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.
(EffinNitWit asks his tobacco where his whisky is, Fri 8 Mar 2013, 12:43, Reply)