The Childhood Friend Who Has No Balls
My childhood friend doesn't have balls. It’s not because she was involved in some freak accident where they were crushed to a pulp. And it’s not because she realized her true gender identity, went to Thailand, and had them snipped off. She was born without a sperm factory—congenitally, biologically, and physiologically. It’s only natural, really. She’s a girl. My childhood friend was born with an egg factory instead of a sperm factory.
A childhood friend. In more mature terms, a "bamboo horse friend"—a term for a friend of the opposite sex you grew up playing with. That’s the dictionary definition. But these days, the scope of that meaning has shifted a bit. As times change, the meanings of words evolve. Nowadays, people use the term "childhood friend" even between men and women, or even women and women, even if there are no literal balls involved. There is a more refined term, "playmate," but that’s just something you use when explaining your relationship to others. When it’s just us, calling each other "childhood friends" feels more affectionate and comfortable.
"Hey."
"Siho."
"Why are you using my butt as a pillow?"
"Because it’s fluffy."
The softness provides stable support for the back of my head. It feels like it would provide a more comfortable sleep than the expensive, high-end pillow I bought to improve my sleep quality. After dinner, when I came into the bedroom after doing the dishes, she was lying face down on the bed with her butt looking like a perfect pillow, so I just started using it as one.
"Use a pillow."
"I am using one."
"Not my butt, you asshole."
Her butt jumped up with a start. For a split second, my head rose and then fell. My head bounced a few times as if to show off the elasticity of her firm, round cheeks.
"Your home workouts are really paying off."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Of course it is."
"I’m really not happy about it."
"I didn't say it to make you happy."
Her butt wiggled even more fiercely, trying to shake my head off. It was just fun, like riding an amusement park ride.
"Stay still."
"Get your head off me."
"What do you mean, 'your head'? You’re talking to a person."
"Were you a human being?"
"They say you only see what you want to see."
"Sigh... I shouldn't bother talking to an asshole..."
As if she’d given up, the wiggling stopped. Victory! I had successfully occupied the high ground of her butt. To celebrate, I moved my head around, rubbing it against her. For the record, the owner of this bouncy, round butt is my ball-less childhood friend. Her name is Yu Choa. We graduated from the same kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, and high school, and we’re even attending the same university. It’s a truly long, long connection.
We’ve been attached at the hip since we started kindergarten. It wasn’t that we *wanted* to be together; the environment forced it. Our parents were so close that our families traveled together often, and since both our parents worked, we naturally had to stick together. We even lived right next door to each other. That connection has lasted until now.
I thought we’d grow distant once we became college students, but as if by some twist of fate, we ended up at the same university. I thought our time together would decrease since we were in different departments, but because we live in the same apartment building, things stayed exactly the same. There’s a story behind that, too. I found my room first, and Choa’s father, worried about her living alone in this scary world, went and found her a room right next to mine. So, she’s been my friend for 15 years, and my neighbor for 15 years.
The result is what you see now. Choa comes over every night to mooch off my food. After eating, she says she’s bored being home alone, so she lies on my bed like this, playing on her phone or bringing over a game console. Then, around midnight, she says she’s sleepy and goes back to her place. This is our daily routine. And just for the record, this level of physical contact is nothing to us. We’ve known each other since we were six, so we’ve seen everything there is to see. During our puberty, when our sexual curiosity was at its peak, we even showed each other our private parts to observe them, so that says it all.
So.
"Hey."
"What?"
"You smell like period."
"It’s more fragrant than the smell of your cum."
We can have these kinds of low-brow conversations that would make anyone else cringe without a second thought.
"How do you even know what my cum smells like?"
"Your room reeks of chestnut blossoms at night."
"Maybe it’s a chestnut blossom diffuser."
"Does such a thing even exist?"
"Maybe it does."
I searched the internet immediately. Well. There are chestnut blossom-scented love gels, but no chestnut blossom diffusers. Of course, even if they actually sold them, I wouldn't buy one. The smell is gross, and if I want to smell chestnut blossoms, I can just jerk off once.
"Stop jerking off so much. Your bones will rot."
"That’s a myth."
"Myth or not, just do it in moderation."
It’s always my childhood friend who worries about my health. It’s truly tear-jerking.
"I appreciate you worrying about my health, but..."
"Bullshit."
"I don't think that’s something I should hear from you."
"What did I do?"
"Who was it that sent me a text in the middle of the night asking to share 'fap material'?"
