The Caterers

"Maybe we could just whore ourselves out," John joked. "Joost wank all over old men for money or something."

"That's disgusting," Dickie replied. The more serious of the two, he had picked up the classifieds section of the paper out of their dorm lobby earlier. He opened it up to peruse them in the hopes of finding a sketchy-looking job that might be willing to pay them under the table - restauraunts or landscapers or something. John got bored watching Dickie read, so did dumbbell curls in the mirror while Dickie read jobs out to him, watching his muscles flex alternately.

"'ere's one," Dickie started. "Houseboy wanted for..."

"Stop. Houseboy. They want gigolos."

"That doesn't necessarily mean they want a callboy," Dickie said.

"Respond to it, then. I guarantee you it will be some old man who'll stare't you during the whole interview and keep tryin' ta touch yer ass and make it look like an accident."

"You're full of shit, John-boy. You want to get a job or not?"

"I want a job, I joost don't want a job jerking off some old coot 'oo gets 'is jollies from young men."

The next day Dickie called the number anyway and went to see about the job. "Just you see," John warned him, then went back to his pushups. Not twenty minutes later Dickie stormed back into the room. "Wot happened?" John asked.

"'e said I 'ad the job, then 'e tried to get me to put on the uniform he wanted me to wear while cleaning."

"Wot was it?"

"Don't ask. Let's just say I'll never look at Goofy's relationship with Pluto as wholly innocent again." John just laughed.

"We've still got the same problem. We're nearly broke and it's only halfway through the semester. How the hell are we supposed to make some cash?" Dickie was turning red.

"Actually, right after you left I talked to Ahmed down the hall," John started. He had flipped over and was now doing crunches. Dickie tried not to stare at him. "'e said 'e worked at this catering service for awhile - wait tables at rich people's parties and shit. Said 'e made good money, in cash, under the table, plus some tips."

"That sounds good," Dickie replied, trying to cover up his boner.

"'e gave me the number. I'll ring it tomorrow."

The next day John called the number up and talked to Ahmed's guy. He sounded pretty shady, but they set up a time to come in and interview in the late afternoon, so both had time to go to the gym and then shower.

The place was a small restaurant downtown who was known more for their catering services than the food at the restaurant. They headed to the back to see Donny, the guy in charge. He didn't even move his voluminous ass to stand up, so the both of them had to lean way over his desk to shake his sweaty hand. Dickie's eyes hurt from the thick cigar smoke that pervaded the small office.

"So you boys need work, eh?"

"Yeah, sir," John answered.

"You Irish?"

"Yeah."

Donny turned to Dickie. "What about you?"

"Welsh."

"Whazz dat, Eastern Europe or somethin'?" Before Dickie could indignantly correct him, Donny contined. "I don' really care anyway. Yer foreign; as it happens, dis broad wants me to hook her up wit two European guys to cater this one party. Sez she wants it to sound all high class an' shit. You two should work. You waited tables before?"

Both had. "I'll give each a'ya twenny bucks, and you keep half yer tips. Show up here Friday at 3. Wear black shoes, black pants, and white button down shirts. Now get out." He waved them toward the door.

Outside of the place, Dickie was ecstatic. "Twenty isn't much but that with half the tips should be plenty! That'll set us for a good two weeks each if we're careful with it."

"Fook careful; I'm getting pissed off it. Assuming we can't swipe a bottle or two while we're there."

Dickie knew better than to try and say anything.

That Friday they both showed up dressed like Donny had told them. There were two other guys working the party as well. They introduced themselves to the group and headed out to set up for the party.

It was a small deal; about twelve people were supposed to show up. Basically they just set up their makeshift kitchen and a bar area, then got the tables all set and everything read to go. Dickie and John were assigned to do drink service and basically take orders from people. One guy was bartending and the other doing all the cooking and food preparation.

The woman hosting the party came in to check once or twice that everything was the way she had wanted it and seemed very happy to have gotten some ‘foreign’ waiters. She introduced herself as “Miss Darnetta,” a name that John later commented was not nearly as ugly as the woman was. She looked about sixty, and gave Dickie the impression that she had been beautiful about forty years ago, hadn’t aged well, but hoped no one would notice.

It didn’t take too long to get everything set up. Dickie kept trying to keep an eye on John to make sure he didn’t swipe any of the booze he was eyeing, but when the barkeep invited the two of them to take a shot before the guests came in – “Relaxes your nerves,” the guy said – the both accepted.

The guests were supposed to sit down for dinner at 6:30, so it surprised them all when the main door opened at 6:15. Only one guy walked through it, a tall, confident man with a thick moustache. He looked like he should have been wearing a cowboy hat.

He strode right over to the two waiters and waved them to him. He thrust his hand out and introduced himself as Jack. No last name, just Jack. “Now, boys,” he spoke in a thick Texas accent, “I’m wonderin’ if you two would be interested in makin’ a little extra cash tonight.”

“Depends on how,” John answered for them.

