It was a day pretty much like all the others. I drove home from school, tossed my books onto the kitchen counter, drank a glass of orange juice, and went next door to fuck the neighbor's wife.

It started innocently enough. She asked me to lift some furniture so she could place a rug on the dining room floor. I lifted one corner of the China hutch, and she put it underneath there. I lifted the other side, she put the rug under it, and as I set it down, she pulled down my shorts and boxers, got my cock into her mouth, and 90 seconds later, I had my first orgasm from another human being. She stood up, took me by the hand, and led me to her bedroom. Three minutes later, I was a man. Again, five minutes later. And again, fifteen minutes after that.

I hear of high school girls fucking like bunnies, but our school is smaller, and all the girls are either lesbians or card-carrying virgins. Second base is mostly unattainable, and beyond that is wishful thinking. I had been afraid I would graduate high school as a virgin. Not anymore.

We established a routine. If her kitchen shade was up, the coast was clear. If it was down, stay home. So on the day in question, I saw the shade was up, went out the back door, hopped the chain-link fence and entered her kitchen door.

As usual, she was sitting at the table waiting for me. She sat sideways on a chair, leaning back, an elbow resting on the chair's back. A box of red wine was on the table. She was wearing a T-shirt and skirt. She was drinking wine from a half-full water glass. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips a sultry smile that seemed to say, "This is what I've been waiting for."

She drained the glass, set it down, rose and came to me. Taking my head in her hands, she kissed me with a hunger that never failed to incite. Her kisses tasted of wine, reminding me of the age difference and making it all the more illicit and exciting.

Entering the bedroom, we made quick work of our clothing. Under her T-shirt and skirt was nothing but hot woman. My own tee, shorts, and boxers revealed an excited young man.

Sometimes she liked to play a few notes on the skin flute. Sometimes she liked me to kiss the kitty. But most days she was ready to go, and we skipped the preliminaries. She liked me to lie full-body on her, gripping her by the ass, controlling the tempo according to her mood. Slow and languorous, hard and fast, or somewhere in between. She conducted the orchestra, and I played the tune. So it was that day.

If you have ever seen a video of a man/woman having sex in the missionary position, you may have seen the man's testicles dancing, waiting for the moment to discharge. Mine must have been in motion when her cat, Mr. Jingles, jumped onto the bed and saw his new favorite toy. He advanced and gave it a swat. Not a love tap, a handball smash.

The right testicle immediately registered excruciating pain and issued a red alert: "Fucking OWW!" All body pain receptors received the message, immediately registered, and repeated the pain and message: "Fucking OWW!" The brain received these messages and, knowing the location of the right testicle, ordered the body to move the injured body part from that area.

"Helmsman, engage warp drive!"

"Engage warp drive, aye, cap'n."

You all know that warp speed is instantaneous and moves a spaceship across the universe at incredible speed. However, in this case, the distance was only about three inches. That's when the head of my cock hit the face of her cervix.

There are descriptions of an erect penis as "an iron bar" or "steel rod." However, it's really a fleshy tube that inflates with blood to facilitate penetrative sex and enable the ejection of the semen/sperm composite during male orgasm. I point this out because the head of my "iron bar" compressed, creating a new source of pain.

My cock sent out an APB: "Yeowww!" All body pain receptors also received this and repeated the pain and APB: "Yeowww!" The brain, having received this new message, issued new helm orders.

"Helmsman, disengage warp drive. Reverse thrusters."

"Disengage warp drive, aye, cap'n, reverse thrusters, aye, cap'n."

As you know, disengaging warp drive brings motion to a stop. But the laws of mass and inertia come into play when using thrusters. It takes time to back up. And this can be affected by other events happening simultaneously.

Such as her reaction to her cervix being hammered. It also sent a broadcast: "OWIEOWIEOWIE!" to all her body pain receptors, which received this broadcast and immediately registered and repeated the message: "OWIEOWIE!" Her brain, receiving the message, initiated the procedure for lower pelvic injury: Assume the fetal position.

Her reaction was happening at the same time as mine. However, my weight hindered her reaction, as I was lying on her body, my hands holding her by the ass. She was able, however, to lift her torso slightly, also raising mine. But her pelvis was another matter. Women have strong muscles in their glutes and quads. Her reaction pulled her knees alongside me, and that inertia, along with the violent upward thrust of her lower pelvis, disengaged us and launched me into the headboard.

The position of my arms made them unavailable to mitigate the contact, and I was immediately rendered hors de combat (or unconscious, for those of you who don't parlez any Francaise.)

Now unencumbered of my body, she was able to complete the fetal position and roll onto her side. As my body came to rest on hers, that motion caused me to roll off the bed onto the floor, my head hitting with a resounding thump.

Bye and bye, I woke up, and she uncurled. We hobbled around like a couple of old folks looking for their walkers, got dressed, and I headed home.

I tried to tough it out, but a penile injury is very painful, and I finally had to tell my mom. I told her it happened during a pick-up soccer game. She took me to the urgent care, and a doctor examined me. An older female doctor. You would think that having your Johnson examined by a female would lead to an erection. Not this time. The head was a mottled purple, and you could see the broken capillaries. I told her the soccer story, and she had a one-word reply: "Bullshit." I guess she had seen this type of injury before. She said to take ibuprofen for the pain and use an ice pack to bring down the swelling. Let me tell you, that's one body part that does not like to be iced. So I walked funny for a few days, and after about two weeks, it looked mostly normal again.

So one afternoon I came home and saw her kitchen shade was up. I dropped my books, hopped the fence, and entered the kitchen door. There she sat, as usual. After the preliminaries, she led the way upstairs. But this time Mr. Jingles was in his crate.