Holiday Hang-Up

    Christmas, 1993.  My parents and I were still living in Chicago.  My dad wanted to visit his brother, Mike, for the holidays.  So on Christmas Eve, we all got up early, packed our bags, and pounded through the three-plus hour drive from Chicago to his farm outside of Springfield.  Mom and I slept the whole way down there.  I swear my dad is built to wake up at obscene hours in the morning.  When we got there, we set our things down in the guest bedroom, then spent the day watching old Christmas TV specials.  At the time, I had discovered Mystery Science Theater, and had attempted to start my own riffing on "A Christmas Story" (something which has become sort of a Christmas tradition in my household).  This only lasted for about five minutes, until I was kicked out of the living room.  Sorry, aunt Linda, but I think that movie's a piece of shit.  Oh, well.  It meant I got to spend the next few hours playing on my cousin Robert's Sega.  Personally, I've always been a Nintendo guy, but I gotta admit that I DO love me some "Shining Force."
    At about seven, we had a dinner cooked by my dad, then commenced with a Christmas tradition in my family: everybody opens one present on Christmas Eve.  My present was two things in one wrapping: a copy of "Star Fox" and a copy of "Lufia & the Fortress of Doom."  Dad got a cookbook and Mom got a neat little antique statuette of the virgin Mary.  She had a thing for antiques, and for any and all things related to the Bible.  The next day, we finished the unwrapping first thing in the morning.  The rest of my presents: a few of the newer "Daredevil" and "Batman" comics I hadn't had the chance to pick up yet; the original "Star Wars" movies on VHS; some jeans and khakis; and a couple of packs of white Jockey briefs.  I was twelve at the time, and tended to find myself on the receiving end of an extremely painful wedgie from older kids who thought switching to boxers made them superior to me.  Mike let out a snort the second he saw the underwear.
    "Tighty whities?" he said in a sarcastic tone.  "Really, Suzi?"
    They were from my mom.  She just shrugged.
    "That's what he wears."
    "How can you expect him to ever grow up when you keep buying him little kid undies?"
    My face was turning red.  It's just friggin' underwear!  What does it matter to him what I wear?
    My dad cut in, "Mike, you and I BOTH know if briefs were just for kids, clothing companies wouldn't make them in adult sizes.  Besides, he may not look it, but Adam's an athletic boy."
    He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me in closer to him.
    "How am I gonna let him run track in the coming season when he's too busy fighting off a wedgie?"
    It was true that I was pretty athletic, even back then.  And I HAD told my parents I was thinking about signing up for my school's track team.  That seemed to shut Mike up.  I assumed he had figured briefs are good for something.  That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Dad and I were pulling our clothes off (we prefer to sleep in our underwear) when in walked Mike.  I immediately tried to cover myself up with my shirt, and he just laughed.
    "Please, Adam, just wearing those things is embarrassing enough."
    My dad was pulling down his jeans as he turned to his brother and said, "Lay off, Mike."
    Mike turned to Dad, and saw that he was wearing Jockey briefs as well.  He immediately rolled his eyes.
    "Oh, John, not you too!"
    Only he and my mother called my dad John.  Everybody else calls him Jack.
    My dad tossed his jeans aside and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts out of his travel bag.
    "Boxer shorts are loungewear, brother.  Always have been, always will be."
    Mike looked back at me, then slowly started walking towards me.
    "I don't care what John-John's told you.  You wanna grow up to be a real man?  You gotta stop suffocating your boys."
    Dad was eyeing him carefully as he slipped his boxers on.
    "Lay off, Mike."
    "Gotta give your boys adequate breathing room.  You keep wearing those, you're never gonna have children."
    My mom cut in, "Then explain how we had him in the first place."
    I was getting tired of his needling, and I really wanted to go to sleep.  As politely as I could, I said, "Mike, we're tired.  Can you please go?"
    But he wasn't letting up.  An eerie grin spread across his face as he got closer.
    "You know what happens to brief boys, Adam?"
    I knew exactly what he was about to do, and prepared myself for it.  Dad was out of the bed, ready to pounce on him if he grabbed my underwear.
    "Please just go."
    He reached for me, and I punched him in the nose.  Enough to draw blood, but not enough to break it.
    "Piss off, Mike!" I screamed.
