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Royal I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Royal. I know you're thinking that's a strange name, so I'll explain how I got it. My dad was fifty when my mom had me. He had played second team quarterback at the University of Texas under Coach Darrell Royal, so, when I came along, I was named after Coach Royal. My dad had wanted a manly name for his son. He and my mom had been trying for years to have a kid. Although she was younger than he by fifteen years, thirty-five is still pretty old to have your first child. I guess I was their last chance. My dad was overjoyed that he had a son, wanting to make me into the football player that he'd never been. Since he hadn't made the first team, he never had any offers from the pros. He had his heart set on my becoming a professional football player. I think that my first toy was a football. Although I don't remember it, I've been told that my father placed one in my crib when they brought me home from the hospital. My earliest memories were of playing football with him. I went to football camp when I was five, and I had to play Pop Warner football as soon as I was old enough. By the time I was in high school, where I could have played on the school team, I was sick of football-besides, I sucked at it. Actually, I sucked at all sports. I wasn't quick, and I had poor hand to eye coordination. I told my father I wanted to quit the football team, telling him I was no good at football, but he wouldn't listen. He just made me practice more, making me run through plays with him after I got home, even though, at sixty-five, he wasn't in good health. Finally, having all I could take, I quit the team He wouldn't talk to me after I quit-and died without saying another word to me. He had a heart attack a week after I quit the team. I think my mother blamed me for my father's death. I know I blamed myself. Other than Social Security, my father didn't leave us much. Even the house was heavily mortgaged. We had to sell it, moving into a low rent apartment. At fifteen, I was too young to get a job. Although my mother went to work as a bookkeeper, she didn't make much. I wasn't the football player my parents had wanted, and I wasn't even the manly son they had wanted. I was gay-not that I'd ever had sex with another guy. I lived in Texas and would have been harassed unmercifully by the other kids in my school if they'd known I was gay. It wasn't that I was ugly. In my senior year, I was voted the most handsome boy in my class. The girls were always after me, but they didn't turn me on. Although I occasionally dated, it was to keep everyone from knowing I was gay, and I always double dated with a friend- turned on more by the friend than by my date. I don't know why I'm gay-whether I was born this way, or whether my father had tried too hard to make me his kind of man. I think I was born this way, but it doesn't matter. It's what I am. I graduated from high school, but just barely. College was out of the question. The only job I could get was for minimum wage at Burger King. I was still living at home. My life sucked. I was nineteen before I got laid. I was hanging out down at the River Walk in San Antonio, where I live, sitting at a an outside table drinking a mocha. A guy, walking up to my table, asked me if he could sit down. "Sure," I said. His name was Rick. Although I never asked him his age, he was older than me by seven or eight years. He was a good looking guy. I was turned on by him. After some small talk, he said, "I saw you scoping out the guys. Are you gay?" "No," I said, automatically-much too quickly. I had always feared and hoped that someone would ask me that question: feared that friends and family would find out that I was gay; hoped that I would find someone who felt the same as I. Under the table, he put his hand on my leg, moving it up to my crotch. I thought my cock was going to burst my jeans; it was so hard. Caressing it, he asked, "Are you sure, you're not gay?" Although I didn't say anything, he had his answer. I didn't move; nor, did I ask him to take his hand off my cock. Instead, I came, creaming my jeans at his touch. I know he felt my cock pulsate as it shot out its load. He probably felt the wet spot it made. "Want to come to my place?" he asked. When I nodded, he asked, "Do you have a car?" I didn't, of course. I couldn't afford one working at Burger King. Since my mother charged me for rent and food, I didn't have much of my salary left over for any thing else. I guess she didn't have much choice, though. She'd lost the Social Security payment for me when I'd graduated from high school. There was no doubt that Rick had money. His sports car alone cost more than I could make in ten years working at Burger King. His house had a large room overlooking the backyard, which had a swimming pool and hot tub. Stopping at a bar in the room, he asked, "Would you like a drink?" When I said that I did, he asked, "What would you like?" I tried to think of a drink that would sound sophisticated. Although I had been drunk on occasion, it had been on beer or vodka, drinking both out of the bottle. I could only think of one. "How about a margarita?" I said. The margarita was good. I'd never had one before, but I doubted that a bartender could have any better. It