Monday, May 4, 2009

Scott's Testicle Tale

This one below from Scott David from Maud. Keep 'em coming. Send your testicle tale to me at here and win copy number one of Lessons from my Left Testicle.

My tale of testicle pain happened when I was 16. It was Michael Jackson's fault.

The Marconi Country Club were happy to take in large groups of under aged drinkers and dancers. They had to. There were no other clients. So each Saturday we'd pour in with our dressed-up-like-adults jackets and ultra-thin ties. We'd lower our voices for the bouncers and the bar. It was a mating ritual from beginning to end. It involved careful targeting of the right girl, as much good dancing to impress, some drinks and talking, and then the courage to ask the question when the DJ finally said, "OK folks, we're going to slow things down a bit now".

I'd already singled out who I was on for. Soraya. She described herself as half Persian, was extremely beautiful, and definitely worth the extra effort to make an impression. And so the circles of dancing began, some around handbags and others looping around the solo dancers one by one doing their turns. And the mood took me, Soraya was looking at me, and the circle of dancers acknowledged that it was my turn to be in the middle. Michael Jackson was pumping out Thriller. I'd been watching some of the body popping on Top of the Pops so amongst my angular turns, jumps and spins, I went for a new move like a lizard rocking backwards. Up in the air. Rotate to come down to the floor chest-on with a deeply arched back to roll the body, then jump back to the hands and roll the body back again and again. Except that I didn't. It was the belly flop of body-popping. So amidst great cheering that turned into a gasp, I came down straight and flat onto my balls from a great height. There was pain in everyone's eyes, but mostly in mine. It seemed as though the music had stopped. And I couldn't work out if it was the extreme pain shooting through me like lightning, or the humiliation in front of Soraya, that hurt the most.

After limping off for a drink, and holding my stomach for a while. I was surprised to find Soraya coming over for a chat. A good dose of pain and embarrassment can be a surprisingly good conversational ice-breaker. We went out together for a fantastic 6 months. Who knows if that would have happened if not for my painful enthusiasm.

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