Lathering up, I grab my handle and give it a quick tug. My balls tighten like little fists. This won’t take long at all. With my back to the spray, I start stroking. I keep my eyes closed so I can picture Sunny naked, under me, her legs wrapped around my waist. I don’t think I last much more than two minutes. I’d be embarrassed, but efficiency is more important than longevity in this case.
I cut the water and towel off, putting on a fresh pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I almost bowl over one of the female counselors on my way out. She’s in a two-piece bathing suit, but it’s not like the ones the bunnies wear. It actually covers all her important parts. Her ass isn’t even hanging out the back.
Randy’s standing beside her with his towel and a change of clothes. “You go first.” He nods to the open stall.
“You’re sure?” She’s all blush-y and lip bite-y.
“Yeah. Definitely. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the mess hall before the campfire?” She twirls her ponytail around her finger.
“Sure thing.” He winks, and she practically trips over her own feet getting into the shower.
As soon as she’s locked inside, I ask the most important question: “How old is she?”
“Nineteen.”
“You sure about that?” Most of these girls don’t wear makeup; it isn’t always easy to tell how old or young they are.
“She showed me her driver’s license.”
“You’re sure it’s not a fake?”
“It didn’t look fake.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Miller. I’ve got a handle on the situation.”
Another stall comes open, and he grabs it before I can question him further.
I’ve got time before the campfire, so I walk down to the lake where the reception is better and I can get some privacy. Sunny said she’d try to call tonight. The last I heard from her was two nights ago. She left a choppy message saying her reception was bad. She didn’t sound particularly happy. It shouldn’t have made me feel good, but it kinda did.
Tonight they’re supposed to be at a bar in town. Lily isn’t much of a drinker, so she’s the DD. Their ride is portable, so even if she does get drunk, they could park and sleep it off. Sunny’s a friendly, touchy drunk. Usually I’m cool with it, but I’m not there, and Patchy Bushman is.
The first night I met Sunny, she was blitzed after three drinks, two of which I bought for her. I ordered her a non-alcoholic mojito while she was in the bathroom to help sober her up. At the time I didn’t want to feel guilty if we got naked together later. We ended up at an all-night breakfast place instead. She ate an insane amount of food, which was hot, since most girls pick at a salad and pretend they’re not hungry. We talked for hours.
I cabbed it back to her friend’s place with her at four in the morning, but she didn’t invite me in. Instead we made out on the front porch. Then I asked for her number and gave her mine. On the way back to the hotel, I voice-texted her so I wouldn’t mess up any of the words and told her I had a great time and wanted to see her again. When I got back to my room I hit the showers and rubbed one out instead of going back to the bar to score a bunny.
The sun dips lower on the horizon, but dusk is an hour away, so I should be safe from the mosquitoes. They’re terrible up here. Worse than I’ve ever seen in Chicago. I haven’t shaved since I arrived. I left my razor and trimmer at Sunny’s, and I didn’t think to buy anything when Randy and I stocked up on snacks at the grocery store. Even with my trim job at Sunny’s, I have clusters of bites all over the place. I’ve been bathing in bug spray every night before the campfire, but it’s not doing much good.
I head out to the docks and drop into one of the chairs, brushing away a few cobwebs and a spider or two. It’s quiet out here with everyone getting ready for the fire. I feel guilty for not helping out like I usually do, but I need a few minutes to myself. I’m hoping to get directions from Sunny for when camp is done.
Pulling up my messages, I find nothing new from her. Since I’m out here alone, I can use the voice-to-text function. I dictate a quick message, then hit my Instagram feed. Sunny isn’t big on updating, but Patch McBushman has tagged her in half a dozen pictures. His Instagram handle, @Kurly_Kale, is as douchey as he is. He’s taken a bunch of pictures of Sunny with Lily. One caught them in a candid moment with their arms around each other, laughing. Lily is actually pretty when she isn’t busy hating me.