was frosty with crushed ice, and the glass was rimmed with salt. "How is it?" he asked. When I said that it was good, he said, "Bring it outside. We'll relax in the hot tub." At the tub, I was going to say that I didn't have a suit, but, before I could, he had slipped off his trousers and underwear, and was pulling off his shirt. In a moment he was naked. After stepping into the water, he said, "You can't go in like that. Take your clothes off." I hesitated. I had been staring at his groin. Although his cock wasn't hard, mine was. I was embarrassed to take off my pants, revealing it. Never having even jacked off with a friend, no one had seen my cock hard. Glancing at my crotch, he said, "Yours won't be the first erection I've seen. My face must have turned red, because I felt it burn; but, after slipping off my shoes and socks, I pulled off my pants, stepping into the tub before removing my T shirt. Staring at my naked body, Rick said, "Nice." Although I had little athletic ability, my body belied that. My chest was well defined, and I had washboard abs. My cock was small, though-less than four inches when hard. Other kids had made fun of it when we had dressed for gym class, because-soft-it was really small. I probably had the smallest cock of any of the guys at my school. The teasing had gotten so bad that I had rarely taken a shower after gym class, but had changed quickly with my back turned to the other guys. Scooting next to me in the tub, Rick put his arm around my shoulder-and kissed me. It was my first-real-kiss. I had kissed girls before, but that had been perfunctorily done, not out of desire but out of obligation-because the girl had expected it of me. With his mouth locked to mine, he twisted me around, pulling me onto his lap. His cock was hard. I felt it probing at my ass. It was big-much bigger than mine. I didn't think it could possibly fit up my ass, but, from the pressure his cock was exerting on my hole, I knew that's what he intended. Frightened by having something so large up my ass, I wanted to tell him, "no", but hypnotized by his kiss and curious about how it would feel, I said nothing. At first, it hurt-but then his cock slipped past my sphincter, filling my ass, rubbing against my engorged prostate. I came, shooting my spunk into the swirling water, gasping-moaning-as I did. I'd never had such an incredible climax-and I hadn't even touched my cock. It was a few moments before he filled my ass with his come. He was older-and not nearly so aroused. I came again before he did. After taking his cock from my ass, he led me from the tub-up to his room, where we climbed onto his bed. Reaching over to his nightstand, he pulled some cream out of the drawer, spread it on his cock, then stuck it back into my ass. It went in much more easily, causing me little pain-but much pleasure. He fucked me-violently pounding his cock into my ass. Again, I came twice to his once-each time without touching my cock. Afterward-exhausted-we lay on the bed-my head nestled in the crook of his arm. "Was that your first time?" he asked. "Yes," I answered, wondering if it had been that obvious. "Had you never been with a guy before?" "No." "Never even jacked off with one?" "No." "Have you ever fucked a girl?" "No, this was my first time-with anyone." "So, I busted your cherry, huh? Did you like it?" I hesitated, then looked up at him-puppy dog style, "Yes-I liked it." I would have liked more: at nineteen, I was always horny. He-older-was more quickly satisfied. Lying in bed, we smoked some weed, took a shower-then he drove me home. I was almost ashamed to be dropped off in front of my mom's apartment. There was such a contrast between it and his place. Before I got out of the car, he handed me four bills-four one hundred dollar bills. "What's this for? I asked. "You don't have to give me money." I didn't want him to think I was a whore. "Hey," he said. "I've got plenty-and you look like you need it. Take it. Buy yourself some new clothes. I'd like to see you again-and I might want to take you some place nice." I took the money. It was twice as much as I took home in a week at Burger King, and I took it as a gift-not as a payment for sex. I wanted to see him again-and comparing how I was dressed-blue jeans and a T shirt-to how he was dressed, I did want better clothes. When asked, I gave him my phone number. He said he'd call. Three days later, he called. My mother had probably been wondering why I was spending so much time at home, but I had been waiting for his call. "Hi," he said. We talked for a while, then he asked, "Did you buy some clothes?" When I said that I had, he said, "Good, wear them tonight. We're going out to eat." When we arrived at the restaurant, we were escorted to a table. A man, in his mid thirties, was seated at the table. "David," Rick said, "This is Royal." Dinner was served. Most of the conversation-after the introductions and some questions about me-was between Rick and David. The talked about politics and business. I knew little about either. During their conversation, I noticed Rick look at David, raising an eyebrow. David nodded, then excused himself, saying that he had to go to the restroom. After he had left, Rick asked me, "Do you like, David?" "Sure," I said, "he seems nice." "He likes you. He'd like you to spend the night with