Originally this story was to be published three years ago in a magazine called Fray. The story even went through several drafts with their editors - Unfortunately the magazine has not published since 2009. I present the rough draft here for your reading pleasure. It is pure fictionalized truth.
I cried the day my
testicles died.
By Kmuzu
A ninja moves in on his
enemy; he swings his arms wildly in a windmill fashion. Just as the victim raises
his hands to protect the frantic attack, the ninja drops to his right knee
while swinging his right arm up between the enemy's legs. The open hand grabs
the exposed genitalia and in one powerful stroke rips the victim’s delicate,
precious fruit from his tree.
Ouch – really painful and
something that not even the great Chuck Norris would have the dark soul to
attempt. But at least it’s quick.
What happened to me was much
worse. The attack upon my testicles lasted five hours. It was excruciatingly
painful and devastatingly humiliating. Worse, it happened on the first day of
my vacation with my new girlfriend.
Like any other guy at the
University of Nevada Reno, I maintained a healthy interest in the vulgar and
distasteful. My friends all had their specialties. Basically there were two
main categories: The first was belching. There were ABCer's, beer belchers,
bullshit belches, mystery belcher and the food cannon belch.
The second category consisted
of students who delved in the dark arts of flatulence casting. There were such techniques as: Poppers,
flappers, machine gunners, squealers, SBDers, Servants of the Blue Flame and
a guy from Pakistan who upon command released from the confines of his colon a sinful
cloud-like creature that could evacuate the most hardcore frat party.
My specialty was quite special
indeed. I could take the ink tube inside a Bic pen and stick it all the way up
my nose. I'd stick it so far up the whole thing disappeared. It was my thing.
The one thing I mastered in life. Better yet, there was this girl named Mazzi
who completely dug it, especially when she drank Mickey's Big Mouth. Better yet
.. again .. she was a tennis player.
Every party she ran up to me
and demanded the pen up the nose trick. I'd do it and she start laughing so
hard drool spittled out of her mouth. I don't know why but I found that drool
really sexy. Then at one party instead of me putting a pen up my nose we just
started making out.
That's how it is in college.
It's magical. Paradoxically this was the first mature kind of relationship I
had with a girl. I wasn't in a big rush. We talked about things. She got better
grades in calculus and kicked my ass in tennis and I didn't even mind. She
didn't care that I had two garbage sacks full of underwear in the corner of my
dorm room. She would hide my car keys and wouldn't tell me where they were. We
went on drives for God's sake! And the ultimate, she invited me to her home in
California for the weekend.
Mazzi grew up in a sprawling
ranch home near the city of
Solvang in Southern California. Solvang is this
crazy Dutch town, where all the houses look like something out of Hansel and
Gretel. Around this town are a few industries: Oil drilling, really good
barbecue ribs, vineyards (movie
Sideways was filmed there), flowers and horses.
Horses were what her hippie
father was into. He raised quarter horses and half dollar horses and maybe a
nickel & dime horse. What do I know about stupid horses? I was playing
video poker when I was fifteen. Mazzi's father was a Vietnam protester, went to
Berkley, had a masters in psychology, smoked pot now and then, was divorced
from his second wife and to my reckoning had to be the best girlfriend's father
I could wish for.
Saturday morning we flew
from Reno to Santa Barbara. Her father picked us up in an old Ford truck with
the "H" stick shift on steering wheel. As we slid into the front
seat, he reached across Mazzi and grabbed my arm,"You can call me
Hank". We lumbered our way north and Hank talked about his horses and
cursed out his second wife.
"I should of stuck it
out with your mother.” he said to Mazzi. “But what the shit do you know when
you're twenty three?"
She put her head on his
shoulder. "It's okay pop."
We rolled into the gravel
driveway, which divided two large pastures speckled with horses. It was clear
to an equestrian noob like me the horses thought the truck had come back with
food. They sniffed the ground, then trotted along side the truck until it
finally pulled to a grinding stop in front of the house. Hank jumped out of the
truck and waved at the animals. "There are no carrots or apples for you
today my fellow citizens, just a boy Mazzi found."
The horses slowly meandered
off as if they weren't interested in the first place. Mazzi and I grabbed our
bags from the back and followed her father through a large red door into the
house. The interior was smaller than I expected. It was dark and had a dull
smell of leather oil.
