A Pound of Flesh

I was rather annoyed, to say the least, to be interrupted from my sleep that morning, on one of those rare occasions that I attempted to sleep in. Normally, I tended to be too eager to get things done to stay in bed and waste my day with idle semi-slumber. Then again, at this particular moment, I was overdue for some sleep, but I wouldn't get it yet. I was just glad that it was a Sunday, because I could in theory catch up on my sleep later. Well, as it turned out, that was a forlorn hope, too.

As I picked up the phone, I heard the rather desperate voice of my lifelong best friend, Nick. For those of you not in the know, Nick is...well, physically slender and small, not to mention a bit effeminate or at least androgynous, if nothing else. I'll be honest here and say that he's rather cute, at least to me. I've protected him at times as we grew up; so much so that I used to joke that I wasn't his friend as much as I was his bodyguard.

An outside observer with rather old-fashioned or closed-minded ideas might assume that Nick is gay. Well, he is actually bisexual, just like me...well, not quite like me. I know that I'm more into guys than he is, though not exclusively. I'm probably about a 3 on the Kinsey scale, if you will. Nick might be closer to a 2. So, yeah, I admit that I protected him partly because I found him sexually attractive. Well, excuse me, but a cute guy like that...well, I tend to be protective of him in the same way that I am of a woman. Yeah, I know, feminism and all that BS says that women don't need my protection anymore. That's funny, because everyone does now and then, and neither Nick nor any of the girls that I stood up for over the years have exactly complained that I was treating them as chattel or dependent on me.

Now, don't assume that I'm some Hercules here. No, nor more am I a guy who is extra macho or seeks out chances to use violence. I just do things like that when the situation calls for it. Normally, I'm a mellow guy, about average height and weight, though I have been trying to move in a higher-protein, lower-carb direction in the interest of delaying the onset of diabetes. I got picked on and beat up as a kid, too, but it ironically grew less and less as I stuck up for others, probably because people got the idea that I was tougher than I let on and could at least fight back. In fights with bullies, you win even if you lose just by standing up to them and not wimping out.

Anyway, so I answered the phone, I heard Nick whining and talking ninety to nothing, even blubbering a bit, "You gotta help me, Dave! I'm telling you, it's serious! He says that I have to pay him by noon today or else I'm in deep shit!"

"Wait a second, Nicky, pay who?" I called him "Nicky" as I often did, because it seemed to fit him.

"Sly. You know, Sylvester Mackenzie!" Nick explained, "I owe him fifty grand by noon and there's no way I can get that by then!"

"And you think that I can it that fast?" I demanded, "Or are you trying to get me to fight an infamous loan shark and his goons to save you from whatever stupid debt you got by borrowing from him?"

"No, no, that's suicide! I just hoped that you can somehow...talk him into giving me more time or else get some money somehow for this! I thought that you're rich, you know, and have connections?" he pleaded, "I even confessed to Nancy and told her that I had borrowed it for our wedding and honeymoon, but she told me that I was stupid to have borrowed from a loan shark...but she's the one that amassed a huge bill for the wedding! Much more than I can afford. She's like, 'But I thought you had a lot of money. You're a stockbroker. Stockbrokers are rich! Why would you need to borrow from Sly Mackenzie?'

"I tried to explain, but she wasn't listening, except when I told her that he would castrate me if I didn't pay up. Then she told me, 'Then pay up or we're over. I won't marry a fucking eunuch or a guy stupid enough to give up his balls as collateral.' That's what she actually told me! The bitch! She's as rich as Oprah and she won't pitch in with the cost of the wedding, nor will her family? That's supposed to be the job of the bride's family, right?"

"Nicky, I'm sorry that your fiancée is such a shallow cunt, but let's face facts. You knew that she was high-maintenance and her parents would stick you with the bill before you popped the question. You insisted that it wasn't her fault and she really did love you. Now it's clear that she loves the money that she thought you had, not you per se. Or rather I think that she liked having control of it...and you. It's an ego thing, since she doesn't need the cash. It proves that she dominates you so much that you'll run in the maze like a hamster for her. She's from one of those families. Jaded, superficial, and vain. Her family is the same way. You're a hard-working stockbroker from a working-class Greek immigrant family. You might not be tough as nails like your family and all that, but...hey why isn't your family involved in this, anyway? I haven't seen them in years," I replied, curious about that.

