“Nice balls,” I commented, eying Brett’s endowments. It was a compliment rather than a come-on; I’m as straight as an arrow, but Brett’s balls were good looking.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Brett replied, stepping out of the skivvies he’d worn for the trip down the hall from his dorm room. Four other guys were already in the commodious shower. The guys turned to see who had entered, and all took an appreciative look at Brett’s balls before turning towards the walls to ponder their own inadequacies. They were eighteen or nineteen years old, like everyone else in the dorm, but there the physical similarities ended. One of the guys had the hairy back and receding hairline of a much older adult, one was a beardless boy who looked like he belonged in junior high, and the other two were just like Brett and I and most of the other kids in the dorm: The university called us men, but in reality we were just smooth chested, hairy-legged teenagers.

Policy demanded that guys be covered while in the hallways, but with ten two-man rooms sharing one shower it was inevitable that you would eventually see every part of each of the twenty guys on your hall. None the guys in the hall could be classified as porn star and a few could even qualify for a nickname like ‘Shorty’ or ‘Stubby’. An adolescent type length contest would have needed to be settled with a ruler, but Brett had a set of balls that would have won that type of size contest hands down. His nuts were each the size of a large hen’s egg, and their obvious weight caused them to sag magnificently low in a nearly hairless scrotum that swung back and forth when he walked and seemed to reach halfway to his knees when he bent forward to step into his skivvies. Despite his obvious endowments Brett was modest and didn’t flaunt his body the way others, probably myself included, would have. A lot of the guys risked getting a load of shit from the Resident Advisor by striding around the hallways bare-ass naked, but Brett always wore a towel and removed it only to shower, and once he finished drying himself off he would quickly step into his skivvies or secure the towel back around his waist before continuing with his other morning bathroom chores.

. I walked in on my roomie on day while he was beating his meat, and after that we worked out an arrangement that guaranteed each of us a half hour a week in the dorm room alone to spend as we pleased, and before too long my sessions included fantasies about what it might feel like to have that much mass swinging between my legs, how it would be to roll them around in my hand, and especially how much goop I might be capable of spewing out if only I had a set as large as Brett’s. I thought about girls that I knew and others that I like to know, and every thing else a young man thinks about while jacking off, but more and more often Brett’s massive gonads dominated my thoughts. His balls didn’t necessarily obsess me, but if you get the idea that I was impressed by them, you’re right; I was.

I got to know Brett a lot better during Christmas break. Mom had just split up with my Step-dad No. 3, and her brother, my uncle Walt, had ‘invited” her to the East coast for the Holiday. An ‘invitation’ from uncle Walt was an offer you couldn’t, or at least shouldn’t refuse. He wasn’t a Mafia Don or anything, but he controlled the family purse strings and he bankrolled my education. The offer didn’t include me, and since Number 3 had kept the house I didn’t have anywhere to go anyway and decided to hang around school for a couple of weeks.

Home for the 1972 Holidays was Randolph Residence Hall, an ugly five-story concrete rectangle that was built in the early 1950’s. The first floor contained the kitchen and dining room, which doubled as a recreation and commons area. Two central stairways lead to the upper floors, each of which had four hallways. Each hallway had ten dorm rooms and ended in an institutional style bathroom with two toilet stalls, three urinals, five basins, and a large multi-headed shower room. Each dorm room had a set of bunk beds, two short rods for hanging clothing, two small built-in storage chests, and two study stations with small desks and unpadded chairs. There was no running water in the rooms, nor telephone or TV hookups, and only two electrical outlets per room. The only difference in the rooms was that the outside rooms had small windows that opened while the interior rooms relied on an airshaft and noisy exhaust fan for ventilation. At the head of each stairway on each floor was a larger room for each of the floor’s two Resident Advisors, who were entitled to a private room with a bath.

Policy dictated that all unmarried freshmen under twenty-one live in the dorms, and freshman tuition included room and board. None of the dorms were co-ed and the opposite sex was prohibited from being anywhere but on the first floor. There were separate dorms for the upperclassmen, but most guys hated the arrangement and got off-campus apartments as soon as they could.

It was okay for the first few days; I could sleep in late, masturbate freely without regard to a roommate, and spend some time alone in the shower leisurely scrubbing the crack in my ass and washing my cock; things you just don’t do in the company of a half dozen or more other guys. I even soaped up my cock and jacked off in the shower one morning.

Brett was in the same boat for some reason or another. We were the only two guys on the hall that were stuck there for the Holidays, but there were some guys from the other floors and halls of the dorm too, so the dozen of us refugees usually hung around the rec room and watched TV or shot pool or played cards. We should have been studying, of course, but what the Hell, it was Christmas. All but one of the Resident Advisors was gone for the Holidays and the one that remained, a dweeby senior who kept tabs on the herd in exchange for free room and board, was off to a party somewhere, so things loosened up a little. You could smoke-tobacco-in the rooms and common area back then, but alcohol was totally banned, so four of us managed to finagle a big bottle of vodka and some orange juice and smuggle it up to my room for a little poker party.