"We only got the two
bedrooms. So unless you want to sleep with me, you can share Mazzi's. But you
don't want to sleep in my room do ya?" The hippi father asked me.
I slowly shook my head and
thought. No I don’t – that would be the last thing I’d want to do. Mazzi
had that look on her face. It was the look you give a beloved dog that farts at
a dinner party.
"Shut up pop."
She's said, smiling. "You think you're so funny but it's just weird."
Mazzi teasingly pushed her father to which he grunted into a laugh then they
both turned and went into the bedroom.
I'm got this peculiar
feeling. I've known many fathers and there was always turmoil just under the
surface. A strange moment of silence passed, then Mazzi threw her bag on the
dusty queen size bed, stretched and announced, "I'm going to clean up a
bit, then maybe we can grab some lunch?" Her father nodded. Mazzi went
into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door. Hank looked at me for a long
time, then asked, "What do you know about horses?"
"I know how to bet on
them."
He laughed at that.
"Okay, why don't you
come with me and I'll show you a thing or two about my horses."
"This isn't some kind
of strange hippie thing you learned at Berkley?", I asked, but I wasn’t
really joking.
Still laughing. "You
would be surprised at all of the valuable 'hippie' things I learned at Berkley.
So come on let's go take a look."
The stables were domed
buildings lined up next to each other. The silhouettes looked like a series of
upside down U's. We entered the stable closest to the house. The curved
roof was made of thick canvas that acted as a skylight. There were sixteen
stables, but only two were occupied.
Hank grabbed a saddle and
walked up to a large brown and white horse. "This horse is my friend. His
name is
Horatio," Hank said. He opened the gate and led the horse out to
the middle of the stable, then ran his hands along both of the horse's flanks.
"It's easy talking to horse like this, but you got to have an
understanding of the animal."
Hank carefully lifted each
leg and checked the hooves. "You see horses live and die by their nature.
Like the Almighty, they're the same yesterday, today and forever." Hank
put on leather gloves, grabbed the worn saddle from the stable railing and
threw it on back of Horatio. Hank tightened the girth of the saddle around the
horse and made sure it was tight but not too tight.
"What are you doing
Hank?" I was getting a little concerned. In truth, I'm a bit afraid of
horses. They're big animals with small brains and I have a policy of staying
away from creatures any bigger than a guinea pig.
"Hold this." Hank handed
me the reins. Without thinking I grabbed the reins and Hank walked over to an
adjacent stable.
"Hank, I'm not really
comfortable with your horse. Maybe we could go back inside and see if Mazzi is
ready for lunch?" I almost pleaded.
"Don't worry about
Mazzi; she's fine. This is just you and me now." Hank opened the stable
and walked out a smaller gray horse. "This is
Ophelia. She is beautiful;
don't you think?" I nodded, while looking around for somewhere to tie off
Horatio. "She's smart as well," Hank said, running his hands along
her sides. "Has a mind all her own." Hank checked each hoof, then
placed a saddle on Ophelia.
"Follow me
citizens," Hank ordered, as he walked Ophelia out of the stable. I don't
know if he was talking to me or the horse, but it hardly mattered. Horatio
snorted then followed Hank out, dragging me along with him. We walked the
horses a couple hundred yards into a small pasture.
"Do you know how to
mount a horse?" Hank asked.
I blurted out, "That's
what she said .."
Hank laughed, then got
serious. "I take that as a no. Well, first stand on the left side of
Horatio."
"I'm not riding your
horse Hank." I interrupted. "How about you put them away and we go
have some lunch? Hey, how about I take you both to lunch? My treat." I'm
very nervous now and scared. My legs are kind of weak.
"This is not a big
deal. We're just going for a short ride, then we can eat," He said
impatiently. "Besides, you know Mazzi is going to want to see you ride and
you don't want to try this for the first time in front of her?"
He had a point. I didn't
want to look like a complete dork in front of her. "A short ride
okay?" Hank nodded. "No running right?" Hank nodded. "No
jumping right?" Hank nodded. "No going through trees. I've seen
movies where a guy gets his head taken off by a low limb."
Hank grimaced. "Just
get on the fucking horse."
Hank gave me all the
instructions for mounting and I have to say I didn't do a bad job, except as I
swung my right leg over I kept it straight out and for a moment looked like a
French cabaret dancer.
