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“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.
