I at once got off my bike and ran up to Tom. He wasn't able to talk but moan something about his poor balls. And indeed his balls were poor. The impact on the bar had set his poor organs and the rest of his body on hellish fire. The fire that all the males instinctively try to quench by clutching their gonads in their hands but as it always goes - all in vain. Hold your balls or not, after you've had them hit, the agonizing fire will not get under your control for a very long time. Nevertheless, every time each male gets hit in his testicles, he at once grasp his scrotum and keep it in his hands as long as the pain keeps torturing his vulnerable testicles, his precious balls, his so pathetically weak organs.

For about ten minutes Tom was writhing on the ground, absolutely overpowered with the agony, and all that time I was standing over, laughing heartily.

When the pain had soothed enough to let him speak, his first words were those:

"Oh, damn, it's good there're no girls around here."

"But why?" I asked.

"They'd laughed their asses off while watching me."

"But I've already laughed my own one off watching you.

"Pete," Tom gave out a heavy sigh, "you are a different story. You're a boy, you've got balls yourself and you know the pain. But for girls it's just only fun to see somebody get his balls hit."

"I think it's a pity there's no girl around here," I said.

"Why?" Tom asked in surprise (and in pain as well).

"It'd be great. I love it when girls see how we, boys, are weak down there and laugh at our weakness. And it's twice as great if it's a girl who hits the guys' balls. It's such fun."

"Fun? What the hell..?" Tom was rubbing his balls. "It gives lots of pain, not fun. Have you ever been kicked in the balls by a girl?"

"Lots of times"."

"Then don't tell me," Tom sat up against a tree, his hands still between his legs, "that every time you were laughing with fun, not crying with pain."

"Every time it was the same terrible pain as all boys feel. My balls are as weak as anybody else's. And it were the girls who laughed at me. Nevertheless I liked it. I like to show girls that they easily can overcome a man by hitting his balls, that all his muscles are useless since his balls hit."

"Yea, girls only can fight dirty..."

"Why dirty? Why do you call it dirty. Our balls are part of our body like our shoulders or feet. And it's our problem, I mean the boys', not the girls', that they are so sensitive. So we should protect them better and that's it. And there's nothing dirty for girls in using their advantage against our natural weakness. I do love helping girls enjoy that advantage."

"You talk like a moron," Tom said while trying to get up, his right hand pressed against the tree and the left holding his nuts...

"Anyway, there's one girl who sees you," I chuckled and pointed at the marble statue of a nude girl that stood a few meters away from us.

A century ago the park had belonged to some Russian duke. He'd placed there several marble statues of ancient Greek and Rome gods and heroes, and some of them still stood among the trees. The inscription on the tomb of the nude girl was worn away with time and I just called her Greek Goddess. Not far from her stood a naked Apollo. When walking through the park, I used to cast glances at their groins and imagine how it'd be great if the stone girl could kick that ancient hero in his marble balls. I visualized him writhing at her feet, holding his sack and looking at her smooth groin in terrible envy. I was myself enchanted with that groin of hers, every time comparing it with Apollo's package. Every time I saw the statues I wanted the Goddess to kick Apollo in his unprotected genitals in sight of all passers-by. And now I was sure that the Goddess was watching Tom, watching his male weakness, and deep within her marble form she was laughing at him, feeling proud as she caught his jealous glimpses on her smooth groin.

"You're a sick idiot, Pete," Tom sighed deeply and turned his look away from the statue.

In a week I and Tom went to the bathhouse, where we met a company of our friends. In the shower room we started a playful fight. We were all naked and it was a real fun, specially to keep balance on the slippery floor, while some other guy was trying to thrust you down. It was a friendly scuffle but all of a sudden one of the boys kneed another right in the balls. The poor guy at once fell down, crying: "Balls, my balls,"

All the boys surrounded him and started laughing. I looked around them, my eye fixed to the boys' penises and scrotums that twitched along with their body laughing movements. I wondered what every boy had in mind at that moment. Did any one of them think about girls and the advantage they had because of their more perfectly designed body. The body without those protruding, vulnerable organs that were now trembling between their legs. Did any one of them mentally compared his own body with the female one. Did any one welcome the vision of a girl's pussy to his mind, while before his eyes there was a row of male genitals. Did any one felt some kind of pussy envy, while watching that guy on the wet floor rolling from side to side, crying about how his little balls hurt, the balls he was terribly clutching in his little hands. Did the poor boy with the injured balls himself remember at that painful moment how smooth was his sister's groin and did he wish he had the same cute slit between his legs instead of that sack filled with searing pain and a wiener helplessly wobbling over his hands. Did he dream through the pain of some kind of magic that could replace the thing he had between the legs by the thing girls have and send the pain away to let him get up proudly before the laughing boys and kick one of them right in his puny, hanging balls and then laugh scornfully at him while watching him desperately rolling on the floor, crying: "My balls, my poor balls," and helplessly clutching those poor balls in front of his insulter who stood over him with only a cute slit between the legs and nothing hanging from the groin. I wanted to talk about it with the boys but I was sure they'd never speak. Men are never bound to talk about such things. I could easily confess my pussy envy to any girl but it was so hard to talk it over with guys.

