There's a monster lurking in the depth of those boxer shorts. One that threatens the health of several men, especially those that are undergoing that wonderful stage full of pimples, irregular beards and systematic rejection of anything that comes from their parents except money. Even if there protoadults are the population group with more risk of facing this demon, almost every male is a victim from this situation at least once in life. This enemy made of fear and lack of resolution is not the first drunkenness on vodka you got, neither that time you got caught trying to asphyxiate your personal fowl. Nothing like that.
You're that guy, that teen around 16 years old and just got a girlfriend of around your same age. Out of nowhere, you're not the same. Your friends stop paying you a visit, you don't show up to do sports as you used to before, not to mention that you don't hang out with them in the Saturday nights. Because of her, again. Always her. Your friends get a bit mad at you and they have their reasons, but there's always a cool one that mentions: "you just envy that he gets laid, let him copulate in peace!". Yes, he knows, hit the nail, he totally understands the reasons why a 16 year old teen craves more the sheets than to prepare the Playstation, he spends more time with his girlfriend than with his friends. Obviously, this is an invented story, because when I was 16 I still played hide and seek and glued my snots under the table; two things I almost stopped doing by now.
What your friends do not know is that you had to leave behind SEVERAL Saturday nights to reach what you were committed to, lets be sincere, at the end of the day the "yes, I want" from your side is obvious. But is the female whom holds the real power. They hold the goods to display in offer to our permanent demands, at least at that age (HA!). Bunch of nights of just "making out". Months and even years for some (that, or I had serious issues defining a situation then). Your friends could be great soccer players, but they'll never understand how it feels to make it to the goal, pass the goalkeeper, and not score because she says "it's not the right moment".
In a wonderful crescendo of fantasy and metaphor, it is essential to break the dream and put a name to this Boxer short's Sauron, that guy that should not be named in the sacred halls of the bedroom is nothing but a haploid overload.
When "the game" starts a lot of physiologic processes are triggered, attempting to enhance the performance in the bed / couch / car / field / airplanebathroom / bullshitairplanebathroomsaretoosmallandnobodyenjoysdoingitthere. Cardiac frequency and arterial pressure increase while at the same time blood vessels dilate (veins, mainly) at the entire genital area. This McCombo leads into blood accumulation in the sexual organs as long as the stimulation persists, because once the orgasm is reached, blood vessels recover their original size and blood drains away from the area.
BUUUUUUUUUUUUT (this is what feeds the demon), when there's no orgasm and you're halfway there, the nervous signals that tell your body to "stop and let go already" are not there as a result blood stays there, leaving your balls literally swollen along with the always enjoyable sensation of bearing two watermelons in between your legs. We should mention that having to watermelons hanging from your hipbone hurt. Some are lucky and only hurt for a short time, others... are not so lucky (we wish you luck, dear friend).
Where did the 3rd one come from?
Despite being something amazingly frequent, we know nothing about this pain caused for not finishing what you started. There's little evidence and bibliography is very limited; only anecdotic info. Some medics had the brilliant idea of calling it blue balls (slang), because when oxygen-less blood accumulates at the scrotum the area starts tinting into the tone of the smurfs. Some surveys were ran at professional environments and all knew the topic, yet nothing shows at medicine books. So, a clear cause is also unknown. All we have is "knowledge" based on basic reasoning over what we know about physiology in humans; just imagine the poor volunteer that'd go into a lab so that some white overall jerks study him by not letting him finish.
Another reason for this lack of info is that the treatment is rather simple, we all know it and there's no need of highly specialized doctors to perform it... You guessed it finish what you started, solo mode; because if you don't it can be a pain that lasts hours until the blood vessels recover their original size.
This time, medicine based on evidence, only real guru, confirms nothing else but folklore:
A bird in the hand is worth two in the blue.
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