Line. A simple little word, rhymes with mine and fine and wine and a shitload of other words as well. It also has many different meanings. A guy can give a gal a line such as “honest to God I’m sterile” or “I promise I won’t come in your mouth”. People stand in lines to do just about everything, and birds roost on lines and shit on the cars underneath. The word is also used to describe rope or cordage: ships are moored to their piers with heavy rope lines, elevators are pulled up by slender steel lines, and environmentally conscious housewives hang their laundry out to dry on clotheslines.

Although he had never in his life hung a load of laundry out to dry, Rob was intimately familiar with clothesline. A long piece of the stout three-sixteenths diameter stuff was cinched firmly around his teenage nutsack, compressing his ample balls into a hard lump somewhat larger than a doorknob, and Rob directed yet another silent curse towards his Uncle Bob.

Uncle Bob was the UNDISPUTED RV KING! and had been bucks-up when he promised to underwrite his favorite nephew’s college education, so Rob hadn’t bothered seeking financial aid. He had been accepted at the State University and was a month away from moving in when the economy tanked and the DEALS THAT NOBODY BEATS! stopped going down and Bob’s HUGE MULTIMILLION DOLLAR INVENTORY! became a multimillion dollar liability and Uncle Bob withdrew his offer, leaving Rob scrambling around desperately trying to find financial aid.

He finally gave up on going to State University and signed up at the local community college instead, where enrollment was open and acceptance was guaranteed, and more importantly, tuition was waived because he lived in the district but over sixty miles from the campus. Now he only needed enough money for housing and books and incidentals, and his uncle could manage that.

The college was meant for locals and didn’t have dorms or any kind of subsidized student housing, but a number cheap apartments had been erected by slumlords near the campus, the worst of which was Blake Manor. Blake had been built back in the ‘70’s, long before Rob had even been born, and since that time had received only the minimum maintenance. It consisted of a dozen six hundred square foot two bedroom apartments, each of which had one small bathroom, a minimal kitchen area, and a living-dining room that was barely large enough for four people. Each of the bedrooms contained one twin bed and one set of bunk beds, allowing six people to occupy each unit. The owner collected rent from each individually and assigned roommates at his whim, and left them to settle the sleeping arrangement in whatever manner they chose. The building was co-ed but not the apartments, and smoking, alcohol, and controlled substances were all banned regardless of the renters’ ages. “I’ll be a little crowded at first,” the manager told him, “but a lot of the kids drop out after the first term and then you’ll have room to spare.”

Rob about shit when he saw his new home. The room that he’d reserved in the new dorm building at the University held only two students and contained a small but private bath as well as DSL, separate study areas for each occupant, and all the other amenities that modern students desire. By comparison, Blake was a fucking slum! Zero privacy, one underpowered router for every dozen students to share, and barely enough room to turn around without bumping into a roommate. It was all that he could afford so he’d manage somehow, but it was obvious that he’d be spending a lot of time at the library and student union.

The worst thing, other than Shelly having gone on to State University without him, was the total lack of privacy. The home Rob shared with his mother was small but he had a bedroom to himself with a door that locked, and he and his mom rarely had conflicts sharing the single bathroom. Here he was sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, in a room with two strangers. The bathroom offered no escape: the students all had morning classes and to expedite getting ready it was common for three of them to share the bathroom at the same time, one on the toilet, one at the lavatory, and another in the shower, all jostling for space. The boys obviously became familiar with each other’s bodies, and guys of a different persuasion would have no doubt enjoyed themselves immensely in such an environment.

Like all other tribes of primitive savages the six boys eventually adopted some rules of behavior to govern their conduct, sort of a dorm room equivalent of the Ten Commandments, and those who violated the covenants were subject to punishment deemed appropriate by the other tribesmen. They ended up with a couple of dozen crimes against humanity; no hogging the shower, pants had to be worn in the kitchen and living room, farting was not allowed in the kitchen, boners could not be displayed, and masturbation was outlawed unless the person was alone in the room, which was damn seldom. Rob was a normal healthy young male in the prime of his life who had suddenly been deprived of his steady girlfriend and the abrupt transition was hard, among other things. He quickly learned to stay under the covers until his morning wood dissipated, and to jack off silently in the middle of the night when his roommates were both snoring away.

Kyle was the first one to be convicted and punished under the terms of the new constitution. He was eighteen, a freshman, and a marginal student. It was obvious after only a month into the first term that he wasn’t going to be able to cut it. He wasn’t very bright to start with as well as having lousy study habits, but his biggest problem was that he really didn’t want to be there. His goal in life was to be a career welfare recipient and the sooner he dropped out and got on with doing nothing the happier he would be. The rest of the guys were already arguing over who would inherit his bed. Kyle had been the first one there, so he’d claimed one of the primo twin beds for his own. His two roommates felt that one them should get the bed, while Rob and his two roommates demanded to be included in the running. Kyle had walked through some dogshit, tracked it onto the carpet, then rinsed his shoes off in the kitchen sink and left the somewhat clean shoes to dry on the counter beside the somewhat clean dishes. His transgression was ruled a crime against nature, and although not one specifically banned it was deemed heinous enough to warrant punishment.