So I looked at the boy on the floor, then at the other guys and realized that to make the fun complete the scene needed one more person there, a person without balls, a one with a pussy. I wished there were a girl to watch that poor boy.

I came closer to Tom and said: "It's a pity there're no girls over here to see that boy"

Tom cast a glance of reproach at me.

"Again talking that girlish crap of yours?"

I didn't answer and stepped aside...

On our way back from the bathhouse Tom asked me.

"Pete, are you serious with all that stupid talk of yours?"

"What talk?"

"That crap about loving to be kicked in the balls."

"It ain't crap, I say what I think and what I mean."

Tom halted and looked straight into my eyes.

"I won't believe you," he shook his head. "One can't like being kicked in the balls, specially being kicked by a girl."

"What makes you think so?"

"First - it hurts like hell, it hurts like nothing else in the world, you can do nothing about that damn pain."

"And what is second?" I inquired.

"Second, it's just as I told, a boy can't love being kicked in the balls by girls."

"But why?"

"Because.., just remember me in the park, remember that guy in the bathhouse. Me and him were absolutely helpless. We couldn't get up. If a girl sees a boy in such kind of state, she will think that boys are weaker... I think no boy wants to look weak."

"Tom, I don't think that boys are weaker than girls but we have balls which if not protected could turn us into helpless creatures. It's fact and girls know it."

"I wish girls never knew it. It was my sister who learned me about that, I mean how it can hurt. You know she's two years older than me. I was very small then and romping about the house, making lots of noise, which disturbed my sister. She asked me to get quiet and I wouldn't listen to her. So she said that if I didn't obey she would make me unable to romp about for the rest of the day. I said I wasn't afraid of her a bit and she wasn't able to stop me in any way. So she kicked me in the balls and there I was, down on the floor, all in pain. I'd never knew that balls could cause such suffering. After I gained my breath I moaned that after I recovered from the pain I would get up and kick her in the balls too. She laughed like crazy and do you know what she did? She said that girls don't have balls unlike weak boys and yank her pants down just to prove it was the truth. Then she got her pants back on and with the loudest laughter ran outside. And I remained lying on the floor. I felt so awful to discover that my sister could so easily make me helpless and destroy all the day. I hate being hit in the balls by girls, just hate. So I don't believe you like such things."

"Then tell me, Tom," I looked in his eyes, "have you ever envied girls?".

"What do you mean - "envied"?"

"Did you ever wish to have a pussy?"

"Never!" Tom snapped. "I hate girls, how could I wish such a thing! I hate them, I hate their silly brains, the dirty way they fight and along with everything I hate their pussies. We are "haves" and they are mere-sheer "have-nots". Just don't tell me, Pete, you ever wanted to have that hole between your legs. And I won't ever believe that a boy can enjoy letting those silly "have-nothing-in-the-pants" abuse his precious balls. Such things just make them, girls, believe that they are something superior to us, I mean boys, superior with just that hole between their legs. But it's me who are superior, me who has balls, who has a wiener. So guys shouldn't let girls kick their balls. I don't think that you love seeing a girl standing over you and cracking her silly jokes about your balls just because she doesn't have them in her pants. The girl who herself wants to have something between her legs but she knows she'll never have anything down there and it makes her pretend that by making your balls hurt she proves that it's better to be a "has-not". Do you really envy them, Pete."

"Okay, Tom, you are talking too much. To be short let me put it this way - I doenvy girls and I like my balls being kicked by them. If you don't believe me then let's make a bet. I will let a girl kick my balls in your presence to let her laugh at me, cracking her "silly jokes" about my balls."

"I agree - and in case you get scared and don't let her hurt your balls, you will give your bike over to me."

"Agreed and in case she kicks my balls, you'll be the next one to let her kick you in the balls. It's my condition."

Tom hesitated for a while, then said:

"Okay, let it be so, and to multiply your fear let their be more than one girl, just to get more laughter at your pain"

"And to make our bet more complicated I say - she will kick me in the naked balls and so should you do - I mean get your pants off, if it comes to kicking you."

"Okay, let it be that way. I suggest we do it next Friday. I'm going to visit my grannies in their village, so I'll be out of town these days."