As soon as I was on Horatio,
the horse started to walk off. "Stop horse ... okay let's stop", I
begged. Horatio ignored me and began walking toward the stables. Hank mounted
Ophelia, then barked a short "Whoa" which immediately stopped the
horse.
"Son, you need to talk
in a language Horatio can understand." Hank rode up next to me. "If
you want the horse to go forward, squeeze your legs. When you want to stop pull
on the reins, sit deep in the saddle and command "whoa" in a deep
voice." Hank gave a short demonstration on Ophelia. "Okay, I think
you're ready. Horatio will follow me. You just remember not to be nervous and
sit with confidence. Got it?"
"I guess?" I tried
to sit as confidently as I could on Horatio. "Where are we going?"
"Where ever we need
to." He answered cryptically and then made a clicking sound and Ophelia
was off with Horatio following.
Hank guided Ophelia to the
back pasture, then through an opening in an old stone wall, across an oily,
gravel road and into a small vineyard. He turned his horse ninety degrees and
slowed down until Horatio caught up. Rolling his hand over the landscape, Hank
said, "This was the first property purchased by the old Firestone family
back in the late sixties, but it was too small for them." He sniffed the
air. "They ended up purchasing five hundred acres near the town of Los
Olivos, even though the land here is better for grapes." He looked at me
hard. "I guess the family desired quantity over quality. You can't have
both."
As we rode for another
thirty minutes along the vineyard, I began to notice a bit of chaffing along my
inner thighs. It was like warm embers leading to my groin and I also noticed my
ass was getting just a bit tender.
We reached the end of the
vineyard and stood before an open expanse of scrub land that extended to a
fuzzy brown mesa.
I broke the silence.
"Hank this was just great. I had a really great time. Let's go back and
get some lunch." I tried to turn my horse but Horatio would not budge.
"Not just yet, there's
something I want to show you." He made that clicking sound again and
Ophelia started forward. I sat deep in the saddle and pulled the reins.
"Where Hank?" I looked all around. "I've seen plenty of dead
plants before. We have loads of them in Las Vegas."
Hank laughed. "No .. no
.. it's not here. Just a little bit further. This is special." Hank was
off into the scrub and Horatio followed no matter how deep in the saddle I sat.
After an hour and a half of
hard riding through ravines and gullies, the warm embers near my groin had
ignited and were a fire deep inside testicles and it felt like a rabid monkey was
hitting my ass with a plumber's wrench.
"How much further
Hank?" I cried.
"Not much more,"
Hand shouted back. "Just at the foot of the mesa."
About fifteen minutes later
we reached a small oasis surrounded by gray brush. A lone cedar tree stood
beside a small creek. Hank jumped off Ophelia and tied both horses to the tree,
then he helped me fall off Horatio. As soon as my numb feet hit the ground, I
fell face first into the wild grass. As I lay in a near fetal position.
Hank said, "Mazzi's mom
and I planted this tree." He tapped the trunk. "We were kind of like
Johnny and Jane Appleseed of Santa Barbara." Hank sat beside me. "It
was free times back then. We planned to setup a commune here. I was practicing
Transcendental Meditation and she was into natural remedies and medicines. It
was going to be a life of peace and harmony with nature."
I turned over and grunted,
"Can we go back now, please? I need a handful of aspirin."
Hank ignored me. "Then
she got pregnant with Mazzi and we ran short of money. I got a job as a school
counselor and she went back to nursing. She was offered a position in Los
Angeles as head nurse for City of Hope and I didn't want to move. So, we broke
up and she took Mazzi."
"If she took Mazzi, how
did you end up taking care of her?" I asked.
"When Mazzi was seven,
her mom was killed by a drunk driver and she came back to live with me.”
Hank sat staring into the
creek, picking the grass and throwing it into the water. "See it is the
great joke of the universe that we succeed and fail by our nature. Our heads
tell us one thing and our hearts another. My head tells me that Mazzi is a
woman and can make her own decisions in life. My heart tells me she is still my
little girl. Which do I listen to?"
I gingerly sat up and with
all the empathy I could muster said, "Hank, I frankly don't give a shit.
Can we please go back?"
