My Summer Job

Now I’m not lazy, and I was excited about Dad lining up a summer job that not only paid decent money but also was sort of in line with the Medical Technology Assistant course I’m taking at the community college, but after a week of it I was ready to hire out on a porta-potty cleaning crew. It sucked that bad.

You all know about the Immigration Control Act of 2003 and how it was supposed to stem the tide of illegal aliens that were draining the country’s welfare system and stealing the jobs from real people, and maybe you agree with it and maybe you don’t, but that’s immaterial. The law was passed, and the police’s job was to apprehend wetbacks, and my summer job was to help castrate them before they were deported.

I worked as a crewman in Mobile Attitude Adjustment Vehicle, or MAAV for short. It is nothing more than a semi-truck that has been converted to a castration clinic, and we went around Southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico getting illegal aliens ready for deportation back to their home country.

The illegals have already been rounded up and locked into holding camps near the border when we get there. We unhook the MAAV, set it up, and get right to work. The heart of the trailer is a long chute or trough made out of stainless steel. It is about two feet wide and thirty feet long and has a gap or slot down its center that tapers from about four inches wide down to less than an inch wide. Below this slot are a set of rails about an inch wide and a quarter of an inch thick that are also made of stainless steel. They are about four inches apart at the start, but they narrow to a gap of no more than a quarter of an inch as they progress along the chute.

Each camp has a crew of herders, and they capture the illegals, attach handcuffs to them, and bring them to the head of the trailer where one of our crew pulls their pants off. Working together they force the guy into the chute, face down, and attach the handcuffs to an overhead chain that drags the individual through the machine.

I am the newest hire, so I have the shittiest job. I reach up through the gap in the rails and chute, grab the guy by his balls, and pull them down as he starts to slide along. The rails narrow and capture his balls, and at that time I also have to shove his dick up out of the way so it won’t get entrapped in the machinery farther down the line.

The next station washes the guy’s balls and scrotum. The rails drop a couple of inches here to stretch the scrotum and allow rotating brushes to clean the neck of it with disinfectant soap. There are guards to cut down on the spray, but some still escapes and flies onto me.

After the washing station the rails drop even lower to allow the banding crew to apply double rubber bands with aluminum clinch rings tight up against the guy’s groin. Two men work this station, one on either side. It is actually the hardest job, and requires the most skill. Immediately beyond the banding station two foam rollers apply a final coat of disinfectant.

Four feet farther down the chute is the cutting station. It is nothing more than a knife blade about four inches long that is fastened at an angle across the rails. It is replaced twice a day and the old ones are retained for sharpening. The balls drop into a five gallon plastic bucket, which the foreman replaces with an empty when it is full. Ideally the end of the MAAV is located right up against a hole in the border fence, so that once the guy’s handcuffs are removed he is back in his homeland and of no more concern to us.

It is an efficient process, and with it we nut out a guy every thirty seconds or so. What makes it miserable are the working conditions. It is hotter than hell in the trailer, so I can’t wear any rain gear, and about half of the guys piss when I grab their balls. I have a hose handy to wash myself off with, and even though I’m not supposed to I sometimes gat mad and whack a guy in the balls. He won’t have them long enough to really appreciate the pain, but it makes me feel better anyway. The only thing really difficult about my job is making sure that both balls are firmly trapped between the rails. Most guys are terrified at this point and their balls are sucked tight up against their groins, which means I sometimes have to work to get a firm grasp on both of them. They are also all different sizes, of course, and that makes it a little interesting.

I never get to see their faces, but I can kind of guess how old the guys are by their balls. The really young teenagers don’t have much hair, the older adolescents and young men usually have big balls, and the older men’s nuts are usually small, hard, and hang lower. Once or twice a day we get some guy with absolutely huge balls. These, along with the tiniest ones are kept separate. I don’t know what becomes of them, but the rest are refrigerated and later ground up into pet food.

Some guys have one huge ball and one really small one, and if the banding crew sees that I missed one the foreman chews my ass out. The line can’t be reversed, so the guy has to be run through again.

Sometimes a guy flounders around enough to become unhooked from the overhead chain. That isn’t a real problem, as the guy behind him still propels him along, but it means that his ass is right in the face of the guy behind him and sometimes, if there’s enough slack in his scrotum, he’ll actually ride up on each other so that their balls are right together, which makes it kind of tough for the banding crew.

There’s a lot of screaming going on all of the time, so I wear hearing protectors. I would like to have headphones and music, but the foreman won’t allow it.

Ten or fifteen percent of the guys will get it up and blow their wads somewhere along the line, and after a while the rails and bottom of the chute is covered with their slime. There isn’t much blood released with each castration, but it does add up and every thing has to be hosed down a couple of times a day. Another thing that disgusts me is the shit. Every now and then some guy loses it and the smell of shit, and the puke from the guy behind him, is added to the ever-present aroma of unwashed cocks and semen that permeates the air. Exhaust fans help, but it still gets pretty rank.

For the first week I had a constant boner, and had to go somewhere and jack off at lunchtime, but after a while it didn’t bother me anymore. The other guys on the crew kidded me and flicked me shit about it, but they admitted later that it happens to everyone at first. I must have done okay, because the foreman wants me back again next year, and has promised to upgrade me to second bander when that position comes open. I still haven’t made up my mind rather I want to go back or not.