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This is a question I Hurt My Rude Bits, Again

My commute to work was made excellent the other day when I saw a motorcyclist try to ride on the pavement to avoid a traffic queue, lose control, fall off and land bollock-first on a concrete bollard. He was fine, eventually – but tell us your tales of the old blinding agony to the gentleman's or gentlewoman's area.

(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:50)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

As a young man
I was always a bit kinky, and almost inevitably, as I got older and experimented a bit with my sexuality, I drifted a bit towards the odder side of things and ended up meeting a girl who was a few years older, more jaded, and into BDSM. I was nervous at first, but I found that I got a huge kick out of being the submissive partner. We started with a bit of spanking, foot worship, and the like, and then things started to get a bit more extreme.

Over time, things became progressively more extreme, by most people's standards, anyway, but I was aroused, in love, and totally in her hands. I found I got a huge kick out of the whole thing, and the kick increased with the physical pain and the sense of danger.

One evening, which I'll never forget, I ended up strapped to the kitchen table in her flat, being flogged with a cat of nine tails, before she disappeared and returned to the room with a hammer and some nails. My first thought as 'fucking hell, she's going to crucify me', but she saw my look of panic and assured me that she wasn't.

Then, to my mounting excitement, she pulled down the PVC thong I was wearing, placed the wooden board underneath my scrotum, and began preparing to nail my dangly bits to the board. I understand that this is not to most people's tastes, but by then I was heavily into this whole thing, and heavily into her, and I have to admit it was an incredible feeling of anticipation, as she reached for the hammer and nails.

And then, as she was setting up for the blow, it all went wrong. I began screaming out the safe word, and she quickly put everything away and released me from my constraints. I was immensely relieved. Horror had been averted by the merest of margins.

Crazy bitch hadn't warmed the nail.. I mean... fucking hell.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 17:12, 12 replies)
In a ‘Never Seen Star Wars’ fashion I didn’t attempt ice skating til I was nearly 30. To my surprise I wasn’t completely shit and within an hour I’d built up enough confidence to go faster than my ability warranted. Before long I was hurtling along, arms and legs franticly wind milling, fighting a losing battle with the laws of physics. Did I mention I was at the rink with my brother? Well I was. And he watched me travelling towards him, my feet slipping from under me like an epileptic Cossack dancer with obvious mirth on his face, till I was about six feet away. He had enough time to register a slight concern when, with an almighty slip, both my feet left the ice. Obviously I was worried. Both my forward and angular momentum were of such a magnitude I might end up with a nasty bruise, or a banged head. But my luck was in, the tip of an ice skate had connected with my brothers ball sack which absorbed all that nasty kinetic energy and I landed on my arse unscathed.

My brother?

Yes there was falling to the ground. Yes there was breathless squealing, heroic wailing then pathetic retching. But wait, there was more. In the early hours he awoke in agony with his now massive scrotum taught and bulging. He’d suffered proper damage to the groinal region. He spent days unable to move due to the pain. He couldn’t talk or eat. He went pale, then green with the agony. Standing, sitting, lying, didn’t make any difference. Pain killers didn’t touch it. Years later he still gets the thousand yard stare when bollock related accidents get mentioned.

Still, you’ve got to laugh.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 17:11, Reply)
Too easy.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 16:56, 3 replies)
Touched by Lord Voldemort
I was on a mountain biking trip in Wales and I was going down a hill really rather fast (think "weeeeeeee") when my waterproof trousers caught in the chain causing it to lock. This sent me head first over the handlebars and off the side of the path into a small stream. Everything was slow motion and i was already in an incredible amount of pain when the bike then landed imbetween my legs. I'm still not entirely sure how it happened but....

I now have a scar down the length of my penis and ballsack which looks very much like a lightning bolt and enables me to make jokes about being touched by lord voldemort as a child.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 16:54, 1 reply)
Thankfully not mine
I was standing at a bus-stop, idly watching the workmen doing something drastic to the pavement opposite. One of them was using one of those pneumatic thumpy things, that flatten the ground after it's been filled. He was walking slowly backwards, one thump at a time.

What we could see, and he couldn't, was that behind him at the edge of the hole was some debris, including a length of wood resting on a brick. As he reached the end of his traverse, the thumper hit the wood, which pivotted about the brick and thwacked him in the arse with all the power available from the pneumatics, amplified by the lever principle.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 15:58, 2 replies)
Years ago...
...there was a big crowd of us in the pub one Saturday night. My mate Lee comes back from the bar with a newly purchased pint and sits down.

