Nothing to Lose

Nothing to Lose (Male World Order, part 3)

The dim red lights that glowed through the night suddenly switched to cold, bright white. A loud, but not unpleasant chime sounded three times, and the ancient PA system crackled to life.

"Gooooooood Morning West Knoxville Dorm 14! You know what time it is! Zero five oh OOH! Up, up up! Feet on the floor! Morning habitat hygiene starts now, let's get this place fresh and sparkling! As usual, personal hygiene is scheduled for 0530. It's gonna be a clear day out there. Low of 52F, high of 59. Dress appropriately. Breakfast will be served in the secondary chow hall today. REPEAT: the secondary chow hall. Today's selection includes scrambled eggs, oatmeal with fresh berries, farmed venison sausage, and doughnuts. It's gonna be beauuuuutiful day!"

Feet did eventually hit the floor, but it was a gradual process. More than a few men lay praying to the Alphas for "just another five minutes." As usual, the very first feet on the floor were Eighth Beta Hunter Zumanski's size 15s. He always challenged himself to hit the floor before the third chime. He contorted his 6'8", nearly 360-pound body to sit in his cramped bottom bunk and fished around under the mattress for his pack of Colgate DentaScrub gum.

Another pair of feet, preceded by a miasma of caramel apple cigarette smoke, dangled into view, those of DB10 Austin Pierce, his quiet, shy upper bunk neighbor. Another recent arrival, Austin had just finished a 12-year term of indentured servitude in a slaughterhouse. The thought of venison, farmed or otherwise, made him nauseous. The 'D' in his rank was for 'deviant.' He was registered as a pedophile at his POMA.

Across from Austin was HB9 Timothy Staunton, who had arrived just days before, in a state of exhaustion almost to the point of collapse. Timothy and Austin had matching tattoos. Tim's was a big 'H' on the front of his neck. Pink with a thick black outline, three inches tall. Austin's was the same, except his was a 'P.'

"Take that shit out of the cube and go to the smoke lounge," said B8 Ryan Fisher, coming to consciousness in the bunk under Tim and across from Hunter. He was just now opening his big brown eyes and stretching out his chubby frame covered in salt & pepper body hair. His nightshirt was bunched around his stomach to reveal his fat, stubby morning erection, glistening with leakage. Similar to Tim, Ryan was a former mid-beta, B5. He was reassessed to B8 due to failure to maintain physical fitness standards. He had starved and pushed himself to slim down and prepare for his POMA, but he struggled to keep the weight off as an adult and eventually lost that struggle. His journey to the dorms also began with a humiliating "Health & Safety" inspection -- in full view of the employees of his accounting firm.

Unlike Tim, this meant leaving a wife and two children behind. Ryan had been here 16 years now. His sons were grown and they had the right to initiate contact, but they hadn't. He would never hear from his wife again. Women were not permitted private communication with Eighth Betas or below without sacrificing their certified reputation. He forgave her. Life could be tolerably comfortable for a man of even the lowest rank, but it was a nightmarish ordeal for a woman without a reputation.

There were no female dorms.

Dorm 14 was divided into 8 halls. Their home was Upper Hall 1. Each hall housed 32 men. They were each a single large rectangular room with four cubicles of four bunks each along the long walls. The cubes had partitions at the sides, but were open to the middle of the hall. Along the middle there were a couple sets of chairs and tables, and a small lounge area with a TV and two sofas. At the far end, there was a large grating on the floor, about ten by twelve feet. This was their bathroom area for both washing and waste release. During authorized hygiene times, a spray of warm water ran continuously from high-up pipes, it cut off automatically when hygiene time was over. There were no sinks or mirrors. If a man was still soapy at cutoff, he had to rinse himself in the icy water from the drinking fountain.

For now, the grating was crowded with men deflating their engorged morning bladders and releasing their bowels.

Upper 1 and Lower 1 formed one of four wings that made up the cross-shaped building. In the center on both floors was a large common area. There were several little sitting areas of couches and coffee tables and an ever-changing library of books, magazines, and board games that rotated between the different dorms. At one end, a plush rectangular conversation pit with its own ventilation served as the smoke lounge.

The shape of the building divided their outdoor area into four yards. An area for parties and outdoor entertaining with grills and picnic tables, a field for sports with a small grass "refreshment area," a swimming pool (closed for the winter) that they shared with Dorms 13; 15; and 16, and finally Hunter's favorite: an outdoor gym with various exercise equipment, and an obstacle course that Hunter called "the playground."