him." "I-I," I stammered. I didn't know what to say. Although David was handsome, he was at least fifteen years older than I. Besides, I liked Rick. I was even beginning to think I was in love with him. "But-but, I thought that you and me..." "Hey, you're a nice guy. You're really cute. I like you a lot-but, David is an important client of mine; and he likes you. You'd be doing me a big favor; besides, I think you'll find that he's really generous." "What do you mean, generous?" "I gave you $400. He'll give you at least that much." "You mean he's going to pay me for sex. That kinda makes me a whore, doesn't it?" "Did you feel like a whore when you took the money from me?" "No, that was different. I thought you liked me-that you were giving it to me because we were friends." "We are friends. That's why I introduced you to David. You need money. Do you want to work at Burger King for the rest of your life-and live in that shit hole you're living in? I'm showing you a way you can make some money-some real money." "But, I thought that...you and me." "Hey, I like you, Royal, but, I'm not ready for a steady relationship-not yet-maybe someday, maybe with you, but, if you can't do this for me, we're through." I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to lose Rick. He had introduced me to a different life. I didn't want to go back to what I had: working at Burger King; and living with my mom. "OK," I said. "I'll go with David." "All right! That's my boy. You'll like David." After David returned, he and I left together, driving to a motel, where we spent the night. He fucked me. Again, I came without touching my cock-came from the pressure of his cock on my prostate. His cock was big-probably at least seven inches. I was ashamed of my little cock, but he seemed to have little interest in it. He didn't offer to suck my cock-although he had me suck his. His was the first cock I ever sucked. I kept gagging as he plunged it into my throat, but was eventually able to take most of it into my mouth. He came, pumping his spunk into my mouth. I tasted come for the first time. David was all right. As I said, he was handsome, and, for a man his age, he performed well, coming three times that night. I didn't come twice to his once, as I had with Rick, but I came each time he fucked me. Because I was fucking him for money, I had no illusions about being in love with him-besides, I still thought I was in love with Rick. He called a taxi for me the next morning-and gave me $500 before I left. I guessed I was a whore. I'd been paid for sex-but I had collected $900 in two nights. After buying clothes, I still had $100 of what Rick had given me. I had $600 in my pocket. That was the most money I'd ever had at one time. I continued to work for Rick-even though I realized that he was my pimp-not my lover. I had become addicted to the money, never getting less than $400, and often getting more. I moved out of my mother's apartment: into one of my own; quit my job at Burger King; even bought myself a car. The guys weren't bad. Some of them got a little rough, but none really hurt me-and those who played rough usually gave me more money. I had a nice car and apartment-and I didn't have to work at Burger King. All I had to do was take some guy's cock up my ass or into my mouth. All of the guys were good looking. Most of them, I would have fucked for free. Then-for a week-I didn't hear from Rick. Spending money as fast as I made it, I hadn't saved any. I had rent due the next week, and I didn't have the $1100 to cover it. so I called Rick on his cell phone. "Hey, Rick," I said. "I haven't heard from you. Don't you have anything for me?" "Oh, Royal...hey, I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm going to be able to use you anymore." I had long since realized that Rick didn't love me-that we just had a business relationship, but I had worked for him only three months. Although I knew I wouldn't be able to do this forever, I was young. I figured that I had several years left before I would be too old to to attract his clients. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked. "No, it's nothing you did, it's just that..." "It's just what?" I asked. "It's your cock," he said. "You have too little cock to attract those who like cocks-and too much cock to attract those who don't." Too much cock? I knew of no one who had a smaller cock than mine. How could I have too much cock for anyone? I could understand that I might have too little cock for those who wanted to be fucked-or wanted to suck cock-but none of my clients had ever expressed any interest in my cock. "How can I have too much cock?" I asked. "I have clients who want guys who have no cocks at all." "You mean girls?" "No, they want guys-but guys who have no cocks or balls. If you're willing to have your cock and balls removed, I'll have plenty of clients for you-and they'll pay twice as much as you've made up until now." "You joking with me, aren't you? You're not serious?" "No, I'm serious. If you're willing to have your cock and balls removed, I'll have plenty of work for you-but, if not, I can't use you." "No fucking way, man," I said, "I'm not having my cock and balls cut off." "If you change your mind, give me a call-otherwise-lose this phone number." He hung up. I stared at the phone. Surely, he hadn't been serious. My