The day began inauspiciously. It was just a simple power outage, nothing more, but not long after we’d gotten to work the place went dark. No light except what came from the windows and a few battery-powered emergency packs and exit lights above doors, and other than the occasional laptop all monitors went dark; there was utter silence as the HVAC system, Muzak, and other electronic equipment shut down.

Troy looked at me and groaned. “Now what? I had a lot of crap to get out today, especially with the holidays coming up.” It was only a little over a week until we’d be shutting down for ten days through the Christmas holiday season.

I shrugged. “I’m sure it will be back up soon, probably a blown transformer or something. Let’s go grab some coffee before it’s gone since we might not be making any for a while.” We walked into the break room and refilled our mugs, then stood at the window and looked down at the parking lot below. It appeared that the outage covered the entire area; even the traffic signals out front were dark.

We killed half an hour that way, making small talk with others as they came and went, the meager supply of coffee soon depleted. The building was already becoming stuffy. About 9:30, the boss walked in and announced that the outage was going to be a longer-term situation than anticipated – mid-afternoon, at least – and that we were dismissed for the day. Some workers had cut a major cable, and we were the dubious beneficiaries of their carelessness.

I looked at Troy, who was still stewing about the deadlines on a couple of projects. “You got any plans?”

He sighed heavily. “I should go home and get online from there, see if I can’t advance a few things, or else maybe go do some brick-and-mortar Christmas shopping for a change.” With the servers down, even our laptops had no internet access, so Amazon was not an option.

“Well, yeah, you should, but I’m sure you’d rather go to the gym and shoot some hoops with me. In the long run, it will be better for your mental well-being, and you could stand to work on that spare tire you’re growing, Chubs.”

It was a totally sarcastic jab, of course; Troy is slender and incredibly fit, six-foot, six-inches of lean, wiry muscle and sinew, and likely has as the lowest body fat ratio of anyone I know. I’m fairly lean myself, but while two inches shorter I still outweigh him by about fifteen to twenty pounds – mostly muscle, fortunately, as I’m a larger build than he and carry a bit more muscle mass on my bones.

He laughed. “You should talk, Michelin Man! So you really want to get your ass kicked in b-ball yet again? Some people just never learn.”

“Funny, as I recall I toasted you last time. That bucket seemed to have a lid on it when you shot – all that clanging off the rim nearly deafened me.”

“Jase, buddy, a complete aberration and you know it; the basketball gods were not smiling on me that day. I’m sure my utter dominance will return today, so shitcan the trash talk.”

That’s me, Jase, short for Jason, and the truth was that we routinely beat the crap out of each other in one-on-one but team very well together in pick-up games. We’d known each other a long time, played hoops together in high school and in intramural college sports, and seemed to have a sixth sense about what the other was going to do. Despite his slight height advantage, we were very evenly matched.

Rick, a new guy that had joined the firm only a couple of months prior, walked in just then and stood and watched Troy and I good-naturedly berate each other. When I remarked to Troy that if he was no better at getting it in the hole in the bedroom than he was on the basketball court, it was no wonder that he was still single, Rick cracked up. “Jeez! The way you two pick on each other you’re like an old married couple or something. You’re just vicious.”

We both laughed. He had a point; with the long friendship Troy and I shared – since the third grade – a good deal of our relationship revolved around trading insults and taking cheap shots at the other’s expense, though we each knew that the other would do anything for us. Anything. We were like brothers; closer, perhaps, than many brothers are, and we had an unspoken love for one another.

I slapped Rick on the shoulder. “All in good fun, Rick. If we weren’t ripping each other we probably wouldn’t speak at all. Truth is if he wasn’t such a chick magnet I probably wouldn’t hang out with him at all, but since he’s not overly bright I can usually skim off the hottest babes before he catches on.”

Troy shook his head. “You wish. Don’t believe him, Ricky, he gets my rejects, leftovers, and sloppy seconds. Hey, we were going to go shoot hoops for an hour or so, care to join us? You can show Jason how it’s done.”

