Okay, so in my first post I thought I'd explain my interest in this topic. I guess it really began when I was quite young and my younger sister kicked me square in the balls. Years later I learned that our mother had put her up to it. I may have been playing a bit rough, and she apparently decided I needed to be taught a lesson. Lesson learnt!
But yeah, testicular pain is a fact of life that all men must reckon with at some point. Anyway, in my case the point was driven home rather forcefully when, as a young man of twentysomething, I had recently moved to Boston. Being a virgin (really), and very heterosexual, I had a deep fascination with the female form. I'm not proud of this, but I may as well come out and say it: I love vaginas, God help me, and I had developed a habit of staring at the vulvar cleft ("camel toe") of young women in tight jeans or, better yet, elegantly turned out in business suits. I suppose I was then a bit of an innocent abroad, but on this particular day in the spring of 1983 I was found myself on a standing-room-only subway carriage on the journey from Cambridge into town, with a woman in the latter category. A slim black woman she was, with sharp, angular features, professionally dressed in a dark suit with slacks just tight enough to delineate the contour of her beautiful, narrow, downward-tapering vagina. I swear that at no time did I touch her, inappropriately or otherwise, but I must admit that I could not stop staring. At length, she apparently decided that she had had enough, for as we eased onto the Charles River bridge she kicked me smartly in the groin, bringing her well-tailored knee up sharply between my legs and laying my left testicle against the pubic bone. "Manners," she hissed as the adjacent door swung open and she briskly exited onto the Charles St. platform.
It hurt. A LOT. I believe that I demonstrated exemplary self-effacement, although there was simply not room to double over. I got off at the next stop, retreated to a quiet corner and did my grimacing there. The pain became more or less bearable after an hour, but my problems weren't over, for I was left with a tangled mass in my scrotal sac which did not recede but grew over the next several months. Long story short it turned out to be cancerous. I survived to tell the tale, but I retain as a souvenir an enduring fascination with testicular pain. I will have more to say on this subject at a later date.