Boom Boom

[Willie]

Every time I saw Doris walking down the hallway I always followed close behind her. You see, Doris had one of those epic asses that popped left and right as she walked. It was simply hypnotic in her tight fitting, pocket-less jeans and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to relish in its splendor.  Don’t get me wrong, though. She knew it was the focus of a lot of attention and she made sure to give it a little extra oomph when she knew someone was watching - someone was always watching!

But that’s not the best part. As it turns out, it’s true that Doris was well known for her perfectly round ass, that’s a fact; but there was something else she was known for even more famously.  At too-young-an-age, Doris also sprouted these incredible breasts. Take a breath here. I won’t try to describe them for you, just picture the best pair you’ve even seen and you aren’t even close. Those beauties earned her the moniker: “Boom Boom”. I know, I know, someone will invariably jump in and complain about how sexist, or demeaning, or insensitive that is. No denying it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Now, before you fire back again on how terrible a nickname that is, just know that Doris was fully aware of it, and you could call her Boom Boom to her face and she wouldn’t even flinch. I think she liked the attention it rendered, and it gave her a certain immutable power over all the drooling masses that longed to get close to them.

Which brings me back to the story.

As I was following directly behind Doris, something happened in front of her which made her stop in her tracks. Me, not paying attention, I kept going and ran right into her - nuts on butts, you could say. I may have had a little stiffy at the time, I don’t recall. But Doris for sure felt something, she reeled around to see whose dick had just pressed against her ass, and as she did that, a wave of people crashed into us and I lost my balance such that I reached out and grabbed a full handful of right boob as well.  I know my face reddened, and I was about to apologize sincerely, when my abdomen exploded in white hot pain.  With the speed of a cobra, Doris had slammed her knee straight up into my balls, even before I let loose of her breast. I crumpled like a toppled tree, landing on my side in a fetal position, cupping my balls and wondering if I would ever breath again.

The crowd of people widened to laugh at my embarrassing state, and girls were pointing and feinting grabs at their imaginary balls. I only saw hazy images and heard a chorus of “balls”, “nuts” and the like, as people called out what I had just experienced.

When Doris saw me on the ground, useless and whimpering, she quickly realized who I was and immediately felt sorry for me. She knelt down and tried to comfort me, but her slight giggles and sly grin said she didn’t feel all that bad.

You see, Doris was my next door neighbor. We grew up together and spent many a summer swimming at the nearby lake - occasionally skinny dipping in the twilight moon. Sometimes we got a little grabby with each other, played a few games of “show me yours, I’ll show you mine”, and she might (or might not) have practiced one of her more intimate techniques on me, but I won’t say which one.  Still, we never got past the FWB side of things - something I regret after seeing how well she developed.

After the crowd subsided, Doris helped me up, felt truly sorry that she had “smashed my balls” (her words), and walked with me to class.

From then on, whenever Doris wanted to make me jump, she would feign a knee or a kick in my direction, or verbally reference her intention to “smash my balls” once again.

Whether she did it or not...well, that is a story for another campfire...