Rick looked almost pathetically pleased to have been invited and almost fell over his own feet in his haste to accept. “Me? Sure! I mean, yeah, I’d love to. I’m probably not as good as you guys, but I’ve got a pretty good jump shot.”

I laughed. “Hey, that’ll work. It’s pretty informal; usually, we just join in a pickup game, with all different skill levels playing, so no problem. It’s just for fun, no money on it. Might not even be much going on this early on a weekday, so we may end up playing two-on-one and just swapping around. You know where Forum Fitness is?”

That was the name of the gym where we had memberships, a full-service, locally-owned facility that offered everything imaginable from a full gym, basketball, handball and racquetball courts and Olympic-size pool to the usual weights and exercise equipment, and all the standard fitness classes found at most health clubs. It also had a full juice bar, a small café featuring a much-too-healthy menu, and even daycare. Nice place.

He nodded. “Yeah, my wife is a member there, and I go along on a guest pass sometimes to work out a little.”

Troy nodded. “Good, let’s all meet there then. Doesn’t make any sense to leave two cars here and have to come back. See y’all at the gym.”

Troy and I met in the locker room about twenty minutes later, but Rick had needed to run home to pick up his gear, so by the time he showed up we had changed and were closing up our lockers, about to head out to the gym. We were itching to get going, but for the sake of courtesy we hung around and talked with Rick while he changed. This was the first time we’d done anything beyond an after-work beer with him, and we wanted him to feel welcome.

We made small talk – work, weather, sports, the usual – as he stripped and changed into shorts. Troy caught my eye and gave a bit of a sympathetic wince when we got our first glimpse of a naked Rick. He was of average build, not in terrible shape but a bit soft around the middle.

What Troy was wincing about, however, was Rick’s very tiny endowment; his cock, in its natural, un-inflated state, barely protruded from his thatch of brown pubes. It couldn’t have been more than an inch or two long and was no larger in girth than my thumb. Seriously small, with a set of balls that was proportionate; other than being rather hairy he appeared almost pre-pubescent.

We made no comment, of course, chatting, verbally sparring and laughing, making sure to include him and not make him feel self-conscious. To his credit, he didn’t seem to be and soon joined in our good-natured banter. As we made our way out to the gym Rick commented that he had called his wife to let her know where he was and why he would not be at work, and had discovered that she was at this very facility, about to start her weekly spin class.

I nodded at that news, saying, “Nice, a wife that likes to stay in shape. Are we going to get a chance to meet Mrs. Rick?”

He laughed. “Mikki – her name is Michaela, but she goes by Mikki – and before you say anything, yes, we’re Ricky and Mikki. We didn’t plan it, it just worked out that way. Oh, and you might; she said she’d probably stop by the gym when her class was over.”

It turned out that at this time of day, after the pre-work fitness fanatics and before the guilty-conscience lunch crowd, the gym was vacant, so our idea of joining in on a pickup game was a non-starter. We got busy playing, the squeaks of our sneakers on the wood floor echoing in the empty gym, and we pretty much forgot everything else. We played a couple games of “Horse” to warm up a bit, and it was good to see that Rick was competitive and had not been lying about his jump-shot. He was a decent player and he seemed to handle the ball very well.

We played some two-on-one, each bucket worth a single point and game at twenty-one. With Troy and I so evenly matched Rick was more than enough to give the winning edge to either of us, and when the two of us teamed against him it was a massacre. To his credit, he tried gamely, but we play to win and give no quarter; we beat him 15 – 2, the game called at fifteen due to the bloody slaughter. I was actually surprised that he got two buckets. That jump-shot of his.

We’d played for perhaps forty minutes, long enough to work up a good sweat, when I noticed a woman standing quietly near the door, watching us. When I nodded and said hello, Troy and Rick turned to see who I was talking to.

Rick smiled broadly and broke off playing as he crossed to greet her. “Hi, honey! How was your class?”

We watched as they exchanged a quick kiss and a hug, noticing that Rick’s wife was perhaps two or three inches taller than his five-foot-nine-inch height, and that she was a knockout. Lean and fit, dressed in skin-tight pink yoga pants and a sports bra that doubled as a halter top, Mikki had her long, golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, a white sweatband around her forehead and a small towel draped across the back of her neck. Legwarmers scrunched down above shockingly white athletic shoes completed the picture of athleticism.