I’m okay with those pictures. Sunny should have fun, even if she’s far away and her motives for going are questionable—and partially my fault. But the farther I scroll through the feed, the less happy I am. There are pictures of Sunny with Patchy Bushman. She’s in my favorite bikini, and his arm is around her waist. I hate that guy—and Lily for convincing her to go on this trip.
I’m about to comment on a couple of the pictures when a sharp sting has me out of the chair and on my feet. My phone clatters to the dock and bounces once. It spins on its side before falling away from the crack in the boards. My relief is short lived. A huge spider falls out of my shorts and lands on top of my running shoe. I shout and kick it off, then stomp on the fucker until he’s nothing but a splatter mark.
Making sure I’m still alone first, I unbutton my shorts to check my parts. The issue feels like it’s closer to my taint than my dick. It’s hard to see without dropping my shorts completely and mooning anyone who might accidentally find me. I stick my hand down there, feeling my balls where the sting is the worst. There’s a bump on my left nut. It hurts to touch.
“Um . . . is everything okay?” The voice is female and vaguely familiar.
I immediately retract my hand and button my shorts so I don’t look like I’m jacking off on the middle of the dock like a pervert. Once everything is tucked away, I turn around. It’s one of the senior counselors. The same one who’s been following me around for the past few days. She turned eighteen last week. She’s told me seven thousand times already. It’s a harmless crush—I think—but I’ve been trying not to end up alone with her. Like I am right now.
She looks around, confused. “I heard a girl scream.”
“A spider bit me.”
“Oh. Are you okay?”
I’d be embarrassed by the evidently feminine quality of my scream, but the bite stings, and it was a big fucking spider. “I’ll be fine. Nothing some Bactine won’t fix.”
There’s no way I’m putting Bactine on this. It already feels like I dipped my balls in acid.
“Do you want me to take a look?” She takes a few steps toward me, and I take a couple back.
“That’s okay. I can handle it.”
“I should check it out for you. I might be able to figure out what type of spider it was. Last week one of the kid’s hands swelled up to twice its size because she got bit by one of those dock spiders. Sometimes when they’re pregnant they lay their eggs under the skin.”
I shudder at the thought of a thousand baby spiders exploding from my balls. It’s like a damn horror movie.
She sidles closer. If I was anywhere but the dock it’d be easy to get around her. Water prevents me from doing that. I want desperately to grab my balls, but it’ll look inappropriate. I back up, hoping to escape her. I don’t take into account how close I am to the edge. I almost lose my footing and fall in, but recover myself before it happens.
She puts a hand on my shoulder, as if to steady me. “God. That was close. Are you sure you’re okay? I have first aid. Where’d it bite you?”
“Not in a spot I want you looking at.” It feels like something is happening in my pants, and it’s not good.
I move her out of the way by her shoulders. In my hurry to escape, I almost step on my phone. I scoop it up and shove it in my pocket, heading back to the cabins. She calls after me, but I wave over my shoulder and start jogging. It’s uncomfortable. I have to throw my leg out to the side so I don’t cause unnecessary ball friction.
My cabin is empty, thankfully, so I drop my shorts a
nd inspect the damage. I have to wrap my balls around my dick to get a good look. The bite’s red and angry. My left nut is now significantly larger than the right one. Usually it hangs lower, but it’s way swollen.
I remember one time at hockey camp, way back when I was a teenager, a spider bit me and it swelled. That was my foot, though. It was uncomfortable, but not a real problem. This isn’t the same. I need an antihistamine at the very least. And a serious dose of painkillers. This bastard is going to be itchy as hell, and if my ball keeps swelling, I’m going to be sporting one hell of a moose knuckle. I can’t be having that when I’m dealing with a bunch of pre-teens.
I pull my shorts up and check the first aid kit. The medicated wipes and bandages aren’t going to cut it. My only other option is to visit the clinic. Because of the nature of the camp, there’s always a nurse on call. I almost trip over the girl from the dock on my way out the door.
