Summer Story (M/M)

By: Corbin Crow

Description:  Two friends find an unexpected connection that brings them closer than ever before the summer before they move to separate colleges.  This story was loosely inspired by a story told to me secondhand.

We were both so young and carefree back then.  It’s remarkable to look back on my youth and the simplicity that could exist back then.  Hard to imagine so much would change so quickly.  Barrett and I had some good times.  Something about our quiet ways attracted us to each other, a friendship that would last for years.  Even as we aged, girls or sports or anything never split us up for long.  It seemed as though we did everything together--even our birthdays were only a few days apart.  Sure he’s gone now to live with that moronic he-man.  I suppose it’s my fault really, since I ruined the only thing that bound us together.

I had discovered my love of ball-busting at a young age, but never dared share it with anyone--growing up in the suburbs was hardly the place to be gay, let alone interested in more extreme fetishes.  But Barrett was my best friend and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to bust his balls.  In the passing times of youthful friends, a ballbust or two isn’t tremendously uncommon during horseplay or just as a jest, but intentionally and for personal gratification pushes the limits.

No, it wasn’t until the spring of our senior year in highschool, a few weeks after our 18th birthday week,  that things grew interesting.  Since we were both in the “social outcast” category, our sport of choice was track, the refuge of the nerdly types who still wished to keep in shape and compete.  Over at my house after practice we were hanging out under the old oak tree, relaxing as the evening breeze rustled the leaves.  I don’t particularly remember why, but Barrett decided he needed to climb the tree, a feat he’d never attempted before.  While track leaves a lean body and strong legs, arm strength isn’t exactly encouraged.

“Dude watch this!” he said leaping up to a branch high off the ground.

The sight before me was an incredible one.  Barrett was fully extended, both arms hanging from the limb like a pull up bar.  His head, blond locks slung back towards his ears, was looking straight up, the bulge of his adam’s apple pointing to the sky.  The track shirt we wear at practice isn’t particularly long to avoid any extra fabric bouncing around or causing friction, so it had ridden up past his navel in this position, revealing his smooth stomach.  He didn’t have a body-builder’s six-pack or anything, but his athletic pursuits left him well in shape with a sharp adonis belt descending into his shorts.

For those of you not familiar with track, know that over long distances of running, friction is the enemy.  The shorts we wear are designed to be loose and short to avoid any problems over the long term and, barring having special running underpants, many just wear them commando.  While practical in terms of running, they are not tremendously modest.  As his taut legs kicked in an attempt to gain leverage, the mound inside his running shorts was clearly moving freely on its own.  And from the glints of the setting sun passing through the light blue fabric of his shorts from behind him, it was clear he was going commando.

Although I’m sure he was only dangling there a few seconds, this time felt like hours to me.  The sway of his package and the shadows it generated told me his balls were loose and low-hanging.  My heart was pounding as he slowly started lifting himself up and I knew this was as good a chance as I can imagine.  Even for a heterosexual not interested in ballbusting, this was a prime opportunity.  Just as his pull up was starting to have effect, my ultra-light running shoe was flying between his widely splayed legs.  With a dull thud they found their mark, as I could articulate between the thin shoe the contact and compression of his soft genitals.

“Ooofph” was the only noise Barrett created, his lungs attempted to empty out all their air.

Almost as soon as the kick connected, he dropped from the tree and began rolling back and forth on the grass, his face scrunched with pain.  I stood over him, looking at my beautiful friend writhing in pain and I felt so empowered and aroused at the same time.  I discovered just how aroused when I felt his eyes stare at my crotch--I was wearing the same shorts and they are even more immodest when containing a raging erection.  In shame, I hastily turned myself away and began to walk in the other direction.

“Hey,” Barrett croaked weakly having stopped rolling around.   I turned to look at him staring at me, hands at his hips, with a matching erection stretching obscenely at the front of his shorts.

The feeling of overwhelming happiness and oneness that we shared at that moment required no words spoken between us.  We were even more alike than we thought, and our relationship was going to be a lot different from then on.  Looking back on that perfect day, I wouldn’t change a thing, except perhaps the date.  To think, we’d both been secretly holding on to matching desires afraid to reveal to the other.  Now with graduation coming up soon and the summer to follow, we only had a few months before it was time to go our separate ways to our separate colleges.