The punishment had to fit the crime, so the boys took some clothesline that a previous tenet had left and bound the miscreant’s hands tightly to the back of his neck and then tied his elbows and knees together with just enough slack so he could crawl around. Finally, the offending shoes were hung around his neck and the unfortunate young man, clad only in his skivvies, was led around the apartment complex like a dog on a leash, nose nearly touching the ground.

Rob was the next of the six Blake tribesmen to be convicted of a Major crime. He had gotten up late one evening to piss, and then had started thinking about how much he missed Shelly, and had finally plopped down on the couch, dick in hand. That wasn’t illegal because he was alone in the living room at the time. He had, however, awakened one of the others, who came out to investigate which of the roomies was getting a piece of ass in the living room and got there right in time to see Rob pump out a huge load across his belly and onto the couch cushions. Rob was caught white-handed and had no choice but to accept the consequences for leaving pecker tracks on the community couch. The tribal council met to determine a form of punishment that fit the crime, and it was eventually decided that next Saturday morning Rob would have to polish the knob.

The knob to be polished was located on the attic access door. The door was about two feet square and was located ten feet above the second floor stairway landing, immediately outside the boys’ door. When access was required a ladder was usually set up, but the boys decided to make-do by dragging the kitchen table outside and stacking a chair on top to form a platform from which Rob could do his work. The other preparations involved Rob. He was forced to the floor and stripped, then the clothesline was tied snuggly around his scrotum and routed between his legs, through the crack of his ass, and over the fire sprinkler main located just above the attic access door. His wrists were then bound together and tied to the front of his neck, leaving his hands free to do the polishing. Finally, Rob’s skivvies were tugged back up over his waist and he was helped to his feet and led outside. He was then given a small polishing cloth and ordered to climb the assembled stack of furniture, urged along by not so subtle tugs on the line attached to his nuts.

Rob had never been so aware of his balls. The tightness of the line squeezing his nuts induced a mild ache in them, and it was only by keeping his legs spread that he could avoid further compressing them between his thighs. In addition to the physical discomfort he was also severely pissed at his housemates. No one had ever grabbed his naked balls, let alone tied a cord around them.

The rope that bound his hands to his neck was too short to allow much motion with the polishing cloth, and after a few minutes he realized that it would take awhile to remove the oxidation and crud from the doorknob. That didn’t scare Rob; he had been working various odd jobs since he had been big enough to push a lawn mower and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. He wasn’t afraid of being punished either. His mom had been a strict disciplinarian and Rob had been a feisty little asshole who was always getting into some kind of minor trouble and was always getting his ass paddled.

He was twelve the last time his mother had pulled his pants down and laid him across her knee. The humiliation of baring his pubescent body in front of his mother was worse than the pain of the spanking, but worst of all, the alien touch of her bare leg induced an erection. She responded to the probing of his adolescent boner by delivering another half dozen whacks, and he responded by erupting all over her thigh. Right about then she determined that perhaps a different form of discipline might be in order, and the new punishments usually involved extra work to help dissipate the boy’s excess energy.

Rob continued to polish the knob and the tribesmen continued to hector him, taking turns holding and sometimes tugging on the line, until they finally became bored with the sport and retired to the living room to watch the ball game, tying Rob’s nut leash to the stair railing to prevent his escape. He could have chewed through the rope binding his wrists, but that would be a violation of the spirit of his punishment, so he continued to polish the doorknob while silently cursing his roommates and plotting his revenge against them.

Some kind of motion caught Rob’s eye and he looked up just in time to see a yellowjacket enter a small hole in the underside of the roof sheathing. He hated the stinging little bastards and kept a wary eye on the hole, hoping that it was just a fluke and that there wasn’t a nest in there, but within a few seconds two more emerged and began buzzing around his head. “Hey!” He hollered, ducking his head trying to dodge the insects.

“You dudes hear something?” Kyle asked his companions sprawled out in front of the TV.

“Just Rob whining,” Kevin opined. “Ignore him.”

No matter how good the game on TV was, the boys couldn’t ignore what happened next. Rob suddenly cried out in pain as he was stung, and then right after that came a crashing sound followed by the front door slamming shut.

“What happened?”

“It sounds like Rob fell!”

“Oh fuck,” Kyle said, bolting for the door. The door was jammed and would only open an inch, just enough to see that Rob and the chair had fallen from the table and that the chair was blocking to door from opening. The boys rushed to the balcony outside the sliding door and looked around the corner.

Rob, mercifully unconscious from bouncing his head off of the table, was slowly swinging from the clothesline, describing lazy arcs over the top on the stairwell. His shorts were now around his knees and his ruined scrotum had distended halfway to his knees. The boys couldn’t reach him from the balcony but finally managed to make enough noise to rouse one of the other tenants, who immediately called 911, then rushed up the stairs to free the victim.

That was two years ago and I still wake up in the morning and idly reach down to scratch my balls, find them missing, and I relive the pain of my castration every day. Damn you, Uncle Bob.