Busted – The Game Show

© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter Nineteen

‘Have you met Mr. Misky?’ Todd said.

Jason hadn’t. Mr. Misky was a cat.

They were sitting in the bright fluorescent lunchroom. It was empty save for Todd and Jason – and Mr. Misky. Todd had the grey Burmese on his lap and was stroking it with one hand, while he and Jason sat opposite each other, looking at each other, the table pushed to one side.

Todd was wearing a dark-blue suit and a patterned tie. He had showered after Handyman but his hair was still damp, pushed back over his head and curled around his ears. Jason could smell the soap and wanted to reach forward and hug Todd, slip his hands inside the jacket, open the buttons on the shirt and feel Todd’s warm, clean skin against his arms.

He couldn’t do this, of course. He was a mess. He was naked and covered in blood; and he had a large chipboard screw protruding from the end of his erection.

‘Say, “Hello Jason,”’ Todd said, speaking to Mr. Misky and raising one of his paws slightly into the air. Mr. Misky tolerated this.

‘Hello, Mr. Misky,’ Jason said, reaching out a hand and patting him on the head. Mr. Misky closed his eyes and started to purr.

Jason looked around the empty room before looking back at Todd.

He swallowed. ‘Todd, do you reckon you could get this out?’ he said, nodding down at his cock, which had the head of a large chipboard screw protruding from the end of it. The blood had caked and dried. It was a mess. ‘I really need a piss,’ Jason said.

Todd looked at it and stared for a moment; and then he looked up at Jason smiling. ‘I like the way it looks,’ he said. ‘It looks funny.’

‘Please, Todd. I mean – I haven’t complained, have I?’

‘Complained? What have you got to complain about? You said I could do it.’

Jason had, of course, said that he could.

Todd continued. ‘I mean, I couldn’t reach the others – not without getting a chair – and I couldn’t have been really sure – whose was whose. But I knew yours. I could tell that one was yours.’ Todd nodded his head at it. ‘If I hadn’t chosen you – I mean – it wouldn’t have been good. And it looks good, Jase. You said—’

‘I’m not blaming you, Todd.’

‘I could have really fucked it up. You know that. I mean, I did what I could – what I thought was best. But, if I’d been stupid about it I could have fucked it up all at once. That wouldn’t have been much fun, would it? If I’d done that? I could’ve cut it off with a cardboard cutter.’

Jason cupped his hands around his dick. Thank God he hadn’t. Thank God Todd wasn’t some little shit like Eric. It hadn’t happened. He had been lucky. Lucky it had been Todd and not one of the other contestants who had played Handyman. The guy could have done anything. He had a whole toolbox for fuck’s sake. Jason had seen guys get hammered to mush in Handyman.

Todd had been kind; and Jason had been lucky. He still had his dick. There was no way he was losing it now. He knew that. There was only so much bad luck a person could have dished out to them. And, somehow, Todd had forgiven Jason. He had been kind; and things, certainly, had turned in Jason’s favour.

It was a reprieve.

Until now, things had been going wrong. There had been a mistake with the boxes in Blast-Off. Okay – he had to deal with that. He’d lost his balls and he’d decided to go on. It wasn’t the end of the world. When the season started again and he had to face the guys in the locker room – well, it would be difficult. He’d probably get some ribbing about it; but he would be a winner, all the same. He would have gone on Busted and won. He would still have a dick. It looked a bit funny without balls, but it wasn’t that strange these days. Lots of guys walked around without balls. He was young, yes, young for that to have happened to him; but it wasn’t the end of the world. He would cope with it. It was okay.

That Eric kid had played Garth a fool. He had caused Jason unnecessary pain and humiliation. He had damaged Jason’s penis and his testicles with his stupid behaviour. But it would heal. His dick would heal. Todd had caused a minimal amount of damage – enough certainly (or so he thought) for Todd to win the round and save himself – and Jason had said he could do this.

It was the least he could do.

Later this afternoon Jason would be pulling his jeans on, he would tuck his damaged dick into his jockstrap. He would zip up his fly and go home. He would feel the soft warm packet at his groin, slightly changed – yes; but he would be much as he had arrived – a sportsman, slightly injured after a game. He still had his manhood – the part that mattered. He was a sportsman. He still had his pride.