The men were up and doing their assigned chores, except for Timothy who had not yet been assigned anything. He tagged along with Hunter to clean windows. Due to Hunter's size, he had special permission to sleep in a long, oversized t-shirt. The rest of the men wore gauzy, white, long sleeved, collared nightshirts.

Clothing rules were quite strict. Nightshirts were to be worn from 8:00 p.m. until morning cleaning was over, and all day Saturday and Sunday. Khaki coveralls the rest of the time. Plain white briefs, white t-shirts, grey sweatshirts and thermal underwear were permitted with the coveralls, but the only thing permitted to be worn with a nightshirt was shower sandals. The men were allowed "civilian" clothes to wear during their time off away from the dorm, but they had to change and store them in lockers as soon as they returned. Most of them had no shoes other than the standard boots that were issued once a year.

The nightshirts were supposed to be 'one-size-fits-all.' The reality is most men over about 6'3" or so had their genitals and bottoms hanging out of them. At 6'1", the nightshirts fit Timothy well enough standing with his arms at his sides, but as he reached up and down to clean the windows, his lightly hairy buttocks popped in and out. Looking around, the hall was a veritable hive of men's asses and balls doing the same thing.

"You find work yet?," Hunter asked Tim. There was a hint of concern in his voice.

"Not yet. Got an interview today at Kroger. Fingers crossed," Tim replied.

"You know your first week is almost up. You only get two weeks to find your own work then they find it for you."

"I know, I know, I know."

"As in cleaning up the highway or hosing down refreshment areas or picking berries."

"Picking berries doesn't seem too bad."

"Farm work means you stay in a farm dorm though. A lot smaller than this, a lot less to do. And they move you around a lot."

"You seem very educated about these subjects for someone who's been here a grand total of three weeks longer than me," Tim joked.

"I talk to people. I ask questions. You sure you don't want me to ask my manager? We need another dishwasher and it's really not that bad once you get used to it."

"You've said those words before. Alright, if Kroger doesn't work out, tell Walter about me."

"I already did. You start Sunday night."

"Fuck. Alright, alright. Does he know I'm a faggot?"

"Dude, it's a restaurant. Kitchen's full of H-necks. Walter's an HB5, didn't I tell you?" Hunter was not as simple as he came across at first.

"Fancy."

The men spoke as equals. Whatever differences the outside world imagined between Eight, Ninth, and Tenth Betas were invisible here. They were not the bottom rungs of the societal ladder. They were the ground underneath the ladder. The sissies, the fatties, the fags, the simpletons, the weak, the pedos, the deviants, the anxious, the effeminate, the immature, the lazy, the dull, the timid, the anxious. Most of all, they were the different. Many of them were perfectly functional puzzle pieces, they just belonged in a different puzzle.

The one thing they had in common was that society had deemed them not masculine enough to head a household (not even a household of one), so they lived together. And they made a family out of it. They were brothers, sons, fathers, uncles, nephews, and cousins to each other.

Four chimes rang out, indicating cleaning time was over. The water began it's evenly-distributed misting and steaming over the refreshment grate. It would run for 60 minutes.

About 12 to 14 men could shower at a time. Sometimes they even crowded more in there. There were no sinks or mirrors, so the men had to help each other with grooming. Heads and faces were required to be shaved smooth at all times, and the men paired off for this. B10s did not even have the privilege of eyebrows. One extra tiny humiliation for the very lowest rank of free men.

The relationship between shower partners was a very intimate one. The men, many of whom identified as heterosexual, permitted themselves things during that sixty minutes of mist and spray that could not occur at any other time or place. They compartmentalized it. Denied contact with women, it was all they had. Hunter paired with Austin. Despite Hunter's huge size, he had a boyish innocence that drew Austin to him. Hunter rather felt the same way about Austin, in a platonic way. Hunter was not homosexual in the least (a firm 0.2 Kinsey analysis), but he appreciated Austin's friendship and he enjoyed the physical affection the men shared bathing. Again: in a platonic way. He viewed Austin as a sort of big brother.

