The Ballbuster

My sap started to rise when I was about twelve years old, and playing with my balls one day brought forth a gush of semen. It was several months after that that I learned the same result would come from pumping my cock, and even though that was a quicker route I still preferred getting where I wanted to be by fondling my balls. Even though it was my cock that pouring out the goods I knew that it was just the means of delivery, and that the true power, as well as the greatest feeling of pleasure, originated in my balls.

The growth spurt that accompanied my early puberty endowed me with athletic grace and good looks, and the girls, already more mature, literally loved me and I got laid when I was thirteen. This was in 1970 when AIDS and herpes were both in the future and free love, the pill, and long hair were all in fashion. I doubt that my early partners were experienced enough to realize that I was unusual in my desires to have them squeeze, fondle, and even slap my balls around during sex, but I’m sure some of their later lovers wondered where they learned those techniques.

I quickly learned the social skills needed to get girls into the sack and I became the envy of many of my less fortunate classmates. They would ask me, as we stripped for PE, what my secret was. Oddly enough, I don’t remember many of the boys’ faces but I can recall what all of their balls looked like. Big, small, low hangers, hairy, mismatched, whatever, but show me a picture of a fifteen-year-old classmates nuts and I will tell you his name.

My parents’ became extremely wealthy during this time and we moved to a large suburban home. They took a lot of trips to meet with gurus, therapists, and other couples to try and achieve the ultimate orgasm. They left me at home most of the time, knowing that their little darling would stay out of trouble. Life was good for me then. I was a seventeen-year-old senior in high school, Viet Nam was winding down and I wouldn’t get drafted, and grass and cheap wine were plentiful. They were off on one of their weekend fuckfests and I was not going to spend my time alone so I organized a little bangathon of my own.

Tom (bigger than mine, one a lot lower than the other, and not very hairy) Anderson, a junior who played third base on the team with me, had transferred in from a parochial all- boys school and hadn’t had much experience with girls. He had bailed me out of a tight spot with the coach by lying for me and I owed him so I invited him, along with Sandy and Karen, to spend Saturday evening with me.

Karen and I are old friends, and she had to be one of the horniest and least inhibited teenage girls on the planet, and Tom had no trouble scoring with first her, and then later Sandy. We were all pretty tired from the sex and were whacked out on wine loafing around the hot tub. Sandy and Karen went to douche, pee, or what ever it is that girls do together in bathrooms. Tom was really drunk, since he wasn’t used to pacing himself, and I had just rolled and lit a joint. I took a little hit from it and passed it to Tom, who took a giant toke, handed it back, and passed out stoned. The girls came back out, still bare assed, and cuddled up together under a blanket on one of the lounges by the pool. Tom was on his back and was snoring loudly, his nuts hanging low between his spread legs.

I downed another slug of wine and took a last hit on the joint, and the last thing I remember was wishing that my nuts were as large as Tom’s. I woke up the next morning still naked by the pool. My lips seemed to be glued shut and there was a god-awful taste in my mouth. I went in the house to rinse my mouth out, and a glance in the mirror revealed a translucent, milky crust all over my chin and in the stubble of my beard. I had seen that stuff on my belly from time to time and I immediately knew what it was! I puked my guts out and brushed my teeth for about a half hour.

I asked Tom if he had enjoyed himself last evening, and he replied that he couldn’t remember anything after going to sleep by the hot tub. He got a little red in the face and nodded towards the girls, who were still curled up together asleep, and pulled out his cock and showed me a little bite mark on it.

“I don’t think this was there when I went to sleep, but I sure as hell felt it when I pissed this morning, so I must have had a good time.”

I was disgusted with myself, but I rationalized that the blowjob I gave my buddy was a function of too much booze and grass, and that I wasn’t really a fag.

It would be many years before I sucked another cock, and after that night I never again mixed booze and grass.

My parents split up when I was still in college, but I was distant enough from both of them and too self-centered to really give a shit. I had a sizable trust fund to pay my bills and I was having a good time fucking anything that moved. The biggest difference between these girls and the high school teenyboppers was their level of experience, and most of them knew that I was at least a little bit fucked up in the head, in that I wanted them to get really rough with my balls. They may have thought it was weird but they sure as hell liked it. Their other partners were the typical Wham, Bam, and Thank You Ma’am, get their rocks off quick and split young studs. I needed a lot of foreplay centered around my balls before I could get it up, and once they had me in the saddle they could control the action by messing with my balls, and they really loved that power.

I didn’t have ant serious relationships in college, just a bunch of casual sex. Deep down I didn’t even really like girls, just the sex they had to offer. That all changed about two months before graduation when a casual girlfriend introduced me to Linda.

Linda was six inches taller than me and drop dead gorgeous, so I figured that I wouldn’t stand a chance with her. Like most boys who enter puberty early my growth spurt stopped early, and by the time I was sixteen the boys that I had outgrown a few years ago all had shot up past me and at a hundred and forty pounds and five foot five I was too small for college sports. I was neither rich, good looking, nor was I particularly smart, and a bombshell like Linda usually wouldn’t have given a short guy like me a second glance.

