Jumanji-online (the serial) Episode 6

Pushing Jennifer off from on top of him, Barry stood up.

“Wha...What’s the matter, Barry,” she asked.

“I...I don’t know. I’ve got to go downstairs....Oh, shit. I dropped the dice. They’re here on the floor. Fuck....They stopped on three.”

“But, Barry...that’s craps. You know what that means.”

Yeah, but...look at me. I don’t have a cock or balls. What do I have that could get cut off?”

He began walking toward the door.

“Don’t go Barry. Stay here.”

“I can’t. The game is making me go downstairs-to the dining room. Come with me, Jennifer. Please...I’m scared.”

Holding hands, they walked to the dining room.

The other players were gathered around the table, staring at the disk. It said: “Barry rolled a three-craps. Meet our new eunuch.”

Raising his right hand, Barry saw that he was holding a knife. “What was he going to do with it?” he wondered. “What would he cut off?”

Suddenly, he knew. Jason and Bill grabbed Robert-threw him to the floor. Kevin and Rod spread apart his legs. Barry knelt, looking at the body he’d worn for fifteen years.

“What am I doing?” he thought. “This is my body. Robert might be in it, for now, but it’s my body.”

He was no longer convinced that this reality would end with the game. He might return home-to a home where he had fucked his mother and cut off his father’s cock-with no cock or balls of his own. He reached down to grasp the cock. Instead of cutting it off immediately, however, he began pumping it. He was jerking off for the last time, but the only sensation he felt was the heat of the cock in his hand, and the friction as his hand slid back and forth on the uncircumcised cock. Then, from the rear, a cock entered his vagina. It wasn’t large enough to be Jennifer’s, but, as it thrust, he could feel the tension building in his groin. He, Jason, and Robert climaxed together. As the cum spurted from Robert’s-Barry’s-cock, Barry sliced it off. The balls were next. Along with the cock and scrotum, they lay on the floor. The female body, which Barry inhabited, collapsed to the floor. It lay on its back, unmoving, but with its eyes open. There was no intelligence evident in its vacant, blank stare.

Barry was lying in bed in a dark room. He could hear the breathing and soft snores of others in the room. His hands, going to his chest, found no breasts. When he placed them on his crotch, he found no cock or balls either. At first, he thought that he was back in his own body, the one from which he had removed all genitalia, but it didn’t feel right. It was softer than his body. There was fat around the hips that he never had. Then he became aware of another consciousness-of other memories- existing simultaneously with his, a consciousness that was fading even as he became aware of it. That consciousness had a name-Jimmy Ray Wilson.

Jimmy Ray’s memories told Barry where he was. The boy had been sent to Reverend Whitcomb’s Home for Boys when he was twelve years-old by his abusive father, but, living at Reverend Whitcomb’s home was far worse than living with his father. The boys were little better than slaves. They worked long hours, were fed little, and were severely punished for the least infraction. Worse, the depraved Reverend Whitcomb had sex with the most handsome boys, but only after removing their genitalia. Since Jimmy Ray had been a particularly handsome boy, Whitcomb had made a complete eunuch of him when he was thirteen. Now, he was fifteen, the same age as Barry.

There were nine other boys, all eunuchs, sleeping in his room. Working in the kitchen-cooking, cleaning, and serving the other boys their meals-the ten boys didn’t work as hard as the rest, but, they had to service Reverend Whitcomb. Several times a week, he would take one or two of the boys to his room to have sex with them. Whitcomb would only fuck eunuchs, never intact boys. Fortunately, since there were ten boys, Jimmy Ray’s turn came around only two or three times a month.

