Many people hate jury duty and will do everything they can to shirk their responsibility, faking illness or claiming various obligations, and will even go so far as to lie and claim that they know the litigants or defendants on trial. It’s not too bad nowadays: it only lasts two weeks, and you just call in every evening and listen to the tape to determine if you even need to show up, so there is a minimum amount of sitting around and waiting. Also, it is empowering to know that you are a vital part of the system and are of some importance, if only temporarily, and so I felt honored to serve when my summons arrived in the mail.

Most states have two types of juries: Petit, or Trial Jurors decide criminal and civil cases after listening to the lawyers for the prosecution and defense, or plaintive and defendant, state their cases. A juror sitting on a criminal trial can free a defendant or send him to prison, and civil trial jury can award vast sums of monies in lawsuits filed by those who have been wronged. Petit juries are the basis of our legal system and are the most common form of jury duty. I have sat on both types of cases and they are both interesting. The other type of jury is the Grand Jury, which decides if there is sufficient evidence to warrant a trial for a suspected felon. They usually have sixteen people who make their decision based only on police and prosecution evidence. The defendant isn’t present and may not even be aware that a case is being built against him until he is arrested, and the standing joke among District Attorneys is that a grand jury would indict a ham sandwich if the DA told them to do so. I have sat on grand juries and I don’t like them; you only spend about fifteen minutes on your decision and there is no representation by the defense, so the defendant is sort of getting railroaded. The trial jury will sort things out and free the guy if he’s not guilty, but not before he bankrupts himself paying a lawyer. My opinion is that the grand jury system is shitty. The state of Jefferson also has another type of jury, and since these juries don’t often convene ,very few people have the opportunity to sit on them.

When Jefferson was carved out of Northern California and Southern Oregon the founding fathers laid down strict laws, and any adult male convicted of forcible rape or sodomy against any other person is routinely sentenced to castration, then seven years labor at a work camp. Juveniles are treated differently; they are tried in regular courts just like adults, but instead of facing immediate castration they are sentenced to institutions or placed under close supervision until their eighteenth birthdays, at which time they are summoned to appear before a Castration Jury to determine rather they will be permitted to continue life as functional males or will be converted to insignificant eunuchs. The Jury can commute their sentences or direct that the castration proceed, in which case it will take place the same day.

“The defendant has already been found guilty,” the judge reminded the seven of us. “Your job today is only to determine if there is sufficient cause for leniency, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about any decision you make, nor should your decision be based out of pity for the young man.” He then gave each of us paperwork summarizing the original charges brought against the young man, plus recommendations from counselors and physiologists who had examined the youth. We were to peruse these in the jury room, then question the young man in open court and hear testimony from various other people connected with the case before making our decision.

Jeff Walker had been an early bloomer; his sap started rising when he was ten and he was a fully equipped and functional adolescent by the time he turned eleven. His father gave his son an educational lecture, mostly tips on how to score, and then purchased a dozen condoms for the little fucker. He was the first in his class fully equipped, and he took his new toys to a show and tell session in his basement and forced his sexuality onto, or rather into ,one of his prepubescent buddies. The victim’s mother noticed a small bloodstain in her son’s shorts and herded him to a doctor, who determined that the boy had been buggered. Another boy witnessed the invasion, and both ratted Jeff out. He was examined, and found capable of erection, and possessing the ability to ejaculate viable sperm was therefore tried as an adult. He was subsequently found guilty and sentenced to castration on his eighteenth birthday unless reprieved by a castration jury.

He had gotten along well at the reform school; several of the staff sent endorsements for clemency, none had recommended that his castration be performed. There were also letters from psychiatrists and various other professionals written in typical doctorspeak, but summarized to say that they found no serious abnormalities with the youth’s sanity and didn’t feel that he was a danger to society.

We studied the paperwork for about an hour before being lead to the courtroom to meet and question the defendant and to also hear additional testimony. The lad had entered puberty early so I’d expected to see a mature young man in the chair, but Jeff Walker looked to be about fifteen years old instead of eighteen. He was short and slender and still devoid of a beard. This seemed strange, at first, but then I’d entered puberty at thirteen and didn’t shave regularly until I was almost twenty two, so the youthful appearance must have been in the boy’s genetics. Several people spoke on his behalf and each member of the jury was also allowed to question him. He seemed harmless enough but something about his demeanor troubled me, I just couldn’t put my finger on just what it was.

The judge dismissed us to the jury room to deliberate, and we quickly split into two separate camps. “He did the time, and he should pay the price,” a gruff ex-marine opined. “Don’t let that innocent face fool you.”

