It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind where you’re still in pajamas at 3 PM and the only major decision you’ve made is whether to go to the store to get food or order a disgustingly cheesy pizza.

My brother Mike and me are both kind of in our bratty late teen era. We’ve settled into this weird, bickering, dynamic that mostly involves me roasting him and him trying (and failing) to get the last word. I always win the arguments however.

Mike is one of those lanky, overconfident guys who thinks he’s a lot funnier than he is. His hair is long and looks like he should be in a grunge band. He’s always flicking his hair out of his eyes, and he wears these ridiculously thin grey sweatpants around the house. Seriously, they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. I’m always saying “EWWWW Mike, put some proper clothes on for god’s sake cus my girlfriend might be dropping by!!!!” I’ve told him a hundred times that it’s basically a public indecency charge waiting to happen, but he just smirks and says it’s “a free country” and to “shut up”. Psssh.

So, he’s sprawled on one of the couches, hogging the remote, flipping through channels at warp speed. I’m on the other end, trying to read a magazine, and his constant clicking is drilling into my skull.

“Can you just pick something?” I snap, not looking up from my page. “You’ve passed that same cooking show four times. Loser.”

He doesn’t even look at me. “I’m looking for something that doesn’t suck. Unlike your attitude.”

Mature. Very mature.

He then makes a fatal error. He finds a loose thread on the throw pillow next to him and, with a stupid, impish grin, yanks it. A tiny puff of feathery stuffing floats out and up, then lands on the sofa. He looks at me, his eyes full of mischief, and he flicks the bit of fluff in my direction.

“Oops,” he says, the word dripping with fake innocence.

I close my magazine slowly. “Did you just… RUIN my pillow?”

“It was an accident,” he lies, his grin widening. “The pillow attacked me first. It was self-defense.”

I stand up, grabbing another pillow next to me – a firm, memory-foam one that’s solid, basically like a soft brick. “You know what this means.” I grin like a maniac.

His eyes go wide with mock terror. “No. No, no, no. Not a pillow fight. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I bruise like a peach!”

“Too bad…”

What started as a lazy swing from me turned into a full-blown war. He was surprisingly agile for a guy who survives on ramen and spite. He’d block my hits with his flimsy, over-used flat ass  pillow, and try to tap me on the head with it. I did NOT like my hair being touched. Every head bob was enraging me further, but also giving me more energy to get him back. I was landing solid thumps to his shoulders, his back, his stupid, smirking face. He was laughing, that goofy, honking laugh he has, and it only made me want to wipe the smile off his face more! URRRGHHH! 

He got one good, cheap shot in, whacking the side of my head so my hair went all over my face. I stumbled back a step, and brushed the hair out of my eyes. He let out a triumphant “Ha-HA! The champion is HERE!” So annoying.

That’s when I saw my opening. While he was doing a ridiculous ‘victory shimmy’, arms in the air, pelvis thrusting forward in a way that made those grey sweatpants even more offensive than usual. It was like his junk was presenting itself on a platter. A soft, grey, cotton-blend platter. LOL

I didn’t even think. It was pure instinct. I dropped my pillow down low, drew it back between my legs, and swung it straight between his open legs. Then when he looked up at me with his mouth open and shocked like ‘nuh-uh you didn’t!’ I then kicked him in the balls as well. Double kill, baby. 

THWACK. and THWACK. 

The sound was… a bit different than I expected. A meaty smack followed by a duller smack. He froze there, falling back onto the sofa with his legs still spread. His mouth, still open from when he had been laughing, now in shock. His eyes, which had been sparkling with stupid pride, went completely glassy, but were constantly staring right at me. The color drained from his face so fast, I could tell something wasn’t right. More than just getting his nuts slammed twice. He seemed to be in some kind of shock or panic. 

He didn’t make a sound. Not a squeak, not a groan. He just went down onto the couch like a starfish. 

Flight or fight, right? He had just froze, like a startled deer. 

But then his hands flew to his crotch in a frantic frenzy. He was rummaging around under his sweatpants and inside his boxers. I looked away and yelled “WTF Mike!” 