At exactly that moment, three things happened:

1. The track currently playing on the jukebox ended
2. There was one of those natural lulls in the room noise, so everything was very quiet
3. Lee let out a blood-curdling scream, causing the entire pub clientele to look at him in some alarm

He explained a moment later that as he'd sat down his jeans had creased right across his balls. It wasn't that funny really, but the perfect timing still makes me chuckle to this day
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 15:16, Reply)
ever done that thing where you fall over and your leg twists, causing your heel to ram itself into your most intimate bits?
hurts like fuck, doesn't it?
especially when you're wearing rollerboots :(
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 15:05, 7 replies)
Er Indoors got her mimsy pierced (CHP) on the basis that i promised to clean the loos at home
the reality is this, despite what we had read IT REALLY FUCKING KNACKED and 4 months on, she still cleans the loos but has a very sparkly foo foo.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 14:50, 8 replies)
Effinnitwit has reminded me
You would think you would be safe standing behind a homemade trebuchet. It turns out that if they are misadjusted they can, and do, fire backwards. Small rocks to the scrotum, people.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 14:08, 2 replies)
I've only got myself to blame
I have my ball sack pierced, the piercing itself is not too bad but every now and then, usually when I'm about to stand up, it gets caught. I don't know how it happens but it's quite painful.

A few years ago I pierced my foreskin to win a 5 pound bet. I used a safety pin, just pushed it through. I had to summon all of my strength and courage to push it through the second bit. It's the most pain I've ever inflicted on myself for money. I don't remember much blood, just pain.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 13:47, 12 replies)
circa 1978. Went downhill. Went too fast. Decides to jump off. Hit ground. Forward momentum too big. Turned somersault and hit lamppost, legs akimbo.

A couple of years ago I would have spent the time to craft this into something worth your time to read. Exactly the same story, but with a lot more detail and bit's that would, hopefully, make you smile or laugh.

Now? Not worth my time or energy. /Talk has won due to the inability of Rob/Chthonic/Scary Duck or any other mod to actually moderate QOTW. Appoint someone as mod who actually cares about QOTW. Who writes and contributes. And, for all that's Holy, not me - I'd swing the ban hammer with such abandon that you'd have nobody left. Not even me.

(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 13:32, 32 replies)
I'm surprised it still works...
As a kid of about 13, showing off on holiday i traversed the slippery concrete bollards that seperated the kids pool from the adult pool. One foot went one way, the other foot the other. Naturally the whole of Spain saw and pointed and laughed for the rest of the holiday.

As a goalkeeper I have lost count of the amount of times my bollocks have come between the ball and the goal. And it never seems to get any less funny (for everyone else)

Only yesterday I was whacking clove oil in my mouth to try and numb the mother of all toothaches. Turns out, it has a similar effect to chillies on your bellend. My mother in law is staying at the moment and she seems to camp out in the bathroom, and as (bad) luck would have it, she was in there at the time. So I had to use the only remaining sink big enough to fit my arse and burney bits in, the kitchen sink. It was about 15 minutes before my wifes laughter subsided so I could explain why she found me with my pants round my ankles with my arse in the kitchen sink with an post orgasmic buck-toothed grin on my face.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:53, Reply)
In my briefs, in brief.
A few ouchy incidents:

As a kid, trying on newly bought school uniform shorts, commando, while being admonished to hurry up by my Gran who was buying, I managed to include my scrotum in the zip. I still remember it almost forty years later. Seeing my eight-year old nutsack hanging out of the zipper, and experiencing the seemingly excruciating pain has stayed with me all these years.

For some reason, it became fun to kick one another in the nuts at school. One of my mates was a good soccer player. He punted me across the class-room during recess. His foot connected with my immature bollocks and I was airborne. Not only did my pre-pubescent nads hurt, the new gash in the back of my head from landing head first on a cabinet corner, necessitating stitches, was none too pleasant either.

Girlfriend, later to become wife the first and wife the ex-first, thought in her innocence because she liked her pussy smacked hard (which I NEVER did to her despite requests because I abhor what i perceive to be violence, especially in the bedroom), she would do the same to me, in the heat of passion to spice things up. Innocence? Hmmm. Doubt it. This was the same woman who had rape fantasies and a phobia about cockroaches crawling up her lady bits while in the bathroom. At last report, cockroaches were the only thing that hadn't been in there. Meh.

