Slap Happy

Slap Happy (revised)

By hughgee

True story, my ex-wife and I were in an argument, she was wrong, I was right. I don't remember what it was about, and no, I'm not the type of arrogant idiot guy who thinks he's right all the time. I just sincerely, honestly, remember her being wrong on this one, and at any rate, even if I was such a macho-brained nincompoop, I couldn't have been any more after what she ended up doing to me.

It must have been trivial or I wouldn't have forgotten the specifics; nevertheless, I remember she really pissed me off this particular time and, typical for my ex, she wouldn't admit she was wrong, and you can just forget all about her saying the word "sorry" ever.

So, as I was inwardly fuming at her in the living room of our apartment, I needed to get away from her; I needed to cool off. Thus I went in and took a shower. I think it would have worked in assuaging my anger had I not encountered her in the bedroom immediately after. Something went off in my brain, I don't know what the hell it was, but I pounced right over in front of her, cornering her (big mistake), and I proceeded to rant and vent and point right down at her menacingly to "never do that again" or whatever I was saying. Meanwhile my towel had fallen off from around my waist and had fallen to the ground and I was naked. I realized this at the time but I didn't care. Hell, I was angry, and she deserved it, remember? I'll never forget what happened next.

I suddenly found myself on my knees, on the carpet. It had happened so fast, and it was apparently such a shock to the system that I blanked or something. Almost like I passed out for a split second, and, when I came to a second later, I was clutching my naked nuts, in addition to kneeling in front of my wife's tiny bare feet (she wore a size 5 and a half and had the cutest, most ridiculous looking middle hammer toes in the world). That's when the sensation of pain finally hit me--by then it was already way up inside, in addition to inside my ringing scrotum. I knew she had gotten me in the nuts but I had no idea how. I quickly, hazily, embarrassingly discerned that it couldn't have been a foot (I had been standing in too close to her); it couldn't have been a thump of her knee (it had happened too swiftly, too deftly); no, behind my no doubt wide-eyed vacant stare my cowering brain at last informed the rest of me that one of her hands (she was left handed) had slapped me "down there"--then the rest of me immediately and sheepishly asked back to my brain the following: Just how in the hell could you be so stupid as to threaten an angry woman while standing there with your naked nuts dangling oh so invitingly?

In retrospect, that ball slap of hers on me still scares the hell out of me, and not because it was all that terribly devastating (I was able to get up in about 20 seconds or so); what really worries me to this day was the realization--I somehow realized this even then when it was happening--that my ex-wife could have slapped me even much harder. In fact I don't think she slapped me all that hard, it just was well-placed in that I think she slapped straight up into my dangling "underballies"--ok, ok, you guys all know, that's where we're most vulnerable. Admit it, those straight on shots you see in the movies sometimes, that's nothing; it's the kicks and blows that come straight up into the bottom of your resting sack that really ruin your day.

Oh, hey, here's another reason I don't think my ex slapped me all that hard: at the time I'd swear she seemed surprised: for those few seconds in which I knelt helpless before her, I saw her legs and feet just standing there, not moving; but, more telling was the fact that she said nothing, and believe me, seldom was the time my ex-wife was ever at a loss for words. I mean, gimme a break, you should have heard this chick blab.

Finally, after what I can only guess was about 10 or 15 seconds of vanquished mortification at her feet, she kind of stepped over and around me, and she finally found words to say. She said, "Good I hope it hurts" and left me there in the room alone.

Leave it to my ex to come oh so close to turning me on like crazy, but then completely fumble the ball. She was a load of fun moment to moment in the physical world but she was never a bright light when it came to anything psychological or even just plain smart. Now, had she said "Good, I hope THEY hurt"--well, now, that's a whole different psychological story, and it's specific anatomical mocking like that that could have reduced me to rubble right then and there. I'd have been a quivering mass of man jelly that might never have recovered my confidence again in this lifetime.

Ahem...but I digress.

Addendum: I did get “palmed” “down there” one other time. I was flirting in the office with a little gal. Actually, she instigated it and did a lot more flirting than I did. At any rate, I happened to walk in the coffee room one time when she was walking out. There were two older ladies already in there.

The gal was about 5 feet tall, about a foot less than me. As she passed me, she reached out and “palmed” me, lithely and lightly, up underneath, right where I live. I felt that same sharp shock of pain run up my torso that I had felt a few years earlier at the hand of my ex. I stooped a bit, but the more sobering thing I felt was my knees—they very nearly buckled. I was shocked at how such an absurdly light hit nearly knocked the pegs out from under me again, and I realized for the first time—or at least I had a much better notion—what had happened to me when my ex had so easily dropped me years before. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know if the other ladies in the office saw it, for they didn’t say anything or react in any way, and truth be told, I recovered and stood up quite quickly. But it gnaws at me, that little, light hit. I’m amazed at how easily I was nearly knocked down. I remember being angry with my knees for being that fragile, and not being able to do a damn thing about it except accept the fact.

And the little lassie? She skipped right on out of the coffee room, knowing full well what she had done. The bitch. Nothing ever came out of it between me and her. Except the fact that I still hate my wimpy, push-button knees.