© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter Eight

Jason wasn’t thinking clearly.

They put needles into him and everything changed – suddenly, always, and forever; and he would never be the same again. His mind opened and closed in new ways. It shut tighter, while other things, brighter, flooded in swirling visions through his mind. They turned and spun and fluttered while buttered voices whispered vicarious longings, daring him forward and forcing him to a precipice so he’d slide: kind voices reached longingly and tried. Connections, unexpected, came together while time phased in waves. There were days and days like these, and some days framed open into patches of sunshine surreal. That was the deal.

He had never expected it.

The drugs, he realized later, turned him into a jerk; but only, for a matter of moments.

They took him to the infirmary and did a full medical check, even using the little hammer on his knees, making him strip down to the jock strap that Garth had said he should wear today as it was, after all, a sporting occasion. And then they took that off him as well. They had to give him the injections, they said.

Two of them went into the little hollows on either side of his groin, two into his shoulder. They asked him to roll over before and move his legs apart before injecting a syringe into his arsehole; and then, when he had turned back, they told him they had to put two injections into the eye of his penis. There was a man and a woman in the room. They were wearing white lab-coats and they looked like proper medical professionals, unlike some of the frauds that practiced these days.

It was a bit embarrassing, obviously, to have an injection in your penis, but he figured it would be the stuff that made you hard and made you come; and, as it turned out, he was right.

He sat there while a man held his penis and injected a needle into. Fortunately, it was the man who did it. It would have been embarrassing if the woman had done it; but she was, luckily, working at a side bench with some test tubes and pieces of flesh.

Jase knew he was strong. He wasn’t going to let a little thing like a needle hurt him. At least, he thought so, but it turned out to be painful, hurting more than he thought it would. He had never stuck anything into the eye of his penis and he didn’t realize it would hurt that much. The doctor held his penis roughly too, squeezing it so the head bulged. The guy had to be firm, he said. A sudden jolt could easily make a mess! Jason could be torn, the doctor said. He was being cruel to be kind. Jason tried to relax as he watched his eye open like the mouth of fish. He watched the needle go in and then he felt it.

It was a sharp pain. Jason bit his lip and winced. He tried to stop it but, even though he was a football hero, his eyes watered and he had to blink back the tears as the guy readied himself for the second injection.

‘Are you crying?’

‘Fuck that!’ Jase said. He shook his head and shivered. There was another one to come.

In the wardrobe department they gave him the tank top, the leather sandals and the little cap that did up under his chin. It was a beach-rescue worker’s outfit from some country somewhere that he had seen before. He knew what it was; but he couldn’t think of it at the moment because the minute he saw the outfit, he realized this was real. They were really going to let him do this.

He had seen Brad in it. Brad had won. And even though Jase’s kit and arse would be exposed, he decided not to worry about it. Brad had looked strong and manly. He would be strong and manly. And it might help him if the other guys could see his gear, anyway. It could hardly be avoided and it would probably put them off. They would realize that they didn’t have a chance.

The tank top was red and it had JASON written across the front of it in large yellow letters. It made it look like his chest was bursting because he had filled the letters out and stretched them so they were distorted. It was too small for him, which was good in one way, because it made him look big and buff; but it was annoying too, because he had to keep pulling it down so that it covered his navel. The cap was the same yellow and red, made out of four colored triangles. It had little white cords that tied up under his chin, and; as he looked at himself in the mirror, Jason had to smile. He looked fucking gorgeous. His fine blond hair stuck out at the sides of the cap, and it separated into little bunches that curled on his forehead. He could never get his hair, usually, to do anything other than hang straight. Every strand had a fine life of its own. It was like a synthetic wig, or some little cloche hat that followed every movement of his head, as though there was a bead hanging from every single strand. It was blond and smooth and glossy; and girls at school often wanted to touch it (which Jason didn’t like). They even asked him what sort of product he used.

Something shifted in his mind.

As if he would be bothered! Why would anyone bother using some fucking product? You just put up with what you had. He’d never had to worry about what he looked like. Why did other people worried about it? He stared at himself and smiled.

Oh fuck! He was fucking gorgeous. This is what everyone is always going on about, he said to himself. I’m a fucking god.

He laughed a bit, standing there, looking in the mirror. He was beautiful. He’d never really seen it before. He was wonderful. No wonder they wanted him on the show. There was no way they would want him to be neutered. It simply wasn’t going to happen. He reached down and felt his balls. They were heavy in his loose sack and slid under the skin. They felt great. Oh, and he was safe.

The other guys…well.

Jason smiled. Oh fuck! They were gonna let him just do em.

