/ Social Survival /
Every boy remembers the first time he rapped his nuts on the bar of his bicycle: remembers vividly, with an undying terror. Not every boy knows that he probably slammed his groin against his bicycle bar a hundred times, a thousand times, to no ill effect: because his tesicles were not yet descended. Boys are born, after 3/4 of a year of gestation, with the testes way up in the protected center of the body, same general area where a girl carries her ovaries: safe, hidden, tucked well away, far from most dangers. But for boys the testes begin a migration downward. Eventually they enter the scrotum: hitherto empty, useless, a weird detail my six, seven, eight year old girlfriend called “her turkey skin”. Babs loved to play with my scrotum, stroking, petting, tugging: OK by me, I felt nothing. There was nothing there to feel with, other than the scrotum itself. So, the vulnerable testes arrive in their new home, their cool little eyrie, oh so close to the dangerous outside world.
How many boys thereafter rap their nuts on their bicycle bar a second time? None! Right? Never! That’s a lesson you don’t need repeated. Keep the family jewels out of harms way.
Oh, but then we grown up, lose half our brain power, half our eye sight, 3/4 of our normal hearing: and we start getting careless about those things still hanging there all these decades later.
Fer’instance: the other day I was trimming my beard with the Wahl clippers. I can’t afford a barber. I have no lust for hair “style”. My hair grows, my beard grows, turn gray, then silver, I can’t help that. I don’t shave my head or face; I do buzz my beard as short as the clippers will cut. The top of my head I buzz with the largest attachment; the back of my head I buzz with the smaller attachment. Once in a great while, the clippers already out and in use, the large attachment in place, I further buzz my underarms, my chest, my pubes. So, there I am, standing naked in the bathroom, redecorated so lovely by Jan, with a pile of silver-gray hair and pubic trimmings on the counter. I fetch the vacuum, plug ‘er in, and apply the round nozzle opening directly to the counter top.
Wee, the vac is sucking everything up, when “pop”, my right ball leaps sideways and is snagged by the vac hose nozzle! Perfect fit. The vac motor screeches to a higher pitch, suction at max — and Paul realizes: there’s no pain, no agony. Paul is not screaming and flailing and blubbering. I turn the machine off, the machine’s screaming ceases. I pull the hose gently away from my nuts, the nozzle releases my right nut. No aches, no pain, no agony: good as new — or, good as 77 years old is more like it: My ten year old ball would have screamed a plenty I don’t doubt.
My apparatus still manufactures a little semen, probably a few sperm; but not their former spewing millions and billions. The species future has passes to the yearning nuts of others. Mine are no longer needed, no longer wanted. Good riddance. No pain!