Rated T for language
This was written by HammerHips and Givemesomevamp.
Extra super-special thanks to Stitchcat for her beta expertise! We love her!
And our PIC, the lovely JaspersBella, did her fab pre-reading thing. You know we heart you hard! *mwah*
Guys don't do 'besties' and braid each other's hair, or make friendship bracelets to show how tight we are, but if we did, Peter and I would have that shit on lock. We'd been pals since the first week of kindergarten when our beak-nosed teacher yelled at Pete for gluing all of the strands of Lauren Mallory's ponytail together during crafts time, and I kicked her in the shin to get her attention off of him. I felt bad that we were stuck with a dummy-head for a year, but he didn't deserve the tongue lashing the teacher was giving him. It was funny. Plus, your rep doesn't recover from a crying jag. Ever. It's like peeing your pants; everyone remembers and you're forever more 'Yella Smella' or some such inventive name.
Really, we were more like brothers than anything else. Through his sister's death and my parent's messy divorce, we stuck side-by-side. If one was going somewhere it was assumed the other was too, but not in a gay kind-of way. That'd been suggested by one of the football jocks last year, and after he got that jaw unwired, he never said that shit again. No-one did. We sure as fuck weren't sissies and damn, was I looking forward to our Senior year starting up next week.
Of course, that brings us to my knees jammed to my fucking chest sitting in the extended cab of his Dad's Ford F150. Peter's parents planned a camping trip every year before school started, but I use the word 'camping' loosely, because with Peter's folks that shit translates into a cement parking lot with running water, electricity, and all the amenities of home. It's camping for people who are afraid of getting the great outdoors on them and, truthfully, I can't imagine Pete's mom copping a squat or using a shovel, so off we went to pseudo-camp. But hey, it got me out of my house for the weekend, so I wasn't bitching. Plus, we can always find ways to entertain ourselves; in fact, we're kind-of known for getting into insane shit without even meaning to, though no-one usually believed us.
After hours of driving, we finally pulled off the highway and entered the little campground, complete with toilets, and started setting up camp. We have two trailers: one big trailer for Peter's 'rents and a little trailer for Peter and I. It was a pretty sweet deal and low on parental supervision, which was a major bonus. It wasn't very big, but it had everything we needed: two foldout bunks attached to the wall, a little card table, and a fuckton of snacks and drinks. Everything two seventeen-year-old boys needed to survive a week in the senior citizen and redneck inhabited 'wilderness'.
Well, we sure as hell thought we'd have plenty to do, but by midnight we were bored to tears. You can only sit around for so long embellishing about how many boobs you've touched, and how many bases you've rounded with Lauren and her merry band of flirty hoes before you start getting antsy. Plus, we could call bullshit on a lot of these because we had no secrets. Never had. But it was part of our own personal Bro-code that we let some shit slide for the sake of pride and rep, especially in the area of chicks.
When we first checked out the campground, I had noticed that there was an old house up the hill from us, with an in-ground pool that was within spitting distance of where we were camping. Naturally, as soon as the boredom struck Peter suggested we go check it out. It was hotter than Hades in our tin trailer and a nice, cool dip in a pool didn't sound half-bad. We quickly donned our board shorts and headed out into the balmy night air.
Two other teenage boys, close to our age, were hanging out at the picnic tables: one of them lounging across the top of a table all chillaxed and shit, and the other leaned up against a tree smoking a cigarette he had probably stolen from his sleeping, oblivious parents.
"Where are y'all off to?" The smoker said.
Peter quickly filled them in on our plans, and both guys looked utterly horrified when Peter pointed out the pool we were planning on using for our nighttime swim.
The table-lounger bolted upright and exclaimed, "You really don't wanna go over there, man. That woman is the meanest, craziest old biddy you ever met! She's got dozens of cats that she's trained to attack teenagers, and if that doesn't work she'll shoot you. Yep, I've heard there's been kids that's went over there and she's shot at 'em with her shotgun full of rock salt. I even heard she was a witch and she's put a spell on her pool so none of the kids will go near it."
Peter and I both tried valiantly to stifle our snickers as we completely dismissed what the boys were saying. I was starting to think maybe they'd smoked something a little stronger than a Marlboro tonight. We weren't afraid of a little old lady or her voodoo-fied knitting needles or the billions of cats she had; well, I wasn't, but Peter had this strange fear of orange tabbies, and it was worth the trip up there just to see his face on the off-chance we'd come across one. None of that really mattered though, the problem was simple. Our balls were starting to lose weight from all of the sweating they'd been doing and we wanted a swim. A spell or two sure as hell wasn't gonna stop us with our balls on the line.
The boys looked at us in awe as we ignored them and started heading toward the little slice of chlorinated heaven that awaited us. I gotta admit I felt a little more badass as we walked away from those poster children for inbreeding. I could tell Peter did too, because he was standing just a little straighter and his walk was more of an exaggerated strut.
As we neared our goal, I was surprised at the height of the fence. It looked a lot larger than it had from the campgrounds. It must've been seven feet tall, rusty, and it had that bamboo shit strung around it for some semblance of privacy. Fat lot a good it did though, because it was all in a state of disrepair that you could see right through the shoddy bamboo to the glorious waters beyond.
The smell of the chemicals beckoned us forward to the water's relief, or maybe it was just the lure of the forbidden or some such shit but we didn't hesitate when we reached the fence. I glanced over at Peter and he said, "Ladies first."
