Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“Not in a spot I want you looking at.” It feels like something is happening in my pants, and it’s not good.

I move her out of the way by her shoulders. In my hurry to escape, I almost step on my phone. I scoop it up and shove it in my pocket, heading back to the cabins. She calls after me, but I wave over my shoulder and start jogging. It’s uncomfortable. I have to throw my leg out to the side so I don’t cause unnecessary ball friction.

My cabin is empty, thankfully, so I drop my shorts and inspect the damage. I have to wrap my balls around my dick to get a good look. The bite’s red and angry. My left nut is now significantly larger than the right one. Usually it hangs lower, but it’s way swollen.

I remember one time at hockey camp, way back when I was a teenager, a spider bit me and it swelled. That was my foot, though. It was uncomfortable, but not a real problem. This isn’t the same. I need an antihistamine at the very least. And a serious dose of painkillers. This bastard is going to be itchy as hell, and if my ball keeps swelling, I’m going to be sporting one hell of a moose knuckle. I can’t be having that when I’m dealing with a bunch of pre-teens.

I pull my shorts up and check the first aid kit. The medicated wipes and bandages aren’t going to cut it. My only other option is to visit the clinic. Because of the nature of the camp, there’s always a nurse on call. I almost trip over the girl from the dock on my way out the door.

“Everything okay? They’re starting the campfire soon. You’re coming, right?”

“I’ll be there. I need to make a quick stop first.”

My shorts chafe against my swollen ball, forcing me to hobble. The girl bounces along beside me. She’s got great energy when it comes to working with the kids, but right now I find it irritating, mostly because I’m in pain.

“Oh wow. You’re limping. Did it get you on the leg?” She bends at the waist like she’s trying to see. Her head is almost at crotch level.

I want to get there as quickly as possible, but the faster I move, the more it hurts. “I didn’t get bit on the leg.”

“Where’d it bite you?”

“On the balls.”

“Oh. Oh, God.” That stops the questions.

We run into Randy on the way to the medical clinic. He’s with that girl from the showers. He frowns when he sees me walking like a felon who caught a bullet in the ass. He glances between me and the girl. It’s the first time I’ve noticed she’s blond and looks a little like Sunny. That might explain my subconscious attempt to get away from her.

“What happened to you?” Randy asks.

Sunny’s doppelganger bounces excitedly. “A spider bit Buck on his balls!”

“How did that happen?” Randy’s suspicion is offensive. I managed to go without pussy for three months. I’m not going to fold after five days because the chick beside me looks like my sort-of girlfriend, who’s currently seven hours away. Without cell phone reception. And who’s all buddy-buddy with her ex-boyfriend of four years.

“I’m assuming it crawled into my shorts, took one look at my balls, thought, hey man, those look tasty, and chomped down. But I’m not a spider-whisperer, so I have no idea how spiders make those kinds of decisions. That’s just a guess.”

Randy has the audacity to check with Doppelganger to verify whether I’m indeed telling the truth.

She lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I heard a scream and went to check it out. I was worried some of the kids might have snuck down to the water without permission. I found Miller on the dock. He squished the spider. It was hard to tell what kind it was, but it was probably a dock spider because he was on the dock.”

This whole conversation might be okay if it didn’t feel as if my balls were about to explode like the sun. “I need to hit the bathroom.”

“I still think you should let me check it out. You look uncomfortable.” She makes a face. “And you’re sweaty.”

Randy pats me on the back and steers me in the direction of the staff bathroom. “Come on, let’s go.”

I’d make a douchey comment about how only girls go to the bathroom together, but I’m worried about how tight the front of my shorts are.

I’m relieved to find the bathroom empty. I close the door, and Randy stands in front of it. There’s no lock on the inside, so he’s my barricade while I’m checking the damage. “You need to tell me how bad it is. I can’t see the bite.”

Randy crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll man the door, and you can check it out in that mirror.”