When she smiled at us, her white perfect teeth gleamed behind luscious, kissable lips, and the warmth of her smile softened her ice-blue eyes. As they crossed to us for introductions I noticed that she moved well, with a smooth, graceful economy of motion that bespoke a taut, perfectly-tuned body. Her whole demeanor portrayed an almost brash confidence and self-assurance. I liked her immediately, and we hadn’t even met yet!

Rick eagerly made the introductions. “Honey, this is Jason, and the tall guy is Troy, the guys from work I’ve told you about. We were just shooting some hoops. Guys, this is my wife, Mikki.”

She shook hands with each of us, her hands strong but slender, with long, graceful fingers; her firm grip, like her demeanor, exuded confidence. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper chest from her recently-completed workout, and dark, wet crescents of moisture stained her light-blue sports bra below each breast. And her breasts… I couldn’t help but notice that, despite the compression of the tight Lycra bra, they seemed full and well-shaped, high on her chest, and her proudly erect nipples showed nicely!

Foolish me, I felt a tingle of arousal even though we’d just met and she was the obviously loving wife of my coworker. Fairly base and primitive I know, but hard, jutting, possibly-aroused nipples have that effect on me; it is what it is.

I dragged my eyes back up to hers and realized that I’d been busted bust-peeping; there was a small, knowing smirk on her lips, and I felt myself blush.

“Umm… so Rick tells us you had a spin class. How did that go?” Ain’t I smooth?

She smiled, letting me off the hook. “Boring as always, but a good workout - or a good warm-up, at least.”

She plucked the basketball out of my hands and dribbled it smoothly a couple of times before spinning it behind her back into a hard, perfect pass to Troy, who snagged it despite being caught off-guard. “Is this a testosterone-only court you three are running, or can a girl get in the game?”

I looked at her. “You play?”

Duh, Jase, obviously she plays! You don’t do the things she’d just done if you’ve never had a basketball in your hands before. I tried to recover, saying, “Well, I mean obviously you do, and yes, a girl can get in the game. You any good?”

She smirked again. “I think I do okay, yeah. Why don’t you be the judge?”

She held out her hands, and Troy fired the ball back to her. She caught it easily, took three quick steps, then drew up short at the three-point line and went up into a smooth jump-shot, her form perfect as she released the ball at the peak of her jump; it arced cleanly through the net with an audible swish of strings on leather.

Cold, no practice shots or anything, and she’d drained it from downtown. I whistled. “Yeah, it appears you can play a bit. You could probably give the tall guy some lessons on that.”

Troy laughed. “Says the guy that’s been wearing out the rim all day, when he wasn’t putting up air-balls. You look good, Mikki; you’ve played some, obviously?”

Rick answered, “You could say that. She was a starter at small forward in her junior and senior years at Wisconsin – made the NCAA’s that last year, got to the Sweet Sixteen. That was seven years ago, but she’s still got it.”

I smiled appreciatively. “Ah, see, now that’s the kind of thing you keep to yourself until after the bets are laid. It’s what’s called having a ringer. If you weren’t so damned honest you could have made a few bucks today.” They all laughed, but I’d only been half-kidding.

Relieved to be able to play a real game rather than the less-than-challenging three-person formats we’d been using, we split into teams to play. I drew Mikki on my team the first game, and it quickly became apparent that she was not only very good – better than either Troy or me and far better than her husband, to be brutally honest - but fiercely competitive.

She was aggressive on defense, pressing and slapping, was a total ball-hawk, and could shoot and pass with considerable skill. She’d even mix it up under the basket working for rebounds and was not afraid to bump, crash, or throw the occasional elbow.

Despite the seven-inch height advantage that Troy had on her she was able to harass him enough that she took him out of his game when she covered him on defense and was so quick and skilled with the ball in her hands that he struggled to stay with her when we had the ball – and he had to try to guard her, because Rick was hopeless in that position. The only thing that kept it halfway even was his height and longer reach.

