“Want a cupcake?”, Shayleen asked me. There was a tray of them on the porch table.

A cupcake wasn’t even in the top five list of things that I wanted in my mouth at the moment. That list was entirely made up of parts of Shayleen’s voluptuous body. Her form-fitting low-cut dress struggled to contain her breasts and it fought tightly for its life against her round hips and ski-slope backside. Shayleen caught me staring downward at least three times.

“Sure, I’ll take a cupcake,” I said. Can I eat it from between your big boobs, I thought to myself.

“Do you want one with crushed nuts?”

“Sure,” I said mindlessly. Then I looked at the tray. “I don’t see any with crushed nuts.”

“Oh,” Shaleen said, “the crushed nuts are right here.”

As if to punctuate the sentence, Shaleen punched me square in the balls and then time sorta stopped for me. Her thin arms and little girl fist don’t look like much, but against a man’s testicles, they feel like a battering ram that can bring down iron doors. The pain was a world-shaking thunderclap that boomed between my legs, reverberated up into my stomach and prodded at my brain with anxiety over the blow to my fragile parts. I gasped at an embarrassing high pitch, sat up stiffly, clutched myself and felt tears form in my eyes. 

Shaleen giggled and relaxed in her chair. She took a bite of a cupcake.

Mean girl.