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He looked at me, and slurped down his beer, emptying the glass in a long swallow. I filled it, from the pitcher, and then he started to talk. It was a hell of a story. "I appreciate your coming man. Yeah...I mean it too! Well....it all happened five years ago. I guess you know that, but there is more to the story and you need to hear me out. Please don't tell me you wouldn't have done it, don't tell me that. I didn't have a choice...I DIDN'T! I owed the fucker a hundred grand, and he told me straight out to give him my balls or he'd bury me. These guys are like that, and I knew he was serious. Yeah....I wasn't that stupid. There was this other guy named Henry Felter, a guy from Louisiana. You wouldn't remember him, as I don't think you ever met even. Well, it doesnt matter. But he's in the levy, dead and buried now six years, and he didn't have his balls when he went swimming. No....I knew who I was dealing with, and they would have castrated me just the same, and that was plain enough and I didn't have any choices there." I nodded, and filled his glass when he took another long swallow. I ordered two more pitchers, and we waited until they had come. My friend had gotten into the drug scene and it had cost him, and since those years after college he and I had drifted apart. Now, looking at him, I could see his eyes were glassed, with the buzz, and the memory, and when I looked at the eunuch and stared into his eyes it occurred to me that his face seemed smoother then when I saw him last. He was fatter too, more than a little, and losing his balls had not been good to him. I noticed his wedding ring was gone too, and of course his marriage had been on the rocks before so who can say? I remembered him when he was toned, with that hard body that had reflected lots of hours in the gym. I used to be envious of him, and I had watched him chase the women. I had gone down a different path, and liked the guys myself, and him especially, and yet he accepted me for being gay and we used to laugh about who was the better stud. I remember his balls too, how big they were, and how they used to hang between his legs like two plums. We had a lot of good memories, and once I had sucked him off after he had fucked a girl, sucking his pole and tasting her pussy. But those years were long gone and those days were lost to both of us forever. He had gotten married, and I had since had my share of lovers. Still, it wasn't that long ago, and he and I were still friends. He was just thirty, just like me, yeah, but he has lost his hard body and now he looked like shit. His face had rounded out and he'd even grown a belly. He looked older to me than I would have expected, and it almost seemed he had grown small breasts even, like a young teenage girl with just sprouting tits. They seemed obvious in his shirt. God. I took another swallow of my own beer, and tried not to look at them. Then he started to talk again. "He.....he handed me a fucking mallet....it was a big hammer and he handed it to me and told me to do it...right then, to smash my fucking balls. That's what he said 'Smash em.....smash em flat and let me watch you do it.' There was a guy, Jenkins, and he had the gun, pointing it at me, and the room was filled with a dozen of his lieutenants. I didn't have a choice....I begged him for some other way, and I apologized again for losing the shit and screwing up the deal. God.....he didn't have any sympathy, and he reminded me the value of the kilos I had dumped into the sea, as well as the boat that the cops had confiscated. I tried to explain once again about the cops, but he didn't want to listen. He told me flat out the only way I was going to live was to nut myself. I knew he was dead serious. So, I told him I'd do it but to please find another way. I begged them not to make me hammer them off. But he just grinned, and told me to drop my pants and to hammer my balls....until they were as flat as two pancakes. That's what he told me to do, and they even had an anvil in the closet like it was waiting for me. They brought it out and there was nothing else I could have done." I stared. I couldnt imagine it. I drank a beer and poured another, as he downed his own glass, and then I finally asked the question to get him to continue the tale. "So....did you? Did you smash your own balls?" He nodded. Slowly, shaking, he said, "The fucker made me. He made me take off my pants, and straddle that anvil with my legs wide. I was on my knees, so that my balls just rested on that anvil, and once I was in position they looped two ropes around each knee, which they tied out to a couple of rings in the floor. When I saw the rings it occurred to me they had done this before, to someone else sometime, because the rings were there and they seemed to know exactly how to make me kneel so the anvil would be at the perfect level for my balls to rest upon it." "They looped a chord around the top of my balls and stretched it out across the anvil, so that my balls were pulled