Any of the pickup teams we’d ever played on here at the gym would have been proud to add her as their point guard or shooting forward – hell, she would have improved our high school team considerably, and that was all men and had been pretty good! She and I played well together, and it became something of a challenge to see which of us could set up our teammate with a perfect assist; we passed a lot and ran them ragged.

We thumped them, 21-13, took a short break during which we found out more about her and her mad skills, and then played again with Mikki teamed with Troy. They beat us convincingly, and it became pretty apparent that whichever team Rick was on would be at a significant disadvantage; he wasn’t awful, but he had never played anything beyond backyard ball and the rest of us had all played on organized teams at a fairly high level. To his credit, he worked very hard at it and played within his abilities, never ball-hogging or refusing his teammate an open shot. He didn’t allow his male pride to goad him into writing checks his body couldn’t cash.

When Rick and his wife teamed against me and Troy, I think we both assumed that we would be able to dominate them quite easily; that turned out not to be the case. We had a huge height advantage, his six-foot-six, and my six-four against Rick’s five-nine and her five-eleven, but Mikki seemed to have the ability to kick it into a whole new gear, and she was a whirling dervish most of the time; much like the Tasmanian Devil of cartoon fame, she was relentless and tireless. In addition, it quickly became apparent that they too had played together, and she used her ball handling skills to set him up to use his jump shot to best advantage. The score stayed close.

It ended up that I was covering her when they were on offense, and she was on me when we had the ball. I was quicker and shiftier than Troy, so I was somewhat better able to stay with her slippery moves. She was aggressive backing into me into the paint, pushing her muscular ass into my crotch and backing me down.

That part wasn’t all bad; even if it did let her get off some close, easy shots. I spent a good bit of that game slightly distracted, semi-aroused from her pressing that fine, firm ass into my groin; it didn’t make it any easier that she smelled amazing, warm, feminine, and sexy.

She slapped and harassed when I had the ball, her quick hands always after it. Despite the fact that she was giving me wood – and knew it, I’m sure – she was starting to get under my skin. The next time she drove in and went up for a shot I went high and blocked it, slapping it right to Troy who took it past Rick and slammed it home. I could see that it rankled her and fired up her competitive juices, and I knew she’d try it again; she now had something to prove.

Accordingly, I was ready when she tried it again – too ready, as it turned out. She drove on me, came to a sudden stop, and started to go up. Or at least I thought she did; it turned out to be a perfect fake, her long blonde ponytail adding movement and intent that I swallowed hook, line, and sinker. I went up, faked out of my shoes, and she waited and timed her leap to my descent, to shoot over me.

That was when it happened; her ascending shoulder came up right into my descending crotch, and I heard an audible crunch as her hard shoulder met my soft ballsack at a very significant rate of speed, the physics of the irresistible force and the immovable object being put to the test yet again.

Except, in this case, the objects moved, suddenly and painfully. I gasped and saw stars and the next thing I remember I was curled on the floor in a fetal position, pretty sure I was dying. It hurt like a bastard, and I think I may have blacked out for a couple seconds as I hit the floor.

For those of you that are fortunate enough to not possess this dangly target, this vulnerable bit of the male anatomy that seems to have a magnetic attraction for fast-moving objects, children, and pets – and on the slim chance that there’s a guy somewhere who’s never had the pleasure - it hurts, big time. When it happens to you, you quickly discover that it’s not nearly as much fun as it appears to be in all those dozens of “funniest” home videos.

The thing is, it hurts in the nuts of course, but mostly it hurts because every muscle and organ in your abdomen immediately cramps and seizes up, including your diaphragm. If it’s a good, solid, crushing hit, all the muscles from collarbone to kneecap join in the fun. In this instance, every muscle and nerve ending from my scalp to my toenails was screaming and refusing to function properly, locked in tonic spasm.

I find it curious that pretty much all of the other vital organs necessary for survival are well-protected; our brains fully-enclosed in a thick, bony lockbox, our hearts, lungs, livers, etcetera in their own secure, bony roll-cage, even much of our intestine and bowel nestled into our bony bowl of a pelvis.

