of pride to be able to inflict a righteous bust on an unsuspecting kid and put him doubled over and writhing in pain on the ground. A couple of years later a guy’s ability to copulate, or at least simulate the act becomes more important and he becomes more focused on his dick, but most young adolescents get at least a little rise out of being popped in their balls. I went through that stage myself, and I was as bad as any of my classmates. I outgrew that stuff about the same time I took a NFL quality kick to my balls that made me unable to move for a couple of hours and put me in bed for the next three days in bed with an ice pack for company. That incident ruined the art of ball busting for me and I couldn’t bring myself to bust another guy let alone even bear to think about getting it inflicted on myself again.

Buster never outgrew it, and although he would have gotten the shit beat out of him if he had tried busting another high school kid he still enjoyed getting busted himself. At least once a month he would show up with a set of balls that were grotesquely swollen and colored green, black, blue, or even purple. He would limp around for a few days and make excuses to the PE teacher about how he had crashed his bike, stepped on a shovel, or any of a half a dozen other semi-plausible excuses, but we all knew how it had happened. He would offer just about anyone he knew a free hit and he even bet a couple of kids that he could take a knee or a kick without falling down.

I watched him take a kick once that lifted him a foot off of the ground, and the sight of him rolling around afterwards, choking and gasping for breath with his hands clutched tightly to his abdomen almost put me to my own knees. He wore a jock strap 24/7 for a month after that, and claimed that he was shooting bloody jizz. I thought for sure that one would cure him, but he came back for more.

I know for a fact that he was hanging around the junior high baiting the smaller kids into popping him. He would take one of them down and give him a little tap, and then leave himself open. The seventh and eighth graders would pop him a little harder than they did to each other, but not hard enough to be truly debilitating. Nonetheless he would roll around and put on a good show for them, and occasionally even drop his pants in front of them to ostensibly check for damage, while obviously he only wished to impress them with the boner they had encouraged.

Buster wasn’t overtly gay, and other than his penchant for being busted in his balls he was just an ordinary guy. He dated a lot but never bragged about his conquests, and except for his fling with Dirty Sally he was very secretive about his love life.

Dirty Sally was a real piece of work. She was the undefeated world champion mother of all sluts. She was physically just as clean, above her pussy anyway, as anyone else but any time she opened her mouth an obscenity would roll out. Her super tight skirts and tops were always in violation of the school’s admittedly puritan dress code and she flaunted it even further by refusing to wear a bra. She carried a huge handbag stuffed with Tampons, condoms, and cigarettes. She was as close to being a chain smoker as a high school kid could be, and she had her bag open and one in her fingers as soon as the bell sounded. It went into her mouth the second she was out the door and she lit up the instant she left the school property.

She usually shunned high school boys and went out mostly with older guys, one of which would always pick her up after school. She usually hung out with bikers and there would be one waiting for her after school on an old plugged out Harley or BSA chopper. She would light up a fresh smoke and climb on the back and be fondling the guy’s cock before they were a block down the street.

She had loudly proclaimed that she didn’t like high school kids because they had no staying power and their dicks were all too small, so it surprised the hell out of all of us when Buster sauntered up to her table at lunch and asked her out.

“You think you got what it takes, sonny boy? If you scatter your cookies before I get mine you’d better be pretty quick with your tongue or I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them up your ass.” She issued a challenge that Buster could never refuse. He liked to be naked while getting busted, and he usually got hard, and I had seen him enough times to know that he sure as hell wasn’t swinging anything special.

“So, Buster, how was it?” Vern asked him the next day as we dressed for PE.

“Fantastic!” Buster bragged. “We did it twice, and then she did me again with her mouth!”

Vern looked down at Buster’s balls, which were black and blue and now nearly the size of his own, and asked, “What did she taste like, after you’d been in her, I mean?”

“Just like what a rubber smells like.” Vern mumbled, turning beet red. “After I was finished, the first time, that is, she grabbed my balls so hard that for a minute I thought she wasn’t kidding about ripping them off. Instead she pulled me around by them until my face was lined up with her pussy and then she told me to lick, and when I wasn’t doing it fast enough she squeezed them even harder. When she finally did come she hollered so loud that I thought it would wake the dead. She messed around with my cock some more, and when it was hard again we went back at it. She made me eat her out again before she sucked me off. By that time I was wasted. I couldn’t have gotten it up again to save my life.”

“It might have been easier just to puke when your head was inside her,” Vern commented, “that probably would have gotten her off.”

Buster lightened up a little, and then repeated the old joke. “There were some peas and carrots in there, so I think the last guy did just that.”

Big, hairy, macho Gordon clamped his hand over his mouth and headed for the toilet after hearing that one.

Sally didn’t graduate, which wasn’t any big surprise, she just took off with a bunch of bikers. I saw her ten years later and didn’t even recognize her at first. She looked a lot older and was covered with tattoos. She got into a fatal wreck right after that and the ambulance driver told me that she had a tattoo on her snatch of a snake going into a hole.