"Alright - next Friday, it's okay. So see ya."

And we parted.

That night I had a dream. The Greek Goddess visited me in my dream. As always, she was absolutely nude.

"Pete," she said in a gentle voice, that resembled Natasha's, "I heard you needed some kind of magic."

"Yes." I replied, "I ought to teach some boy a lesson. I wanna kick him in the balls."

"Then do it, don't dither."

"I said I wanted to teach him a lesson. You must know the difference, I mean when a boy is kicked by another boy it differs a lot from being kicked by a girl"

"And what the difference, Pete?" the Goddess asked.

"You know, if all the humans were males they would never talk of "dirty fighting". They'd just kick each other in the balls and that's all. But as half the mankind have no balls men invented that stupid "no-under-the-belt-hits" rule. They hate being hit in the balls by girls and hate being laughed at. But girls can't be blamed for the weakness men have. Girls can have lots of fun with the men weakness. Don't you know it?"

The goddess smiled: "Sure I know. Sometimes I sometimes enjoy myself by kicking Apollo's poor nuts."

I giggled: "So I knew. Well, what I wanted to ask you if you could award me with some kind of spell to turn my wiener and balls into a pussy, maybe just for a short time. Just to let me kick his balls between his legs, with a pussy between mine."

"Okay," the Goddess said, "I'll give you some kind of spell to get a pussy for a few minutes."

And the next vision brings me into the bathhouse. I see Tom and me there, both totally naked. Soon I have a row with him and he fiercely kicks me in the balls. The pain brings me down on the floor, my balls in my hand. The pain getting more and more severe, I can't bear it any longer. My balls are burning. I desperately clutch them. And then suddenly I remember the spell. I pronounce a few magical words aloud and the pain at once dies out. I don't feel it any longer. And I don't feel the balls in my hand. I grope for my wiener and can't find it. And I can't find my balls. My "precious" balls are gone. But there's no regret at all. I understand that beneath my hand there's the thing I've been so longing for. Tom stands over me, still laughing at my weakness. I've not yet taken my hand off my groin and he still thinks I'm clutching my poor balls. Alas, Tom. I'm raising my hand up from my groin and to his full bewilderment he sees what I have between my legs. I'm not a "have-not" at all. The thing I have between my legs now really makes me a "have", for I have it. And it's him who are a mere "has-not" because he doesn't have the thing I do possess now. He doesn't feel the power I do while looking at the things that hang down from his groin. I spring to my feet to be right opposite Tom. He stands in the middle of the bathhouse, looking at me, confused and petrified. He looks at the place on my body from where only a few seconds ago hung a little penis and scrotum, that hanging sack containing two vulnerable organs - testicles. The very testicles he kicked a few seconds ago to make me so helpless.

His instincts send him a mental signal telling that his own genitals are in danger. I gave one more look at my groin, I enchanted with it, I feel happy to have it. Then I shift my gaze to the things Tom have between his legs, I see his hand start moving toward that vulnerable spot on his body, I see him trying to shield those weak things I used to have too. The things I have no more.

My foot is already on the way up to his groin. And it nears his "precious" things faster than his hand. And then it happens. His balls are kicked. I do know the kind of sensation that befalls those little orbs in his sack. I know what it feels from the very moment my foot touched his testicles. I can't feel it but I know it. And a pleasing, tingling sensation runs from my foot along my leg up to the very place where the same vulnerable organs dwelt just a few seconds ago. And all my body gets that tingling sensation, while Tom's one sets on fire, his balls are burning, his abdomen searing. He flops down at my feet. And all I hear is his long scream:

"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaalls!"

I kneel down and grasp him by those "baaaaaaaaalls" of his. He gives out a louder wail of pain:

"My balls, leave them!"

I have no mercy. I don't let his poor balls out of my grasp. I make him absolutely helpless with just one hand. And all that through those organs of his own proud. I pull his scrotum up to make him sit up and face my own groin. I don't care now if he envies me or not. That's his problem. And those are his balls in my hand, and I don't care if he likes them or not. I like my own groin and don't care much about that piece of weak flesh in my hand. I squeeze it as hard as I can to see him faint from the pain. I stand up and go over to the shower. And now I notice that there are other boys in the bathhouse. They all hold their own balls, their jealous eyes fixed on my...

My...? I send my hand under the blanket down to my groin to discover a wiener and a pair of balls there. The very things I've always had, just on their usual place. There's no pussy down there, never been. All that was only a dream, a nice kind of, but just a dream, not reality.

I at once remembered my bet with Tom. I jumped out of the bed and dashed up to the telephone to dial Natasha's number. I was eager to tell her all about my bet and dream.

After a brief breakfast, I was hurrying toward her house...