Sex was the only college sport that I went out for, and the five-inch cock that was so impressive when I was thirteen had only gained another inch, so I wasn’t anything special in that department either, but she said she’d heard a lot about me and wanted to go out, so we shared a pizza and some beer and went back to my pad.

I hadn’t even gotten undressed before she had her hand in my underwear playing with my nuts. This got me hard right away, and the harder she squeezed me the harder I got. She finally released me long enough to enter her, and then reached around my ass with her long arms and pumped my balls as I banged her. She came with a howl right before me, and in addition to it being the most intense orgasm I had ever had it was the first time I had really rang a girl’s bell. I finally rolled off of her and lay there exhausted and panting while she went to the bathroom. She came back, knelt before me, and started sucking me, and when I came she slugged me so hard in the nuts that I couldn’t do anything but roll up in a ball and try to catch my breath. She got dressed and left me in that state.

I eventually recovered enough to get an ice pack, and, with the help of some drugs I finally got to sleep. The next morning I had two of the biggest, blackest, balls that I had ever seen on a white guy. ‘Man’, I thought, ‘what a ball busting bitch she is!’

I had to wear a jock strap all of the next week just to get around, but the swelling had subsided by graduation, when I introduced my parents and their new spouses to my fiancé.

Dad pulled some strings and set up with a great job with one of his old war buddies. Linda was a dental hygienist and made pretty good money, so right after the wedding we bought a house, and proceeded to christen every room, appliance, piece of furniture and even the floors. She liked it rough, and I liked pleasing her, so every now and then I found my self walking funny. It hurt like hell when she kicked or punched my balls, but I had orgasms when she did it that most people only dream about. The swelling always went down, but afterwards my balls were a little smaller and harder than before.

I went to the doctor for an insurance physical, and he wrote something on my chart about ‘scar tissue’ and advised me to always wear a jock strap when ‘participating in sports’. I was too embarrassed to tell him about my ‘sporting activities’ but I told him I’d take it easier, and we did after Ryan was born.

The pregnancy was tough on Linda, and she shared her discomfort with my balls, and I spent most of four months wearing a jock strap and even missed work a few days because I was too sore to move. She mellowed out a little after giving birth, and for a few years we enjoyed a normal sex life with no rough stuff at all, and then a marriage with no sex life at all. I don’t blame Linda; my balls couldn’t take any more punishment, and without that stimulus neither of us could perform.

Ryan was eight when Linda and I separated and he lived with Linda and her new husband except for the one weekend every month and the two weeks during the summer that he spent with me. We camped, played ball, swam at the YMCA, and did fun things together for four years, and I like to think that I enrichened his life, as his step-dad was a dentist who hated physical activity.

Ryan was growing like a weed, so it didn’t surprise me when his voice started getting deeper and a shadow graced his upper lip. The dentist couldn’t handle Linda anymore and he split, so Ryan spent more time with me. A few months ago he was an uninhibited kid, who thought nothing of stripping down and showering with me at the Y, but now he was a typical self-conscious, reserved, and sullen adolescent. He preferred hanging out with his buddies, but he still liked coming over to my place and he used it for his weekend base of operations for whatever mischief he was into.

He showed up one Friday night just before his thirteenth birthday walking a little funny, as if he was in pain, and even though he denied there being a problem it was obvious by the bulge in his pants that he had taken a thump to his balls. I waited until I heard the shower running, and then slipped into the bathroom and waited. His hands flew to his crotch when he opened the curtain and saw me, but not before I got a good look at him. The last time I had seen him naked was a few months ago, and at that time he was just a hairless little boy. Like I said earlier, I am a connoisseur of balls and he was now swinging a set that would make any grown man proud. In addition to being huge they were also black and blue from abuse.

“Your mother?” I enquired.

“Yes.” He answered hesitantly, before breaking down in tears. “She kicked me, Dad! I was in my room mast----mast---uh, you know, and she came in and saw me, so I rolled over face down, and she jumped on the bed and kicked me between my legs!”

‘She’s gone too far, this time!’ I thought. Kicking a kid in the nuts for jerking off wasn’t something I’d expect of anyone, even her. I got Ryan calmed down a little, and gave him a quick examination. He wouldn’t let me touch them, but they seemed to be intact so I got him an ice pack, the same one I once used for the same purpose, and put him to bed. I didn’t want him to suffer so I also gave him a couple of bootleg Demerol capsules that I had scored on the street. I figured that if the swelling hadn’t gone down some in the morning I would concoct some story about how he hurt himself and take him to the hospital.

“Hey, bitch, lay off the kid.” Linda wasn’t happy about me calling her that late, but I didn’t give a shit.

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it smartass, get all fucked up on your drugs and come over here and kick my ass? Try it and I’ll rip your balls off and stuff them up your ass, and you know damn well that I can do it. Just make damn sure he’s ready to go when I get there next week to pick him up.”

She was right. I was powerless against here, not only physically, but legally too. I had gotten in trouble with drugs a few years ago, and Linda used that at the divorce to gain sole custody of Ryan. My visiting privileges were at her discretion, and she could keep me from seeing him until he was eighteen. I could call the juvenile troops and have Ryan tell them what had happened, but that would only bring more heat and humiliation down on the boy and removing him from her would mean he would have to go into foster care.

