© Justin Cumberland 2007

Chapter One

Jason wasn’t keen on Busted. He didn’t like the show; and he never wanted to be a contestant. It was Garth who talked him into it.

‘Just think of the money,’ Garth said. ‘If you survive five nights, you’ll be a millionaire. You’ll be set for life. And even if you get all your gear wasted, you’ll still get fifty thousand. How can you lose?’

He could lose quite easily. He’d watched the show enough times to know just how easy it was to lose. Some guys didn’t last ten minutes. They got smashed in round one. In fact, some poor guy usually had both balls busted before the first ad break.

They would bring the five contestants out and sit them in a semi-circle on specially made glass saddles. The saddles were wide and they strapped your legs far apart. It was like riding a horse. But there was no horse. Just a saddle suspended in mid-air. The host’s offsiders – a pair of young eunuchs – would come around and lock each contestant’s sack through the hole in the saddle, so that their balls were dangling freely below the smooth, curved glass. Down there, there was a pair of nasty giant mallets made of steel. These were electronically controlled; and they swung up from a hanging position to meet in the center, right under the glass, flattening some poor guys nuts as flat as a piece of paper. It was fast and precise.

You had to get five questions wrong, of course. On the first wrong question the mallets would swing up and touch the edges of the poor guy’s sack. Each wrong question after that brought them together just that little bit closer. The third wrong question was a painful meeting with just over an inch to spare. The fourth left about half an inch – and had been known to finish one (or even both balls) for good. The fifth was what the crowd waited for though – because it was capped by the slicer, a fine-angled blade which slid under the glass and sliced the scrotum off in a millisecond, before the mallets slowly came apart and the mangled remains dropped into a little Perspex bucket, where they sat, looking feeble.

Amongst the roaring laughter of the crowd, Jason had expected, when he first watched the show, to hear the poor guy screaming. But they gave you some sort of painblocker, Garth said, which left the poor guy looking confused about what had happened – because he had felt it, but only for a second or so before the signal to the brain was blocked. It was some new thing, Garth said, like the sealant that they sprayed onto the wound from under the glass. The nozzle emerged rapidly and sprayed a milky foam. Somehow it cut off the blood flow and left a piece a smooth, young skin as a covering, so that when they unstrapped the poor guy’s thighs, he would stand up and reach down to feel the place where everything had used to be, bemused about how it had happened so quickly and painlessly. And because the audience – and the other contestants – were laughing, he would sometimes even smile, shyly. A smile of embarrassment.

A lot of guys left when they lost their balls; and that was where, Garth said, they made their mistake. ‘You only get five thousand. You’ve lost both your balls. You’ve been humiliated on national TV – and you’ve done it for five thousand bucks. You’ve still got a chance to win a million if you can save the rest. But then, even if you don’t – even if you lose the rest and end up nullified, you’re gonna walk away with fifty thousand.’

Jason could see his point; but he supposed most guys prized their dick more than their balls. They might be prepared to accept losing their balls – but a guy’s dick, well, that was another matter. It was important.

In fact, as far as Jason was concerned, all of it was important. He had an enormous dick and balls to match. They were embarrassing. He had to try to hide them when he wore tight clothes because the bulge looked ridiculous. He had even given up gymnastics because he was embarrassed about the way he looked in tights. It wasn’t that he didn’t like what he had. He loved it. He was proud of it. He liked looking at it. He liked touching it. And there was no way he was going on some stupid game show and risking all that.

‘I’m not old enough,’ Jason said. ‘They wouldn’t let me.’

‘Not now they wouldn’t. I don’t mean now. Next month. You turn eighteen next month; and I’ve been thinking about your birthday – what we should do for it.’

Jason shook his head. ‘Why don’t you do it yourself?’ he said. Garth was, after all, a couple of years older than Jason.

‘I wouldn’t do any good,’ Garth said. ‘They’ve got it rigged.’

Jason laughed. ‘Yeah, it looks rigged to me – everyone loses. Badly.’

‘Not all the time. Some guys win.’

‘Yeah – like once every couple of months.’

Garth shrugged.

Jason waited. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t like talking about his friend’s favorite show. The guy liked the whole thing too much.

