Everyone calls me JP, but, my name is really Andrew. I feel like I’m a pretty simple guy; pretty average when it comes to music and such. I like girls though don’t really know how to talk to them. Okay, sorry I ramble on when I’m nervous and don’t really know what to do with my hands? Let me tell you about this one night, at a party…
“He’s a really cool dude. Just meet him, he’s not weird or anything.” I hear Mark telling Cary as I walk into Cary’s house. Mark quickly changes the subject after he sees me, not wanting the already awkward moment to become even more so. Mark quickly looks away from me as his face blushes. His girlfriend, Susan, stares blankly straight ahead with half-lidded eyes.
I feel very awkward here. I know Mark really well, but Cary is, well, he’s kind of a dick. I don’t really care for that, if I’m being completely honest with myself. I don’t know why I keep letting Mark talk me into shit like this I think chidingly. “Hey everyone, I’m-” Mark cuts me off with, “Cary, this is JP. JP, Cary.”
“Hello,” I say as we both reach out and shake each other’s hand. Mark then introduces me as “JP” to Susan. “Hello,” I say again, reaching out my hand. Susan looks at the olive branch and turns away, sipping her beer.
“Oh, fuckin burn, bitch!!” Cary exclaims loud enough everyone hears it over the music and turns to stare. This fuckin dick seriously just did that? Fuck them both!! “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask Cary, “It was a bit of a drive.”
“Ya it’s over there, JP,” he responds flippantly. I nod my thanks and turn towards it, beginning to weave my way through the crowd of strangers. “And don’t be taking a shit, either,” he exclaims again. Then he mumbles, barely audible over the music and the chatter, “Fuckin douchebag.” I stop as I hear the statement, my anger bubbling over the tipping point, my hands balling to fists so hard blood begins to well out of the fingernails digging into my palms. I decide to keep walking as I hear Cary laughing to Mark at my expense.
I close the door to the 4×6 room, noticing what appears to be body or pubic hair strewn across the white tiled floor, mixing in with the obvious piss stains dotting the floor. I close my eyes and let my anger get close enough to the surface. Just before it bubbles up and out of me, I reach my balled fist back and slam it right into my testicles. The air comes rushing out of me! My body immediately doubles over as I drop to my knees, the electric-tingling-puke your guts out feeling jangling my nerves as I reach back and swing again.
Have to keep quiet, have to keep going. Again and again I punch myself in the testicles. Each time with a little less force than the swing before it. 8 times in total until the grin spreads across my face, abolishing my anger in its place. On the 9th and final punch, a laugh peels forth, reverberating off the seashell embroidered towels, past the pubic hair and piss spots close to my cheek as I lie on the floor, laughing hysterically. Thank god the music is loud.
I tenderly walk back to where Mark is still standing with Cary, sans Susan. My body is hunched over, a drunken weave now back through the crowd, my legs moving slowly as they rub my now swollen and extremely tender testicles… “Hey Cary!” I say cheerily. “The fuck got into you?” He asks in return. “Nothing man, just a really great night and a really great party!” I say genuinely. His lip curls up with involuntary disgust in response. I keep cheerily carrying on the one-sided conversation as the night goes on.
…I don’t know why the compulsion. I don’t know why I’m even telling anyone this. No one can ever know. I guess I must’ve been born this way; I just get so happy when I punch myself in the nuts. They’re the victims, really. They constantly look swollen and ready for their coffin. One of these days I fear I may lose them. I sincerely hope not.