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He stared back at me with an expectant expression.
Sweet Jesus, he was serious.
And he was waiting for me to answer him.
When Gibsie realized that I wasn’t going to answer him, he continued to ramble.
“Oh, lad, it was before your surgery, wasn’t it?” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You haven’t cum in months. No wonder you’re so pissy all the time,” Gibsie muttered with a worried frown. “That’s why you got hard when yer one Shannon bent over and gave you some bare-ass action. Your poor dick must have thought it was Christmas.” Shuddering, he added, “You poor, poor bastard.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” I told him as I stalked into the main building. “There are some things in life that we don’t share, Gibs.”
“Well, sue me for being worried about my best friend,” he shot back, falling back into step beside me. “Come on, Johnny, I’ve seen it.” It being my mangled reproductive parts. “You can talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I barked. “And never about this.”
“Do you know how detrimental not releasing can be to your balls?” Gibsie exclaimed, deciding to torture me some more. “It’s really bad, Johnny. I saw this video on the internet. It was beyond disturbing. The guy’s balls just swelled to the point of explos—”
“Stop!” I strangled out. “Please, just stop!”
“Fine. Just answer me one question and I’ll drop it.” Pulling me to a stop, Gibsie placed his hands on my shoulders, looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “Are you fucking yourself?”
Glaring, I shoved his chest and hissed, “Go fuck yourself!”
“I do!” Gibsie hissed, eyes wide. “Three times a day. Can you?”
“Yeah, I’m not listening to this,” I announced, desperately trying to mask my panic as images of exploding ball sacs danced across my mind.
Swinging around, I stalked back down the corridor toward the entrance. I was going the fuck home. To get away from the absolute mental case that was my best friend. And to check on my balls.
“Better out than in, lad!” Gibsie called after me. “Practice makes perfect. Let me know how it goes.”
8Explosive Diarrhea
SHANNON
Saturday was my favorite day of the week for a whole host of reasons.
First: it was the first day of the weekend and the furthest from Monday.
Second: there was no school.
Third and most importantly: it was GAA day.
Joey, Ollie, and Tadhg were always out of the house for most of the day on Saturday with training and matches. Thankfully, that meant my father was out, too, participating in activities not pertaining to alcohol consumption.
What made this particular Saturday better than most was the fact that not only was my father out of the house all day with the boys, but he was heading to his friend’s stag party in Waterford tonight. It was with this knowledge, and Mam’s permission, that I agreed to go over to Claire’s house on Saturday afternoon to hang out with both her and Lizzie.
I had all of my chores completed by three o’clock—which consisted of cleaning the house from top to bottom, putting in half a dozen loads of laundry, and cooking the dinner. And although I had almost had a heart attack when her brother, Hughie, rolled up outside my house with his girlfriend to pick me up, I had managed to compose myself enough to climb into the back of his car and accept the lift to their house. All evening we had stuffed our faces with junk food, watched reruns of One Tree Hill, and gossiped about absolute nonsense.
It was the best Saturday I’d had in years.
By seven o’clock, I was bloated and strewn on Claire’s bed, suffering from a sugar overload and listening to Lizzie drone on about how much she despised Pierce.
“I don’t know what I ever saw in him,” she grumbled for the hundredth time. “But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth giving him my v-card.”
“Shut the front door!” Claire squealed, jumping up from her perch on my legs to gape at Lizzie. “You had sex with Pierce?”
“You’re not a virgin, Lizzie?” My mouth fell open. “But you’re only sixteen.”