He was a different. He looked great.

Even so, the costume was pretty silly. He realized that. It was supposed to be sexy (and it was) but they had gone a bit too far. The cap was okay. He could put up with that. It was the leather sandals that made it silly. He had no shorts on; and he had never, in his life, remembered footwear at the exclusion of something to cover his kit. Who would? Who would go to the beach dressed like this? When Jase went to the beach he made sure he wore a loose pair of shorts. There was no way he’d wear tight trunks to the beach. His bulge was huge in those things. They didn’t even cover it probably – not even making it around his sack, but leaving little gaps near the hollows of his groin at either side. Some of his sack was actually showing when he wore them; which he had to do at school, of course, for swim training, but there was no way he’d wear them by choice. It was bad enough at school.

He was so embarrassed about it that at one stage that Garth actually brought him a larger pair as a surprise, to try and help him out. They were nylon, Garth said; and because they weren’t elasticized, they wouldn’t make a big show of his kit. Unfortunately they were a lot too large and someone in the locker room, on the day of the meet, removed the cord that tied them at the waist. It was some competitor, Jason supposed. And he hadn’t realized that it had gone because it wasn’t there to remind him; and when he dived in the trunks had sucked backwards into the water, being dragged right over his feet in one sudden movement. And he had had to go on because it was a competition and Garth had come to watch him!

Fortunately he still won. He always won at swimming; but he had his arse and kit exposed to the whole school while he did it. The thought of it made him angry. He wasn’t going to be shamed like that again. He had tried to make the best of it at the time, planning, when the race was over, to dive down and grab the trunks; but some little kid jumped into the pool and grabbed them, running off, as though the whole thing was a joke and not a serious competition at all.

The whole school was laughing. There were parents there; and Jason was so embarrassed when he got the end and heard the laughter (he had, after all, just won) that he jumped out and ran for the chest-high fence (it was an outdoor pool). He climbed it, trying to get away, and then blundered when he got one foot on the top. He had straightened his leg and just got his balance when his heel slipped. He fell hard, forcing both balls into the steel rail, one on either side, and trapped underneath him. He froze and took a sudden breath. He went red in the face then fell off sideways, momentarily paralyzed, landing on the grass with one of his feet caught up in the air, his legs stretched wide apart.

That was a few years ago now, around the time that he had been thirteen. He was embarrassed by it; and, even though he had to believe Garth that had meant well, Jason decided to go back to wearing the elasticized trunks, because he was discomfited by his bulge, let alone his gear, naked; and now, here he was, about to expose his kit to guys all over the country.

He felt sick .

His thoughts shifted. It would be okay. He had nothing to be embarrassed about, like Garth said. What he had was fine. A bit out of the ordinary, but it was fine.

He took another look and smiled. The costume was fine too. There wasn’t a problem. He was gonna look great no matter what they put him in. The only thing, really, which would make it embarrassing, was if he was somehow made to look foolish, like at the swimming comp., while he was wearing it. That wasn’t going to happen. He was older now, smarter, and they weren’t going to…

Oh fuck! His dick rose a bit and he tried to control it. He hadn’t been thinking of anything! He got it slack again, repeating to himself: ‘Yes, I’ll go on, yes I’ll go on, yes I’ll go on,’ concentrating. He stopped and took a deep breath. In a few minutes he would be out there. He put his hands down, sliding them on the insides of his thighs. Oh God! The touch of his hands felt so good!

In a few minutes he would be out there. In a few minutes – after the saddle round they might even have a jerk-off, or a kick-off.

He thought about a kick-off, about kicking some guy in the nuts. Could he really use his powerful leg and squelch some poor guy’s nuts – end it for him?

Of course he could. Why not? He would have to look out for himself. And anyway, it wasn’t like he was doing it deliberately. It wasn’t like he had much choice. Why feel guilty about it? It was acceptable, these days. People watched the show. They laughed. He laughed. The guys went on afterwards and lived their lives. It wasn’t the end of the world. There was a point to it. It was population control.

Jason shook his head and dispelled conscience. Fuck off! He said, screaming at the voice inside him; and then, suddenly, everything went quiet. He felt the room expand around him. He stared as the lens in his eye focused sharply and the locker room resolved itself with pristine clarity. It was hard. It was bright. It was real.

He was a sportsman. This was a locker room. He was preparing for a game. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was kicking a ball. Oh fuck! He smiled and felt the adrenaline rush through him. Some guy – some smart-arsed prick was gonna get his balls kicked. He was gonna be made to stand there, spread legged, tied to the beams, Andy and Sam holding his hands, while Jase planted a boot, right fucking there. If he wasn’t careful he could break the guy’s pelvis. He would have to restrain his first kick or the guy would be mush before Jason got to enjoying it. He could probably burst the guy’s dick if he wanted to.