out from my body and totally exposed. The only good thing, if you can call it good, was that it made an easy target. God it was a horrible feeling! As soon as they pegged out my legs and had my balls stretched out, one of them came up from behind me and kneeled there, his head even with mine and he right behind me. I had no idea what he was doing there, but I could feel the stubble of his beard on my neck and his rotten breath was in my ear. Chris nodded and the fucker grabbed my dick....and just wrapped his fist around my cock then and lifted it up and out of the way. I know I gasped, but they all laughed at my expression. There I was then, my balls just sitting there, resting on that steel plate, with my dick in his hand." I could picture his dick. I had held it myself in those early years, felt my friend's pole and worked his meat countless times. We had grown up best friends, he living just across the street from me. As teenagers we had shared a lot, and I loved working his rod and sucking it off. He had never been interested in holding mine, but he had liked it when I jerked him off. He liked the blowjobs more, until he discovered the girls and after that things had slowly changed. Still, all through college I sucked his cock from time to time, and he had let me and enjoyed it and never complained. I had always wanted to fuck him, to feel the tightness of his hole and to squirt my jism into his bowels, but of course it had never happened. Even so, through all the years we had been good friends, and while he wasn't gay he hadn't pushed me away. Eventually he had gotten married, and it was only then that it had all ended between us. But even so, I was his best man, and the memories were there and they were crystal. My friend started talking again, and I drank another glass. "Chris told me to get the hammer and get it done. I knew that if I tried to do it slowly I'd never be able to do it at all. I was shaking so bad I couldn't pick up the hammer, and that's when he told the guy with my dick to jerk my pole, and he said if I still had my balls when I shot my wad, he'd kill me then and there, after he castrated me himself of course." He slammed down the rest of his beer. It seemed to help his fear, and he refilled his own glass and then started talking again. "I didn't have a fucking choice! I begged him, BEGGED HIM, but he wouldn't listen and just told me to shut the fuck up and to smash my balls. He wasn't in the mood to negotiate, not at all. He told me flat out that I was either going to castrate myself or die. I knew they were dead serious, yeah, that I knew for sure, and so I finally got up the nerve to pick up the hammer." "The guy with my dick was pumping it, and I was so scared I didn't get hard. Not really hard anyway. But I raised that hammer up, high, and I finally got the nerve and I made the swing. But I was too fucking scared, and closed my eyes, and when I slammed it down onto that anvil I only hit the end, on the metal, about six inches from my balls. It slammed into that anvil though, a loud banging sound, and I almost fainted as the hammer bounced when I missed. You know, they all just laughed, laughed at me, and told me that I'd better do better than that if I wanted to live. That's when Chris said to me, 'It's just like baseball. You've got the swing down, now, just keep your eye on the balls and hit em hard." "The weird thing is that after I made that first swing my pole got hard then, just when he said that. The guy holding my dick was really pumping it, fast, the way you used to do, and his hand was going like a piston and he seemed to be in a hurry to get me to squirt. When I looked down I realized it made me think of you, and the way you would milk my rod when we were kids. I knew as soon as I had that thought that I'd blow my wad if he kept it up. He was really pumping my dick, as they all watched, and my balls were just sitting on that anvil and everything was in the balance." I smiled at the memory. God...we were just two teenagers when I discovered his dick, and all those times it had been so much fun. Still, he had been my best friend, but had chased the girls while I longed for his pole. I nodded, and drank a big swallow, and he did the same. Then he said: "Well, what could I do man? They had the guns, and I owed them the money. I was as good as dead. So, shit....I did what I had to do. You would have done it too! You would have! So....so yeah....I picked up the fucking hammer again.....and then as I felt the feeling and knew my wad was building, I somehow got the nerve and slammed it down, as hard as I could, slamming that hammer into my balls just as I started to squirt out my load." He didn't say anything for a while. Finally, I asked him: "Well....what happened? What happened when you hammered yourself?" He didn't answer me though, not at first. Instead, he drank another glass of beer, and I did the same. We were on the third pitcher, and I was more than buzzed. He looked at me and said "I....remember the pain, cause it was like an explosion