Wearing pajamas seemed strange to Barry. Since he had begun playing the game, he had been naked. Barry went to the bathroom. Although Jimmy Ray’s consciousness had faded, Barry retained his memories. Except for the boys, who slept in the attic dormitory, that had arrived since Jimmy Ray became one of the kitchen boys-one of Whitcomb’s sex toys-Barry knew the names of everyone living at the house. Because the kitchen boys weren’t allowed to talk to the other boys, he knew the newer ones only by the names the kitchen boys had given them, such as Big Nose, Freckles, or Buck Teeth. Whitcomb ran the house with the aid of the house keeper, Mrs. Peters, and his sordid henchmen, Flynn and Stone.

The face that Barry saw looking back at him in the bathroom mirror, was more pretty than handsome. Jimmy Ray’s body had softened, becoming more feminine during two years without testicles. Barry took off his pajamas so that he could look at his new body. The hairless chest was slender without the muscle or definition that Barry’s old body had. A layer of fat had settled in the hips causing them to resemble those of a girl. At his crotch, hair formed a bush, but, other than some faded scars that he found on close inspection, there was no sign that he’d ever had a cock or balls. With his fingers, he found a small hole between his asshole and where his balls had been. Pee poured from the hole when he sat on the toilet. Although he missed Jennifer, the usual stirring in his groin didn’t occur when he thought about her.

Luckily, he had put his pajamas back on before Stone, who was on guard duty, opened the door.

“What are you doing up? Stone asked.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” answered Barry. “I’m going back to bed, now.”

Stone tried to get Barry to give him a blow job, but Jimmy Ray’s memories told Barry that, unlike some of the boys, Jimmy Ray had never submitted to either Stone or Flynn. They hit him more frequently than they did the boys who obliged them, but, since Whitcomb didn’t want his boys having sex with anyone else, there was little else they could do. As Barry walked down the hall to return to his bed, Stone hit him on the back with the strap he always carried.

“Well, get the fuck in bed, you little bastard.”

Barry lay in bed most of the night without sleeping. He could feel Jimmy Ray’s revulsion when he recalled the memories of those nights when Whitcomb had chosen him for his bed. The next morning the other boys looked at him strangely when he spoke-he didn’t have Jimmy Ray’s Arkansas drawl-so he spoke little, using monosyllable answers whenever possible. A few nights later, when Stone, more persistent than usual, tried to get him to have sex, Barry tried a karate move on him, but, although Barry’s mind knew what to do, Jimmy Ray’s body didn’t. He received a severe beating from Stone, but one which left few marks. Whitcomb didn’t want his kitchen boys marked. Whitcomb chose him for his bed three nights later.

Whitcomb, an old man with a hooked nose, gray hair that stood straight out from his head, and bushy eyebrows, was skinny, but strong. Coming into the eunuch’s room, he pointed at Barry.

“Come along,” he said.

When Barry hesitated, he snapped the strap he always carried. “Come along, now,” he repeated.

Back in Whitcomb's room, after pulling off his pajama bottoms to reveal a straggly gray bush and a scrawny, partially erect, penis, which bent to the left, Whitcomb crawled onto the bed.

“Well, get your clothes off and get into bed,” said Whitcomb.

When Barry again hesitated, Whitcomb became angry.

“What is wrong with you tonight? If I have to tell you again, I’ll give you a beating that you’ll never forget.”

Taking off his pajamas, the uniform he always wore around the house, Barry climbed into bed with Whitcomb. As Whitcomb caressed Barry’s bare crotch, the Reverend’s penis became fully erect.

“I want you to suck it tonight,” said the Reverend, as he pushed Barry’s head toward his cock.

Barry had never, even in the game, had a cock in his mouth. He certainly didn’t want to start with Whitcomb’s scrubby tool. He had no choice, though. He knew from Whitcomb’s grip on the back of his neck that, in Jimmy Ray’s body, he hadn’t the strength to resist. Recalling Jimmy Ray’s memories to find out what he should do, he ran his tongue around the head of Whitcomb’s cock; then taking it into his mouth, into his throat-trying not to gag-he moved his head with an undulating motion, until Whitcomb ejaculated in his mouth. Barry threw up on Whitcomb. The beating the Reverend gave him kept him from work for three days.

