What have you been smacked in the face by?

I don't know what made me think of it, but on the plane ride home two days ago I remembered being in sixth grade, on the soccer team. (I was a fat, sucky sports player as a kid but at my school you had to play on every seasonal sports team -- soccer, then lacrosse, then cross country, then basketball. Lacrosse was my favorite because I felt like Mega Man in my helmet and bluky blue pads and gloves. I played every game to a soundtrack of 'pew pew pew!' in my mind.) And it was the first play of the game, the other team kicking off.

I was ready to go, in right midfield, cleated up with my shinguards and socks pulled over them, Umbros crusty from all the precum slathered in my standard-onset-puberty mindless-fapping-at-the-homework-table-to-the-thought-of-my-English-teacher's-stocky-calves sessions (that fabric is the best to fap with, aside from your wife's panties). The center kicks off and my eyes zero in on the ball, watching its path to plan out my first moves, knees slightly bent, shoulders hunched and eyebrows furrowed in my inexpert, anticipatory stance, my clumsy frame ready to dart off in whatever direction I would be moved by my novice soccer instinct. I continue to plan out my defensive strategy while I watch the ball hurtling in my direction, considering pulling back to trap it with my capacious pec-teats, or perhaps doing a header up to the wing (this was the only move I could reliably make in soccer, because it did not involve any skill with my feet, just bashing something with my huge head). Weighing these options, calculating their effect on this most crucial first minute of the game, I continue to gaze steadily, becoming transfixed by the ball getting bigger and bigger in my field of vision, my mind unable to settle and shift into action. I feel the other players and the audience turn their eyes in my direction as the spotted comet races into my perimeter, just me and the guy I'm defending against, one-on-one, time to do something to get this game started.

But I am crippled by indecision and disbelief in my own ability to so much as change the position of my own body, held in the glare of 54 eyes and the sun, knowing the girl I had a five-year crush on (yes, since second grade) had to be out there, looking on anxiously, skeptically, perfunctorily, to see how I would display my athleticism. I face the ball, mouth-breathing dumbly, as it eclipses all the light out of my field of vision and, somehow, all the sound from my ear canals, leaving me for one moment isolated in a womb-like instant of fate.

The ball smacks against my face with the snap of a Monomachine snare with a 40 Hz res filter notched up 3 dBs, with just a touch of fast-delay, 10'x10' room reverb with about 0.2 s of tail, leaving in its wake the hot sting of a freshly slapped schoolgirl ass, cheeks burning the color of a salmon in heat, a cocktail of two jiggers pure nerve burn to three parts mortification. My body does not move at all; the ball just rebounds off my fleshy pate like I am a mindless goalpost in the way of its natural path, a brute, meaningless thing put in the way of another thing -- only, a thing with feelings.

The whistle blows, its sound waves and the wind rippling the thick pools of tears I now work to keep tense along my lenses, my face feeling two-dimensional in the aftershock of this ball-punch to the soul, willing myself not to betray a single movement or expression; not to hear the laughter down the field, probably from my own teammates; not to understand any word of English just long enough to stay oblivious to whatever it is that anyone within a 50-foot radius might be saying; causing, by sheer force of my own insistence, this botched play to have been a mirage; my face and heart numbed by the indecency of it all, wishing I could sink into the soil and be as inconspicuous as the dirt clods thrown up by the able feet of my peers, begging to be just an afterthought in the lives of everyone involved with this cursed game, this whole school, this life.

your mom's tits

Lol

  On 3/27/2013 at 3:42 PM, encey said:

Umbros crusty from all the precum slathered in my standard-onset-puberty mindless-fapping-at-the-homework-table-to-the-thought-of-my-English-teacher's-stocky-calves sessions (that fabric is the best to fap with, aside from your wife's panties).

This is like something out of Ulysses.

Yeah, I've taken a few footies to the face - and genitals. All in the pointless name of sport.

I also took a rock to the face when I tried diving over a wave baywatch-style in Corfu.

edit: I've taken footies to my genitals, not men's genitals to my face.