“Me and Mizz Darnetta are wantin’ to play a little practical joke on somebody here tonight. There’s a guy, you’ll know him as soon as you see him. He’s a big fashion hound, a complete dumbshit. Thinks anything from Europe is all the rage, that kinda shit.

“Now we were just talkin’ and somebody mentioned somethin’ about readin’ how some people are,” he gave a single low laugh and smiled, almost against his will, “some people are cutting off their own balls, right?”

Neither Dickie nor John had heard much about that sort of thing. “So we’ve got this guy half convinced that it’s about to be the next big thing, way bigger than piercings or whatever have been. All I want from you two is to play along – shit like you know it’s true, you know some people who did it, whatever. If you help us convince him it’s true I’ll toss each of you a hundred bucks. You game?”

John mentally calculated how many nights of drinking that would net him. Something like two, but that was one and three-quarters more than what he was already making would get. Dickie just saw it as an opportunity for more cash. Both said yes.

Jack smiled and patted them both on the back. “Good job, boys. Now I gotta get back; they all think I’m in the bathroom.” He winked and strode back out the door.

“Rich people are weird,” John muttered.

Soon after the sound of Miss Darnetta’s squeaky voice could be heard on the other side of the door, and the four caterers took their positions. The door opened and the party guests filed through into the ballroom, all finding their places on the table as marked. Once they were all seated, the boys went around taking orders for drinks.

Jack was seated next to Darnetta, and the obvious target of their practical joke on her other side. A corpulent balding man with a barely passable hairpiece and sickly van dyke, he wore some freakish ensemble that might have looked passable on a model, but did nothing for him. He wanted some bizarre martini concoction to Miss Darnetta’s cosmopolitan and Jack’s beer. Just beer, he had said.

When Dickie returned with the drinks, the corpulent man stopped him. He seemed a bit tipsy already, and spoke in what he surely thought was some cultured accent, but simply came off as an effeminate poseur. What was the word Jack had used? Dumbshit. “Boy, settle something for us. Have you heard of this fad of young persons castrating themselves on the continent?”

Without missing a beat, Dickie answered, “Oh, of course, sir. It’s small now but it’s becoming very big in the clubs and discos.”

“Really.” It was a statement, not a question, but ever the eager one, Dickie continued.

“Oh, yes, sir. Just before I left, two of my mates had it done. It’s becoming all the rage.” He continued around the table dropping off drinks.

“I still don’t believe it,” the target said. He noticed John at the other table. “Boy!” he waved John over. Unbeknownst to him, John had paid close attention to what Dickie had been saying, and creepy as it was, continued along the same lines.

“Oh, yes, sir, even some famous football players even ‘ad their ‘ole outfits done. I may well when I get back; I ‘ear it’s the next big thing.” He mentally slapped himself for saying that last part; it just sounded so…stupid. This whole prank was stupid, but for a hundred dollars…

The man dropped it. The boys got the guests a second round of drinks and then brought out the appetizers, some sort of unrecognizable shellfish thing in soup. It smelled awful, but the guests all seemed to enjoy it.

Between the soup and salad courses, Jack sneaked into the kitchen and found the two setting up the entrée plates. He slipped each of them a c-note and said, “Great job, boys. The twit’s almost fallen for it.”

“Thanks, sir,” Dickie told him.

“You two interested in more?”

“Yeah, sir!” John answered, enthusiastically.

“He says he’d almost go for it but he thinks maybe ah put you up to it. Course, ah did, but he don’t know that.”

“What do you want us to do?” Dickie asked.

“Now, this is a lot crazier, but if you’re up for it, since you kids were all like ‘yeah, I’d do it,’ ah’m gonna offer to nut the two a’ya between the dinner and dessert courses. All we’re gonna do it disappear for a bit, have a few cigarettes or whatever, and then show him a few pickled eggs. You go for this one an’ ah’ll double what ah paid ya already.”

This is getting really fucked up, John thought to himself, but cash was cash, right? “Yeah, sure.”

“Good boys.” Jack smiled and sneaked back out the kitchen.

The next time the two headed out to check on drinks and such Jack grabbed John first. Target watched, his lips pursed, and Miss Darnetta seemed very amused by the whole thing, but then, after four cosmopolitans it seemed like little could avoid amusing her.

“So, son, ah’ve done enough cattle in my day. What if you let me nut ya here tonight?”

John tried to play the part up. He gave him a surprised look for just a moment, and then answered, “Shoore, sir. I mean, if Miss Darnetta doesn’t mind, of course.” She just shook her head back and forth and giggled a bit.

“Well, all right then, we got it settled!” Jack winked at him when Target wasn’t looking.

“I want to watch, though,” Target blurted out.

John and Donnie both heard that and thought to themselves that they were screwed. Jack took it in stride: “Well, sure, no problem.” They decided to do it after the main course, as originally planned.

Back in the kitchen, Jack sneaked in to consult with the kids again. “Okay, we’re going to have to fake this really well but I think we kin do it, boys.”