Ryan felt better the next morning, and after he showered I took another look at him. His balls were still huge, but smaller than they had been last night, and the discoloration had eased up some to where they didn’t look quite as hideous. I decided that he could wear a jock strap or tight pants for the rest of the week and be okay.

He was felling pretty good by the next weekend and could walk without shuffling his feet, but he still didn’t feel up to physical activity, so we took in a movie and came back early. He was age when kids get curious about sex, and I doubted that Dr. Dickhead had taken the time to have The Talk with him, so I decided to give it a go.

Dad had given me The Talk when I was about that age, and he had taken off all of his clothes so I could see what an adult looked like. Ryan and I had seen each other nude many times, but that was before he started puberty and when had no interest in his or my bodies. His balls were about normal size and color by now, and it was obvious that he was pubescent. He had the start of a pubic bush, and his flaccid dick was larger than my own had been at that age.

He was nervous at first, as he had only been naked in front of other kids his age, but he soon warmed up a little and started asking questions about things like condoms, AIDS, VD, and general sexual behavior. I didn’t know all of the answers, but I did try to relieve his anxieties the best I could and to reassure him that he was normal.

“How often do you masturbate?” I asked my son, and added, “I do it myself every couple of days unless I’m seeing a woman, of course.”

He got a little red in the face and admitted to doing it at least once a day and sometimes more often.

“What do you think about when you do it?” I pried.

“Girls, sometimes. Other times I just think about how good it makes my nuts feel.” At least the kid was being honest.

“Did anything else happen when mom kicked you?” I wanted to know.

“Yeah. I, uh, shot off, like when I masturbate, only harder.” He embarrassingly answered.

The cock-talk was starting to affect us and both of our dicks started to rise to attention. This was a father-son candid talk with no holds barred, and to cool things down a little I asked him how much pot he smoked. He could hardly deny it, as his stash was plainly visible in his jeans pocket on the floor in front of us. I’m not a good role model for kids, as I have had drugs problems myself, but he knew that and he might be willing to listen to someone who’d been there.

“Only a little, Dad.” He confessed.

A responsible parent would have flushed the stash down the crapper and maybe beat his ass a little to boot. I was once his age, however, and at that time I despised anything that my parents did or liked, so I rolled a joint from his stash and fired it up. I had given up marijuana before he was born, as it fucked me up and led to me doing stupid things, and went to pills and other controlled substances instead. I took a little hit on the joint and passed it to him. This was some pretty good shit he had scored, and I wondered how much it cost now.

We shared the joint for a while, and then he cleared his throat, hesitated, and finally asked his question.

“What’s a blowjob, Dad? Kerry Johnson said that was the best thing that a guy could ever have, but then he wouldn’t tell me what it really was.”

I explained the oral sex act to my son, and added that Kerry was right, in that they were pretty good. I also mentioned that they were one of the ways gay guys expressed themselves and to be wary of any of his friends who offered to give him one.

He got real red in the face and admitted that he had spied his mom doing that to Dr. Dickhead, and that she had hit him hard in his balls afterwards.

“Did you and Mom ever do that stuff, Dad?”

Now it was my turn to be embarrassed, and I hesitated along time before answering. “Yes, we did. I know it sounds weird, but I really liked it when she hurt me, but after awhile I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Well, I’d sure like someone to give me a blowjob, only I don’t want anyone hammering on my balls.” He said, taking another hit on the joint.

A responsible parent wouldn’t have gazed at his son’s teenage erection, taken a last toke on the joint, slowly knelt between his son’s legs, and started licking his son’s balls, nor would he have taken his son’s cock gently into his mouth. A responsible parent wouldn’t have allowed himself to spill his own seed on the carpet when his son’s salty gush flooded his mouth, and a really responsible parent would have made damn sure the doors were locked and the alarm set when he finally went to bed, and that his ex-wife hadn’t been peeking through a window when he gave his son a birthday blowjob.

Linda hit us like a ninja in the darkest hours of the morning, and she quickly had both of us tied up side-by-side and naked to my bed. She could probably have handled the blowjob, but the joint that we had shared put her over the edge. She had smoked grass in school with the rest of us, but after we got married she wouldn’t touch drugs and my usage of pharmaceuticals was a major issue between us.

The pain she used to inflict on my balls was mild compared to what she did next. She grabbed them and twisted and pulled them as hard as she could before extracting a knife and carving them from my body. Even more painful was her next move, when she got a small meat tenderizing Sledge-o-matic and a cutting board from my kitchen and Gallaghered my detached melons in front of my eyes. Most painful of all was watching her do the same thing to our son.

My screams had wakened the neighbors, who summoned the police. They arrived too late to save my son’s manhood but they did manage to shoot Linda, unfortunately not fatally.

My nutless son now lives with his nutless father, and we both receive regular letters from his crazy, incarcerated mother detailing what she is going to do to us when she is released. I can hardly wait.

Author’s note: My apologies to the extremely entertaining comedian Gallagher, and also to the late Robert Ruark, from whom I stole the term ‘sap rising’ to describe the onset of puberty.