And yes, I do understand about the thermodynamics of the situation, how the survival of the sperm cells is dependent on maintaining a proper temperature, blah, blah, - but it makes our balls the equivalent of the Minnesota-to-Arizona snowbirds, always moving about while seeking the perfect climate. Except, of course, that testicles migrate north in cold weather and back south when it gets hot, but it’s the same general principle. You get the idea.

The question remains, why are our little swimmers so fucking dependent on temperature? You don’t see women running around with their ovaries flapping in the breeze, so clearly eggs have it figured out. Sperm cells are apparently not as tough, macho, and manly as eggs, however, and thus have to be coddled and catered to; accordingly, our nuts have to hang there, suspended in their own little thermostatically-controlled punching bag awaiting the inevitable. It just ain’t right!

Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of these complex mysteries of evolution right at that particular moment; instead, what I was thinking was, Why the fuck did I ever want to play basketball in the first place… and why can’t my damn lungs draw in any fucking air? I wonder how much the surgery will cost? And I hope I enjoy life as a woman… if, by some slim chance, I don’t die…

Apparently, I wasn’t dying, because I gradually became aware of Mikki’s sweet voice, as if from a great distance, at the end of a long tunnel, apologizing and asking if I was alright. I also became aware of both Troy and Rick trying to act concerned as well but failing spectacularly as their mirth shone through.

Despite my incapacitation, I knew that Mikki was genuinely sorry and that it had not been intentional. My innate chivalry rushed in to reassure her that I was alright, that I knew it had been an accident – and so I told her that… except it came out more like, “Uuunnggghh um, gaaack.”

She rubbed my shoulder and kept apologizing, saying, “Oh, Jason, I am so sorry! Oh my god, I didn’t mean to hurt you! Are you going to be okay?”

I knew I was acting like a big wimp; I made a conscious decision to man-up and let her know I was fine, so I said, “Guunnughh… uhh, uurghhh!” I believe I may also have vomited just a little, in order to prove to her how fine I was.

I know that made her feel better because she snickered. That blew the restraints off Troy and Rick, and they howled. I was pretty happy that through my extreme pain and suffering I was able to provide them with so much joy. Honest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my spasming muscles began to relax and I was finally able to draw a breath - which, though necessary, also hurt. As the miasma of agony gradually (very gradually) lifted, I recalled an old football coach I’d had whose advice for any pain or injury had been, “Walk it off!”

Thinking that maybe I should try to prove that my testicles weren’t damaged beyond hope, and thereby reclaim some of my machismo, my alpha-male credibility, I considered following that old ex-coach’s advice, but in the end, I decided to just lay there and moan for a little bit longer. Actually, I didn’t so much decide as come to the realization that it was all I was able to do. So that’s what I did.

Mikki hovered, stroking my shoulder and arm (which, while nice, wasn’t really doing much to soothe the parts that hurt the most) and she continued to apologize, although I sensed that maybe she thought I was milking it a bit by now. I truly wasn’t, and when she stroked my face and gently pushed my sweat-soaked hair off my forehead I was finally able to roll over onto my back and look up at her.

She was a vision of loveliness, this sweet, sexy woman that had just emasculated me. It was astonishing to me that anyone so gentle and sweet could so casually cause such mayhem – and while her hard nipples were making quite a statement through her sweat-stained bra, I found that I had absolutely no interest in that. None. That was the moment when I began to think that maybe I was seriously damaged!

Rick and Troy had wandered away, the amusement factor apparently having worn off, and were both standing at the far end of the gym, desultorily tossing up the occasional shot.

Mikki rested her hand on my chest. “Are you going to be okay? I feel so bad, but you did jump into me, you know. I didn’t know you were going to be quite that gullible on the fake!”

Just like a woman – and a competitive athlete – to lay the blame on the one too weak to defend himself! I groaned. “Yeah, thanks. I think that’s called salt in an open wound. How’s your shoulder?”

She grinned. “My shoulder is fine; fortunately, your soft squishy bits cushioned the blow.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, fortunately – speaking of which, have you seen them anywhere? I think they shot out in opposite directions and were last seen traveling at a high rate of speed towards a safer haven while calling for their mommy.”