Losing his balls wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t that bad and it wasn’t going to get any worse. It just couldn’t. He would be out in the world again – much like the other guys at school, popular as he always had been, admired, looked up to. He was a beautiful guy. He would be a man.

And unless there was someone actively working against him he didn’t see how anything else could possibly go wrong. It wouldn’t. It simply couldn’t.

He would take up gymnastics again. He would look okay in the tights now. That was a bonus. He would look normal. He would get back up on the pummel horse – and maybe, if it was possible to do something about his vertigo, he would learn the rings. He had always like the rings. They were something he had wanted to do – and now that he was older he would have the strength in his arms to do them. They would give him hormones. He wasn’t losing his manhood. No way.

He looked down at his dick, cupping it in his hands. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, it was still erect. Somehow, despite all of it, it still felt good. The screw felt good. And he felt good – better now than he had before Handyman because of the lesson Todd had taught him. You could deal with the pain. You could, even, enjoy it.

It seemed incredible. There was blood caked around the head of the screw; but it felt great. It looked a mess, sure it looked a mess now; but Todd had been kind. And somehow, it felt great. The mess worried him – sure. But the damage would heal. He would be a man. He knew that. And, by this afternoon, as Todd had put it, he probably wouldn’t even care about the fact that his dick had had a screw in it at one stage during the day. The problem would be gone. It would be solved.

‘I don’t think you really need to piss,’ Todd said. ‘You pissed plenty on stage. It probably just feels like it. I mean – there’s something steel-cold and hard in there.’

Jason had pissed on stage. When Todd removed the drill bit he had felt a sudden rising tingling pain – and knew that he was about to piss. He had felt it all morning but had been unable to do anything about it because he had been so erect.

The drill bit undid the pressure and he felt the warm liquid flow through his widened hole, pulling at the membranes, healing them, and making the scoured passage clean and wide.

Todd had got a bucket while Jason relaxed. He could see Todd through the glass and Todd was making a show of the whole thing, looking up at the fixture on the wall like a Handyman confused about what was happening.

‘Well, I think I burst a pipe,’ Todd had said in his Southern accent.

This got a laugh from the audience but it wasn’t really humiliating. He was too concealed by the set to feel really humiliated about the whole thing. The audience could see his face, certainly, but if they’d looked closely they would have realised that it was pleasure as much as pain etched there. Jason had closed his eyes and felt the welcome relief.

Todd, meanwhile, made a show of avoiding the blood-streaked liquid, jumping back and dabbing at his torso and hips with a cloth at the places where he had been splashed.

‘Well, I gotta cut the flow off,’ he said.

And Jason, at the words, had felt his eyes fly open. He had started to struggle in the cage, thinking that Todd was going to cut him, thinking the kid was going to get his own back for what had happened in the surgeon’s room.

As it turned out, Todd merely searched for a wrench in the toolbox, making a show, firstly, by pulling out a hacksaw and a cardboard cutter. He showed these to the audience before putting them to one side. He found the wrench, reached up and locked it tight around the base of Jason’s cock, as though he was a plumber fixing a faucet, grasping it and turning it, scraping the skin and twisting Jason’s dick in the hole. The piss started to flow everywhere, splashing Todd’s face and hair and running over his shoulders and down his back, into the crack of his arse. He let go and stood back. And, at that precise moment, Jason lost consciousness.

When he came to they had released him and he was lying on his side on the floor of the stage behind the set. He was in a foetal position and had his hands cradling his groin.

‘Just enough and no more,’ someone said; and Jason had opened his eyes to see a group of people, standing above him in white coats and tending to him.

‘Is it okay?’ someone said to him, seeing that he was awake.

Jason jolted suddenly, looking forward and down and seeing, all at once, that his cock was still there. He breathed out, relieved, and nodded.

The group of people left him; and he was alone.

He got up onto his hands and knees, realizing as he did so that he was in a lot of pain. It was difficult to move and he collapsed to one side unable to get the muscles in his stomach, the muscles in his thighs, to behave as they should. His feet were arching backwards, curling with strain, and cramping.