“Sir, I don’t really think this is going to work,” Donnie broke in. “How are we supposed to fake this? It’s really going to far for a simple practical joke.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle everything.”

John spoke up. “Look, I really don’t…” and then his eyes froze as Jack whipped out a roll of hundred dollar bills. He counted out ten and pressed five each into the hands of the two eager waiters, who looked at each other, then back down.

“Now look, boys. All we’re gonna do is have you down on a table, put something over where he can’t quite get a good look, and fake it. No big deal. Just play along; there’s more where that came from.”

“Yes, sir!” John eagerly agreed. Donnie nodded.

The dinner passed uneventfully through the main course. Once the dishes were cleared away and the guests were having their after-dinner cordials before the dessert, Jack, Miss Darnetta, Target, and the boys gathered in a side room. Miss Darnetta had had her servants set up a pair of tables with rigged up stirrups and everything.

“Well, drop your pants, boys,” she ordered. “Oh, you might get blood on your shirts. Better just take everything off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Donnie and Jack replied, and the two stripped off their clothing, standing nude before the three partygoers. Jack had them lay on their backs on the table with their legs in the air, then began strapping them to the tables with Miss Darnetta’s help.

“What are the straps for?” John asked, suddenly becoming nervous.

“Safety, boy,” Jack answered. “Cattle tend to jerk involuntarily; ah got no reason to think you’d be any different. Don’t worry about it.” John tried to relax, but couldn’t help but worry about it. Donnie was a little better about it; he trusted Jack more than John did, and allowed them to restrain him.

Next Jack pulled out a pair of syringes and filled them with a clear liquid. “This is just anesthetic boys, we don’t want to hurt you, now do we?” He winked at them, and injected both of them in several places around their scrotums. Both of them thought something odd was going on when they really did get numb, but just thought of the money.

Finally, the partygoers gathered around John. Donnie couldn’t really see what they were doing, and neither could Jack for that matter. Where were the covers? Hadn’t Jack said something about blocking the guy’s vision or something? John could feel a lot of tugging in his groin. What were they doing? He wanted to say something but he couldn’t get his mouth to move.

Now John started to panic. He was paralyzed! Had Jack lied to them? He tried to look down but could hardly see; every once in awhile Jack’s hands came far enough up that they were in his view, and they had blood on them. He was castrating him, and doing it for real! This wasn’t some prank…rich bastards, John thought. He would have screamed and thrashed about if he could, but between the drug and the restraints he literally couldn’t lift a finger.

“There he is,” Jack muttered, and popped John’s right nut out of the slit in his scrotum. “That one was trying to hide!” He let it dangle next to the other, already exposed, testicle. “Now just two quick snips…” Tears came to John’s eyes; he couldn’t feel the cut itself but he could feel it as the weight came off his penis. “Now we just stitch him up.”

Donnie still didn’t know what was going on with John; he had already realized that he couldn’t move and was sure something odd was going on, but being more trusting than John didn’t suspect a thing about what had just happened to his friend. This whole situation actually had him turned on a bit, and he couldn’t avoid getting a boner. It seemed like they were taking forever with John, and he was actually relieved when they finally came over for him.

Jack had changed his gloves, and started the process all over again. “My, he’s excited,” Target commented.

“It doesn’t really look like he can get all that excited. It’s so small,” Miss Darnetta commented, drunkenly giggling to herself.

This just turned Donnie on more. A natural submissive, humiliation was a secret thrill for him. He knew he had a small penis, and had always felt less of a man than others, especially John, for it. John, with his big dick and muscles, had always been a source of lust for Donnie, but he had never acted on it.

Donnie imagined that they actually were castrating him. What a trip that would be, he thought to himself. Maybe then John would take me – his little eunuch slave. He laughed to himself as he felt the dull tugging feeling from his groin. Probably Jack just tugging a bit to make it more realistic, he thought to himself. Nothing more.

“You know,” Target said as Jack pulled out Donnie’s left nut, “I never thought you’d pull this off.” Pull what off? Donnie thought, as the tugging recommenced.

“Ah told y’all, it’s all in the setup,” Jack smiled. “Hell, right now I could even circumcise ‘em if I wanted to.” He snipped off Donnie’s testicles and lay them on a tray next to John’s. “Now just to close ‘em up…” Jack used a cautery pen to seal off the blood vessels and then stitched up his incisions. It didn’t take him too long. Once that was done, all he had to do was clean the boys off.

“Well, Jack my boy,” Target spoke. “I suppose you won this bet.”

“Ah’ll say. Pay up.” Donnie and John watched incredulously.

“One million dollars that you couldn’t convince two random boys to let you castrate them,” Target muttered as he wrote a check with a shiny gold pen. He tore it out of the book with a flourish. “You certainly are a master of manipulation.”

Only then did Donnie realize that it had all been real. They had castrated him. They had done it…and John too! John, already knowing what had happened, simply lay there, his mind still reeling. All he felt was anger…