    He looked at me with genuine shock as he held his nose, groaning in pain.  Mom was shocked, too, but Dad stood by the bed with a smirk under his mustache.  It grew quiet.  Scary quiet, as Mike just glared at me.  Eventually, he stepped out the door and closed it.  I sighed in relief, thankful it was done with.  Dad placed a hand on my shoulder.  I didn't wanna look him in the eye.
    "Dad, I..."
    "There's no need to be sorry, Adam.  I'm proud of you."
    I looked up at him.  He was still smirking.
    "Your uncle Mike's always been a bully.  Ever since we were kids.  And you just stood up to the bully."
    I smiled back.  He gave me a hug, and we went to bed.  The next day was kinda slow.  My cousin and I spent most of it playing "Streets of Rage" and "Golden Axe."  At around one-thirty, my dad walked in to say he and Mike were heading into town to get some things.  Mike wanted Robert to do some chores around the farm, and Dad asked if I could do the same.  I've helped out before, so I was fine with it.  So, after grabbing my flannel, I went out to the barn to check on the animals.  I should've waited until I saw Mike's truck leave.  Ten seconds hadn't passed since I walked in when what felt like a big rig slammed into me, knocking me flat on my face.  I immediately tried to get up, but a massive weight dropped on my upper back.  A pair of meaty legs locked around my arms.  I was trapped!
    As I lay, helplessly squirming on the floor, I felt my shirt crawl up my back, then a pair of icy cold hands shoot down the back of my jeans and grab the waistband of   my brand new Jockeys.  I started begging, pleading with my attacker not to do it.
    But, in the coldest, hardest tone of voice I had heard up to that point, he just replied, "You know what happens to brief boys, Adam?"
    I froze up.  It was uncle Mike!
    "They get..."
    With surprising force, he yanked my new underwear as hard as he could.  I let out a shriek of pain as my once comfortable, snug briefs sliced into my rear, threatening to cut me in half.
    "...WEDGIIIIIIIIEEEEEEES!!!!"
    My waistband was already mid-way up my back.  The front was coming up as well, with my manhood being crushed in the process.  He yanked again, and more cotton was forced into my butthole.  My waistband was now at my shoulders.  He adjusted his position so that he was sitting in front of me, with his boots planted firmly on my shoulders, then tugged again.  The back was past my head.  My face was bright red, tears were welling up in my eyes, and I was certain I could taste the cotton fabric.   One more yank, and he hooked the waistband to my nose.  As soon I felt and heard him stand up, I immediately tried to pry my cotton blindfold off.  It was stuck.  I couldn't get it off no matter how hard I pulled.  After about a minute, I felt a foot come down and push me to the side.  I involuntarily rolled over, which only further deepened the wedgie.  The front of my waistband was hugging my mid-torso area, and I was certain my balls had gone back up inside me.  I felt a pair of hands grab the front of my underwear and pull me off the ground.  I squeaked in pain as my head was pulled back slightly and my nuts were further squashed by my underwear.  I could tell we were moving toward something.  Before I could beg some more, I was hauled up.  I felt something metal scrape the back of my jeans.  Uncle Mike fiddled with the back, the dropped me.  I was caught in mid-air, and quickly realized what happened: he hooked my jeans onto one of the same hooks he uses to put horseshoes on!  I was hanging by my jeans, which only served to give me an even bigger wedgie!
    I heard footsteps, and realized he was leaving.  I didn't wanna be stuck here like this, so I started furiously kicking me legs, desperate to get down.  This only made the wedgie worse.  After I had worn myself out, I began calling for help.  Nobody answered, so I called louder.  Probably two hours passed.  My legs were numb.  My voice was hoarse.  And I was freezing.  I honestly thought I was gonna freeze to death, until I heard my cousin Robert call out for me.  As soon as he found me, he got me down off the hook and pried the underwear off my head.  It took me a while to dig my underwear out.  Afterwards, he helped me back to the house.  My legs were still numb, so he had to carry me the whole way.  He didn't mind, though.  He's about five years older than me, and built like a tank.  When we got inside, my mom immediately got me something to drink and asked what happened.  Eventually, my voice started to come back.  I told her what happened, and she was fuming.  Dad and Mike got home shortly afterwards, and she chewed him out for leaving me in a wedgie in the freezing cold.  Dad was pissed, too.  I could see in his face that it was everything in him to not beat Mike to death.  That night, we packed our things and went back to Chicago.  We didn't talk to him again for almost a year, when it was time to move down to Springfield.