"Oh, Nancy asked me to choose between them and her. She looked down on them. I foolishly chose her. If I asked them for their help, though, they would have every right to tell me to go to hell. I'm afraid that they might do that, or worse, get themselves into debt when they've just begun to do well for my sake. I can't live with that on my conscience," Nicky stammered as he did whenever nervous or scared.

"But you think that they want you neutered? Or that bothering me about something like this is a better solution? Well, I guess that I do have more money than your folks. I'll do what I can. It won't be easy, because I have to wire it back from another country and avoid any...unwanted attention from the IRS or whatever. Hell, you know me well, don't you? This was always in the back of your mind. David Feldman would come to the rescue, just as he always does. What's with Sly, anyway? The Bard should have based Shylock on him, not us Hebrews. Talk about wanting a pound of flesh! Anyway, I'll help you if possible," I admitted my fault...I'm a sucker for Nicky's pleading, desperate voice and his soft brown eyes.

Thus ended one of the most stressful conversations of my life, after which I got with my bankers overseas and did my best to transfer it without using the normal internet channels, so to speak. One never knew if the FBI or someone was spying on me. I deliberately paid my fair share of taxes, sure, but kept money that shouldn't be taxed where it wouldn't be. Let's just say that I knew from my father's experience that the Taxman often gets it wrong and that can be a costly mistake for the taxpayer. It was those capital-gains taxes that were the worst, of course. Yikes! I'm no Republican, but that's a rare case where they have a point. Well, that and guns, the great equalizer for a guy like me who doesn't care to be terrorized by some putz of a loan shark or bullies in general.

Speaking of which, I made sure to carry some heat for this meeting, just in case I needed it. There was no way that I would meet a jerk and bully like Sly Mackenzie, scum of the Earth, without a piece on me. In this case, it was my 9 mm Glock. I loved that particular sidearm best of all, aside from my 12 gauge, which I also took with me, just in case. Shotguns are nasty pieces of work when it comes to killing, which is what I love about them. Something about the damage that buckshot can do is enough to send the right message when necessary.

When I left the house, it was 10 am, which theoretically gave me about 2 hours to arrive at the location that Nick texted me on the way (no, I didn't text back, as I was driving...Nicky didn't exactly think ahead like that). I wore a suit and tie to show that I was serious on this occasion. It was meant to suggest that Sly and I were the adults, so Nick and the goons would let the grown-ups speak and handle it. Sure, he was of age, but he still acted like he was my little brother. I had the money with me, which was another reason not to go unarmed. Fifty thousand dollars...what the hell was Nancy doing that cost fifty K, anyway? All for a wedding that might not happen after all, as it turned out. What a waste, though I doubt that Sly would agree with me there, or Nancy, for that matter.

Well, I did my best to get the condemned former abortion clinic on time, and in fact I did. It was 11:08 am when I arrived, with fifty thousand dollars on hand, in the form of a cashier's check (there was no way to turn it into greenbacks and that kind of money would be irretrievable if I got robbed). It was made out to Sly Mackenzie, so he had a gesture of faith from me, plus you kinda have to put that sort of information on a cashier's check. Nicky should have been pleased to see me, but instead he paled as he saw me...from the ad hoc table that he was strapped to...tears fresh in his eyes. I could tell that something was wrong, of course.

I got about a foot from the table when Sly had his goons stop me. He had this look on his face like, "WTF? What does this guy think he's doing?"

"Um...Sly Mackenzie, right?" I asked cautiously.

"Yeah, that's me, Pops. Are you Dave?" Sly asked me in his Boston Irish accent.

"The very same. David Joshua Feldman. Friend of the fellow you have strapped down here, Nicholas Stavropoulos. What's the deal? I'm here on time with the cash. You haven't taken your collateral yet, have you?" I demanded.

"Too bad Nicky boy here forgot about the last minute penalty. Maybe he wasn't listening to that part. If you wait to the last day or hour with me, there's a stress penalty of 5% on top of the principal and interest for making me sweat. If I want to sweat, I'll do it in a gym. You hear me, sport? So, yes, I've taken my security, since he told me that you didn't have the extra money on hand and that he hadn't asked you for it. Your buddy here is, how do I say, something less than a man, if not quite a woman now.