Jason didn’t understand it. Watching Busted made him feel sick in the guts. Sometimes, it was funny, he had to admit – the expression on a guy’s face or a noise he made when he lost some of his gear. Some of the games and scenarios – some of the costumes – were pretty wild. It was funny. And the poor guys had let themselves in for it. Why, Jason didn’t know. The thought of losing his own kit was more than he could bear. To actually volunteer, and go on the show, was something he would never do.

Eventually though, he had to ask. ‘How is it rigged?’

Garth turned to him. ‘Look at the guys who win – like that guy last week. What do they have in common?’

‘Gear.’

‘Seriously.’

‘I don’t know. Nothing. They’re just lucky.’

‘No. They’re not lucky. They’re allowed to win – because they look good.’

‘Oh! So if you look good, they’ll let you keep your gear and hand you a million bucks?’

‘Exactly. Look at you – blond hair, green eyes, red lips, buff, hairless body. The cutest face, the cutest ass, and the god dam biggest set of equipment I’ve ever seen. Even that looks sweet. You really think they’re gonna let someone like you get his big beautiful manhood wasted on national TV. You think people are gonna laugh at that?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Because the cute guys always get it easy. If you watched the show more often – and thought about it, you’d realize how it works.’

He had watched it. He’d watched it heaps of times – and not always when he was at Garth’s place. Sometimes, even though it made him feel sick, he had watched it on his own – especially when some guy was getting close to winning, on his fourth or fifth night. Unlike Garth, he actually liked it when a guy won, when he managed not to get himself wasted at the last minute, which seemed to happen more often than not. But he had never noticed if the guys who won were any better looking than the guys who lost. In fact, if anything, now that he thought about it, it seemed like the cute guys had the worst luck – not only losing, but losing in the worst possible ways.

‘You need to watch it,’ Garth continued. ‘Watch it with me till your birthday and I’ll show you what I mean. If I can’t convince you by then, I’ll shut up about the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘I mean it. I’m only doing it because you’ve got a million bucks just waiting for you to collect. I’d be happy with ten percent.’

‘Garth. You gotta be crazy. I’m not going on that freakin show. There is no way in the world I’m going on that freakin show.’

‘What if it was foolproof?’

‘Foolproof?’

‘Yeah. What if I convinced you that there was no risk – none whatsoever? That you’d be a hundred percent safe? Would you do it then?’

‘A hundred percent safe?’ Jason thought about it. ‘If it was a hundred percent safe there’d be nothing to lose. It’s just not gonna work like that.’

‘You wanna bet on it?’

‘What? That it’s a hundred percent safe? You’ve convinced me of some pretty heavy shit in the past, Garth. You somehow convinced me to suck your fucking dick, you jerk.’

Garth smiled. ‘That was different.’

‘Yeah – well, I’ll tell you something, Garth. There’s no way you’re gonna convince me that Busted would be a hundred percent safe for me – or anyone. I’m just not gonna do it.’

‘I won’t convince you?’

‘You won’t convince me.’

‘Shake on it?’

Jason reached out his hand and started to shake before he realized what he was doing.

‘Man’s honor?’ Garth said. ‘I won’t convince you it’s safe; but if I do, you’ll go on the show.’

Jason shook his head. ‘Go on the show?’ He tried to retract his hand.

‘That’s what we’re shaking on, isn’t it? If I convince you it’s safe, you’ll go on the show.’

‘You won’t convince me it’s safe.’

‘Yeah, but that’s the bet.’

‘I’m not going on the show.’

‘Unless I convince you it’s safe.’

‘Which you won’t.’

Garth smiled. ‘That’s the bet.’

Jason gave up. ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘You won’t convince me it’s safe…’

‘But if I do you’ll go on Busted.’

‘But if you do I’ll go on Busted.’

‘As a contestant.’

‘What? Oh, whatever, Garth. For fuck’s sake! If you convince me it’s safe, which you won’t, I’ll go on Busted as a contestant.’

‘Man’s honor?’

‘Man’s honor.’

‘That’s settled then,’ Garth said, releasing his hand. ‘I know exactly how safe it is.’

Jason frowned. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened but he knew one thing. Garth wouldn’t convince him and he wasn’t going on the show no matter what the guy said.