The pain had been bearable in the restraints; but somehow, now that he had been released, it had increased.

He managed to get on hands and knees and shuffle himself forward. There was no one there to help him and he managed somehow to reach out and grab onto something. It was a plastic frame of some kind. He opened his eyes and looked at it properly, reading the words, ‘Baby Grow and Go Walker.’ It was a Zimmer frame for toddlers – an amalgam of plastic forms and colours moulded into a shape which even Gaudi would have found ugly. It had wheels; and, as Jason reached forward, he realized he would be able to support himself with his hands while shuffling forward on his knees.

The Grow and Go Walker had a sort of control panel, which Jason supposed, had the dual function of keeping a toddler interested, and learning him, as he tumbled along. There was a keyboard made of seven keys, half of a large ball (which turned out to be a button), some assorted plastic shapes which could be removed and reinserted, and, Jason noted (even though he wasn’t particularly interested in the features which the Grow and Go Walker had to offer) the makers had even included a telephone, which was red, and plastic, and looked like it belonged in the last century.

Jason shuffled forward, slipped, and accidentally hit the large hemispherical button.

There was a sudden tune: dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-dum-de-dum-de-de, followed by a voice. ‘Let’s learn colors, numbers, religion and sounds.’

‘What did you say?’ Jason said.

‘I said, let’s learn colors, numbers, religion and sounds. Blue is for peace, green is for life, orange means strength, black is a dice. One two three four – can you count to any more?’ The keyboard started to flash and the tune played again: dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-dum-de-dum-de-de. ‘Do re mi. What can we see? From the top I can touch the bottom. At the end is a patch to a new beginning. From a tower of good, a depth of evil drowns me. Can you count to see?’

The tune played again – dum-de-dum-de-dum-dum-dum-de-dum-de-de – and then everything went still and suddenly quiet. The voice, apparently, had said all it had to say.

Unexpectedly, the silence was broken by the sound of the telephone. It was ringing; and was a hot line apparently, because it lit up and flashed as Jason rounded the corner into the hall.

He didn’t want to but he decided he’d better answer it.

‘Hello?’ he said.

It was Todd. ‘Just do it properly, Jase.’

‘What?’

‘I can see your fucking arse on the monitor. Stop making a show of the whole fucking thing and just get up and fucking well walk.’

‘I can’t, Todd.’ Jason started to cry. ‘I can’t move properly. My dick’s fucked up.’

‘Oh for God’s sake!’ Todd said. ‘Just do it. You’re the one who reckons you’re a fucking adult. Act like one.’

Jason nodded, swallowing tears. He was being silly, really. He had to admit that.

‘Look, Jase,’ Todd said. ‘Just do it, please. I need you. Garth’s coming. He’s really pissed off with me for fucking you up.’

Todd was in the lunchroom. Jason agreed to meet him there. He got up and walked. It was difficult at first, difficult to stand straight and walk like a footballer; but, as he moved, clutching the walls and leaving his groin sunk backwards, he realized how ridiculous he was being. He stood up straight and just walked, ignoring the pain. Fortunately, he didn’t have to carry a mat. The people in the coats had given him something, anyway, something that made it easier; and he did manage. He made it to the lunchroom.

Outside, he hesitated. He could hear Garth’s voice raised in anger. And he decided to wait. He didn’t want Garth to see him like this. He had fucked everything up and Garth, obviously, was angry.

‘That wasn’t the fucking deal, Todd, was it?’ Garth said. ‘I said not to damage the fucking thing, didn’t I?’

‘I couldn’t help it. I didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t reach the others.’

‘That’s bullshit, Todd, and you know it. You did it cause you wanted to.’

‘He said I could.’

‘What?’

‘He said I could do it.’

‘Well, he’s not thinking too clearly then, is he? You think he really meant that? You think a fucking quarterback’s really gonna want some little shit to drill a hole down his cock?’

Todd said nothing.

‘I had a buyer for the fucking thing, Todd.’

‘What?’

‘A buyer. You know – money.’

‘A buyer?’

‘Mr. Rashneesh – and he’s not fucking happy. You’ve cost me forty-five million dollars, you little shit. I’ve had it set up for months’

‘What? How was I supposed to fucking know? What does he want it for?’