"I'll take the money nonetheless. Otherwise, well, I'll take his dick, too, in place of the penalty. You can try to rush or shoot me, but if you do, you'll get mowed down and he'll be another John Bobbitt, but without the reattachment or the ex-wife, you hear me? Just be glad that I'm not asking you for the five percent. His balls will do for those rather well...as entertainment and to strike home the right message, after I pickle them in a small jar and put them on display," Sly cleverly forestalled any heroics on my part...I wasn't going to make Nicky have to sit to pee on top of the other indignity.

"Here you go. Now I see why I don't patronize your kind," I noted caustically as I wisely paid him, especially as the check was already made out to him.

"Yeah, well, survival of the fittest. You and me, we're alpha males. We did the world a favor here. It has too many betas breeding, if you ask me. Folks like Nicky here. You want proof of that? He was dumb enough to agree to my terms, which I always set because either I get my money or I rid the world of another wimp. You, on the other hand, wouldn't even consider turning to me, would you? The very fact that you had the money, that you're obviously armed, and that you would come to this punk's rescue tells me everything that I need to know. You look out for the underdog. Wannabe superhero. I get it. I respect that. It's not as smart as me and how I live, but it shows character, backbone. Guts. You have them as well as smarts.

"Now, don't get any crazy ideas of revenge in your head. Your buddy here failed to pay up. He paid the price instead. No one held a gun to his head and made him borrow from me. He then got you caught up in his mess. He'll recover in time, poor fella. I hear that he's engaged. Something tells me that his love life's about to hit the rocks. Chicks only stick around with eunuchs if they can get some dick on the side. So, either he'll be dumped or his life will get even worse than that. Something tells me that he'll be crying into his beer for a good while, but at least he'll learn not to waste his life sucking up to stupid whores like his fiancée. Any girl who needs fifty K for a wedding is a user, man. A leech, a parasite. I did him a favor. Now he won't be ruled by his dick or led around by some evil bitch's pussy," Sly chuckled as he turned his victim over to me.

"Unstrap him, Sly. Let me take home with me. He needs to crash somewhere and have someone help him heal a bit. It looks like my job for a good while to come. You cauterized him, at least, right, so he won't bleed to death?" I insisted.

"Hell, yeah, I don't want his death on my conscience. That's a mortal sin, like the docs, nurses, and patients and here used to commit. This is just a venial sin. If I'm lucky, I might still make Purgatory if I confess in time. I only kill if it's necessary. No sense in damning myself for sure," Sly retorted as he surrendered his victim to my custody, adding, "Don't ever let me see either of you around here anymore, you hear me?"

"Um, sure, Sly. I have no desire to return. This place is creepy as hell, anyway," I admitted, being no fan of abortion myself, though in favor of a woman's right to choose.

"Well, that's just the souls of murdered babies, of course. I figured it was already unpopular enough to give me privacy, you see," Sly shrugged as we headed out, both of us glad that I hadn't tried to emulate his namesake in the Rambo films or something crazy like that.

Knowing that I was at a serious numerical and tactical disadvantage, I naturally decided to forgo revenge and do my best to help Nicky get to my house for his recovery. He was clearly in horrible pain, of course, not having had a very good anesthetic during the surgery. By definition, losing your nuts qualifies as any man's worse nightmare, right along with losing your dick. His sex life as he knew it was over. Nancy had already made it clear that she would dump his ass, which she did over the phone when he sent word through me that it had taken place.

"You know, you're a real piece of work, Nancy. Whatever happened to true love and 'for better or for worse?' Nicky needs you more than ever and he's in this mess because of you. The least that you can do is be here for him," I laid the guilt trip on thick, though I knew that it wouldn't work.

"I never said those vows yet. Besides, he could have come up with the money another way. He's rich, isn't he?" Nancy acted as self-absorbed and conceited as ever, "Not my fault he turned to Sly Mackenzie, the notorious loan shark. If you ask me, he deserved to be neutered. I'm not going to stick around for a man with no balls and I won't cheat on my future husband. Hell, I've never even let Nicky into my panties and now I never will. I'm going to be a virgin bride in white with the perfect wedding, thank you very much!"

