Half-Time

Dwayne was 24, slender, dark-haired, with an uncut meat cock that was a good 5 inches soft and almost 8 inches hard. He was a little self-conscious about it, so he always wore jockeys.

He had just finished and was stuffing his penis back into his briefs when something stung him on the neck. He slapped at it and turned away from the urinal. He hadn’t taken three steps when the room reeled. He stopped in confusion. Where was he?

“This way, sir.” A hand descended on his shoulder. He turned to see a smiling man in a grey coverall, who steered him toward a door marked “MAINTENANCE.” Dwayne resisted feebly. Was there any reason he should go with the guy? His head was buzzing and he couldn’t think.

“It’s okay,” said the guy, opening the door and propelling him inside, then around a screen.

He was in a room with lockers and benches, and another guy in a grey jumpsuit. A naked guy was just going through another door on the far side.

“Strip,” said his guide.

Dwayne stood still, feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite grasp the thought. A warm glow was spreading through his body, centered in his crotch.

“Take off your clothes, sir,” his guide repeated.

Like it was moving of its own accord, Dwayne’s right hand went to the top of his fly and undid the button. He pulled down his zipper because that was the easiest thing to do. But his cock was stiffening against the cloth of his jeans and he realized dimly that if he pushed them down it would expose his erection for anybody to see, and for a moment he balked again. He glanced muzzily around the empty room. It didn’t really matter, did it? He pushed the jeans down and his penis sprang up. It was really hard. He stared at it. Wow. He could take hold of it and . . .

A hand on his shoulder pushed him down on a bench. Oh, yeah, he was supposed to strip. He fumbled at his sneakers, managed to get them off, pulled the jeans the rest of the way off and dropped them. He shucked off his tee shirt and looked around for his friendly escort, conscious of his cock jutting up between his legs. Someone . . . was it the same guy? he wasn’t sure . . . put a hand under his armpit and urged him to his feet. Then he was in front of a sort of low cabinet he hadn’t noticed before, which had a vertical depression in front with an opening at crotch height.

“Step up here, sir, and press forward so your genitals are inside the opening.” A hand on his bare butt reinforced the instruction.

Almost, but not quite, Dwayne balked again. Something said this was not right. But he couldn’t figure out why, so he stepped up to the cabinet.

His cock, balls and crotch were suddenly on fire, the pain cutting momentarily through the fog in his head. He yelped and tried to jerk back, but the hand still on his butt restrained him just long enough for the burning sensation to subside almost as quickly as it had started, leaving the affected area just smarting a little. He was allowed to step back.

He looked down to see what had happened. His cock had softened a little but was still arcing out. Then he realized his bush was gone. With a vague sense of loss, he felt over the area. All the hair was gone from his genitals and crotch. His scrotum was as smooth and soft as a baby’s. It still stung a little but his cock stiffened again as he felt his balls.

Someone pushed his hand away gently, saying, “You shouldn’t touch yourself there, sir,” and urged him toward another door. As he moved toward it, he became aware that two other guys had come in and were taking off their clothes. That made it all right, didn’t it? Or did it? His head was all fucked up.

He went through the door and found himself at the end of a line of naked men in a big dark room buzzing with talk and smelling of roasting meat and . . . cum? A large bright screen at the back, which provided most of the light in the room, showed half-time activities getting under way. This triggered the closest thing to a clear thought he’d had since leaving the men’s room: he should be getting back to his seat in the stadium overhead. But there was obviously something he had to do first, because he was waiting in line. That was it. He was waiting in line, he just couldn’t remember what for.

-----------

Meanwhile, in a private box suite at the top of the stadium, Joe and his guest Allen were getting into a private elevator. The two of them were in their early forties, both mid-level executives in different corporations, who kept themselves in shape. They were casually dressed.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Joe said as the elevator started down. He grinned. “I guarantee, you’ve never had anything like what we feed you. Always gets me revved up.”

“So what is it?”

“Ever had Mongolian barbeque?”

“Sort of stir-fry on a grill?”

“Something like that.”

Allen shrugged.

The elevator opened into a large dark room somewhere under the stands, dominated and lit mainly by a huge wall screen on which the half-time show was just starting. It was crowded and noisy, and smelled of roasting meat and . . . musk? Semen? Tables were scattered around at which men were eating and talking. To Allen’s astonishment, young naked men were lined up from a door on the far side to what looked like a big, free-standing grill with a smoke hood over it, at which two men wearing chef’s hats and long white aprons were busy. Another much shorter line of clothed men extended back from the grill toward their side of the room.

Allen knew Joe shared his propensities, so he stared openly at the naked men, feeling his own prick stir.

“What the fuck is this, some kind of locker room?”

Joe laughed. “Not hardly. Come on.” He led Allen toward the clothed line.

“Mongolian barbeque, huh?”

Allen saw that most of the naked men had erections and none had pubic hair. In the uneven lighting and with the clothed men in the way, Allen couldn’t quite make out what was happening at the grill, but it was where the two lines were coming together and a wild surmise had jumped into his head. It was so wild that he didn’t immediately voice it.

The man ahead of them in line, who was not much older than the guys in the naked line, turned and asked Allen, “First time to one of these things?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The guy laughed. “I couldn’t believe it either. All those young studs and we wind up with their goodies.”