I tossed him my towel to hold and muttered a "Fuck you very much, Asswipe" as I climbed the dilapidated fence as quietly as I could manage, which honestly was a helluva lot louder than I wanted, between the clinking of the chain links and the rattling of the bamboo. Before long though, I was standing on the other side, close to the beautiful, cool waters and they called me like a horny guy to Paris Hilton. Peter threw both the towels over the fence to me as he began scaling the monstrosity, just as I'd done.
He made it to the top but the fence started swaying slightly, so he quickly threw his leg over and leapt to the ground with all the grace of an elephant doing a fucking swan dive. He landed doubled over with his knees bent.
I rolled my eyes at him and his dramatic tendencies and waited for him to straighten up, but he didn't move.
"Pete, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I whispered.
He slowly straightened up and I began looking him over, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong. His face had lost all its color, he was shaking like a leaf, and sparing a glance at his legs, not his crotch because there's no way Pete would ever let me live it down if I was caught staring at his junk, I noticed a large tear on the inside seam of his bathing suit, along with a little river of blood trickling down his leg from the hole.
"Jesus Christ, Peter!" I said a little louder than I probably should have, before continuing in an urgent whisper, "Are you alright?"
Peter pulled his swimming trunks open a little bit and took a fearful glance down. "Jasper… Jasper…" he stammered, "Oh, fuck! I think I cut my balls off! What am I gonna do without my balls!"
Shit, that sure wasn't something I needed to hear right at that moment, and not with a vicious ball-removing monstrosity between us and safety. I started trying to come up with a plan on how to get the fuck out of this yard without having to have Peter climb back over the fence, but when I heard little blubbering noises coming from his direction I got the feeling this was going south, and fast. Looking over I could tell he was trying to hold in the tears, and normally I'd ride him about that, but it was his sac and I felt like shedding a few for him.
Now, I knew his balls were still attached because I didn't see them hanging from the rusty fence like a trophy to the crazy old pool lady, so I needed to keep him quiet long enough to get us back and then we could assess the damage. The last thing we needed was for him to start wailing and wake up the old witchy-woman that owned the house. I didn't want my ass filled with rock salt tonight, thank you very much.
I didn't see another way out, so the only option we had was to go back the way we came. I calmly asked him, "Peter, can you climb back over the fence?"
He wasn't even listening to me. He was just staring down his swim suit, still shaking like crazy as he began his panicked babble again, "Oh God Jasper, what should I do? Should I jump in the pool? Should I jump in the pool? What the fuck should I do, Jas?" He kept getting progressively louder and louder as he went, and as the neighbor's lights flickered on, out of sheer desperation I whisper-yelled, "Fuck, Yes!" in hopes that he'd be too preoccupied by swimming to remember his potentially partially-severed balls. Looking back now, it was a naïve hope at best; malicious, subconscious payback for him pissing in my favorite mitt last season on a dare at worst.
Peter's whimpering ass jumped into the pool, and a millisecond before he hits the water it occurs to me that it must be fairly heavily chlorinated since I could smell it, and that might sting an open wound just a wee little bit.
Evidently, it stung a whole fucking lot, because Peter emerged from the water screaming like a stuck pig on a fire-spit. Forget about waking the old lady, he was gonna wake the entire state of Texas, and I didn't want to stick around to find out what happened next. There was no reason for both of us to be in agony; I mean salt in the ass had to sting too. Like any good buddy would do, I shouted at him to run, grabbed my towel, and hauled my ass back over the fence – extra careful going over the top - and I ran back to our trailer, leaving my best friend to fend for himself.
After a few hours, I started to worry a bit. I had no doubt that he would've done the same, but I'll admit it was a shitty show of self-preservation there. Just as I was about to head out to search for him, and possibly rescue him from the clutches of the wicked witch of the pool, the door opened and in he stumbled.
I was struck dumb for a good five before I managed a choked, "What in God's name happened to you?" I was confused as a sheep nursing from a whale, and I couldn't fathom what had come about to produce the picture in front of me.
I rubbed my eyes but it was still the same.
Peter, my brother since kindergarten, had just walked in our trailer in nothing but a large diaper.
"That old lady… She put iodine on my sac. Iodine, Jasper! She fondled my sac with mumbled excuses that she was a retired nurse as she checked out my junk. And then, because my bathing suit was ripped, she made me wear this." He pointed to his diaper with all of the righteous indignation he could muster standing there, well, in a diaper. "I had to wait hours before I had enough confidence to run back here, and then those inbred jackasses at the picnic table just went to bed. Thank God I didn't run into anyone else." He finished in barely a moan, collapsing onto his bunk.
"Well at least you're back here and you can change -" I began, but the fucker was already asleep. I thought about taking a picture for future bargaining purposes, but I figured he'd been through enough trauma tonight. Plus, I did leave him defenseless in the clutches of an iodine-wielding, incontinent, nut-fondling, crazy-ass retired nurse, apparently.
And I drifted off to sleep with thoughts of how awesome of a friend I was, and how he could repay my mercy in the future. Even without a picture, this was gonna be worth a lot.
The sound of Peter's dad clearing his throat woke me the next morning. Well, judging by the amount of sunlight streaming in, now that my eyes were open, it was already afternoon. I sat up stretching and it took my brain a full two minutes to register the lack of noise and to remember the incident of the night before, and as I did I looked over at Pete's bunk, only to be greeted with a view of his diapered ass sticking up in the air.
"What the hell did y'all do last night?"