cock was small-but it was my cock. Although I had never stuck it into anyone's ass or mouth, I masturbated frequently-at least once a day when I wasn't being fucked and could come by having someone's cock up my ass. Besides, if I lost my balls, how could I come at all? I liked sex; I liked orgasms; I certainly wasn't ready to give them up. Well, I thought, I don't need Rick. I can find some marks on my own. I tried, but none that I met were willing to pay more than $100, and few, after seeing my small cock, wouldn't pay me at all. I was beaten and raped-even arrested for prostitution. I guess I was lucky I didn't get HIV. Weeks later, I was a month behind on my rent and in danger of being evicted. I had a car payment due-and no money to pay it. Either I did what Rick had asked, or I moved back in with my mom and reapplied for my job at Burger King. Deciding that I'd rather give up my cock and balls than do that, I called Rick. "OK, Rick. I'll do it." "Now, you're talking. You won't regret it. You'll make more money than you ever believed possible. Hell, you don't have much of a cock, anyway. You won't miss it. I bet you've never used it for anything but beating off." I didn't answer that. One guy I had picked up had sucked my cock, but then had refused to pay, saying that it wasn't even a mouthful. Rick was right. I didn't have enough cock to attract someone who liked cocks. "But," I said, "I like to come. How will I come without balls?" "You don't need balls," he answered. We'll get you started on HRT. You'll be able to come without balls-just as you do now when someone fucks you-by having your prostate massaged." "What's HRT?" I asked. I was pretty naive at the time. "Hormone replacement therapy. We'll get you testosterone injections or gel. You'll get just as horny as you do now. Hell, it'll be even better than having balls, because you'll be able to adjust your sexual desire by adjusting you level of testosterone. You'll be able to come-just as you are now. The only difference is: you won't be able to get off by pumping your cock; you'll have to get off by having some guys cock up your ass-and I'll have you enough business that you'll have all the organisms you want." Imaging myself with a smooth crotch, my cock got hard. For some reason, the thought of having my cock and balls cut off made me hard. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It's not like my cock did me any good. It had been a source of humiliation since I had reached puberty. Rationalizing, I decided I'd be better off without it-and, if I had no cock, why would I need balls, since HRT would do the same for me as they had. "What do we do, now?" I asked. "I'll make an appointment for you with the doctor." "A doctor-a real doctor?" "He's a real doctor. He lost his license because of some legal difficulties, but he's as skilled as any. I use him all the time. He'll do a good job. Once your pubes grow back, you won't even be able to see any scars." "How much will it cost?" I asked. "Don't worry about the cost. I'll take care of that. Do you need some money to tide you over? It'll probably take you a month or so to recover." "Yeah," I said, thinking about my overdue rent and car payment, "I could use some money." "OK, I'll pick you up tomorrow." Tomorrow? So soon? Did it have to be so soon? It was one thing to think about having it done sometime in the future, but, tomorrow? That was too soon. "Does it have to be tomorrow?" I asked. "It's tomorrow-or never. If you're having second thoughts, we'll just forget about it. You can go back to work at Burger King." That was my choice, wasn't it-my cock and Burger King? I could keep my cock, giving up my car, my apartment, and money to spend-or I could give up my cock, keeping all the rest. I thought about my pitiful cock. At that moment, I hated it. What had it ever gotten me? I was better off without it. "OK," I said, "Let's do it." Rick picked me up the next night, taking me to what appeared to be a empty warehouse. Walking through it, we came to a back room, in which was an operating table and other medical equipment. The doctor and his nurse were there, dressed in surgical gowns. After I had stripped and climbed onto the table, the nurse shaved my groin. I got hard when she did, but neither she or the doctor said anything about my hard cock. He did say, "It's good you have such a small cock. It'll be an easy operation. You'll have little scarring." The nurse started an IV drip into a vein in my arm. That was the last thing I remembered. I woke up some time later in a hospital bed in another room. Woozy from the anesthetic, I didn't know, at first, where I was, but then I remembered. They were supposed to have cut off my cock and balls. I pulled back the sheet-lifted my gown. My groin was swathed in bandages. A catheter, springing from the bandages, led to somewhere beneath the bed. Although I didn't dare remove the bandages to look, I knew they'd done it. They'd cut off my cock and balls. I was a eunuch. Since yesterday, I had looked eunuch up on the Internet. It seems that there are some people who want to be castrated. There are even websites for people who do. Since I was a eunuch, maybe I would check into one of those sites-to see how others felt about having their cocks and balls cut off. The nurse regularly attend to me, changing my