Timothy paired off with B8 Gene Pryce, a man in his mid-60s. A man who fought in the Second Civil War, on the losing side. Like Tim, Gene was from Virginia -- the only state to lose both times. Gene had been a political prisoner, but prisoners are expensive to keep and dorm rats are cheap to keep. When the ranking system was implemented and the first dorms opened, he was freed and made a B8, without a POMA. Over nearly three-and-a-half decades, he had watched the dorms grow from bare bones encampments barely better than hurricane shelters, to the relatively comfortable and cheerful places they were now.

As often happened in the dorms, Timothy and Gene would eventually form a very close father-son relationship. Unofficially recognized with a Friday night "adoption party." But for now, the relationship was just budding. Gene was also very hetero. He never had a Kinsey test, but if he did it would be '0' or very close. Despite that, he could sense the aimless middle-aged faggot deeply needed mature male guidance and companionship, and he had a strong desire to provide it. If Tim had had such a mentor on the outside, he would have made a very successful HB6.

Besides, after so many years without even seeing a woman, what did 'heterosexual' even mean?

The couples (and throuples) stepped into the spray. They soaped each other up and rinsed repeatedly, in no rush. They scrubbed and exfoliated, they wiped and rinsed. It was the best part of the day. Hunter had to squat low for Austin to be able to shave his head and face, and remain squatted so he could shave Austin's face. His glutes got a workout. When they were done shaving they simply held each other for a while. Austin's penis very gradually inflated to its full 6 inches and pressed on Hunter's thighs in what had become a daily ritual. Hunter moved this way and that to allow Austin to slip between his soaped up thighs and he closed them tight on Austin as he began thrusting.

Hunter told himself this did not count as homosexual, because it was not penetration. He didn't mind it really. Hunter may have been simple and naive, but he could tell Austin thought he didn't know what was going on. He didn't really mind that either. There were far worse attributes to ascribe to your brother than innocence. Hunter put his arms around his thigh-fucking big bro.

His own impressive, but flaccid meat rubbed against Austin's belly hair in a not-unpleasant way. Like many heterosexual men newly arrived at the dorms, Hunter was conducting negotiations with himself, and the terms of these negotiations were slippery to get a hold of.

As Austin began pumping harder, Hunter thought to himself, 'well we'd have to start with something smaller for practice.'

The negotiations had entered brand new territory.

As Gene scrubbed Tim's back, Tim's cock began to wake up. He got nervous. He was still healing from his circumcision revision and the past few days taught him erections could be painful. All men ranked B8 or below were given what was called a "total circumcision," an extremely tight cut with no inner foreskin left at all. It had the effect of greatly reducing sexual sensation in the penis.

Some said the authorities believed this would keep men in the dorms chaste. They may have believed this at one point, but it was quickly proved false. But what else to do with all these misfits?

The dorms were an essential part of the economy. Millions of men across the country, warehoused together as cheaply as possible, required to be gainfully employed at least 30 hours a week. Earning paychecks that were 100% disposable and spending them like sailors on shore leave. The dorms were a gold mine.

The designated shower time. The lack of sinks and mirrors. The strictest grooming standards for the least visible people. The one big group shower. It was all engineered as a form of containment. Create conditions that encourage them to get their rocks off all at once, and then they could put it out of their minds and behave the other 23 hours a day.

Was it 100% effective? Of course not -- and there were occasional stains on the couches to prove it. But it was about 85% effective. Good enough for government work. It was all about appearances anyway, as anyone B8 or below could tell you.

Gene pinched Tim's glans in his fingers and took a close look. "It's looking better, but not healed yet. Think unhorny thoughts, my boy. Think of gutting fish, always works for me," the man jokingly advised his junior. He then poured a gob of soap in Tim's right hand and wrapped it around his own member. "Think of this cock and not yours for a bit. That'll be sure to help." A big smile spread across Tim's face as he admired Gene's large floppy penis, hanging under the faded 'USMC Property' tattoo on his laser-smoothed pubis (two body modifications that were souvenirs of another world). He worked it hard as Gene closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It didn't bother Timothy to think Gene might be imagining someone else -- someone a bit more feminine -- handling his meat. Tim was just happy to please. He jerked Gene vice-tight and rapid, the way the lower ranks preferred.

As Gene was performing his little fatherly pep talk, a 6'4", 250-pound HB8 with a nearly 10-inch penis sticking out of a thatch of blond pubes began the delicate process of opening and entering his hairless 5'3", 116-pound shower partner's anus. A holler rang out all the way to Dorm 15.

So much for chastity.