He smiled at the thought of it. He was going to win. They were just going to let him win. He’d be like a kid let loose in a toy shop. A kid whose parents would buy him anything. He felt his dick get hard. It spun up into the air faster and harder than it had ever been. Jase looked down at it and laughed. Ha!

He was out of control. He was out, from under the thumb. And he was thinking. For the first time in his life he was thinking really quickly.

But he wasn’t, of course, thinking well. And in a matter of moments his thoughts were going to slow again; and he would be as he always had been, only dumber. He realized later that the drugs had done this; but by then, it was too late.

They surged in his blood stream and coursed through his mind.

He started to feel woozy. He started to smile. And then he felt the sexual rush. Reason evaporated. Eyes partly closed he felt his head loll on his neck. He felt surreal.

His dick jerked up again and he looked at it. It stood out at a sharp angle, jerking up and down. He couldn’t even stop it. Fuck man. Oh fuck that was big!

He needed to come.

If only they had a jerk-off. Right then. Right now. He’d come in ten seconds. And then he’d get to – oh, fuck, he’d get to waste some guy.

How would he do it, though? He would have to think about it now.

The show gave you an option, but he didn’t want to use that – something else – something with tools. Something like what Brad had done to that Tom guy. Fuck that had been funny! The look on the guy’s face!

The one with the fish gripper, he thought. Yeah, a fish gripper, a hammer, an anvil and then – a hacksaw. He had thought of it before. It was one that he had planned out in his mind. He would do that first. It would get a laugh. It would definitely get a laugh.

But he needed to pull himself now. He really didn’t want to walk out on the stage with a boner. He had seen guys lose control and come for no reason on the stage. He wasn’t going to do that. It made them look like little kids pissing themselves. He had seen it happen in the saddle round when a guy had taken a first or second hit early and was worried about what would happen. It was a biological reaction. Garth had said that. The body, thinking it was going to castrated, made a last ditch effort at procreation, shooting a load automatically. It looked stupid and he wasn’t going to do that.

Jason calmed down and tried to think clearly.

Garth had told him that he would have to take at least one hit in the saddle round. In fact, he might have to take two or three. The questions weren’t that easy, and; as the producer had said, they would need to make a show of Jason – make it look good for the audience who would expect to get something out of Jason’s time on the show. He wasn’t, the producer had said, just any old contestant. He was special; and he deserved special treatment. The producer wouldn’t give Garth the answers to the questions; but had said Garth was a smart guy and there shouldn’t be too many he wouldn’t be able to answer.

It was a shame, but still, at least Jason didn’t have to think he was being given a free ride. He really would like to win under his own steam. He was a winner.

A third hit would hurt. It would be humiliating; but the producer had said to Garth that Jason didn’t need to feel humiliated. He needed to be a man about the whole thing and remember how Brad had reacted, and use it as an example. He could do that. He knew he could do that. He was strong and he wasn’t going to make a fool out of himself by smiling out of embarrassment or jetting a load across the studio out of fear. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Sometimes, of course, the pain itself sparked a fear that the guy couldn’t control. Something involuntary, Garth said. And Jase thought it would be better to get a load out now, even if it meant pulling himself in a fucking stall. Otherwise, he would be humiliated. He would look like some sex-crazed kid; and there was no way he was a kid.

He decided to pull himself. He looked around and then got into one of the stalls. He had only just grabbed his dick and pulled two or three times when a load shot out without him even expecting it. Oh fuck! It had hit the back of the door and because he couldn’t just leave it there, he had to get some paper and flush it.

Oh fuck! He closed his eyes. That felt so fucking good.

They had given him a robe to wear. He grabbed it and put it on, embarrassed that someone would come in and see his dick. They should have given him shorts to wear under it, Jason thought. It wouldn’t feel so funny then. He opened his locker. Garth had put something in his pack for this afternoon, he had said – something to wear on the way home. Jase unzipped the pack and looked inside. The clothes he had worn were in the infirmary, and, apart from his lunchbox, left over from school, there was nothing, except, right at the bottom something frilly and pink. He reached in and grabbed it, surprised to see a pair of lace panties. They were women’s panties. Size eight. But how did they get there? Jason thought.

He was trying to think why he had opened the pack in the first place, and staring at the panties when Jock, the stagehand, said, ‘Are you ready?’

He was standing at the door.

Jason thrust the panties into the pack and shut the locker.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sure I am.’