The Sound a Man Makes When She Kicks Him Right

You can train a man to do almost anything.

You can train him to hold a smile through bad news. To keep a poker face during a job interview. To say "I'm fine" through gritted teeth at a dinner party with his in-laws. The male nervous system is, all things considered, surprisingly programmable.

But not when I kick him in the balls.

There is exactly one input that bypasses every layer of conditioning, every social script, every years-deep instinct to maintain composure — and it lives in a very specific location between your legs. When my foot connects crushes your orbs properly, the sound that comes out of you is not yours. You did not authorize it. You did not rehearse it. You could not have predicted it five seconds ago. It bypassed your brain entirely, took a back route through your nervous system, and exited your mouth before you even knew you were making it.

This is, I'll admit, my favorite part of the whole experience.

I've been collecting these sounds for years now. Cataloguing them in my head.

Comparing them. Running, in my own informal way, what I believe is the only serious research being done in this field. And I can tell you with full confidence that there are exactly five sounds a man makes when he gets kicked in the balls right.

Here they are. Find yours.

Sound 1: The Grunt

Low. Short. Almost dignified.

The Grunt is what comes out of men who are trying very hard to maintain control. It's the sound of someone who has decided, in advance, that he is not going to make a scene. He's going to take it like a man. He's going to absorb the impact and stay upright and process the experience internally like a stoic. That's the plan, anyway.

What actually happens is the air gets punched out of him in a single compressed syllable. "Hngh." Or sometimes "Uh." If he's particularly disciplined, just a sharp exhale through the nose.

The Grunt is involuntary in the same way a sneeze is involuntary. You can clamp your mouth shut and you can hold your breath and you can will it not to happen, but the second the impact lands, your diaphragm makes the decision for you and a sound exits your body whether you like it or not.

I respect the Grunt. It's an honest sound. The man making it isn't performing. He's just been hit in his balls so precisely that his body chose its own response and there was nothing he could do about it.

What it says about you: You're disciplined. You're proud. You've probably been kicked before and you've decided you're going to handle this one better. But you will not handle this one better. Your body has already decided.

Sound 2: The Wheeze

This is the sound of a man whose lungs have left the building.

The Wheeze happens when the kick lands in such a way that the entire respiratory system briefly forgets how to function. He doesn't cry out. He doesn't grunt. He just stops. There is silence — and then, two or three seconds later, this thin, papery, slightly desperate sound as he tries to draw a breath and realises his body has temporarily gone offline.

"Hhhhh."

That's it. That's all he can produce. A man who was, ten seconds ago, capable of full speech and complex motor function is now reduced to a single sustained vowel and the people around him are watching with concern.

The Wheeze is not voluntary. It cannot be voluntary.

No man would choose to make the Wheeze. 

It's the sound of a respiratory system that has been politely informed by the central nervous system that breathing is, for the moment, no longer the priority. The priority is "lying down", cupping the balls with his hands. The priority is "processing this."

What it says about you: You took it in a way you weren't expecting. The kick caught you somewhere between exhale and inhale. The Wheeze is, scientifically speaking, the sound of bad timing.

Sound 3: The Squeak

I'm sorry. I genuinely am. I know you don't want to hear this.

But sometimes — and I've witnessed this many times — the sound that comes out of a man when he gets kicked in the balls is high. Not low. Not manly. Not gravelly. High. A pitch his speaking voice has not produced since he was approximately twelve years old.

The Squeak is what happens when the impact triggers a vocal response so sharp and so immediate that the body skips the entire baritone register and goes straight to soprano.

It is not a yelp. It is not a scream. It is a brief, clear, almost musical note. A C-sharp, in some cases. I'm not joking.

You will be horrified by it. You will replay the moment in your head and try to convince yourself that you didn't actually make that sound, that you imagined it, that I imagined it. You did make that sound. I did not imagine it. There were witnesses.

You cannot mask the Squeak. You cannot suppress it. You cannot, after the fact, pretend it didn't happen. Other people in the room heard it. Some of them are still thinking about it.

What it says about you: You took it where it counts most. The Squeak is, paradoxically, the sound of the most successful kick. You can grunt your way through a glancing blow.

You can wheeze your way through a thudding one. The Squeak only comes out when the contact was exactly right, and your body is responding accordingly.

The Squeak is involuntary in a way that I find, frankly, beautiful.

Sound 4: The Long Exhale

This is the saddest one.

It happens when the kick is so devastating that the man receiving it doesn't have the breath, the strength, or the neurological coordination to make any kind of sharp sound at all. What comes out instead is a long, slow, descending sigh — like an air mattress with a slow leak. He is not screaming. He is not grunting. He is deflating.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh."

It is not theatrical. It is not for show. It is the sound of a man whose entire system has been put into immediate triage mode. His brain has decided that vocalising is a waste of resources. His body has overruled the brain by exactly enough to produce one slow, mournful note as he descends to the floor.

The Long Exhale is the sound of a man giving up on the moment entirely. Not in a dramatic way. In a deeply practical way. He has been hit, he is going down, and the universe has narrowed to a single objective which is getting horizontal as quickly as possible.

What it says about you: You weren't ready. You are now significantly less ready. The Long Exhale is the sound of complete and total recalibration in real time.

Sound 5: The Sound of Silence

The most unnerving one of all.

Sometimes I kick a man and he makes no sound whatsoever. Not a grunt. Not a wheeze. Not a squeak. Not a sigh. Total, complete, uninterrupted silence — and then, slowly, his knees give way and he descends to the floor like a controlled demolition.

I find this one fascinating. The Absolute Silence happens when my impact with his balls is so intense that the man's nervous system briefly disconnects from his vocal apparatus entirely. He is conscious. He can hear. He can think. He just can't, for the moment, speak. His body has decided to allocate every available resource to pain processing and there is nothing left over for sound production.

You will know the Absolute Silence when you make it. It is its own experience. There is a strange, suspended moment between the kick and the collapse where you are simply standing there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, no sound emerging, while your brain catches up with what just happened. It is, in its own way, more dramatic than any of the louder responses, because everyone in the room is watching you and waiting to find out what's about to come out — and the answer is nothing.

You're not being stoic. You're not being brave. You're not biting your tongue. You are physically incapable of producing a sound at this moment, and that incapacity itself is the most honest reaction of all.

What it says about you: The kick was so well-placed that your body didn't have time to organise a vocal response. The Absolute Silence is, in many ways, the highest compliment a kick can receive. It means everything got through.

One More Thing

Whatever sound you made, you made it because you couldn't help it.

That's the part I want you to sit with. You did not choose your sound. You did not perform your sound. Your sound is your body's involuntary verdict on what just happened to you, delivered without your permission, in front of a woman who was paying very close attention.

She remembers your sound. She thinks about your sound. She might be able to imitate your sound, though she will never tell you this because then you would die.

Tell me in the comments — which sound was yours? And don't lie. The Squeak guys especially. I see you. I hear you. I always have.

Tell me in the comments — how did it go when you told her? And if you haven't told her yet, what are you waiting for?

Watch what happens when a woman decides to use what she knows. Lucy's full video at protecturnuts.com/lucy. Or own everything forever — Universeflix Lifetime VIP — 300 memberships. Ever.