Jody locked the bedroom door, quickly shed his clothing, and double-checked the door. Certain that it was safe, the sixteen year old boy braced himself against the wall under the chin up bar his dad had installed for him, opposite the full-length mirror, and slowly started stroking himself, fantasizing that he was tied to a tree in the forest somewhere and was being tortured by a gang of Indians.

This was the first time he’d tried getting off this way: usually he just did it in bed, or occasionally in the shower or on the toilet, but quality time in the only bathroom of a house that held two adults, himself, and three sisters was scarce, and his parents didn’t like it when he locked his bedroom door, although they weren’t around right then.

His first orgasm occurred at age thirteen while he was playing with his balls. He knew his dick sometimes got hard and a little bit sticky, particularly when thinking about certain things, but jacking off never even occurred to him, and none of his buddies talked about stuff like that. One day on the toilet he’d encircled the neck of his scrotum with his thumb and forefinger and was just sort of massaging his balls with his other fingers when he spontaneously popped off. Although he knew nothing of sex or reproduction he instinctively knew what the white stuff on his thigh was. A couple of days later he tried to repeat the experience without result, until he finally stroked his prick. Wham! Instantaneous! After that he did it nearly every night, until finally his mother, faced with the additional laundry burden and tired of the smell permeating his room, convinced the boy’s father to have a talk with his son. Being puritanical and somewhat repressed Jody’s dad took the position that it was a harmful, unnatural activity that must be ceased at once. Jody knocked it off for almost a full week before succumbing to the pressure, this time using a towel to hide the evidence. He knew it was wrong, and that he was the only kid in the world that did it, but somehow he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t until his conversation with Uncle James that he figured out that he wasn’t the only one with a secret.

Uncle James was his mother’s younger brother, and although he was dead serious about some things, like making money, most everything else he took as some kind of large-scale joke. He was about thirty years old and still single, and usually had dinner with them on holidays and one night a month. Uncle James was really hip, compared to Jody’s mom and dad anyway, and he could name all of the Beatles and knew all the other current, that is 1964, rock stars. He and Jody had been watching TV together when Uncle James reached over and grabbed Jody’s hand. “Hair,” he said, examining the palm. “Just as I thought!” Jody felt his face get red, and he was suddenly at a total loss for words, something rare for him around Uncle James. His uncle looked at him for a minute before busting out laughing. “Gotcha!” He said, triumphantly. “Just kidding, kid, everyone does it. Hell, I do it all of the time. Just make sure your mother or sisters don’t catch you, and always take a sock or something to bed with you to clean up the mess. Other than that, just whack away all you want. It won’t hurt you a bit.”

Now fully erect, Jody paused and looked down at his cock, and then sideways at himself in the mirror, cupping his balls in his hand and rolling them around. His balls were his favorite piece of his anatomy. They were larger than most guys’ his age, and hung luxuriously low in his bag. His cock was another matter. It was only about four inches long soft, and although it did expand to six inches when erect he knew some of the guys in his PE class, mostly the seniors, had as much soft as he had hard. The pictures in the magazines at the barbershop were another thing altogether. Some of those men had twice what he did, and he secretly suspected he’d never grow enough to even come close to them.

Jody pumped his cock a couple of more times, then reached over to the adjacent dresser for the two seemingly harmless shoelaces that he had tied together. Working quickly, so as to not lose his boner, he knotted one end of the laces around his scrotum, wincing as the knot pulled firm. The other end he passed over the chin up bar before looping the extra lace around his outstretched hand. He gave the lace a tentative pull and thought to himself. ‘Ugh, white man no talk, Chief, what I do now?’ ‘Make him talk, White Feather.’ He stoked his cock some more, slowly now to delay the inevitable orgasm that was building in his balls, then reached over and grabbed his Math textbook from the dresser. ‘You talk now, white man!’ he fantasized as he pulled the lace tight and slammed the book onto his captive nuts.

First came the orgasm, sending a week’s worth of pent up teenage horniness half way across the room and onto the clean floor. Next was the weakness that buckled his knees and forced him to release his grip on the shoelace. Finally came the exquisite pain, which radiated through his whole belly as he flopped onto his bed and rolled himself into a ball, hands clenched to his stomach, savoring every second. It was the best one yet, one that would provide fuel for many future nighttime orgasms.

In the early days he did it without focus, just because it felt good. Later on he’d think about girls and look at topless pictures in the National Geographic Magazines that he’d get from the library. It wasn’t until he was fourteen that his masturbations included thoughts about actually having sex with a girl, and that sustained him until he got seduced by the freshman class whore. By the time he was sixteen his tall, athletic build and his natural good looks, coupled with a sensitive shyness made him a real heartthrob among the teeny bopper set, many of which were willing to spread their legs for him. Although he was getting laid at least occasionally he had a practically unlimited capacity for producing sperm and he continued to jack off regularly, constantly seeking new inspirations, which gradually led towards a fascination with bondage and the session with the shoelace and math book.

Three years later Jody was in the same corner of the same room. Again he was naked, but the mirror reflected a much different image than it had only three years ago. Jody now had curly hair on his chest, thighs, and ass, and a dirty blonde mane that approached his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in over a year, since high school graduation, and his wispy beard extended far down his chin. He had gained three inches in height during the last three years, and was fifty pounds heavier, mostly due to a poor diet and a lifestyle that allowed no time for exercise or physical activity.