We pulled one of the desks next to bed to use for a card table, I put my favorite Cat Stevens tape on the eight-track player, cranked the volume up to a normally unacceptable level, and before long we were all a little loose.

“What’s this I hear about some guy up here having monster balls?” Jason, who lived on the second floor, asked.

“Uh, that would be him, right before your eyes,” I said somewhat drunkenly, pointing to Brett.

“How big are they, anyway?” Jason was also pretty well shit-faced. Brett acted embarrassed and refused to answer, but that didn’t stop me.

“Huge,” I answered, cupping my hands as if I were holding two large grapefruit.

“No fucking way!” Jason countered. “Come on Brett, drop your pants and give Todd and I a look.”

“Fuck you,” Brett replied, still embarrassed. Like I said, he wasn’t an exhibitionist.

“Tell you what,” Jason took another sip from the Dixie cup full of potent booze, then set the cup down and shuffled the deck of cards. “One cut of the deck, high card wins. I win, you show me your balls.”

“Bullshit,” Brett replied, “What happens if I win?”

“Then you get to see my balls.”

“I really don’t even want to see your face,” Brett countered, taking another belt from his own Dixie cup.

By ten we were all totally fucked up, and Brett finally stepped out of his jeans and pulled down his skivvies, baring his endowments for all to see. Even though it was winter the dorm was incredibly hot, and his huge balls hung low.

“Holy shit!” Jason said reverently. “I never would have believed it, balls like that on a scrawny turd like you.” He was right; Brett wasn’t much to look at. He was only about five six and pretty skinny also.

“Hey, you guys!” One of Jason’s buds came running up the stairs. “A guy I know from Crawford just called and said that the R.A. just left there and is heading this way. You guys better get this shit…” He broke off the warning as soon as he caught sight of Brett’s crotch and just stood there open mouthed.

Jason and Todd grabbed the booze and split. Brett stood there swaying for a few seconds, and then said, “I gotta lay down for a minute,” then flopped out on the lower bunk with his skivvies still down around his knees. I ran down the hall and made sure the door to Brett’s room was locked, then locked my door and crashed on the upper bunk.

I woke up about two in the morning needing very badly to piss. I turned on my reading light and swung down out of the bunk. Brett was lying on his side, facing the wall, and his skivvies were still down around his knees, his hairless white untanned ass practically glowing in the dimness of the room. By the time I returned from the toilet he had rolled over and was facing the center of the room. He was snoring noisily, still dead to the world, and his magnificent balls were sprawled out on the bed sheet, so I did what any normal straight guy would do and reached out and cupped his nuts in my hand. They completely filled my hand and I gave them a gentle squeeze but Brett didn’t even stir. Suddenly disgusted with myself, I climbed back onto my bunk, then grabbed my own balls. Absolutely no comparison. My cock started getting hard and I considered jacking off but went back to sleep before getting around to doing it.

I woke up again about seven with a bitch of a headache. I took a piss and plugged in the little bootleg coffeemaker that I wasn’t supposed to have in the room. I popped a couple of aspirin and sat at the small desk and sipped my coffee and waited for them to kick in and stared at Brett’s naked crotch. He was sporting morning wood, and although his hard cock was about the same size as mine, his huge balls made it look proportionately small. I turned away as soon as he started stirring, and as soon as he realized where he was he rolled over to face the wall and then pulled his skivvies back up before swinging out of the bunk.

“Jesus,” he said, “what a night,” then headed to the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later, bummed a couple of aspirin and a cup of coffee, and sat down at the other table, still wearing just his skivvies and tee shirt. He looked a little embarrassed, then finally said, “They’re not real, you know.”

“Huh?” I said, nut sure what I’d just heard.

“My balls. They aren’t real. They’re silicone.”

“Uh.” I was really very articulate back then.

“I wrecked my bike when I was fourteen and they got caught in the front rack and got messed up. They were still there but all torn up and the doctors had to cut them out. My dad and my brother are both really big men, so the doctors figured I be the same size and put in fake balls that they though would be the right size. I turned out small, but my bag stretched to accommodate them, and since they don’t have cords or anything they hang loose all of the time.”

“You don’t look like a, ah, you know. I mean, you have a beard and seem to be all there otherwise,” I said, unwilling to tell him that I’d just seen him with a boner.

“I have to take shots every few weeks,” Brett explained. “I can do everything, but I’ll always be shooting blanks.”

Brett gathered up his clothes and left to hit the shower and then crash in his own bed for a while. I got back into my own bunk and dozed most of the morning, waking up a couple of times only long enough to jack off.

Author’s note: This is a work of fiction, but the description of the dorm and life in it as it was in 1972 is totally accurate.