“Just like the business world,” Joe cracked.

Allen was now pretty sure his guess was right.

“But how . . . ?” he ventured.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” said Joe, obviously enjoying his guest’s reaction.

-----------

Dwayne, meanwhile, was two men away from the head of the other line leading to the grill. He hadn’t touched his erect dick, since he wasn’t supposed to, but he couldn’t help playing with his balls a little, enjoying the feel of the smooth, hairless scrotum. As the line had moved up and each man had reached the grill, he stood as one of the aproned guys did something at his crotch which caused the man to stiffen and gasp. The guy in the apron then tossed something on a butcher-block counter level with the grill top, put a hand on the man’s bare butt and maneuvered him unresisting away from the grill toward a door at the back of the room. As he got closer to the head of the line, Dwayne saw that it was cocks and balls that were being tossed on the counter, where the second aproned man periodically chopped off the balls with a cleaver, cut the cocks in two and scraped the pieces onto the grill. This was vaguely alarming, but he had no volition to do anything but wait his turn.

He reached the head of the line and let go of his testicles. The man in the apron didn’t look at his face at all, he simply grasped Dwayne’s cock and balls together in his big left hand and brought up an instrument in his other hand that projected a curiously truncated pale violet beam. He brought the beam down where Dwayne’s genitals were attached to his body. Dwayne gasped as a single brief spurt of semen shot from his penis, pain and orgasm lancing simultaneously through his crotch, down his legs and up his spine. Then the whole works went on the counter, cleanly and almost bloodlessly severed, and Dwayne was steered toward the exit door, his crotch empty.

---------------------

In the other line, Allen was shaking his head, saying to himself once again, “I don’t believe this.” As he had gotten closer, he had obtained a clear view of the naked men being pruned one by one, assembly-line style. The cook would periodically cut their genitals into two or three pieces and scrape them from the counter onto the grill, adding diced green peppers, onions, bean sprouts and other stuff, then scoop up cooked meat from the other side of the grill onto the plates held out by the corporate guests.

Watching the genitals come off and go on the grill, Allen’s gut had gone cold and his own balls had drawn up, but he still stared, fascinated. He realized that most of the guys were ejaculating as they were pruned. What was that about?

“The cockheads are the best part,” their new acquaintance, Reilly, commented as he picked up a plate from the stack. “Not the balls. Though I like balls, too.”

“But how do you get them to do it?” Allen asked Joe again. “Do you pay them or something?”

Joe laughed. “What’s a dick worth? It’s just a piece of sausage.”

Allen gave up. He did see that the naked guys looked spaced out, and just stood passive as they were pruned, meaning they were probably doped with something. But it wasn't his problem.

It was his turn to be served. He held out his plate.

“Any preference, sir?” the cook asked.

“Uh, cockheads, I guess. And a pair of testicles?” He felt weird saying it. But he was starting to get really turned on despite his queasy stomach. He watched the cutter prune a slender young stud with a really big cock, and realised that all the penises were shrinking up as they cooked. The cook placed a generous heap of meat on his plate that included at least three cockheads and a large pair of balls cooked in the sac, all nicely browned.

Joe steered them to a table, inviting Reilly to join them.

“How often do you do this?” Allen asked Joe.

“Oh, usually every month during football season.”

Allen sliced off a cockhead and bit into it tentatively. To his surprise, it was good. Tender and tasting a little like roast pork. The flavor included a hint of the cum that had probably spurted from it when the penis was sliced off.

“But that’s a lot of guys.”

Joe shrugged. “Out of a crowd of 60,000 to 70,000? ”

“I never thought I would be interested in other guys,” Reilly commented, chewing on the slice of testicle he’d just put in his mouth. “I’m still not . . . well, you know. But this is way cool. And it does wonders for your libido.”

Allen’s own penis was now rigid in his pants as he chewed on another piece of cockhead. “Yeah.”

“Works for me, too,” said Joe. He looked at Allen, who caught his gaze. Their eyes met and Allen grinned.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“I take it you’d like to come to the next game?”

“Oh, yeah.”

---------

Dwayne, meanwhile, was lying on a table staring at a pulsing light overhead while a man in a white jacket worked quickly on his crotch. A deep, soothing voice kept saying, “You had a really nice time, didn’t you, Dwayne? You got fixed up, just like you wanted. That's all you'll remember.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dwayne mumbled.

Soon after, trudging back to his seat in the stadium, he wondered muzzily why the game was under way again. He’d been gone only a few minutes. What had happened to half-time?

Dave looked up at him.

“Hey, man, where the fuck you been?”

“Uh, taking a piss?” Actually, he couldn’t really remember. His crotch was sore and he rubbed it, feeling something flat and stiff under his pants. Oh, yeah, he’d gotten what he wanted. That was it.

“All this time?” Dave stared at him. “You smoking something down there?”

“Shit, no!” Dwayne answered indignantly.

Dave stared at him a moment, his gaze dropping briefly to Dwayne’s crotch. A vague memory stirred. He’d gotten himself fixed up around the time he’d gone to the last game, hadn’t he? He never could remember. He shrugged and turned back to the game.

# # #