“All guys are squirrely right when, you know, their bodies change. I went through that phase and I’m sure you did too. He deserves a second chance,” opined a nattily dressed older gentleman. The law dictates that all jurors be male and of the same race as the convicted offender. Nothing is said about preference or orientation, and this guy acted like he’d welcome the opportunity to take the boy home and make a house pet out of him. The other four jurors were equally divided, although not as militant about it as GI Joe and The Fag. It would be up to me to cast the deciding vote, and I wasn’t comfortable dooming the kids nuts on just my hunch, so I wrote a request for the judge and called the bailiff to deliver it.

“The defendant will please disrobe.” The judge had honored my request and we were back in the courtroom.

The kid’s hands shot to his crotch as if the deal had just been finalized and his neutering was going to take place right in the courtroom. “Here? Now?” He asked frightfully.

“In the future you will address me as ‘Your Honor’, and yes, right here and right now, take off your shirt and drop your pants.” The boy hesitated until the bailiff moved, the reluctantly shed his shirt, turned towards the wall, and dropped his trousers and skivvies. “Turn around and face the jury, son, hands at your sides.”

He was a skinny youth, ribs clearly visible and with no apparent muscle tone on his narrow shoulders and thin arms. Much as I suspected, his dick was small; no larger than my thumb. His balls, probably of normal size, looked incongruously large in comparison and if not for the hair on his crotch and thighs he might resemble a young boy with some kind of glandular issue. Also his expression was now glazed, almost as if he were in a trance. “Okay son”, the judge said after a minute, “Turn back to the wall and, uh, stimulate yourself to erection.”

“Stimulate, Sir? I mean, Your Honor?”

The judge pumped his fist in and out a few times. “Stop before you pop and turn back around. The jury wants to see your boner.” The boy’s face suddenly became crimson red, but he turned around and busied himself for a couple of minutes, then turned to face the jury. He was definitely a grower. His dick had doubled in size from its flaccid dimensions, and was now slightly over three inches long. I had seen enough, and I nodded to the judge, who sent us back to the jury room to complete our deliberations.

I have noticed that guys with big dicks literally are big dicks. They think that having been gifted with a larger than average cock makes them better than other men, and that all women will cheerfully spread their legs for them out of gratitude. Guys who have been cheated, like the youth in the courtroom, also have problems. Except for jacking off he’s been celibate for the last seven years, and as soon as he’s free he’s going to want to get laid.

Prostitution is legal and state sponsored in Jefferson, and every male is issued an identification card on his fourteenth birthday that allows him two free pops a week, all he has to pay for is the tip. There are bordellos just for young teens, but Jeff, being eighteen, will have to go to an adult house and he knows that the experienced girls there will laugh when they see him naked so he’ll try to impress someone else with his studdliness. He is small and frail, and he will have been forced to bend over for the pleasure of larger stronger boys at the institution so it is only natural that he will force his sexuality on a younger and smaller girl or worse yet, a boy and I can’t let that happen. It’s a pity; the boy has never had a blow job or a decent fuck, and not he never will. Then again, maybe he won’t miss what he never had..

“Gentlemen of the jury,” the judge said as two bailiffs dragged the screaming youth from the courtroom to the procedure room down the corridor where he will be stripped, tied to a table, and relieved of his testicles. “Thank you for your service.” I knew I would lose sleep over casting the vote that doomed the boys balls, and also that I’d most likely be impotent for a few days, but at least I wouldn’t have to face the boy again. “As you may know,” the judge continued, “the law requires that one juror witness the execution of the sentence. I will now draw one name from the jury.” He reached into the basket that contained our juror names and numbers. “Juror number 117, John Smith. Bailiff, please escort Mr. Smith to the procedure room.”

“You’re lucky,” the bailiff said as he escorted me down the hall. “You haven’t eaten lunch yet. It’s not something a man should see on a full stomach.” Lucky me. “They don’t knock them out or give them anything for the pain, you see, all they get in a mouth protector to keep them from biting their tongue. They scream and thrash around something awful, and most of them shit themselves as well as piss all over everything.”

“Really?” I wish this guy would shut the fuck up. I’m sure it’ll be bad enough without his pep talk.

“Yeah, watching those nuts come out of the bag and get snipped off is enough to make most guys toss their cookies. But what really gets me is that about half of the kids get it up and pop their corks while getting nutted. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

It was the damnedest thing that I’d ever seen, too.