When Barry recovered, he began a training program-to get Jimmy Ray’s body into shape and to teach it the karate that his mind knew. He volunteered any time someone was need to chop wood, or to do any other chore which required manual labor. Whenever he was alone, he practiced his kata so that his body could become in tune with his mind-could learn karate.

In the month that passed before Whitcomb used him again, Barry’s body had added muscle and his karate moves were becoming fluid. He probably could have resisted Whitcomb, but he wasn’t yet ready to make his move. To overcome Whitcomb, Stone and Flynn, he needed help. Whitcomb fucked him that time, using Barry’s ass. Barry got through the experience by telling himself, “It’s the game. The game is making me do it.”

One day Barry spoke to another of the eunuchs, Tommy Johnson, who was almost eighteen. “Tommy, there aren’t any kitchen boys, who are over the age of eighteen. What do you think happens to them?”

“Well, I guess they let them go,” replied Tommy.

“Do you really think so, Tommy? Do you think that Whitcomb would ever let one of us go, one who could tell the world what he’s done? Over the years there must have been twenty or thirty boys who had their cocks and balls cut off that turned eighteen. Surely one of them would have gone to the police. Why do you think that we aren’t allowed to talk to the other boys? Some of them might suspect what’s been done to us, but none of them could prove anything. Why do you think that we’re always hidden when any state official comes to the home? Better think about it, Tommy. You’re almost eighteen.”

Tommy did nothing. Shortly after he turned eighteen, Stone and Flynn came for him at night.

“Get your stuff together, Tommy. It’s time for you to leave,” said Stone.

After Packing his meager possessions, Tommy left with Stone and Flynn. Barry waited a few minutes, then followed. Instead of going to the car, Whitcomb’s aides led Tommy toward the woods. Since he couldn’t take the chance of being seen, Barry returned to the house. The next day, when he was sure that Stone and Flynn were occupied elsewhere, he walked into the woods in the direction in which he’d seen Stone and Flynn take Tommy. In a shallow grave, he found Tommy’s body. He covered it back up and returned to the house.

Barry had to choose his confidants carefully. Most of the boys had been thoroughly cowed by Whitcomb and his cohorts, Stone and Flynn. Many of them, to procure favor, would snitch on their fellow eunuchs. With effort, he became friends with Sammy Thompson, who, at seventeen, was rapidly approaching his eighteenth birthday. Barry had been at the home, in Jimmy Ray’s body, for six months. His memories of his former life, of Jennifer, and the game, crowded out by those of Jimmy Ray, had dimmed during the months he’d spent at Reverend Whitcomb’s Home for Boys. He occasionally thought of Jennifer, but, at times, he wasn’t sure that it hadn’t been a dream.

One day he said to Sammy, “Sammy, you’re almost eighteen. Do you know what happens when you’re eighteen?

“I get to leave this hell hole.”

“That’s what Tommy thought,” countered Barry. Would you like for me to take you to Tommy?”

“How can you take me to Tommy? He’s gone.

“No, Tommy never left,” said Barry. “He’s out in the woods.”

“What do you mean, he’s out in the woods?”

“He’s out in the woods-in a hole in the ground-along with all the other boys who turned eighteen. None of the boys who had their cocks and balls cut off ever left here alive.”

“Are you shittin me?” Sammy asked.

“No, Sammy. I can show you Tommy’s grave, if you want-and the graves of many of the others. I’ve found several of them during the last six months. When Stone and Flynn came for Tommy, I followed them far enough to see where they were going. I found Tommy’s grave the next day.”

“Fuck...what are we going to do. You’re sixteen, now. It won’t be that long until you’re eighteen.”

“I have no intention of staying here that long. If I stay here much longer, I’ll kill Whitcomb. It takes all my will to keep from doing it whenever he touches me,” replied Barry.