I got up, walked to my room and sat on my bed, in a huff. I check my foot and rub the spot that hit my brother. It was all red. “Dammit, that’s gonna bruise!” I thought.

Then all of a sudden I hear an almighty shriek and my name being called in a confusion. “Aaaaaeeeh!? Stacy! Stacy! What the HELL?”

I get up and run back into the living room. He’s still rummaging around down there. “OMG stop Mike, it’s really no big deal. I barely touched them. Plus you got me WAY more times.” 

“No! I can’t find one! Where did it go?!” 

“LOL WHAT!” I replied, more amused than concerned, because it sounded ridiculous. “What till Linda hears about this…” I walk off back to my room, laughing.

Meanwhile, he starts rushing around the house like a headless chicken. 

First I hear jumping. Then, running. His voice is getting more and more high pitched and worried. 

“Sigh, you’re always worried about your stupid balls. It’s really no biggie. Anyway, mum and dad will be back soon!” I yell to him in the other room.

I can hear him clearing out cupboards and banging around. 

“Can you calm down, it’s the weekend. I’m trying to relax.” I shout some more, while laying back on my bed and texting the girls on the group chat about what happened.

“WHERES THE MIRROR” Mike shouts at me, while he’s standing in the doorway of my room. 

“God I dunno… Have you found your manbits yet?” I giggle at him and roll my eyes. “You’re such a chaotic mess you know” I add.

He doesn’t stop panicking so I reach under my bed and pass him my white compact makeup mirror. “Here, now shut up already” I moan at him.

I rushes off to his room and slams the door. He’s gone for a while and then I hear him slowly turn up at my door again.

“My ball, my right one is missing, is it possible it fell out of something, or… did it pop… CAN they pop?! OH GOD what is happening right now. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT” He rants at me. He’s getting emotional now, and crying in an angry, ugly way. 

“Errrr I dunno dude, I mean, you should know more about this stuff than me. Can’t say I really care about those dangly gross things, ew. Stop talking to me about it!” I say and then make a puke face. 

He is my brother though, so I do care a tiny bit. I get on my PC and search for what could have happened. 

“YO MIKE! Maybe it’s like… stuck inside you?” I shout towards his bedroom. 

“WHERE?!” He says while rushing back to my room. He peers over my shoulder to look at what I’m reading. We scroll through some images, and I point at the problem area.

His testicle has gone into his pelvic bone area. There’s a little gap there where balls can go into, with enough force and with the right angle. It’s possible. Its a medical phenomenon known as a retractile testicle or, in cases involving significant trauma, a traumatic testicular dislocation. And the little tunnel is called the inguinal canal.

“OMG, I think I’ve seen this happen in sports! Or at least I think that’s what it was.” He ponders. 

We both look at each other. He lifts up his shirt and lowers the band of his sweatpants a little bit.

We look at the little bulge under his skin, where his ball must be. It looks like a little swollen round area.

“So, how are we gonna get this thing out-…” He begins to say. 

I don’t even let him finish his sentence. Before he’s had a chance to even think of his options, I’ve made the decision for him. 

I punched the side of his pelvic area with one big THUMP. He falls back and lands on the carpet. 

“FUCK! Oh GOSH! STACY! We didn’t agree – fuck I think that worked!” he spits out at me. “But was a punch really necessary! My ball is fucking ACHING!” I roll my eyes and go back to looking at the PC.

“Yeah – you’re welcome…. geez” I reply.

At that moment I hear the jangle of keys outside the front door, mum and dad are home! That was close. Too close.

“Get up and act normal” I whisper to Mike. “And don’t mention any of this or I’ll get you even worse” I squinted my eyes at him.

He scurried off like a little rat, back to his room, with his hands joyfully cuffing his privates. 

Mum and dad walk in the house and immediately they can tell there’s a weird vibe, a strange energy inside.

“What’s been going on?” Mum enquires. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah mum, we’re good, just had a pillow fight… I won, of course. Mike was being so annoying. Anyway, what’s for tea?” 

Like nothing ever happened. And Mike’s balls survive once more…. for now 😉