In more peaceful later years, I took up growing exotic chillies. Goatsweed, Seven Pot and Bhut Jolokia. I never could get the Bhuts to fruit well, however, a trusty green-fingered mate did well and gave me the fruits of his labour. I decided to make a quantity of mega-powered chilli sauce to see me through the winter. A hundred or so Goatsweed, fifty or sixty Seven Pot and about ten Bhuts were finely sliced and prepared for cooking into a sauce. After the knife work, I needed to pee. I dutifully washed my hands in cool water with soap and went about my ablutions. Dear Holy Mother of God. It felt like I had dipped my knob in hydrochloric acid. Chilli cock? Oh yes - this was the other white meat as a hot salami. I now use gloves when I make tasty chilli sauces. I also childishly mention the incident to my wife that I should try it again and that she should be the recipient... Well... and old gf used to like to massage the pork sword with tea-tree oil and do the nasty and was rather good fun... and antiseptic and antibiotic and... rather good fun.

These days, I live a peaceful life as a landscaper and gardener. Cue: rapidly rotating machine, stray piece of gravel, bollocks - and now connect all three. I enjoyed a cool drink of water for about an hour, in between vomiting from the pain of that wee piece of gravel having connected with my wee bits. At least it wasn't an eye.

Boy bits? Oh yes, they're ever so fun to own and to play with, for those who appreciate and are entertained by that physiological structure. They're also an 'orrid liability, especially seeing that they seem to be more capable of thought and deed than the standard issue grey matter. Maybe.

tl;dr hurt my bits, all too often.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:43, Reply)
I get to post this again!!! Gents - cross your legs.
Many moons ago, when I was but a lad (about 18 and discovering the joys of inappropriateness with the leydees) I suffered from a condition called Phimosis - feel free to google it but it's basically a foreskin that is too tight to retract without causing pain and swelling.....

One evening, lubricated by a number of pints of the lunatic special at the Old Man and Scythe I managed to get lucky with a lady and managed to "do the deed". It hurt like hell but somehow the old fella managed to perform and all was good.

Until later that night. If you can imagine the scenario - the foreskin retracts but decides to shrink around my bellend. Basically I was priapic with a persistent erection and my helmet was turning an angry purple and getting larger. I managed to live with it for a few hours until the pain became too much to bear.

Now the object of my affection that evening was a nurse and thought (due to the effects of being shitfaced) that it would be a simple process to relieve the pressure until I could seek professional assistance. So we commenced the operation...

Nail scissors sterilised in a ligher flame, ice liberally applied to the offending area to numb the pain and the banjo string and the stubborn ring of foreskin around the base of the helmet is cut! I was very surprised how tough human flesh is, even in the most delicate of areas.....

All was good for about 30 seconds. The pressure subsided and things started to look normal then the pain decided to kick in together with copious blood flow. If didn't know I could bleed so much and live. It was everywhere, the sink, the bath, the floor, the bathmat, towels - you name it, it got a soaking.

We decided at that point that a trip to casualty was in order.....the member for Quimborough was wrapped in a towel and the ambulance was called.

It was worth the embarassment of the consultation as the next day I'd had an emergency circumcision and a few weeks later (once the stitches had disssolved/been picked out) I discovered the true joy of sex.

Absolutely true and the most painful thing I've ever encountered but worth it in the end.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:33, 8 replies)
We were both 17 years old.
I went for a weekend away with her family - Friday afternoon to Sunday evening.

We messed about when we could, but her parents made sure we rarely had more than ten minutes together, so neither of us actually got off.

My balls were actually swollen, and aching so massively, they were so tender that even taking off my shorts that Sunday night when I got home was a problem. I honestly thought damage had been done.

When I finally did find release, getting The Gush doesn't even come close.

tl;dr teenage boy has aching balls, wanks. World yawns.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:04, 1 reply)
That's gotta hurt!
A few years back I found myself in Manchester (there's a first - and in this instance, a last time for everything). A crowd of us had come up for the game and we went out on the piss on the night before matchday.

I'd managed to get myself separated from my mates and was staggering along some godforsaken dank, dark northern street, when out of nowhere a skinny, stinking, skag-addict type jumped me from behind.

He pushed me up against a wall and demanded I hand over the mobile phone I was holding - which I'd been frantically using to try and locate which bar my mates had ventured onto.

