Page 120 of Of Karma and Corridors

“Ha! I had this the whole time!”

I tape his dick to the side, keeping it out of the way. “I’d say sorry for the stapler thing, but I mean . . . What’s the point, right?” I clap my hands together. “Okay, where were we?”

Ah yes, the iron.

I pick it up again, peeking at the settings. “Wait, do you think I should use steam?”

He shouts back but it’s hard to understand, something about steam being worse.

“Yeah, that’s literally the objective.”

He screams but it’s muffled and I nod, satisfied with the lower volume. I snatch the scissor tongs off the ironing board. The metal is looped at the ends, designed to pinch and hold. I capture one of his balls between the two and extend his sack, stretching it over the toilet lid. I elbow his knees farther apart, shoving his feet farther behind him. He’s been sitting in the unforgiving position long enough to have lost feeling in his lower limbs, and with his feet flopped out, he’s no longer able to bring his legs in front of him.

“Don’t worry, I know your legs have fallen asleep, but this will perk them right up!”

I make out the panicked nos while he continues wriggling.

“You should have thought about that before you commented on women’s looks. People age, Bobby. We’re all about body positivity now. Wrinkles are inevitable . . . well, except for you when I’m finished.” I wink.

“I Touch Myself” by Divinyls starts playing over the speakers—the irony.

Tears leak down his red face, and angry veins pop out of his forehead as he tries to get his arms loose.

“I’d say this is going to hurt, but you already know that.” Holding him tight, he hollers and I gently apply the iron to his scrotum. Ball sweat fizzles briefly before I apply more force.

He bellows loud enough to make me wince, but I don’t let that discourage me. I sing along to the song while his body contorts in a way that reminds me of a cartoon character getting electrocuted—body stiffening and jumping into the air as they violently shake.

I exert pressure until I feel the give of the first testicle rupturing. “There’s one . . .”

Another pop—“And two!”

He appears disfigured as every feature contorts into an unnatural position. Fascinating. Suddenly, the screaming ceases just as his body goes limp and he slumps forward.

I roll my eyes, disappointed. “Well, it’s no fun if you’re not going to play along.”

Rising to my feet, I set the iron back on the padded board and reach for the smelling salts when my phone vibrates against my chest. I unzip and pull it out, my lips twitching when I see her name on the screen.

Anna