“Everything okay? They’re starting the campfire soon. You’re coming, right?”
“I’ll be there. I need to make a quick stop first.”
My shorts chafe against my swollen ball, forcing me to hobble. The girl bounces along beside me. She’s got great energy when it comes to working with the kids, but right now I find it irritating, mostly because I’m in pain.
“Oh wow. You’re limping. Did it get you on the leg?” She bends at the waist like she’s trying to see. Her head is almost at crotch level.
I want to get there as quickly as possible, but the faster I move, the more it hurts. “I didn’t get bit on the leg.”
“Where’d it bite you?”
“On the balls.”
“Oh. Oh, God.” That stops the questions.
We run into Randy on the way to the medical clinic. He’s with that girl from the showers. He frowns when he sees me walking like a felon who caught a bullet in the ass. He glances between me and the girl. It’s the first time I’ve noticed she’s blond and looks a little like Sunny. That might explain my subconscious attempt to get away from her.
“What happened to you?” Randy asks.
Sunny’s doppelganger bounces excitedly. “A spider bit Buck on his balls!”
“How did that happen?” Randy’s suspicion is offensive. I managed to go without pussy for three months. I’m not going to fold after five days because the chick beside me looks like my sort-of girlfriend, who’s currently seven hours away. Without cell phone reception. And who’s all buddy-buddy with her ex-boyfriend of four years.
“I’m assuming it crawled into my shorts, took one look at my balls, thought, hey man, those look tasty, and chomped down. But I’m not a spider-whisperer, so I have no idea how spiders make those kinds of decisions. That’s just a guess.”
Randy has the audacity to check with Doppelganger to verify whether I’m indeed telling the truth.
She lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I heard a scream and went to check it out. I was worried some of the kids might have snuck down to the water without permission. I found Miller on the dock. He squished the spider. It was hard to tell what kind it was, but it was probably a dock spider because he was on the dock.”
This whole conversation might be okay if it didn’t feel as if my balls were about to explode like the sun. “I need to hit the bathroom.”
“I still think you should let me check it out. You look uncomfortable.” She makes a face. “And you’re sweaty.”
Randy pats me on the back and steers me in the direction of the staff bathroom. “Come on, let’s go.”
I’d make a douchey comment about how only girls go to the bathroom together, but I’m worried about how tight the front of my shorts are.
I’m relieved to find the bathroom empty. I close the door, and Randy stands in front of it. There’s no lock on the inside, so he’s my barricade while I’m checking the damage. “You need to tell me how bad it is. I can’t see the bite.”
Randy crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll man the door, and you can check it out in that mirror.”
“Fine. But don’t let anyone in here.” I hobble across the room. The mirror is so old it has a cloudy haze to it. It’s also high up on the wall. At 6’2” I’m tall, but the mirror only reaches my waist. I drop my shorts and jump up. All I catch a glimpse of is the head of my dick—not my swollen balls. “I can’t see anything.”
“Try taking the mirror off the wall.”
“It’s fastened with screws.” I turn around, prepared to show my irritation with a hand gesture.
All the color drains from Randy’s face as he stares at my junk. “Holy fucking shit, dude. You need to see a medic.”
I glance down. I don’t need a mirror to see the problem. In the time it’s taken me to walk from the cabin to the bathrooms, my left nut has swollen to twice its normal size. I gingerly cup my balls in my palm and move my dick out of the way for a better look. My perspective isn’t great, though. It’s enough to see that they’re swollen, and it feels like I’ve given them a bath in lava. “I need an antihistamine, some Tylenol, and maybe a bag a of frozen peas.”
“I think you might need more than that.” He moves closer and leans in.
I’m assaulted by a flash of light. Momentarily blinded, I raise my hands, and my shorts drop all the way to the floor.
“You can’t post that anywhere!” I grab for his phone, but he holds it out of reach, clicking buttons with his thumb.