I was drunk. But not drunk enough to act tough and say, no. So I meekly handed it to him. He grabbed it, examined it and then declared, in some almost unintelligible regional dialect, that he'd only get a tenner for it down the pub.

Admittedly it was a shit phone, an aging Nokia well past its sell-by date.

'Sorry mate,' I said, 'that's all I've got.'

'Fooksake, I'll fooking take it anyweh.' He mumbled.

Happy to at least having avoided being stabbed or attacked with an aids-infested needle, I then began to pluck up some courage.

'Er, would you mind awfully if I kept the SIM card?' I asked in my best home-counties accent. 'Only it's got all my numbers on and I really could do with not losing them.'

He looked up at me and maybe he took pity on this poor, lost southerner, as he nodded in acceptance and began to fiddle with the back of the phone.

With hands violently shaking he managed to remove the battery cover, which he then proceeded to place in his mouth for safe-keeping and then started to fiddle with the SIM slot. This huge effort of manual dexterity now held 100% of his concentration.

And then I had a monumental moment of clarity - I was actually in control of this situation. I'm not a violent person and I haven't been involved in any psychical altercations since school, but the red midst descended like it never has before. Who the fuck was this dirty manc demanding MY phone? How dare he treat a tourist like this? A tourist who was pouring much-needed money into his shithole of a home.

So whilst he stood there with his head bowed, trying desperately to separate my SIM from my phone, I took my opportunity and kicked him as violently and as hard as I fucking could, right between his legs.

I connected perfectly and the rock-solid point of my Chelsea Boot must have sent his bollocks right back up into his drug-addled brain. His head shot up and his eyes opened fully, staring me in the face, not initially with a look of pain - but with a look of genuine surprise and hurt that I'd actually done this to him, especially as he'd been so kind in allowing me to leave with my SIM card.

His face then contorted into a picture of agony and he doubled-over and started to emit a low moan. I grabbed my phone (deciding not to go near the saliva-stained battery cover), looked hastily around and then bolted onto the busiest street I could find. After a few minutes I realised he obviously wasn't in a position to give chase, so I called my mates and got directions to the bar they were at.

Fucking northerners.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 11:54, 31 replies)
Poor Mr Palmer.
Mr Palmer was our maths teacher at prep school, and liked to walk up and down between the rows of desks as he spoke; he'd dash back to the whiteboard to solve equations and then resume his slow, incessant tramping.

One day, my classmate Jessica had a cold; she was sniffing and snorting and coughing, and sat in a desk next to the aisle so she could frequently go and dump her snotty tissues in the bin. Poor Mr Palmer started his latest dash to the whiteboard just as Jessica, leaning slightly forward into the aisle, did an enormously violent sneeze and headbutted him in the knackers. He fell over, and then stumbled to his desk, where he taught the rest of the lesson sitting down and regaining his breath.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 11:07, 1 reply)
Oh my balls have been through a rough time over the years
The embarrassing one: years ago I was cycling home and got a text from my then girlfriend. Being young and dumb I thought I'd be cool and text her back.

So it turns out that texting while cycling means you can't see the parked car that you cycle into the back of pushing you and your precious dangly bits forward into the handlebar stand (t-bar?) and then back onto the main bar.

The agony was horrible but not as much as the shame when I seen a group of people laughing and pointing at me from across the road.

The retarded one: sitting down heavily on a wooden bar stool while wearing baggy boxers meaning my balls had slipped down a bit and as I sat down heavily again I sat on them. I've had that happen a few times now and once it blew the chance I had with the girl I was trying to chat up as tears welled up in my eyes and I hobbled to the loo.

The one that put me in hospital: back in school there was a girl (hey Marion!) who one day thought it would be funny to kick me in the balls. So during PE she called me over and me not knowing what was about to go down wandered over.

She swung her foot back and followed through as hard as she could. Her shin caught me full force and felt like she lifted me off the ground. I crumpled to the ground as she stood above me laughing and all I could do was crawl to the changing rooms and lay down on the bench for the next 3 classes.

Pain between the legs eventually died down but a horrible pain in my side remained so trip to doc was needed. Long story short the jerk of my body and the shock tore my abdominal muscle. 6 weeks of recovery for that one and now its set "tight" so now every now and then I get a reminder of that bastard of a day when I stretch and feel that pain in my side.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 10:16, 2 replies)
Hockey Balls
15 minutes from the end of a PE lesson found myself, my friend Granny and the 5th year's nutter Wayne playing 'hit the hockey ball across the school field as hard as we can at each other' in the manner of sixteen year olds the world over having been given sticks and told to smash balls for sports practice.