Hank breathed in deeply,
which seemed to clear whatever dream he was stuck in. "Yes, you're right.
Let's go back and get something to eat. We're all hungry."
Hank helped me back onto
Horatio, untied the reins. grabbed the bridle and pulled the horse's face close
to his own. "What do you say soldier? Are you ready for some nice, fresh
hay?" Horatio grunted and stamped the ground. "How about some carrots
and an apple would you like those?" The large horse bucked a bit and
slather dripped out of his mouth. "Well, you know the way home; don't ya
big boy?" Hank let go of the bridle and Horatio launched like rocket.
Horatio was a tremendous
animal. He weighed close to 1,400 pounds and could run nearly thirty five miles
an hour. He was bred and trained as a western horse and was used to covering
five yards of rough terrain in one stride . His mind was set upon the single
thought of food.
Here is the sound as best I
can describe it. "Badadum Badadum Badadum" played out in a fast
Afro-Caribbean rhythm. The "Ba" part was my ass being propelled up
into the air by the saddle. "da" was my body smashing back down on
the horse and "dum" are my testicles, lower intestines, kidneys and
liver smashed into my stomach, lungs and heart. Just repeat this over and over
again as fast as you can say it and you get some idea of what this ride was
like. I tried pulling on the reins and commanding, in a low voice,
"whoa". It didn't work and after each consecutive ass smashing, my
voice became higher and higher until it was a kind of Mickey Mouse shrill.
The only relief was standing
in the stirrups so that there was so much space between my croch and the saddle
that one could kick a soccer ball between my legs, but the strain was too
great.
Slowly, like a ship sinking
into the sea, my ass lowered back into the saddle. My brain and other vital
organs pleaded with my legs to hold on, but will power alone could not
withstand the up and down motion. It started with a gently tapping of the
saddle on my backside, like a maid taping on the door to see if you're awake.
Then the tapping increased to a firm knock, like the manager checking on the
room. The knocking turned into a fervent pounding of police demanding the door
be opened. Finally, the swat team just broke the door down and beat the shit
out of everyone inside.
I was crying; a cry filled
with pain and misery. I hated that horse.
Finally I just gabbed the
horse’s neck, closed my eyes and waited to die.
I must have blacked out or
maybe I’m just repressing the memory but the next thing I knew I was back in
the stable. Horatio was happily eating fresh hay and Hank was putting Ophelia
in her stable. I looked over and there was Mazzi with her hands on her hips.
"What the fuck did you do to him Dad?"
Hank shrugged.
"Nothing, we went for a bit of ride while you took a shower."
"You've been gone for
five hours!"
I was laying on the back of
Horatio blurting out short little cries. Mazzi walked over and put her hand on
my shoulder. "Are you okay?"
I raised my head a bit and
pleaded, "Kill me. Please kill me quickly." Mazzi turned on her
father. "What the fuck? You knew he never ridden before."
"Oh come on," Hank
said. "It's not as bad as it looks. Help me get him inside."
"Do it yourself. Thanks
for ruining my vacation." Mazzi stormed off into the house. Hank scooped
me off the horse and held my arm as we made our way back to the house. I
imagined I looked like a chimpanzee with my knees bent, dragging my knuckles on
the dirt and walking in a knee to toe type fashion.
That night I sat on the
couch with my pants down. Bags of ice covered my black and blue legs and
pelvis. I was given three Vicodin by the family doctor that lived down the
street and sat like a zombie watching Cheers. Mazzi sat on a kitchen chair,
arms folded, staring death rays at her father and Hank sat in his old leather
chair, smoking his pipe with a small smile on his face.
Copyright 2008 - 2011 Cram/ Kmuzu - All rights reserved
I shall give unto you a Valentine **Warning**. Be extremely careful of Lawn Gnomes - especially this time of year. I can hear y'all saying, "Garden Gnomes - dem cute little statues me Nan puts in da garden?"
At night the little god become very lascivious and would go around and start .. doing the "wild thang" with .. well .. everything .. remember the Romans did not see a difference ..
Now I have to be careful here .. this is the dangerous part .. When a female was a certain age and a virgin, she was encouraged to go at night and see the gnome. The little creature, who was the embodiment of Priapus wore a special hat that was pointed at the top. Now I will go no further, but I think it might now become evident why lawn gnomes have red hats ..