She laughed. “I’m glad to see that you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

In a falsetto several octaves above my normal voice tone, I said, “No, just my nuts.” I pretended to clear my throat and then repeated it in a low bass tone, earning another laugh.

“You’re a good sport, Jason. Seriously though, can I get you anything… an ice pack, some aspirin? I really do feel bad about hurting you. That was a major shot to the balls, and my understanding is that that’s pretty painful for you guys.” She smiled to cushion the words. It worked. “Are you going to be okay, or do we need to go to the emergency room?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m sure I’ll be fine – you know, in a month or so. Oh, and also seriously, I would like some help finding my testicles. If they roll under the bleachers they’ll end up all covered with dirt and gum and stale popcorn. That would be unpleasant.”

She laughed again as she rose smoothly to her feet, and then she stepped over me, straddling my prone form, and I had a very nice view of the underside of her Lycra-encased breasts, taut thighs, and of her crotch, the fabric of her tight pink yoga pants pressed into a very fetching camel-toe between her well-defined pussy lips. When even that failed to incite a tingle in my groin it scared me a bit.

She held her hands out to me. “Come on; see if you can sit up. I’ll get you some water.”

“Mmm, yeah, water; that should help with the lump in my throat, which I think might be one of my balls.” I took her hands and she pulled me into a sitting position – conveniently with my face mere inches from her camel-toe bedecked crotch. This time the sight of her pussy lips pressed tightly to the thin stretch-fabric, inches from my nose, did elicit a bit of a tingle in my lower belly, a sensation which I found quite reassuring. Unfortunately, she didn’t hold the pose long enough for me to check the viability of my physical response, instead crossing to grab a sports bottle of ice water from her small day pack.

I watched her return, noting the swing of her ponytail and the feminine sway of her hips, her fine, muscular legs, the very slight bounce of her firm boobs in the sports bra; the fact that I was able to appreciate these things despite the fact that I was still in considerable discomfort was reassuring. It also reminded me that I, like most men, would probably still be interested in women and sex even if my ass was on fire. It’s a very powerful natural force… obviously.

She squatted next to me after handing me the water bottle, her hand on my shoulder as I drank a few swallows. I moved a bit, trying to shift to where I could stand up, but groaned and settled back. “Fuck. That’s gonna leave a mark.”

She laughed. “You’ll probably be swollen, huh? I can go to the training room and get you an ice pack.”

“Honestly that doesn’t sound all that pleasant, but it’s probably a good idea. You sure you don’t mind?”

To my surprise, she leaned in and kissed my cheek! “Not at all! You’re being such a good sport about it, and it’s the least I can do after almost making you a eunuch.”

I laughed, but then winced. “Oww – don’t make me laugh! And it wasn’t entirely your fault; I know better than to bite on that playground fake.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know we beat Michigan once on that move you refer to as a ‘playground fake’, so you’re in good company!” She rubbed my arm and then tousled my sweaty hair. “You gonna be here, or head for the showers? I assume we’re done…?”

I blew out a breath and sucked in a deep one, the first I’d attempted since the collision. My diaphragm was no longer in spasm, but it still ached. “Help me up; if I can walk, I’ll hobble to the showers – and I can’t speak for all of you, but yes, I’m done.”

She stood and held out her hands again, and when I took them she helped pull me to my feet. I stood head-down for a moment, my hands on my knees, waiting for my nausea to subside. “Yeah, not feelin’ too good. Have one of the guys bring the ice pack in, okay?”

She smiled, but I could see the concern in her eyes. “I will. See you later, after you've showered?”

I was a little surprised but readily agreed, saying, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

She headed to the training room for the ice pack as I shuffled off to the showers with a wave at Troy and Rick as I left. I sat on the bench in the locker room for a couple minutes, slowly recovering, then stripped and headed to the showers. My nuts ached, and my junk did appear to be slightly swollen, but not mashed beyond recognition as I’d feared. Apparently, their ability to slide around and move within the confines of my nutsack had allowed them to barely slip the vise formed by Mikki’s shoulder and my pelvis, and I had not managed to rupture a testicle after all. Still, it had all been entirely unpleasant.