Jody’s door was now unlocked and he was alone in the house. His mother was working, two sisters had gotten married and moved out, the other was away at college, and his father had been dead for over a year. He opened the bedroom window and turned the fan on before firing up the joint he had scored from a guy at the community college. It was supposed be real dynamite shit, specially laced with something called Angel Dust, and was guaranteed to be the best weed anywhere.

He took a small hit on the joint and looked again at the image in the mirror as he stoked himself erect, somewhat ashamed of the protruding gut, and again cursed his woefully short cock. It never really occurred to Jody that his current lack of luck with the ladies was more a function of his personal hygiene, lack of employment, and drug dependence; he still blamed it on the genetic combination that had saddled him with only a six-inch dick.

He took another small toke and reached down to fondle his balls. They were still slightly sore but most of the swelling had finally subsided. A month ago he had been in a pizza parlor with a chick that he hoped to take to bed. The place was packed to capacity and they were about to leave when his date invited another couple to sit at their table. The guy had short, buzz-cut hair and a fresh tattoo on his arm depicting the globe and fouled anchor of the United States Marine Corps. Jody didn’t have any deep-rooted philosophical problem with military types; his student deferment kept him immune from the draft so long as he stayed in college, and his late father’s Social Security would continue to pay all his educational expenses until he turned twenty-two, by which time the Viet Nam war would be over with anyway. It was okay with him if guys like this Marine got their rocks off by chasing down and killing little brown men so long as they left him out of the picture. The Marine looked a little pissed about having to share a table with a hippie, but finally sat down and intruded himself and his date, a student at the local college. She had the whitest teeth, best smile, and the most magnificent set of hooters that Jody had ever seen. He was stunned. “Hi, I’m uh, Jody….Jody,” he stammered. He wasn’t actually fucked up; he’d only drank two pitchers of beer and smoked one mediocre joint, not the good shit like he had now.

“He’s Jody Miller and I’m Ann Baker,” Jody’s date broke in. “You’re in Mr. Herman’s History class, aren’t you?” She asked the other girl.

Jody spent the next half hour staring at the most luscious chick he’d ever seen. Of course if he had bothered to actually attend classes now and then he might have ran into her on campus. His date finally went out to the car to wait for him while he went to the can to piss. He was just finishing up when the Marine came in. “Hey, Jody Jody, see if this puts a little crimp in your plans,” he said, abruptly spinning sideways and planting his heel into the hippie asshole’s crotch.

Jody promptly collapsed to his knees and added the beer and pizza he’d consumed to the piss on the floor. For the second time that night he was suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn’t until later that he learned that ‘Jody’ was a generic name for the guy at home fucking a deployed serviceman’s wife or girlfriend.

The potent weed finally began to take the rough edges off of Jody’s consciousness and the whole room gradually assumed a rosy sort of glow. Jody stopped stroking his cock long enough to take another look at the letter that had arrived earlier in the week. His coveted 2-S deferment had been revoked due to poor grades and attendance and he was now reclassified as 1-A, available for immediate induction. A separate letter informed him that he was to report to the local post office for transportation to the Armed Forces Induction Center, and that he should prepare himself for two years of military service. That really pissed him off. He had spent the last few days trying to figure out a way to beat the rap, but he knew there wasn’t anything medically wrong with him and that he didn’t have enough money saved up to pull a tennis shoe and trot over the border to Canada. He’d heard that you could claim that to be a queer and get out that way, but he also heard that guys who tried that usually ended up in a back alley somewhere having to suck off a whole squad of pissed off soldiers or take their dicks up the ass to prove it.

Jody fondled his balls again, noticing that they now seemed to have sort of an orange halo around them, stroked his cock a few more times, took another hit from the joint, then reached into the dresser drawer for the length of stout cord that he kept there. Tying the noose was almost automatic by now and in only a few seconds the cord was secured around his balls and passed over the otherwise unused chin-up bar. His cock was harder than it had ever been, and felt like it was a foot long as Jody pulled the cord tight.

Jody felt the pressure building inside his balls, and knowing the orgasm was near he slowed his stroking to take a hit from the joint. ‘Damn! That shit is dynamite!’ he thought as the cannabis and Angel Dust hit him. His reflection in the mirror was somewhat fogged by his chemical imbalance, and as he gazed at himself his balls seemed to take on a new dimension, as if they were trying to remove themselves from his body.

The orgasm was the most powerful and intense he’d ever experienced. Wave after wave of giddy pleasure went coursing through his cock and balls, and the bright blue sperm spewed like water from a hose. It seemed to go on for an hour. Suddenly it all became crystal clear! The solution to the problem lay in his balls! He released the cord and reached into the dresser drawer to remove the hunting knife that his uncle had given him several years ago. He tugged on the cord, pulling his balls out away from his body, and then very calmly sliced them free with the knife. He felt no pain, only wonderment at the bright green blood that coursed down his thighs and pooled on the floor at his feet. Ignoring the wound between his legs Jody sat down on the bed to more closely examine his severed manhood. They seemed to be throbbing and squirming, still alive, as he held them in his hand. Let them just try and draft his ass now! Ha!

Jody woke up in the hospital that evening under the influence of some entirely different, perfectly legal drugs. Although he had no memory of what had happened and felt no pain, he felt a profound sense of loss, as if he had been deprived of something that could never be replaced.