My parents wouldn’t be home for hours, so we decided to continue this encounter indoors in my room, away from prying eyes.  Surprisingly enough, for all our time with each other, I’d never seen him totally naked.  Sure, I’d seen him change down to his underwear hundreds of times and maybe even stuck a peek or two at the urinals.  But the day he took off his shirt and dropped his shorts before me was one to remember.  If I thought seeing his lithe but not yet fully matured chest rippling as his shirt passed over his head was nice, imagine my surprise when he dropped his running shorts.

As the waistband passed by, his cut cock flipped up to point at his chin, bounding with all its glory.  But my eyes really flared at what was below it.  As he stepped out of his shorts, his low-slung balls dangled effortlessly between his sculpted thighs, moving as though they had a mind of their own.  I marveled at their pendulous weight and noted that just below the bottom of the lower-hanging right nut started the thick mid-thigh tan line.  Without any speaking, I walked up and swung my shoe right at his testicles.  Although his face scrunched in anticipation, his legs and hands made no attempt to interfere.

This time a much meatier thwack was accompanied by a grunt, leaving Barrett rolling around on the floor once more.  As he rolled onto his stomach cradling his balls, I was greeted with a glorious view of his buttocks, sculpted finely by hours upon hours of sprints and runs, flexing and clenching as his body vainly attempted to lessen its pain.  I flipped my shirt off over my head and kicked off my shoes still standing over his fallen frame.  As he rolled back over, I saw the tip of his hard cock had begun leaking some precum with a single thread connecting his cock to his abs.

Entranced by this view, I was startled back to reality by his hand thrusting between my legs and clutching tightly my own balls.  I gasped in start, but he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to cause any real pain, just to let me know he had them in his control.  As he pulled his fist away, each testicle slipped roughly from his grasp, but he kept a grip on the fabric of my shorts.  With deliberate motion, he pulled my shorts clean off my waist and down to my knees.  My cock welcomed the freedom from the small confines and my balls felt the cool air just below.

From visual inspection it was clear my cock was a bit bigger than his, not dwarfing him or anything, but clearly larger.  His balls, however, had the obvious size advantage and hung entire inches lower in his sac.  While I completed the removal of my shorts, he had rolled himself up to his knees, spreading them out wide to leave his balls invitingly exposed in between with his cock offering no protection as it still pointed skyward.  I needed no signed invitation and in no time my foot contacted his sac skin-to-skin for the first time.

His reaction confirmed me what my foot’s nerves already told me: I got all of him in a solid hit.  As I stood over him writhing about I couldn’t resist the impulse to start jacking off.  As he regained himself, he gingerly got up onto his knees once more, clearly favoring his tender testicles.  He took his own cock into his fist and began stroking along with me.  A few moments later, only the sound of our mutual meat beating filled the silence, he reached out and took my hand, pulling it off my cock.

Leaving my hand by my side, his hand moved back to envelop my twitching dick.  He was clearly an expert at manual manipulation and knew me well enough to read my reactions.  Controlling the speed and grip of his strokes, he made it rapidly apparent that my release was in his power.  The role reversal from standing over a man I’d just kicked in the nuts to having him subjugate my own impending orgasm to his will was stark.

He dropped his head back and increased the pace of both his hands to a near blur.  As my whole body began contracting for the impending ejaculation, I saw a white spurt erupt from his cock and hit my inner thigh.  I barely had time to appreciate the warm liquidity of his cum before my own cock erupted, launching out a forceful blast right at the notch below his adam’s apple and between his collarbones.  For a few seconds we both shared orgasmic bliss, as rope after rope of hot cum mingled and dripped down his chest.

We both sat still for a few moments, still trembling with the aftershocks of our orgasms, with the only sounds being panting and the occasional splat of a falling bead of cum dripping lazily off one of our softening cocks.

“Wanna watch a movie?”  I said, breaking the long silence.

“Sure, how about a comedy?” He replied nonchalantly.

A couple quick showers later and we were both sitting in sweats laughing it up to the TV by the time my folks came home and soon Barrett headed out.

That was a good day.

II

I was worried for a few days after our first busting encounter that we’d gone too far and sullied our friendship.  When I hung out with him I decided not to mention anything and he seemed content to do the same.  Perhaps it was a fluke.  Perhaps it would never happen again.  I was drifting in thought as we sat, supposedly watching a movie, my eyes glazed over and staring distantly in Barrett’s general direction.  