I stood under the hot water for a minute or two before shampooing my hair. I heard Rick and Troy come in while the shampoo was running down my face, my eyes closed, and by the time I’d rinsed it out they were in the shower room as well, lathering up.

I looked at them. “One of you guys bring me an ice pack?” I got a blank look, times two, and realized they had no idea what I was talking about. “Mikki was going to get me an ice pack and give it to you to bring in here.”

That earned me a shrug, also times two, and I swore. “Fuck, you two are absolutely useless; wait ‘til one of you gets hurt and I get to stand and laugh my ass off. You’d think you might have just a smidgen of…”

I was interrupted by a very unexpectedly female voice in this haven of men-only. “This what you’re looking for?”

We all turned and gawked at the forbidden sight of Mikki standing in the doorway of the shower room, still fully dressed, hip-shot, one hand on her hip and the ice pack in the other. Her eyes roamed unabashedly over our wet, naked bodies and she let a small smirk play on her lips, clearly amused by our reactions.

Rick recovered first, no doubt used to his wife seeing him naked. “Honey, you can’t be in here! You’re going to get us all in trouble!”

That was the least of my worries, to be honest, and when the initial surprise passed I turned away from her, giving her my backside instead of my dangly bits to admire. “Jeez, Mikki! I could have waited for that ice – and Rick is right, you can’t be in here, so just leave it on the bench….”

She was ignoring me, and I couldn’t help but notice that Troy just stood and looked at her, continuing to lather the soap across his chest and stomach, his long cock hanging in plain sight – a sight she took obvious pleasure in admiring!

She laughed, apparently not feeling in the least chagrined or awkward about standing and observing three wet, naked men – one of them her husband! “Relax, guys; we’re the only ones around this whole place this morning, I think. It’s a total ghost town, so nobody is going to walk in - and we’re all adults, right? So what’s the worst they can do?”

Rick answered. “They could void our memberships, probably. All of us.” His objection sounded half-hearted at best, and when I glanced at him I realized that in the last minute or so since Mikki had come in, he had become fully erect. This whole scene, his wife standing there openly admiring all of us, had for some reason given him serious wood very quickly, and his cock stood out proudly from his groin (as proudly as a slender, three or four-inch hardon can) pointing skyward, totally rigid. It was weird, but I sensed that this was not the first time she’d done something like this.

The shower room is a rectangle, probably ten feet wide by perhaps eighteen or twenty in length, with the open entrance archway in the middle of one of the long walls; there were two shower heads on the walls on either side of the opening, three down each of the two end walls, and six across the back for a total of sixteen. I’d been there when it was crowded and virtually all were in use, but now it was just the three of us. It was tiled in gleaming white subway tile with a foot-wide band of decorative, multi-colored one-inch glass tile all the way around, about five feet off the floor, and a row of three drains down the middle; a pretty standard, if dated, men’s locker room set-up.

Mikki continued to stand in the open archway, one foot up on the raised threshold, her eyes busy. “You want the ice?”

I looked at her over my shoulder. “Here, in the hot shower? No, not particularly; just set it there on the bench – and thanks.” There was a wooden bench in the hall just outside the showers, affixed to the floor as they usually are; behind the bench on the far wall were a row of hooks upon which each of us had hung the towel we’d grabbed from the cabinet at the locker-room end of the hall. The other end of the hall led into the bathroom area where the sinks, urinals, and toilet stalls were; the shower room opened off to one side of the hallway, halfway down.

She set the ice-pack down on the bench as instructed, after which I fully expected her to leave; I’d used my best dismissive tone of voice after all, yet without actually telling her to get out. Apparently, I should have been more specific or forceful or something because, instead of leaving, she quickly stripped off her top – the sweat-soaked sports bra – kicked off her shoes and socks and removed her tight yoga pants.

She had nothing under them, full-commando (which I’d pretty much known from admiring her crotch at close range earlier) and her smooth, cleanly-waxed pussy drew my eyes like a powerful magnet. Her soft, pink inner lips peeked out just a tiny bit from between her puffy, smoothly-bare outer labia, and that sight sent a definite tingle to my damaged nether regions.