Princess Diana chipped my teeth and knocked them crooked at Walt Disney World back in the mid-90s, full story when I can be bothered to type it up.

I don't want to type it all out again on my mobile, but I posted an epic story once about getting smacked in the face on the street by some drugged-up guy in my old neighborhood in Brooklyn.

It's one of my best stories actually.

The short version is, I was walking with my wife and he hit me hard in the mouth, for no reason. He threatened me with a "gun" under his waistline, but I called his bluff, chased after him and called the cops. Then two skater guys showed up and voluntarily chased him down with me, on their skateboards. Then they started beating him up. Then an absurd amount of cops, ambulances and fire trucks showed up but I wasn't able to press charges because he didn't hurt me badly enough.

Then the cops told me this guys was basically a gangster with gun charges and that I better watch my back because he lived right down the street from me.

pathos

When I was younger my face seemed to be a magnet for any object flying past, it started getting to the point where I was feeling immune to it. Not a complete list but...

• I've been smacked with footballs too many times to count. They don't hurt as much as other things, but they sting like fuck.
• When I was 4 on a family bike ride a group of kids living on the abandoned cement works decided to throw rocks. One hit me on the face and I fell into a thorn bush. As a result I looked like I had acne for a few weeks from all the cuts.
• I had a habit of hitting myself accidentally in the face with shoes / football boots quite a lot. I'm shit at kicking; I always do this awkward lean just as I'm about to kick where my face is nearly meeting my knee. My boots were always hand me downs and usually too big, so they flew about the place often. I've decided since that sports probably aren't for me.

Good thing I re-read the thread though, I initially read this as "Who have you been smacked in the face by?", which the only person so far has been my dad. That would have made things take a pretty depressing turn

That first post is gold.

Footballs, handballs, badminton rackets...

frogs... i worked a summer job picking tomatoes aged 14 and the place was over-run with frogs. we used to have frog fights and throw them at each other.

got a cleat momentarily stuck in my braces playing hand-egg

luckily it didn't rip anything out or cause any damage

pesky branches

Tonz'O'Cockz

(no homo)

I have punched myself with the back of my fist twice at work. We empty these big cardboard boxes filled with trash in a dumpster. You have to put one hand at the top and one at the bottom to lift them up to the opening. Well sometimes the cardboard breaks at the top when your hand is at nose level.

Chased the basketball I and my saddo friends were playing with across the playground when it got away from us. I was in first year of secondary school.

A ginger meat mountain of a 5th year saw it rolling towards him so decided to boot it to the other side of the playground.

My face got in the way from about a 3-4ft distance.

No pain. Face went completely numb and felt like it was infinitely expanding. The older boy was quite guilty/concerned, which I remember being quite sweet as he looked like more of a sadistic bully type.

This is what my face felt like:

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One of my arch nemisi kicked a plastic bottle in my face, left a red mark right under my left eye. Later he threw books at my head.

My bro spit in my face once, sorta by accident.

I guess that's it, people don't smack me that much. I don't even think anyone's ever punched me in the face with a fist or something....

I took a stray basketball to the face when I was in sixth grade. I was more confused than hurt though, because I had no idea where it came from. If I'd known who threw it I would've kicked their ass.

But I had redeemed my dignity about nine years later when a stripper rubbed her bosom on my face.

  On 3/27/2013 at 6:37 PM, Beholdapalehorse said:

I have punched myself with the back of my fist twice at work. We empty these big cardboard boxes filled with trash in a dumpster. You have to put one hand at the top and one at the bottom to lift them up to the opening. Well sometimes the cardboard breaks at the top when your hand is at nose level.

I thought you were going to say a Frisbee...

I got hit in the face with brussel sprouts. I used to have sprout sniper wars with my co-workers on the late shifts at Trader Joe's.

my best mate

most recently a big black man on a green bmx

sex joke innit

knuckles

a long time ago though......

tarmac and mud

for years I have perfected the art of falling off bicycles