A little movement snapped me out of my haze, as I saw his hand lazily drift to his white athletic shorts, and slide them up his sculpted thigh until his hairless sack peaked into view.  He appeared focused on the television as the show developed before me.  He had the habit of occasionally not wearing underwear and being unaware of how his clothing displayed his genitals, but this was ridiculous.  I quickly felt his eyes on me, and I looked up at him as a smile cracked across his face.  I needed no engraved invitation.

The air rushed from his lungs, rapidly forced out by a natural response from his abdomen attempting to protect his reproductive capacity.  That signal always indicates a clean hit; yelling or screaming tells me I’ve probably missed my target.  I’ve grown accustomed to that sound and, more importantly, I enjoy creating it.  My sock slide easily off the nylon on his bunched up shorts after the blow.  Despite his reaction and the pain he felt, he only leaned forward a bit, leaving his junk still exposed in his splayed kneeling stance.

A harder kick wore down his resolve quickly, as he gasped once more and rolled to the side, clutching himself.  I must say, I enjoyed the view of his strained face as his ass stretched against his shorts as his hands fruitlessly tried to negate the pain.  I reached between his legs, his hands passively yielding away, and was surprised to bump into his erection while seeking his balls.  Not to be deterred, I redirected my approach, slipping my other hand up his smooth thigh to clutch his dangling balls.

Unable to contain himself, his hand quickly reached out to grab my cock through my shorts as his other hand slipped his dick over the waistband of his shorts, his balls still inside my grasp.  My free hand assisted in unzipping my shorts and freeing my cock, and in no time he was vigorously jerking both our dicks.  The arousal of the moment and his skill at manual manipulation meant both of us reach orgasm rather quickly.  I panted as my cum sprayed down onto his shirt and soon after his own cock spasmed, launching an even more impressive streak of lines along the shirt to match.  It continued much the same from there on out, any hang-out with Barrett could, without any words, turn into an opportunity to bust his balls followed by a mutual jerk-off.  

One day about a month later after a particularly virulent busting, he leaned in and took my cock into his mouth.  My start at the unfamiliar sensation was quickly assuaged by his talented blowjob that had me leaning up against the bed for support in no time.  If you’ve never experienced the feeling of your cock sliding deep down a willing throat, I can’t recommend it enough.  The kid was a natural.  

After he swallowed my load down his throat I felt it was only fair I reciprocated and I was, admittedly, a little curious.  I’d assisted in some jerk-offs for him before, but my mouth had never been anywhere near a cock before.  Although I tried my best, my inexperience drew contrast from the amazing blowjob I had just received.  Even though his dick wasn’t all that terribly massive, I could barely manage half in my mouth before I started choking.  He didn’t seem to mind though, as his hips started thrusting gently back and forth.  

My hands found their way to encircling his blushed and slightly swollen nuts, still dangling softly before my chin.  Rather than inflict pain, I massaged gently, coaxing his balls to release their seed.  This was too much for him, as I quickly felt his balls pull up and tense in his scrotum, ready to supply his orgasm.  Around the same time his cockhead flared in my mouth and he shot his hot cum into my mouth.  I was not totally ready and still a little distracted from milking his nuts as a few lines slipped past my lips and dripped on the floor.  I made sure to contain the rest and gulped it down to save face.

As the summer progressed, our sessions became more and more diverse.  From kicking, I tried out knees and punches.  Stomps and toys came in occasionally but were not as popular and the time I tried to step up onto his nuts with my body weight one ball slipped out in such a way that he was too pained to continue--no fun.  My favorite was the squeeze: so easy to inflict pain and the limits are almost endless.  

On one particular occasion I  was deep into a session of squeezing and decided to switch to gentle massage and pulsing soft presses.  His cock, already hard from the evening of busting, twitched and swelled rather noticeably.  He began moaning quietly and squirming around a bit.  I quickly slapped his hand away when it drifted in the direction of his dick.  Although he was startled, he complied, sending the hand back to clutch the sheets beside him.  