"Yeah, whatever. What a waste! Do me a favor and don't contact either of us ever again, unless you wish to pay up the fifty grand you owe me now. If not, so be it. Other than that, leave us both the hell alone! Oh, and grow up before you ruin another man's life, Nancy!" I slammed the phone down.

"Damn, Nicky, not to kick you when you're down, but you put up with all of this and she wouldn't even sleep with you? Wow, love really is blind!" I shook my head at that and produced a bottle of Jim Beam...the cheap stuff wouldn't do for my best friend who had just lost a major part of his manhood.

I'll be frank here...Nicky and I both got rather plastered after a while, neither of us having eaten a bite that morning and both of us hitting the sauce rather fast. That fine Kentucky bourbon went through us just as we went through it. Nicky certainly needed it, even more than I did. The next thing that we knew, it was Monday morning and I was a bit hungover. It was a good thing that I was self-employed and worth more than a little besides. I had to call him in sick to work, however, since he was clearly in no position to do his job that morning, if at all that week. I mean, you try working the day after you get your nuts chopped off and then share a bottle of whiskey with your best friend. Yeah, I thought as much.

I heard sobbing and I saw Nicky on the toilet, sitting down as he now had trouble standing up to pee. His face was truly a sad state, red from having bawled his eyes out more than a few times during the night while we watched movies and drank our shots. Strangely, he had wanted to watch a bunch of chick flicks, but I humored him because he was the one who had just lost something far more precious than my fifty K. I caught myself now more or less consistently thinking of him as "Nicky," not Nick at times, crazy as that might seem. Almost none of his behavior since being gelded had been masculine at all. I put that down to lower testosterone, though I couldn't be sure when that would take effect. Maybe it was just psychological at this point. Then again, Nicky was never a "man's man," now, was he?

"I can't...get hard. Not at all, Dave. It's already gone, my ability to get an erection. I'm already impotent, thanks to them castrating me. It's...embarrassing. What am I going to do, sit down to pee every time that I wake up and morning wood should have me able to aim better? Plus, I'll never get to cum again. Ever. Do you have any idea how it feels to know that I can't reproduce? Forget finding a wife. That won't happen now. Fuck me, I'm screwed! What's there left to live for, anyway?" Nicky whined until I was frankly annoyed with him.

"Look, Nicky, it's not over for you. You're still young. You still have your health. You have a job as a stockbroker and you're now out of that one debt. You're free of that bloodsucking bitch that wanted to use you and spit you out. Yes, it came at a very high price...for both of us. In case you forgot, it cost me fifty thousand dollars, just so that you'd still have your dick! Now, what's this about your love life being over? Come shower with me...it's time for us to talk," I demanded, more forceful than expected.

To my surprise, Nicky didn't protest or object at all, though maybe he was just too stunned or in need of comfort from me. He finished undressing as I stripped, his eyes following my cock and balls as I exposed them to him for the first time in years. He was even more astonished when I started washing him first, my hands roaming his skin with the puff as I cleaned him up. I was extra careful around the area where his balls had been, so as not to irritate the cauterized flesh. I soon became rather hard as I touched his swarthy body, excited by the skin-to-skin contact with him.

When it was Nicky's turn, he didn't try to get out of washing me as well. On the contrary, he surprised me by stroking my dick as he cleaned that part, followed by my balls, which seemed to be rather sensitive to the touch right then. Neither of us had done this to each other, yet it seemed somehow natural to us, as if an expression of his vulnerability to me, his deference to my will...his trust in me. He had always turned to me and leaned on me, and now was no exception.

When I began to speak, Nicky put his fingers to my lips and let his hands...and then his mouth do the talking for him. He knelt before me and opened his mouth, drawn like a magnet to my cock as he placed his lips around the head of it. Before I could get a word in, Nicky had my dick practically in his throat, his hands wandering over to my balls and my ass to play with them. It was just...instinct or impulse for both of us, the culmination of years of this ongoing bond between us, the intimacy that had already existed, with its sexual potential until now untapped.

"Nicky...damn! I was gonna seduce you, but it seems that you've beaten me to the punch. Oh, God, man...you're such a gorgeous guy, you know that, right? Delicious...," I reacted out loud when I got a chance to react verbally.