“It’s just your junk, dude.” He shows me a close-up pic of my branch and berries. “There’s this site where they can identify medical stuff through pictures. Maybe they can figure out what kind of spider bit you.”
“I don’t want pictures of my dick on the Internet!”
This is the exact moment the door flies open, slamming into Randy from behind. He stumbles forward and almost face-plants into my giant balls. I stop him with a palm on his forehead. A senior counselor—I recognize him from mess hall duty—stands inside the door. He starts to apologize, but it turns into a croak when he sees me fisting my dick and Randy on his knees in front of me with his phone in his hand.
Because this day wasn’t bad enough already, shit had to get even stupider.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NOTHING IS EASY. EVER.
“Uh—” Bathroom Interloper’s eyes dart back and forth between us.
“A spider bit me on the balls.” I put both hands in the air before he gets the wrong idea. Which he clearly already has, so it’s useless.
“I’m gonna—” He thumbs over his shoulder and starts to back out of the bathroom.
Randy grabs him by the shirt and yanks him inside, slapping his free palm against the door to prevent anyone from entering or exiting. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I-I don’t—I’m not. I like girls.”
“Randy, chill out and let him go.” Bathroom Interloper looks like he’s about to pee his pants. Which is understandable considering the situation he walked in on and Randy’s misplaced aggression. “This isn’t how it looks. A spider seriously bit me on the balls.”
I’ve got enough crap to contend with where Sunny is concerned. I don’t need more rumors circulating.
His eyes drop down and then flip right back up. His horror confirms what I already know. I need to get this taken care of. Sooner rather than later.
To drive the point home, Bathroom Interloper says, “That doesn’t look normal.”
“No shit.”
“You should probably see someone about that.”
“That’s the plan.”
He nods like it makes good sense, because it does.
I carefully zip my shorts to avoid any additional unnecessary pain. Randy and our new friend walk two steps in front of me, acting as a shield so I don’t traumatize any of the kids or junior counselors milling around. The girls run up as we’re about to go into the mess hall. Sunny’s Doppelganger gets in front of us and throws open the door. “Buck has a spider bite!” She pauses for greater effect. “On his balls!”
It wouldn�
�t be so much of an issue if it was just me and Randy and Bathroom Interloper, plus the two girls. But it’s not. A group of kids are off in the corner, some playing cards and others on their devices, since this is the best place to get reception. Several junior counselors sit at a table, preparing snacks for the campfire. We’re having banana boats. They’re my favorite. I hope my balls don’t prevent me from being able to go. I really want one. Or six.
Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at my crotch. I can understand why; my shorts are tight across the front, giving everyone an awesome view of the outline of my now oversized balls. I use my hands to cover myself, but it’s too late. They’ve all seen the monstrosity taking up way too much real estate in my shorts.
“You should probably see the nurse,” one of the girls at the table says. Her eyes are still below my waist.
“I need an antihistamine. You got a bag of frozen vegetables in the kitchen I can borrow?”
Everyone continues to stare. Randy coughs from beside me.
“Fine. How about a bag of ice instead? That way I won’t have to return it after I put it on my balls.” I glance at the kids in the corner. They’re all gaping, too. “I mean my testicles.”
That gets a few giggles. It’s nice that this is entertaining for someone.
Bathroom Interloper puts in his two cents. “I still think someone should check that out.”
“I offered!” Doppelganger’s hand shoots up in the air. The girl beside her forces her hand back down to her side.
“I’ve checked it out.” I point to my chest. “It’s just a little swollen.”
Randy coughs again.
“Okay. It’s a lot swollen. But I’ve had way worse, so this is no big deal.” The burning in my balls is now accompanied by a horrendous itch. It’s unreal. I have the strangest urge to dip them in ice-cold water. It’s about the last thing any guy usually wants to do, and a sure sign things are way worse than I thought.
“Let’s go find Debra,” Doppelganger suggests. “She’ll take care of you.”
PUCKED Up Page 18
