Nicci's Musings - Blue Balls

[by Nicoletta Glazier - Staff Columnist]

I grew up in a generation where women believed that Blue Balls were a real thing. That Blue Balls were a pain. A severe pain. A pain so intense that we females could not even begin to fathom its torment. An excruciating, debilitating pain that would cause a boy to limp in agony. To have to be careful even of how he positioned his legs. It was a prolonged, unending ****. So if a female was with a boy who was in that condition, she had to get him off. She couldn't just leave him hanging in such a state. That would be so callous. So unfeeling, so uncaring, so inhumane.

But, I also grew up in the generation before birth control pills. While in High School, a girl could always take care of her fellow’s needs by jerking him off. Usually, just having a girl playing with his penis was more than a boy had ever dreamt of before he first experienced it. Nevermind that he could do it better himself - after all, he had way more experience than his girlfriend had. It was just the thought that he had a girl showing enough interest in his happiness and well-being. However, once we reached College, all of that changed. “I can do that myself,” usually said with a sneer, that was the common reply when a girl offered to give her date a ‘handy’ at the end of the evening.

So, did we take the chance of getting pregnant and have sex with him? Never mind about condoms; we had all heard too many horror stories about ruptured rubbers, un-wanted pregnancies, rushed marriages, and ruined lives. Even the manufacturers themselves printed a warning label on the package. ‘Sold for the prevention of disease only.’ And only the dumbest of the dumb would believe the “I’ll pull out in time promise.” Later on in life, we would learn that it only takes one sperm to knock you up. And there are plenty of those little buggers swimming around in the pre-cum that would be leaking out of an aroused erection.

Plus, what if she did not end up marrying the guy after graduation? Or what if it was only a casual date? There was a word for a girl who would ‘put out’ for any and every guy who asked her to: Slut.

So there we were. We had poor males devastated by the pain in their overly stimulated testicles, desperately needing some sort of relief. And we girls had the antidote. All we had to do was to blow the guys. We could completely cure those cases of Blue Balls just by going down on them. “Here. Here’s the antidote,” we would show mercy to the afflicted souls. “Use our mouths. Take the antidote.”

And then, as time went by and we gained more experience, more knowledge, we learned that the whole Blue Balls thing was a bunch of bullshit. We had been doling out blowjobs like aspirins for a medical condition that didn’t even exist.

[Inspired by the Comedy of Nikki Glaser]