Camp Counselor

My last day as a camp counselor was pretty incredible.  Me and two others were responsible for the teenagers.  One day the teens were playing dodge ball on an outdoor basketball court when three kids came up to me.

Camp is fun!

“Something’s wrong with Roger,” Benny said.

Before I could ask what was the matter, I noticed that Roger’s eyes were red from crying.  Being the “attentive” guardian I am, I hadn’t even noticed that anything was wrong.  The kids asked if they could show me Roger’s ailment privately.  I was fearful because I was already in direct violation of my court ordered restraint to be unsupervised in the company of minors.  Regardless, Roger looked hurt and trusted me to help him.

I grabbed my first aid kit and followed the kids inside a nearby gymnasium.  Roger’s friends, Billy and Benny, pointed at his shirt.

“See how’s he’s been bleeding?” Billy asked as he pointed to Roger’s nipples.

Around Roger’s left nipple was a ring of blood.  It was as if the combination of an abrasive shirt pattern and the jostling of a half-marathon had chaffed Roger’s nipple raw.  But Roger, nor his friends, had ever participated in any such event.  The lack of Gushers brand fruit snacks and cheese laden nachos at track meets kept fat kids like Roger from doing that sort of thing.

From under the shirt, I noticed a small bump within the rim of blood.  The bump was too large to be a hardened nipple, and I became curious.  Billy and Benny gently lifted Roger’s shirt and tucked it behind his head.  Roger writhed with pain as they exposed Roger’s breast.   Protruding from the center of his bloodied areola was a thick, grey hair.  It was an odd sight given that it was the only hair on his prepubescent body.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“It’s some kind of hair, but it hurts to be touched,” Billy said.

“What do you kids want me to do?” I asked.

They looked confused and turned to each other as if they hadn’t thought this far ahead.  Assuming that a “responsible” adult like myself had any clue how to resolve this dilemma was a blunder only a child could commit.  Not sure what to do, I reached for my first aid kit and unzipped it.  Angst escaped the room as the kids’ trust in my abilities as counselor were confirmed.  I took out a pair of tweezers.  I lightly brushed the tip of tweezers across the hair.

“Roger, does it hurt when I touch the it with tweezers?” I asked.

“Oh, God!” he cried, “it hurts!”

“Billy, Benny, hold him tight,” I said.

Locked in the grip of his two compatriots, Roger squirmed with pain.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Roger asked.

I said, “On the count of three, Roger, I’m going to yank this hair out of your nipple.  Are you ready?”

“No!” he shouted, “Don’t you dare!”

I grabbed the base of the hair with the tweezers and Roger cringed.

With Roger and his hair secured, I counted.  ”One…two…”

Before I counted “three”, I yanked the hair as hard as I could.  Roger belted out a short scream and a discernible fart noise before fainting and falling to the floor.

I looked to see the tweezers held only a broken piece of the hair.

“Oh my God,” Benny cried, “he crapped his pants.”

Roger collapsed onto his side.  He was unconscious.  With his shirt pulled behind his neck, I could see the hair on Roger’s chest funneling blood to the floor.  His gym shorts were freshly stained with feces and urine.  I reached for the cell phone in my pocket and handed it to the boys.

“Benny,” I demanded, “call an ambulance!”

Paramedics arrived and put Roger into an ambulance.  After telling the other counselors what had happened, I jumped into my car and followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Tests were run and a doctor met me in the waiting room.  He explained Roger’s condition.

“Roger is doing fine.  He has a rare epidermal condition whereby free nerve endings and nerve fibers can work their way out of the skin.  The nerves are extremely sensitive and can cause severe pain and bleeding.  In Roger’s case, the nerve ending had surfaced through his areola.  The tweezers you used to pull on the nerve fiber caused Roger’s muscles to contract simultaneously.  Due to the shock, he lost all control of his bowels and defecated.  We will need to perform surgery to fix the damaged nerve ending.  But like I said, he should be fine.”

“Thank you Doctor.”  I said.

Later that day, I got a call from my supervisor.  He said that I should have used better judgment and I should have let professionals handle this “sensitive” issue.  He fired me right there.

Nothing gets your nipple harder than a good story.