Pretty much the last 'pass' - the whistle had gone and Sir had told us the lesson was over - was an absolute screamer. Wayne connected hard with the ball and set it flying just above the grass toward Granny.

Granny wasnt silly. He knew there was no point trying to control this missile, so he jumped up in order to let the ball pass harmlessly underneath him. At precisly this point however, the ball hit a divot on the field. Its trajectory changed to perfectly meet Granny's testes in mid jump.

He then performed the 'ive just been smashed in the nads with a hard object floor crumple'. But he did it in mid air.

It took him the whole of the subsequent history lesson to be able to sit up straight again.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 10:03, Reply)
This is a bit tenuous, but it did involve my groin and I think it's funny, so:
Many years ago, staying at my boss’ house after a night on the booze with some customers. Creeping into the house so as not wake his sleeping wife, we bade our goodnights. His house was on three levels; my bedroom and bathroom was on the first floor, while his was on the second.

Creeping silently like a cat into the bathroom, I expertly knocked a metal beaker off the basin, then spent what seemed like ten minutes chasing it around the (fully tiled) bathroom, like I was trying to create the world’s first human-powered perpetual bell. Luckily, this didn’t seem to wake the whole of Docklands, so I brushed my teeth and went to bed.

The following morning I felt what can generally be described as “fucking awful”. The full works: headache, tongue like a mouldy carpet, pounding heart, trembling limbs, nausea, ringing in the ears, unsteadiness on the feet. There was only one thing for it: a shower! Everyone feels better after a shower, and my boss has a very nice house, the shower will be fab. Off I went to the bathroom. Glaring at the metal beaker, I stepped into the bath and luxuriated under the hot spray. Lovely, I do indeed feel better, this isn’t going to be such a bad mor…

…and then I stepped out of the bath, onto the mat.

I’ve already mentioned my trembling limbs and unsteadiness. The bathroom floor was a few inches lower than the bottom of the bath, which I wasn’t expecting. I shuffled my foot away from the bath to regain my balance, then a bit further away from the bath, and then a bit further.
You can probably see what’s coming; after all I already mentioned that the bathroom is fully tiled. My foot shuffled off the mat; all grip was lost and I did the splits. My left leg shot towards the door, my right leg stayed in the bath and I swear my nuts hit the floor. I ended up wide-eyed and gasping for breath, gripping onto the sink, not knowing whether to laugh or kill myself.
Eventually I managed to stand up and limp back to the bedroom, all healing effects of the shower thoroughly negated. It was a looooong day...

tl;dr – hangover causes slapstick moment, multiple pains ensue including one in the groin
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 9:20, 2 replies)
I did this to the tank of my bike using my crotch when I crashed it 3 and a half years ago
Photobucket Pictures, Images and Photos

Fuck knows how it's all still in working order, although having said that I could be sterile, I've not been tested
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 4:12, 19 replies)
during a sternuous
attempt to return to the womb I managed to stab the penile frenulum on the tip of a girlfriends coil.

a certain ammount of annoyance was taken on her part at what she thought was male distaste at her lunar disturbance, till she realised that a thin spray of red fluid was jetting from the newly pierced member.
(, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 1:09, 10 replies)
Pearoast - Don't do this to your love spuds, ever!
It was a very cold day five years ago at work... I'd just been out for a bracing, yet particularly satisfying cigarette and thought I'd nip to the loo on my way back to my desk. Whilst in the cubicle I noticed that due to said parkiness I was feeling uncomfortably tight in the ballbag department. Oh Ho! Thinks I, I'll just stretch them out a little bit...

I've been blown up, crashed into, scalded, punched, burned, thrown down the stairs, cut open and have even been nailed to a shed on one interesting occasion but nothing had prepared me for the sheer unadulterated agony I experienced...

It was like someone took a flamethrower to my boy bits. There was I, eyes, fists and buttocks fully clenched, dizzy with pain and dangerously close to passing out. Hitting the cubicle and swearing as quietly as I could for about three minutes. Never do this.

Also, I once cockdropped my ex boss with an elastic band.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 23:13, 3 replies)
Super Jonny!
Late primary school, maybe 12 years old. An asphalt playground. A friendly though competitive game of ball tig (if you're hit by the ball you become 'it'). I was a small thing back then, still a good 5 years before I made a sudden transformation from short-arse to lanky-git.