Buster was running out of people willing to bust him, so I guess it was only natural that he would devise ways to bust himself. His efforts weren’t very sophisticated; he’d just put a tennis ball into an old sock, whirl it around, and bring it up to his crotch. I watched him do the same thing with a baseball and his glassy-eyed look when it hit was one more of euphoria than pain. He claimed that it was tough to really enjoy a bust unless you were somewhat relaxed and preferably didn’t know when it was coming, so the old ball in the sock trick wasn’t as fulfilling as having someone else bust him.

Buster was good with his hands and he took metal shop as well as woodshop, and it wasn’t long before he put his skills to use. The first thing he built was a beautiful laminated cutting board about a foot and a half square, which he submitted for a grade before modifying it for another purpose. He drilled a three-quarter inch hole in the center, and then expanded it to form a slot the same width to the edge of the board. He rounded the edges of this slot and then sanded them smooth, and finally he routed out a separate filler piece to slide into the slot, leaving the hole in the center open. I never saw him demonstrate it, but he said that he slid his balls into the slot, inserted the filler piece, and then fastened it with a peg, trapping his balls on one side of the board. He said that he’d close his eyes and hit a tennis ball against the wall, hoping that it would ricochet back into the board. He also tried putting the board behind his legs and then sitting on his nuts, but he said that wasn’t as good as a sudden, hard bust.

The board was okay but it was difficult to use it and stoke his cock at the same time, which was an important element of a perfect bust, so seeking perfection he built a sort of mechanical punter. It had a stout wooden ‘leg’ about three feet long to which he had attached an old boot. The ‘knee’ was a pivot, and he had a couple of bicycle inner tubes hooked on the ‘thigh’. He stretched everything out and swung the leg back and secured it with a piece of string before kneeling in front of it with his legs spread. He tried just letting go of the string, but finally settled on some sort of trigger with a random time release. He spent most of two months perfecting the devise only to have his dad throw it away, assuming that it was just junk.

Buster’s next self-abusive efforts involved sort of a pile driver. He took a piece of plastic pipe, cut a notch in one end to accommodate the skin of his scrotum, and placed it over his balls. He would drop various hard objects down the pipe until he found the perfect combination of weight and height that would produce the ideal bust. He said that a pint jar half full of sand dropped from two feet was perfect. The look of rapture on his face when the jar hit bottom was just like that on the face of a junky that had just shot his arm full of heroin. I let him drop one into my open palm and it hurt my fingers so badly that I thought he must be crazy to do that to his nuts, but then I already knew that he was a little strange.

He also like to tie things around his balls, and I warned him once about leaving them tied up too long and told him about how bulls get turned into steers, but he insisted that he knew what he was doing. I saw him examining a rattrap one time and I could almost hear the gears going around in his head as he pondered all of the opportunities for testicular pain that it was capable of producing.

I just knew that he’d go too far someday and crush his nuts beyond repair or get them tangled up in one of his contraptions and accidentally castrate himself, but he made it through high school intact and graduated with the rest of us. He had one knee that was screwed up so he didn’t get drafted, and I didn’t see him again nor did I hear about his accident until I got back from Viet Nam.

There’s a degree of confidentiality among ambulance drivers and EMTs, but accidents as sensational as Buster’s are talked about in house for years and the details will eventually filter down to the general public. I heard the same story from several different sources, so I believe it to be correct.

Seeking a little more excitement or perhaps more exquisite pain Buster, in his quest for the ultimate masturbatory bust, combined electricity with his cutting board. He had access to an old DC welder with variable voltage and amperage, so he tied his balls off, taped two electrical pigtail leads to them, and them placed them into his cutting board with the device behind his legs. His goal, he admitted later, was a bust so titillating that he would get off without even touching his cock. It worked, too; he hooked the welding leads up to the pigtails attached to his nuts and turned the machine to it’s lowest level, and promptly creamed himself when he hit the power switch. That was so good that he turned the power up a notch and tried it again. That one was even better, or worse depending on your point of view, I guess.

He was pretty much spermed out at that point so he shut every thing down and rested up for a day before trying it again. He probably would have been okay if the welder hadn’t had an internal electrical short that caused it to deliver a lot more than Buster could handle. He turned the power up a little bit, and the defective welder delivered four hundred and forty volts of three-phase power directly into his gonads. He was sitting on a rubber floor mat at the time so it didn’t go to ground and kill him; instead it went in one testicle and out the other. They say meat is done when it slides off of the bone, and Buster’s nuts were cooked to a well-done crisp before separating from his body. The shop owner investigated the sudden power outage, called the ambulance, and extinguished the fire that had started on the cutting board.

The wound was clean and had been well cauterized, so Buster only spent a couple of days in the hospital. He got religion right after that and ten years later he became an ardent follower of a fanatic by the name of Jim Jones, and he experienced his ultimate orgasm by drinking Kool-Aid with nine hundred other people at a party in the Guyana jungle.