‘What do you think?’

‘But he’s Indian, isn’t he? Doesn’t it work the other way?’

‘Not any more, Todd. They’ve got the money. They’ve got the doctors. It’s a different world.’

‘You’re a sick piece of shit, Garth. You can have my fucking money. I don’t want the fucking money.’

‘Well, that’s just dandy, Todd, because you’re not getting any money. You’re on your own, fuckface. I spoke to John. He said to fuck you – “fuck the kid,” he said. You’re getting wasted, Todd. You’re getting fucked up on Busted and I’m gonna fucking well enjoy watching it, you little piece of shit.’

Garth hit Todd then. At least, Jason supposed he did. And when he walked in Todd was on the floor, cradling his face. Garth had gone.

‘Are you alright?’

Todd nodded and got up. He had tears in his eyes and his face was red.

‘Did you hear what he said?’

Jason shook his head.

He had, of course, avoided Garth. Jason had stood by the corner, and waited. He didn’t want Garth to know that he had heard the conversation. He didn’t want Todd to know that he had heard it, either. And he didn’t want to know that he had heard it, himself. He didn’t want to know that he had understood it. But he had.

He had known, really, all the time. Ever since he had agreed to come on Busted, he had known, somehow, that he would end up getting wasted. He had hoped it wouldn’t happen; but he had known that it would, somewhere, deep inside him. He wasn’t that stupid.

He would be nullified. It was inevitable. He knew Garth too well. Too many things had happened that showed him exactly what Garth liked; and he could only fall in with Garth’s plans because it was easier – knowing, all the time, that he would end up nullified.

He didn’t want admit it to himself. And he pretended not to understand. He pretended so well that he ended up not understanding. He forgot about it. He blocked it out. He’d been doing it for years.

He was a practised pretender.

But somewhere, deep inside, he knew, and was prepared to let it happen. It was easier that way; because somewhere, deep inside, he thought he wanted it.

He just couldn’t be sure about having thought that; and so the conversation had angered him.

It had angered him because he was being played a fool. Garth had done something Jason had never guessed. He had arranged to make money out of him – not only getting his enjoyment at Jason’s expense – but making a profit. He had arranged to sell a part of Jason’s body as though Garth owned it – sell it to so some other person so that they could use it as if it was theirs – could have it as theirs – as though it wasn’t Jason’s at all – as though it were one of Garth’s possessions and it weren’t still attached to Jason, when it was.

Jason understood this and was momentarily angry; but he hid himself from it.

He hid it from himself and sat down in the lunch-room, talking to Todd as though none of it had happened, telling himself that he would be putting his jeans on this afternoon, tucking his penis into them and zipping up the fly, feeling the soft warm flesh pressed under the fabric, believing it, making himself believe it, because he had to. He couldn’t have dealt with what was happening to him – what he was letting happen; and he knew, also, somehow, that there was nothing he could have done about it anyway. They weren’t going to let him go. They were making a spectacle out of him.

It was better to play dumb. He had, after all, been doing it for years. Ever since Garth had come into his life and started, Jason had stopped.

And so when Todd finally said, ‘I’m a contestant now,’ Jason really didn’t know what he meant; and he answered stupidly, as always.

‘Well, it took you long enough to work that out.’

Todd shrugged and bent forward, looking down at the cat, patting Mr. Misky on the head. He was upset. He was trying to hide it; but he was upset all the same. Jason realized that. He was a little kid who had been deceived. He had done only what Garth – what the producer – had employed him to do, saying it was alright, saying it was acceptable; and they had fucked him over. Todd had no one. And he really, didn’t, want to be here.

‘Mr. Misky lives in the Realm, don’t you Mr. Misky,’ Todd said, leaning right down and speaking into Mr. Misky’s ear, hugging the cat.

‘What’s that?’ Jason said.

‘It’s a Kingdom, isn’t it Mr. Misky?’ Todd waggled his head and the cat purred.

‘Is it near here?’ Jason said.

‘It’s right here,’ Todd said. He looked up at Jason with tears in his eyes. ‘You just can’t see it.’