With your wits about you, ball tig is not a particularly challenging game. If you're paying attention it's possible to sidestep all but the swiftest throws. Apparently though, I wasn't being particularly bright. My best friend/worst nemesis Josh (delete as applicable) threw the ball at me, on target but unusually slow. Somehow my cunning solution to the situation was to run directly away from the ball, perfectly in-line with its trajectory.

The ball was slow, but I was slower; I wouldn't get the hang of running for another 10 years. The way my friends tell it I was oblivious to the gradually closing gap. Eventually the ball gently trapped itself under my left foot mid-stride.

I fell. No, I flew. As adrenaline made the world, gloopy and slow as treacle I managed, strangely, to lift feet and arms. My body arched forwards, crotch thrust prominently in the direction of travel; an almost balletic flight; a super-hero taking off.

I landed that way. My tenderest parts took the full brunt of gravity and hard asphalt. I wince to think of it even now. The initial white hot pain; the teary sick-bay embarrassment of explaining what I'd done; the days limping around off school; the weeks before my poor bruised little scrotum fully recovered. I did gain a spiffy new nickname though, my short flight christened me Super Jonny; not without some irony I'm sure.

Long time lurker, first time poster. Didn't feel too long at the time.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 21:52, 2 replies)
So I had an aching left bollock
and I naturally assumed the worst, so I went to see my GP. He didn't even examine me, saying that it didn't sound like cancer, I was the wrong age for it and I'd feel a lump long before I had any pain. He suggested it was epididymitis caused by an infection and suggested waiting a week or so to see if it went away.

Somewhat reassured, I went away but the ache didn't subside. A couple of weekends later, I was thinking about going back to the GP while riding my bike on a rough road. Looking down, it all fell into place, if you'll excuse the pun.

Yes, my new oh-so-stylish cycling shorts weren't cut tight enough in the groinal region, and I could actually see the outline of my left gonad bouncing up and down on the nose of the saddle. Thinking back, I realised that the problem had only started when I bought the shorts, and the ache was only there for a day or so after wearing them each time. Shorts went in bin. Bollock stopped aching.

The moral; choose the tightest lycra that doesn't actually cut off the blood supply to your legs. Your crown jewels will thank you for it.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 20:02, 3 replies)
Another one related to the same guy as in the story below:
I'm the one underneath. My friend Dave is sitting on me. In an act of petty revenge, I had just been hit in the balls with a pool cue by Alex.

(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 19:24, 20 replies)
He had it coming
Many years ago in a maths lesson, my friend Alex thought it would be a funny game to put my pencils across his lap and break them by punching them. He had just progressed from one at a time to five when I decided that I had had enough, and casually removed them. Just as his fist began its descent.

I should point out that Alex is the strongest person, for his size, I have ever met. At the age of sixteen he could max out every machine in the gym. And all of his strength was now headed, in the shape of his own fist, directly towards his man-sausage. His expression had time to change very slightly before contact was made.

We both got detention. Him for the noise he made, and me for being physically unable to tell the teacher what had happened due to laughter.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 19:18, Reply)
Playing squash at the local leisure centre I hit a shot that rebounded straight back at me. I jumped out of the way and rotated as I did so, landing face on to my opponent at the exact moment that he played his shot.

The ball rocketed off of his racquet and thundered into my bollocks at what felt like the speed of sound.

I spent a good few minutes on my knees gasping for air before I vomited.

A bright orange Lucazade Sport coloured vomit.
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 18:48, 1 reply)
At work a few weeks ago
Rickshaw cycling with a couple of colleagues called Fraser and Sam. Sam and I had been winding each other up for a few weeks - pinching small items and replacing them at random, hiding each other's bikes and so on. My latest effort was to lower Sam's saddle by about two inches - enough to make life difficult, but not enough to be easily noticeable. Unfortunately, Fraser had had the same idea five minutes previously, resulting in the seat being lowered by rather more.

It turns out that when your saddle has been lowered so much without warning, and you sit down quickly, it can have quite a traumatic effect on your testicles. This brings us on to the part of the story I didn't know before messing with Sam's saddle - Sam had an infected testicle, which was already pretty damn painful.

He told me later that he had fallen sideways off his bike in the foetal position, and remained there for about half an hour before coming looking for my blood. Happily he didn't find me for four hours or so, but he was still pretty damn angry when he did...
(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:42, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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