His groans grew more urgent and his cock began twitching and bounding all on its own.  My hands timed their groping with the time of his dick’s motions.  His back arched, his hands pulled at the sheets, and his entire body tensed as the stimulation reached a head.  He looked at me with an expression half of longing, the other half confusion over what exactly was happening to his body.   I felt his balls begin to pulse in time and soon his dick was violently rearing.  On the third such swing of his untouched organ, a huge blast of cum fired and streaked along his chest.  Soon another and another fired from the bouncing organ, spraying in all directions. He gasped and grunted when it was all over, wide-eyed and overcome by a most unusual pleasure.  

It’s sure something to manipulate a man’s balls such that his penis, without any direct stimulation, began to fire out a hot load.  That was quite a feeling.  I suppose it’s a little like buying your furniture factory direct, getting it right from where it’s made and cutting out the slick middleman.

Rarely, but on occasion, he would bust my balls.  It wasn’t quite the same and neither of us really enjoyed it all that much.  Once I started fucking him, that stopped entirely.

When my dick finally pushed it passed his last ring of defense and stabbed fully into his muscular ass for the first time, we truly transformed our relationship from best friends and occasional ballbusting pals to something much deeper.  It took me only a few strokes to be sure I located his prostate and he groaned in response.  I continued fucking him always with his balls as my grip no matter what position, squeezing and pulling as I pleased.

The summer was winding down and only a month remained before we both moved away. Having finished a recent session of ballbusting and sex, we lay lazily upon his bed.

He turned to me and whispered into my ears, “I want you to pop my balls.  I want you to grip them in your hands and squeeze them into mush.  Please, ruin my manhood and crush my nuts.”  He rushed through the request without pausing, as though he just couldn’t keep from saying it any longer.

“Dude, what?” I shouted in bewilderment as soon as I could get in a word, mostly surprised even though the idea certainly had crossed my mind before.  “I love your balls, they brought us together this summer and gave us both so much pleasure.  I could never destroy something so beautiful. Why would you want popped them anyways?”

“I don’t know what started it,” he replied “but I've always just wanted them popped.  I used to roll them around in my younger years, testing their strength and feeling their shape, and wonder just what it would be like to feel them give out and gush their insides into my sac.  Now that I don’t particularly have a use for my nuts since I only bottom, I feel like this is my opportunity.  Nothing makes me hotter than the thought of someone I love and trust squishing my big beautiful balls into pulp.  Now I cannot imagine that person being anyone other than you.  I’d be eternally grateful and the balls you loved would be forever yours in a way . . .don’t make me beg you.”

I was torn.  I started to think I loved Barrett and I knew I loved his balls.  I was, however, incredibly turned on by the thought of permanently ruining someone’s nuts.  What an embarrassment of riches.  Here I was having the possessor of a perfect set of balls begging me to crush them, fulfilling a long-held fantasy of mine, and I was waffling on the fence.  But then again they are his balls, rather selfish of me to decide what should done with them.

“Well, I’m not crazy about it,” I yielded, “but if it’s truly what you want, I’ll do it for you.  But absolutely not until the end of the summer,  I refuse to miss out on any opportunity I have left to enjoy them.”

“Deal!” He said with an odd amount of glee for someone who is set to be castrated.

It seemed like a fitting end to the summer, by then having moved to his new college town his parents wouldn’t be asking all sorts of questions about his injury.  Likewise, his balls defined the summer for us both and appropriate that they would too pass out of existence with the days.

In the following days, I’d spend time laying beside him after our busting and play sessions just gently cradling his balls, knowing that they are not long for this world.  What a loss, to ruin such a beautiful pair. But, a deal's a deal.  The night before he moved, he slept over.  I lay awake that night spooning his warm body with my hand encircling his sac.  When I woke up the next morning, he’d already gone.

His parents were wealthy enough to spring for a single in the city and fortunately the city wasn’t far from our hometown.  He told me before he left that he wanted the day of his ruin to remain a sort of surprise for him, to sit knowing I could knock on his door at any moment and end his manhood at my whim.  Apparently, that idea appealed to him.  I confess, it appealed to me too.

When that day finally arrived I knocked on his door.  I knew from his look he was happy to see me.  He was dressed only in the track running suit he wore the first day I busted him, bulging with an eager erection.  I briefly amused myself with the thought of a UPS man or friendly neighbor being greeted with the same sight if Barrett jumped the gun.  