between my legs. I remember it shooting up, into me, like a bomb really. I remember watching the hammer as I hit them, and my wad was shooting straight up out of my dick just as I smashed that hammer into my balls." I could see it in my mind. He always was a stud, with a hell of load, and I could still remember that first time, when we had been teenagers with hard dicks. Yeah, it had been so much fun growing up together, sharing our thoughts, and then, when we were around fourteen, we started jerking our meat and comparing our loads. I could still see him, as a teenager, pumping his dick and me doing the same, watching his big balls swing as he jerked his rod and pumped out his jism in long lines of cream. I drank down another glass, and grinned. Then I said "Go on....what happened when you hit your nuts?" He looked at me, and then he said "Well...right after that, immediately after I hit them, everything went black and I don't remember it exactly. I know I didn't get to enjoy my wad......" He grinned, and I laughed. The beer was working its magic then. Then he laughed again, and said "Well....yeah....I passed out when I hit em. I guess my eyes rolled back and I went down. I woke up pretty quickly though, cause they had some smelling salts, and when I came around I was still being held up, and my legs were still spread wide, tied out, to those pegs, and with me still straddling the anvil and my cock still in his hand. My dick was limp though, and my cream was already jetted out onto the floor. I remember clearly that when I looked down I screamed, and my balls were a mess.....but they were still there....even though they looked like a mess." "He made me hammer em again......and somehow, in spite of the pain, somehow I did and they laughed as I smashed them all over again. I passed out the second time too.....but the third time he made me hit them I stayed awake. It was the worst pain I've ever felt, ever in my life, and yet after that third hit they were pretty much just smashed and for the most part they were numb. After that he made me hammer them, just hammer them again and again, until they were just a blood pulp between my legs and were pretty much nothing but a mass of smashed manhood that didn't even look like a scrotum. My balls were just flattened across the anvil, a smashed bit of flesh that wasn't really recognizable anymore." I didn't know what to say to him. He drank another swallow of beer, and then he said "He gave me a knife after I had smashed them, and told me to cut the sack completely off. It was smashed flat into the metal, and when I peeled if off the anvil it wasn't really a set of balls anymore. My balls were already gone, so cutting them off at that point didnt seem that difficult. The weird part too is that it didn't hurt that bad to do that, and with the things destroyed it was easier to do than I would have thought it would have been. So, yeah, I castrated myself, and he watched me do it. After I had sliced off what remained of my manhood, he had the guy holding my dick lift it up, high, so that he could see that there was nothing under my pole at all. Only then was he satisfied." I nodded. God. Finally I said, "So....OK...I understand what happened. But why did you bring me down here and tell me? I don't see how I can help you man?" He leaned over then, leaned over to me, and then he said "He only credited me fifty....fifty grand for my balls. I still owe him....yeah....I still owe him the other fifty, and when he made me take my balls he gave me five years to pay off the rest. I...I don't have it man! I....don't have shit. They called me last night, and if I don't get the money.....and I mean soon....he's gonna call in the debt and take my dick! He'll do it too! Man.....I need the money man..... Please Jimmy....please. We've always been friends and you're the only person I know who I can ask!" As he said that, he finished the beer, and I did the same. God I was smashed. But neither of us were laughing anymore. I tried to emphasize with him, even with the buzz, but as buzzed as I was I couldnt help him. Then I said, "Well....that's a tough rap dude. Yeah...a tough rap. But....I don't have fifty grand lying around, and even if I did, I wouldn't think without your balls that your cock would be that special to you? Why do you even need it even?" His face fell, and I could see him staring then, his own buzz working on him now. He was smashed too. Then he whispered, "I.....I gotta have it or he'll make me take my own cock. He told me if I don't come up with the money by Saturday, I'd be slicing off my own dick, a half inch at a time! Then he told me that when I was as smooth as a girl, he'd bend me over and they'd all fuck my ass!" I stared. Then I downed my last glass of beer, and on a whim, I had a thought and I verbalized it. I grinned then, the booze working, and then I said: "Hey....do you think I can come?" [Authors note: © Copyright April, 2005. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author. Feedback always appreciated. [email protected]] |