(Tampon) Tennis Anyone??

This story may not be my most shining moment, but I'm humble enough to tell it. My inspiration for this story is that those hot boys are playing tennis these days. Roddick, Nadal, Federer, so I've been watching and drooling but uncomfortably because I have an unpleasant affiliation with tennis. If you are a boy, you may not want to read this. That statement alone probably just locked in the male reader.

I was an early bloomer. My first Aunt Flow visit was at an young age. I was 11 and it was Thanksgiving-fucking-morning. For some reason my mother was proud of this (I guess someday I will learn why) and decided to tell everyone at dinner. She wasn't cruel enough to tell it at the table, but sweet enough to whisper into all family members ears. A couple years go by and I befriend the new girl in the neighborhood. She just moved from a local tough town and she was a tough girl. I think she actually was asked by her father to live with her mother. Her name was Jen and she taught me how to fight. She also taught me that at the age 13 it was time for me to start using tampons. I was terrified. I had yet to explore that area and didn't know what was where. For Christ sake, I thought that a woman got pregnant because when the penis went into the vagina it tapped the egg and cracked it open so the baby could start growing. So Jen gives me a brief description on what to do with the cotton stick. I go into the bathroom and insert it as fast and as easily as I could into whoever would take it first. I was nervous touching myself so I hurried. But it wasn't as comfortable as I was promised, but figured I would adjust. I come out of the bathroom and Jen is waiting and staring at me.

"Well? How did it go?"

"I guess it's in there?"

"Cool. Let's go down to Watson Park and play some tennis."

The next hour or so I can not only not play tennis, but I can barely walk. I suck it up, because this is Jen Miss New Tough Girl. But only for so long.

"Jen I gotta go home and get this thing outta me. It just doesn't feel right."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

We get back to my house and she insists that I look in the mirror to make sure I've inserted it all the way. So I do this. I bend over with mirror in hand, and low and behold, there it is. In between my butt cheeks. Not in the butt...in the CRACK. Delightful. It took me a couple more years before I attempted this Olympic event again. And I don't mean tennis.