Last night, while I was sleeping, my phone buzzed with a noisy notification. I checked it, and Choa had flooded my chat window with, [Hey, share some fap material]. Since we’d been sharing porn that turned us on for a long time, it wasn't a surprise. I woke up, picked a few from the dozens of links I had bookmarked, and kindly sent them to her.
"I only watched them."
"You did it with your pussy?"
"I said I only watched them!"
Choa shrieked and punched my shoulder. "Is porn a drama or something?"
"To me, porn is a drama, and porn is a movie."
Even if it’s low-quality, some porn has a story, so in a way, her statement makes sense. Of course, that’s just bullshit to make an excuse.
"Choa, if you’re craving a man, don't just stay home playing games on your day off. Go out and meet someone."
"Shut up, you virgin loser."
I took a clean counter-punch. It hurts. ...Virgin. ...Loser. It hurts so much.
"You should try dating before you start giving advice."
"If I wanted a girlfriend, I could get one right now."
"Bullshit."
"For real."
"Anime heroines aren't your girlfriend."
Choa clicked her tongue. "And I could get a boyfriend whenever I wanted, too, you know?"
Seemingly offended, Choa showed me the DMs she’d received from men. The list of DMs was endless. I guess being a girl really does get you more attention. These guys, their heads filled with nothing but sex, were struggling, sending greasy lines just to try and get a piece of her.
"These are just monkeys. Do you even see monkeys as men?"
Choa is... well, she’s decent-looking. ...To be honest. Choa is pretty. Not just "ordinarily pretty." She’s so pretty that there are rumors about her being a "campus goddess," not just in her department, but in the whole school. Like when you ask a younger brother with an idol sister, "Is your sister pretty?" and he answers, "She’s not," "She’s ugly," or "She’s just average." If I had lived like family for 15 years, I might think that way, but I didn't. I thought she was pretty when I first met her, and I think she’s pretty now.
She has a kind, cute impression, like a gentle puppy. A round face. Large, bright eyes under light double eyelids. It’s a waste that she’s not entering the entertainment industry with a face like that. It’s a waste of talent. In fact, she’s received casting offers from entertainment agencies a few times. But she rejected them all. She says she has no interest or intention in that direction. Choa being called a campus goddess isn't just because of her beauty. She has a great figure. Her breasts are large, and her butt is big. It’s not that she’s fat. She’s not even chubby. It’s not the "wannabe" body that most women strive for, but it’s the kind of body that drives men crazy. The kind of body you see on models who grace the covers of men’s magazines. This butt I’m casually using as a pillow right now is also a "picture in a painting" (unobtainable) for other men. I can’t tell Choa, though... but every time I masturbate, I think of Choa and pull out my seed.
Even in our relationship, which is full of dirty talk, there is a line that shouldn't be crossed. Insulting each other’s parents is obviously out, and you shouldn't look at the other person as a romantic interest. What’s the problem with seeing the opposite sex as the opposite sex? I’m talking about the presence of romantic feelings. You shouldn't look at the other person as a romantic partner. It’s not like we decided that between ourselves. I decided it unilaterally. A 15-year childhood friend. The moment I approach Choa with romantic feelings, this relationship will break. Because Choa doesn't think of me as anything more than a childhood friend. If she thought of me as a man even a little bit, would she be in such a defenseless state right now? We’ve become too comfortable with each other. To the point where we can't feel romantic attraction. The reason I feel romantic attraction toward Choa is simple. I’ve liked her for a long time.
Anyway. To maintain this relationship, I treat Choa like a male friend while hiding my feelings.
"If you could get a boyfriend, why don't you?" I asked indifferently, playing with my phone.
"It’s my choice." Choa asked indifferently, tapping the bed with her foot.
"What about you?"
"I’m not going to date."
"Say it straight. It’s not that you won't, it’s that you can't."
— *Smack!*
"Eek!"
I slapped Choa’s perky butt hard. The firm flesh clung to my palm. A sharp sound echoed, and her butt wobbled like pudding. I’d love to take off her pants and smack her butt until it was red. But that’s a territory I shouldn't cross.
"Why did you hit me?!" Choa glared at me with fierce eyes.
"I hit you because you have such a pretty way of speaking."
"You crazy bastard."
Choa groaned, "Augh," as if it hurt, and rubbed her butt with her palm, just like when you get an injection. "Damn it... your hands are so stinging..."
She looks genuinely hurt. Should I apologize? No. It’s been years since I stopped apologizing for this level of play. If I apologized for a prank like this now, that would be even stranger and more awkward.
"Then who told you to talk like that?"
So, I just chuckled as usual and went back to playing with my phone.