bandages. When she did, I was able to look at the doctor's handiwork. Other than stitches, there was nothing between my legs-no cock, no balls-not even a scrotum. He had removed everything. The catheter drained out from somewhere between my legs. He had moved my pee hole. Once I healed, I would have to squat on a toilet like a girl. After a week, I was able to return home. I was sore-still had stitches-but was healing nicely. The catheter had been taken out, and I was peeing from the hole between my legs. I had started testosterone injections, so I didn't feel much different from how I felt before the operation. I was still horny-but there was nothing I could do about it. I had gone a week without an orgasm-longer than I'd gone since I'd first jacked off at twelve. I wanted to get fucked so I could come, but had to wait until I had completely healed. I spent a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror. I could see how some men could be turned on by my smooth groin. I got aroused myself, by looking at it in the mirror-if one can properly say he is aroused when he has no cock or balls. Whenever I had been aroused before, my cock had gotten hard. My cock had been the indicator of my being horny. Now, that I didn't have a cock, I felt it more in my prostate-a tension in my groin. Damn, I wanted to come. I tried sticking things up my ass to massage my prostate, but it wasn't the same as being fucked, and, although I could feel my prostate swell, I couldn't ejaculate. Finally, two weeks after my operation, I had a wet dream. When I awoke, my inner thighs and sheet were wet with my come. It had pumped out through my pee hole. I reached for my cock, wanting to jack off, but, of course, it wasn't there. I wondered if I'd ever get used to not having it. I liked the feel of my crotch, though. I constantly ran my hand over it. Except for my pubic hair, it was smooth. Rick checked on me frequently. Five weeks after my operation, he said, "You're looking great. You won't have much of a scar. I think I'll arrange for laser treatments to remove your pubic hair. If there was going to be much scarring, we could have left it, but you won't need it." First my cock and my balls-now my pubic hair. I would be smoother than a little girl. At least, she had a slit. All I had was a pee hole between my legs-but I knew better than to argue with Rick. I had given him my cock and balls. After that, what was a little hair? After the laser treatments, which were even done on my arm pits and on the small patch of hair in the middle of my chest, I was as hairless as a young boy. I didn't have much hair on my arms-and Rick had me shave my legs. My empty crotch was even more obvious without the hair which had covered it. On examining me after the treatments, Rick said, "You're looking good. Are you ready for some action?" "Sure," I said-and I was. I was bored with sitting around; and, I was horny-and curious. I wondered if I could still come when fucked-without a cock and balls. My first trick-sans cock and balls-was Sam. At least that's the name he gave me. It was obvious he was turned on by my smooth crotch. He kept staring at it-and running his hand over it. I liked having his hand on my crotch. It felt good-and it made me want his cock, which, throbbing, was leaking moisture from the end. Finally, unable to wait any longer, he plunged his cock into my ass. I screamed-but not from pain-from pleasure. I felt it strike my prostate. I almost came, then. We were aroused, because it wasn't long before we both came. Come squirted out between my legs-out of my pee hole-as he filled my ass with his. I'm not a screamer, but I screamed like a girl when I climaxed. It was different from any climax I'd ever had. Since I didn't have a cock, I didn't feel it there, but felt it all over, probably much as a woman feels a climax. It washed over me in waves-as my jism squirted out onto his abdomen. He didn't seem to mind-probably was too aroused to mind. He fucked me four times-and he was over forty years-old. He was that turned on by me. After he was finished with me, he called me a taxi-and gave me $1000. I never made less than $1000 a night-and sometimes made more, taking on more than one client a night. I never asked Rick how much he was making. The clients paid him first. The money was good enough that I didn't miss either my cock or my balls. My climaxes were better without my cock than they had been with it-and, I could adjust my testosterone levels, altering my sex drive as I wished. I think that Rick had planned from the first to have me castrated, but it no longer mattered. I had everything I wanted. My new car was as nice as Rick's. It cost me almost a hundred grand. But, I didn't spend all my money. I knew it wouldn't last forever. One day, I'd be old enough that even my smooth crotch wouldn't attract the wealthy clients. Knowing that, I saved half of what I made. I took care of my mom, too, moving her into a better apartment. When she asked me what I did, I told her that I had invested in a friend's start-up company, which had become wildly successful. I'm not sure she believed me, but she never pressed me for details. She did ask me-occasionally-when I was getting married. She said she wanted grandchildren. I never told her that she'd never have any-never told her that I no longer had balls. |