“We ought to cut off his cock and balls, like the bastard did to us,” said Sammy.

“I’d love to, but that won’t solve anything. Then we’d be the ones in the wrong.”

“But, what can we do then?” asked Sammy.

“We’ve got to get to the cops, the state cops, not the local cops. The local cops are in Whitcomb’s pocket. Then we can bring them back here. I can show them all the graves. First, though, we’ll have to incapacitate Whitcomb, Stone, Flynn and Peters.”

“But,” said Sammy, “how can we do that? They’re stronger than any of us.”

“I think that I could take any one of them,” replied Barry.

“I’ve noticed that you look a lot stronger; I’ve noticed your muscles; but, hell, I’m bigger than you. I could take you.”

“Try it then,” challenged Barry.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah,” answered Barry. Try to hit me, or take me down. Anything you want.”

When Sammy tried to grab Barry around the neck, he found himself on the floor, flat on his back. Barry had one hand at his throat, and the other one cocked, ready to deliver a karate blow.

“How the fuck did you do that?” asked Sammy.

“Karate,” replied Barry.

Where did you learn karate?

“It’s a long story,” said Barry. “What’s important is that I’m confident that I can take any one of them. I need some help, though. We’ll have to tie them up and put them somewhere so they can’t call the local police.” Is there anyone you trust, and, I mean, really trust?

“Yeah, Gary Jackson, I guess. He hates Whitcomb. He wouldn’t snitch, besides he’s almost seventeen. If you tell him what you told me, he’ll join us for sure.

“I think you’re right. Gary would be a good choice.”

The two boys recruited Gary, but Barry had to show him Tommy’s grave to convince him of his danger. Both boys joined Barry in his fitness program; Barry taught them some basic karate moves. After two months they were ready to act.

They waited until Whitcomb chose Barry for his bed. After Whitcomb had stripped off his pajama bottoms and crawled into bed, Barry remained standing, dressed, beside the bed.

“Get your clothes off and get into bed,” said Whitcomb. “Do you want another beating?”

“No,” replied Barry. “You’re never fucking me again.”

Whitcomb, sputtering, his face red with rage, picked up the strap which he always kept beside him and swung his feet over to climb from the bed. Barry stopped him with a blow to the throat; then, with a spinning kick to the temple, knocked him unconscious. Going to the door, he signaled to Sammy and Gary, who were waiting in the shadows down the hall. They tied up Whitcomb with rope, carried by Gary; gagged him with strips torn from the sheets.

“Who’s on guard duty tonight?” asked Barry.

“Flynn,” answered Sammy.

“Good,” replied Barry. “He’s dumber than Stone. It should make it easier. Go get him, Sammy. You remember what you’re supposed to do, don’t you?

“Sure, I do. We went over it enough times.”

While the other two waited in Whitcomb’s room on either side of the partially open door-Gary with a baseball bat in his hands-Sammy went for Flynn. Finding him in the kitchen, he said, “Mr. Flynn, the Reverend wants you in his room right away. He had to hit a boy, who’s hurt pretty bad. He needs you to help carry him out.”

“Who did he hit?” asked Flynn.

“Jimmy Ray,” answered Sammy.

“Well, if anyone deserved getting hurt, that uppity little bastard did. I hope he hurt him good.”

Flynn hurried-as much as he ever did-to Whitcomb’s room. As he pushed open the door, Gary clipped him on the side of the head with the baseball bat. Flynn dropped to the floor-out cold.

“O.K.,” said Barry. “Let’s get Stone.”

“Since Mrs. Peters’ room was on the other side of the house and there was little chance that they would wake her, because of the pleasure that it gave him-in retribution for all the blows with the strap that Stone had given him over the years, and in retribution for Stone’s helping Whitcomb castrate him, Gary delivered the first blow-a tremendous one-with the bat, to Stone’s nuts. Stone sat straight up in his bed. The only sound he made was a sharp intake of breath. Before he could scream, Gary swung the bat against the side of his head. Blood poured from his right ear.