Once inside, as I carefully shucked my clothing he literally tore his clothes off, leaving only tattered remains of that ensemble.  Fitting.  His genitals flopped out loosely, clearly he’d been keeping them warm so they’d be as low-hanging as possible.  He sure knew how to push my buttons.  Those two beautiful eggs dangling in that hairless scrotum was one of the prettiest sights I’d ever seen.  My already hard cock was now straining to its fullest.

No sooner were we both nude was my sock covered foot flying up between his legs.  After a soft thud, Barrett grunted and dropped to his knees.  Hell, no reason to hold back my kicks since his nuts will be mush in a bit anyways.  For the next half hour or so, I kicked and slapped and punched and squeezed as I pleased, and Barrett, despite the pain, kept a happy disposition.  Clearly, he was excited for what was to come.

After a particularly hard kick, Barrett needed a moment to recover.  As he rolled onto his stomach, he stopped and took his hands off his reddened balls.  Carefully placing his face and knees on the ground, he slid himself up ass first into the air until his beautiful cheeks spread, revealing his tight hole.  With a quick spit onto my cock, I accepted his offer and rammed balls deep into him.  Pausing for a moment, my right hand dropped down to seek out own low-slung balls.  As I thrust into him, I pulled him back by the balls each time.  As I felt the cum boiling over in my nuts, ready to fill him up, I was suddenly very aware of the warmth, the life, the potency contained in my left fist.  A shocking power really.

With a last deep thrust, I tugged his balls until his ass was flush against me and my cock began firing my hot juices into his ass.  I sat back, my softening cock slurping as it slipped from inside him, and we both lay panting a moment, recovering from the fuck.  

As I reached for his hard dick to repay the favor he pushed my hand away.  “No! I don’t want to cum until they’re gone.  I want to be a fucking rock when it happens.”  I relented and we both sat silent for a few moments, pondering the near future.

Although soft from recently cumming, my cock began to stir once more as the thought of the next activity began to set in.  Staring at the balls I was to destroy, still loose and red and nestled between his shapely legs, it climbed to its apex.  But then a powerful wave overwhelmed me--from the back of my mind arose doubt.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this.”  I said sheepishly, his shoulders slumping in reply.

“What?! I’ve wanted them gone for a long time now.  I’m already a full-time bottom and don’t see much need in keeping them.” He countered while approaching me.  “Besides, you promised!”

“I . . . don’t know.”  I replied.   I felt his gaze drift from my face down to my junk.

“You mouth is wavering on this idea a lot more than your cock.  I can check your pulse with my eyes.”  he said lovingly, placing a finger over my lips.  He put his mouth up to my ear and gently whispered “I want my nuts turning to mush in your grasp.”  and my cock bucked immediately.  He was right, and we both knew it.

It was really a surprisingly simple procedure.  I knew from a little research that the testicle was basically a fibrous outer wall surrounding a sectioned area filled with tubules to produce sperm.  If the casing ruptures, the contents can be pushed out.  A minor rupture is easily repairable by a skilled surgeon.  However, if the ball breaks open and all the nutmeat is forced out, it’s as good as gone.

Since squeezing was really both our favorite methods of ballbusting, I figured that was the appropriate method.  All I had to do, I reasoned, was pin the testicle between my fingers and use my thumbnails to gain leverage on the structure until it can’t bear the strain any more.  Barrett assured me he’d not resist so there was no need to tie him down.

Any lingering doubts I had evaporated the moment I grabbed his right nut in my hand and trapped it in preparation.  I can’t describe the feeling of holding another man’s ball in your grip planning to destroy it.  The power is humbling.  I placed my thumbnails on the long inner side of his nut and we were off and running.  Bearing down full force, the ball roughly slipped out of my grip and Barrett yelped.

“Sorry, I’ll get it this time!”  I hastily apologized.  Funny to think I was apologizing for not crushing his testicle.

Clutching the nut more firmly this time, I pressed down with full force and, with an extra push, my effort was rewarded with a thick wet crunch.  Barrett gritted his teeth and grunted but hung tough, revealing that he felt what I did.  Now that the shell was ruptured, it was only a matter of time.  As I pressed again at the center stripe, my thumb caved in the shape of his ball and I felt a rush of loose matter around my fingers for a second or two.  It took no more time to complete the wounded testicle’s evacuation as the last bits of resistance were worn as my thumbs met my fingers.  

