*Disclaimer: Contains some vulgar words. The character and incident portrayed are fictitious. And any similarity to actual experiences is purely coincidental and unintentional.
My balls are itching and the unfortunate thing is, I can’t even scratch them. Well, I suppose I can just grab and do some scratching down there until the itch goes away. Only problem is, I’m in a public place. The train, to be specific. I’m not perv enough to scratch my balls in public. I would have been able to do it if the train’s crowded. Right now though, it’s damn spacious. Less passengers are taking the train at this hour. You can practically change seats if you want. Few people are standing by the door. I reckon I can get off at the next station however I can’t afford to be late for my appointment. I try squeezing my legs together in a less conspicuous manner but, hell, the itch is too persistent.
Another problem, I’m not in a very good spot. You see, I’m sitting right next to a bunch of professional-looking people. Most of them are women too. I don’t want to get caught dead scratching my balls. Maybe, I should try diverting my attention to other stuff, that way, I’ll forget about the itch. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. My mind chooses to stay focused on the itchiness of my balls. The harder I think about other things, the more itchy they get.
I’m two stations away from my destination. I know I can’t hold it any longer. It’s getting more itchy by the minute. I’m a desperate man. Pointing at any random building outside, I blurt it out as loud as I can: “Oh my God, there’s someone in that building trying to jump off!” And like magic, it works. All heads turn at the direction I point out. During those nanoseconds where every attention is glued at a scene that doesn’t exist, I grab my balls as fast as I can and pinch-scratch them.