“Shit,” said Barry. “I hope you didn’t kill him.”

“I don’t care,” responded Gary. “The bastard deserves to die. All of them do.”

After tying up Stone-although it didn’t appear that he would awaken soon, if he ever did-they went to Mrs. Peters’ room. They subdued Mrs. Peters without having to hit her; tied and gagged her-left her in her bed. Then, they went to Whitcomb’s room. He was conscious, straining at his bonds and mumbling into his gag. Paying him little attention, the three boys carried him out to the punishment shed behind the house. They opened it with a key on the ring of keys they’d taken from Flynn. In the shed was a metal box, four feet long and three feet high. It was called the hole. Boys occasionally spent days in the hole as punishment for some infraction, supposed infraction, or for the sadistic pleasure of Whitcomb, Stone, or Flynn. The boys stuffed Whitcomb into the box, padlocked it, and buried the key under a rock in the field. Taking Flynn next, they dumped him in the shed. They didn’t gag Stone because he seemed to be having trouble breathing, but they also put him in the shed. Mrs. Peters joined the others in the shed. After placing a padlock on the door to the shed, they buried the key to that lock, too.

Because the boys at the home were always at risk of being hit, if out of their beds, they rarely left their rooms except for visits, which were unavoidable, to the bathroom. Barry, Sammy and Gary had been careful to make as little noise as possible. None of the other boys observed them carrying Whitcomb and his henchmen to the shed.

Finding some clothes that fit in a storeroom, Barry and the other two boys changed out of their pajamas. Barry had taken Whitcomb’s car keys and some money from his dresser. Although, Jimmy Ray had never driven, Barry had taken Driver’s Ed in school, had a learner’s permit, and had driven his parents car. Luckily, Whitcomb’s car had an automatic transmission. Barry had never driven a stick. In Whitcomb’s car, when they came to the highway, Barry took a right turn, away from Berryville where the local cops were, toward Little Rock. When they reached Little Rock, they rented a motel room and waited for the next day.

Because of the distrust that Sammy felt for all cops-he’d been placed in Reverend Whitcomb’s home after being in trouble with the law-they decided to go to the newspaper with their story, rather than to the state police. It looked at first as though no one would listen, at least not until Barry placed a paper bag he was carrying on a desk. When he opened it to reveal Tommy’s skull, he got their attention. When, in the editor’s office, they dropped their pants to show what Whitcomb had done to them, the paper knew that they had a front page story.

Whitcomb and his cronies were still locked in the shed when the state police arrived later that day. Since none of the adults had been around all day, several of the boys had run away, but most of them had been too afraid to attempt it. Stone was dead by the time the police broke the lock off, but it was called self defense so that none of the boys were charged with his death. When Barry arrived at the home the following day, he led the police to the graves of the slain eunuchs. (Further search of the property found graves of other boys as well.)

After their appeals were exhausted, Whitcomb and Flynn were executed. Mrs. Peters died in prison. Lawyers representing all the boys at the home sued Whitcomb-he had accumulated almost a million dollars-and the state for not having exercised more control over the home. They were awarded all of Whitcomb’s assets, and the state settled with them for $25 million, with the major portion going to the eunuchs. Barry’s share was $1.8 million. Using part of his money for college, he became an attorney and was eventually appointed by the Governor to head a committee which watched over all such boys’ homes in the state. Barry became a fierce advocate for children’s rights.

As time passed, memory of the game, of Jennifer, even of Barry’s previous life as Barry faded. It became like a dream, which, upon awaking, you remember having, but can’t quite recall. He had become Jimmy Ray Wilson. One day, when he was forty five, he was in a fast food restaurant. Always the peacemaker, he attempted to mediate a violent argument between two men. He was stabbed. As he lay dying, the last thing he heard was: “Barry...Barry...wake up.”