After that initial step, I released the flattened ball and found a much softer lump of flesh residing next to it.  This was the essence of his manhood in my hands now, the precious contents the ball’s casing could no longer protect.  Silly this little amorphous mass of tissue is technically what makes a man a man. Although almost assuredly useless now, I was determined to do this right and I began kneading the blob between my fingers.  It put up almost no resistance and quickly broke apart into a stringy mush slipping about until I was sure there were no solid bits remaining. I looked up to see Barrett passed out, a calm spread across his face.

He’d never forgive me if I let him sleep through the big finale, so I went to get some water to wake him up.  Plus my hands were aching a little at this point and could use a break.  

Coming to, he was a little out of it but most appreciative of me waking him up and pleased with the progress so far.

Now that I’d figured out the whole process, the second nut should be much easier.  I found the same spot on his final testicle, trapped my fingers around it and pressed my thumbs into its core.  The resistance was tremendous, but I was dedicated and not willing to let the ball slip away this time.  As the fibrous wall can only take so much, his final orb eventually gave up its struggle and, with another splotch, allowed my thumbs to squish out the precious male innards it could no longer protect.  This time I wasted no time between the initial ejection of testicular matter and grinding it into nothing, my fingers making quick work of all that remained of his balls.  In that brief moment between the initial rupture and complete mangling of his remaining nutmeat, Barrett was teetering on the edge of manhood and then suddenly no longer a man.  He’d never cum another fertile load or become a father.

He dropped his head back and released a tremendous sigh of satisfaction.  It was as if the contents of his balls were aching to break out of the testicle walls, causing him great discomfort, until I kindly relieved the pressure by popping his nuts and allowing the delicate meat inside to escape.  I imagine a man just having passed a kidney stone or a woman having birthed a child would make such a noise.

I wasn't very interested in his feelings at the moment though, enjoying greatly my two-handed access to his ruined scrotum.  I reached far up and traced the spermatic cords down, one in each hand, until I found what was once his balls.  Now, beyond the deflated and cracked shell resided only a sinewy mush that slipped back and forth between my fingers easily.

One hand remained groping the pulpy sac while the other began vigorously stroking my cock.  I soon felt my orgasm impending and aimed my dick at his junk.  It was the most intense orgasm of my life, as I blasted shot after shot of steamy white cum onto his ruined manhood.  It was quite a sight, my cum dripping across a crushed pair of balls and a cock that will never produce another potent load in its life.

From start to finish, the crushing took less than 10 minutes.  What took nature nearly 19 years to painstakingly perfect, I destroyed in a measly 10 minutes.  Funny that all it really takes to pop a pair of balls, even those a big and beautiful as Barrett’s, is a little strength applied the right way and more importantly, the will to do it.

From there it was off to a friendly doctor he’d had some contact with.  The doctor recorded it all as a sport accident or something, and since Barrett was 18 there was no need to involve any parents or authorities.  I nursed him back to health for the next few days and he began promptly on a doctor-prescribed hormone replacement therapy.  At the week’s end it was time for us to part ways and Barrett continued his profuse thanks.

“I can never thank you enough for the gift you’ve given me.  It was the defining moment of my life and I’m glad I shared it with you.”  He offered.

I was too overcome by the emotions of our parting that I merely offered a teary hug as a reply.  I waved through the taxi window as he rounded the corner.

Looking back, I wonder what might have been.  I don’t think he entirely thought it through.  Almost selfish of him really.  Those balls bound us together.  Once the blobs of mush were cleaned out by the doctor, our relationship was already doomed.  Sure, we kept up a bit in college with letters and emails and we even hung out once over the following summer and he let me fondle what’s left of his scrotum.  The hormone therapy seems to be working as his cock worked just fine.  The sex was uninterested and dispassionate and we didn’t talk again that summer.

He told me he’d gotten a new boyfriend, some dumbass physical trainer.  Apparently his cock was bigger and he really dug the idea that his bottom boy toy wasn’t even technically a boy.  We haven’t spoken in years now.  Sometimes, I feel used.  But looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.  

How often do you get a chance for the beautiful man you’ve fantasized about ballbusting offer his perfect nuts up to you willingly to destroy, and if anything to have to convince you to do it?  That rush I experienced when the final nut yielded to my thumbs and surrendered its vital masculine contents to me is one I will probably never feel again.  But it’s one I’ll certainly never forget.