“I don’t suppose you boys would object if I were to join you in the shower?”

I recovered from the surprise first – possibly because my genitalia was so recently damaged, still in shock, and not (like the others) taking over for my brain at that moment – but even I stammered. “Um, well… I, guess. I mean, as long as you’re already dressed for it and all…”

Mikki laughed easily, clearly not at all self-conscious about us staring at her gorgeous form. “You’re cute! How are your balls, by the way?”

She’d asked the very intimate question in a very matter-of-fact way, but still. “Uhh, good. Fine… well, not fine, actually, but okay. I think.” Her tits were every bit as nice as I had suspected, full and firm, her rosy nipples, each as big as the tip of my forefinger, standing out proudly erect and visibly aroused. She was feigning casual and in control, but she was also clearly becoming very aroused.

“Let me see.”

I stared at her. “What?”

“Turn around, let me see your junk - check if you’re swollen. I just want to check to make sure I didn’t hurt you too badly.”

“Ummm…”

She closed the short distance between us and put her hand on my hip… well, my ass, actually, but hip sounds better. “Stop being such a big baby and turn around! I’ve seen naked men before, you know.”

I said, “Not this one you haven’t, and your husband’s right there!”

Rick shrugged. “I’m fine, Jason; let her take a look.”

I glanced at him, noting his throbbing erection, and then at Troy, whose long cock was also rising to the occasion and now stood out horizontally in front of him, and then turned around. It was a weird enough situation as to feel almost surreal, the stuff of crazy erotic stories written by people with too much time on their hands and an overactive imagination. I turned around.

She looked down at me and whistled softly. “Oh my, you really are a big baby! Very nice!”

I looked down at myself, somewhat surprised to note that I too was responding to her presence and this strange, sexually-charged situation, my cock growing, thickening and rising. I jumped when she reached out and cupped my growing shaft in her hand, lifting me.

She looked up at me sharply. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, just surprised me – be gentle though.”

She smirked. “Why, because it’s your first time?”

“Well, yeah; the first time since getting my nuts crushed, for sure. Mmmm…” She’d squeezed my cock slightly, her fingers wrapping around me as she tugged almost imperceptibly. She bent to examine my balls more closely.

“You look a little swollen – or are you always this big?”

I took a deep breath, her fingers sliding on my now-fully hard shaft feeling entirely too good. “Always big, of course! Could be a bit swollen too, though.”

Troy laughed. “Yeah, right! That’s all just swelling, don’t let him fool you.”

Mikki laughed. “Somehow I think you’re lying to me, Troy. This feels like the real deal to me!” The truth is that Troy’s cock, when hard, is longer than mine by an inch or two; he’s pretty big, probably nine or ten inches, but is rather slender, although we both have large, heavy balls, mine still somewhat tender. My cock, however, is considerably thicker than his – very much so – but I don’t have his length.

In any event, we were both much larger than Rick, whose cock was maybe half my length and noticeably thinner than Troy’s, and whose scrotum didn’t appear capable of holding even one of mine or Troy’s low-hangers.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Rick thought of his wife not only admiring me and Troy and our much larger endowments but actually fondling me, as she was doing now. Looking at him I got my answer; he was not only hard as a broomstick, he was slowly stroking himself as he stared at Mikki’s hand on my erect cock!

There was no denying that her hand on me felt good – really good – but this whole situation just seemed very ‘off’ to me somehow, very unusual and more than a little confusing. When she leaned in and took my cock into her mouth, sliding her lips down my hard shaft and swirling her tongue around that sensitive spot just under the glans, I shuddered and pulled away, my cock slipping free of her mouth with a loud slurping sound.

“Really, guys, I’m very uncomfortable with this. Christ, Mikki – like it’s not bad enough that you’re married, but your husband is right there! This is outside of my comfort zone, gotta tell ya.”

She simply smiled, wiggled her eyebrows at me and leaned forward and once again engulfed my cock in her warm, wet mouth. It felt good – too good – and I groaned and thrust forward, pushing more deeply into her mouth