Looking back I think my emasculation started in 1963 when I was seven years old, long before I had real balls or even an inkling of what they were for. Mom and I and her sister were headed to town, all three of us crammed into the front seat of the old Chevy pickup, me in the middle. Mom and Aunt Sally were both chain smokers and they’d both lit up. It was June and warm out but they’d both had their hair done up and refused to open a window for some fresh air. I bitched about it and Aunt Sally’s response was to blow a long plume of Chesterfield smoke into my face. “What are you anyway?” she asked. “Some kind of sissy boy?” I spent the rest of the trip choking and trying not to puke up my breakfast Wheaties, and from then on I felt slightly insignificant, as if I were just another little piece of dogshit on the sidewalk of life.

The ring around my balls clicked another couple of notches tighter when I was thirteen. I had just gotten hair and was a typical horny adolescent, jacking off a lot and thinking of little else besides sex. I was in the eighth grade then, the last year of junior high, and small for my age. Some of the other guys were obviously more mature than me and I took a little shit about that too. A lot of the guys were already dating and a few had bragged up about what all they’d done and backed up their claims with explicit knowledge of female anatomy and I felt left out. From what I could gather from listening to the other guys brag, a certain girl who was in high school liked to put it out for younger boys. I figured out who she was and finally worked up enough courage to call her up on the phone. We chatted for a short while and then I got right to the point. “I heard that you’re a real fun girl to go out with,” I said smoothly.

“Yeah, I guess I can be,” she replied. “It kind of depends, you know? I mean, I like to have a good time too and if you’re the type of guy that can make me happy then I guess you’ll have fun.” I didn’t have a clue at the time whatever the hell that was all supposed to mean, but we agreed to get together the next Saturday night. I prepared for the date by going down to the Texaco station and buying three rubbers from the vending machine in the men’s room. I knew what they were for but I had never used one so I had to jack off once with one just so I was sure that they fit and that I could put one on quickly when the time came.

Sex education in the schools was non-existent back then, and ‘The Talk’ from my dad had been so lacking in detail that it was useless, but I knew all about fucking. Gary Watson knew of a hot couple that did it every Sunday morning on foredeck of their boat, and Gary had figured out that he could climb up a big fir tree and watch them through binoculars, so I got my dad’s old field glasses and joined Gary in his perch. It was quite a show all right, and I stayed for the whole thing: The kissing and petting, the undressing, his penetration, and their damned near swamping the small boat as he pumped away with their legs locked together and her hands clutching his shiny white ass. We watched them go at it for three straight Sundays and I had all his moves down pat when he happened to look our way. I damned near fell out of the tree getting away.

“Hi,” I said as she opened the door. She was so tall that I only came up to about her chin, and her look of disappointment was obvious.

“Oh, it’s you. Well come on in anyway.” She was home alone and she sat me down on the couch next to a carefully folded blanket. “You want a Pepsi or something?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of my crotch.

My mouth was dry as hell and I really did want something to drink but I wanted something else even more. “No, not really,” I said, licking my lips in what I hoped was a sexy come-on. She sat down beside me and started rubbing her hand around my thighs, occasionally brushing her hand across the tent in my pants.

“I guess you’re ready,” she said, stripping off her halter-top, “I hope you’re big enough.” Ah, the sweet romance of young love.

I was ready; that much was for certain and my first sight her boobs and twat was almost more than I could stand. I clumsily shed my t-shirt, pants, and shorts and was trying to get the rubber installed but was fumbling badly. “Give it here,” she ordered, “I’ll do it.” She expertly slid the condom over my magnificent five-inch boner, stopping at the bottom to fondle my balls. That was all she wrote. I hadn’t jacked off for three days, which was a one-year record for me, and the touch of her cool fingers against my balls was all it took to make me blow my wad. “Goddamn little kids!” she swore as I retired to the bathroom to flush the rubber and wash my dick. I was embarrassed as hell but didn’t see a problem. I’d be ready again before long and I still had an unused rubber in my pocket. When I came back out she was on the phone. “Oh nothing much, just sitting around, come on over.” She gave me a dirty look and hung up the phone.

She was all ready dressed, and held out my clothes for me, as if there was any question. Getting shot down was bad enough, but by Monday morning the word had gotten out.

“Hey Stubby,” Jim Anderson said. “Got a second or two to spare? I hear that’s all you need.” She had blabbed it around that I not only had a short fuse but also a small dick. I felt about four inches high and it was almost a year before I could bring myself to even talk to a girl.

I wasn’t destined to lose my cherry until I was sixteen, and then it was actually an act of love and not just adolescent lust. At least it was for me, anyway. Sandra was a really nice girl, smart, and also popular, but more importantly she was also petite. At five four I was still on the small side and I found her less intimidating than the Amazons, and even though Sandra wasn’t a beauty queen I still liked her an awful lot. We had been on a couple of dates together and we seemed to really hit it off, so I wasn’t surprised that she accepted my invitation to go to the drive-in movie theater. Some Robert Vaughn spy flick was playing but that didn’t much matter because we didn’t watch much of it anyway, and after half an hour we were cozily nested in the back seat of Dad’s big Buick. I got the rubber on okay this time and proved that I was indeed a man before we saw the manager coming around on one of his hourly fuck checks. We weren’t completely naked and we both managed to get ourselves put back together and in the front seat before the beam of his flashlight illuminated the interior of the car. We both smiled and waved, and he went on down the line spreading his version of birth control throughout the theater.

We both had to go to the snack bar, that is, use the restroom, and when I came out I could hear her on the phone in the entryway of the ladies room. “That’s one more for me, Sheila,” Sandra told her best buddy. “Oh, he’s really little, you know, nothing like Bob or Jerry, and it didn’t last more than a minute, but we still did it so you’re down two now.” A long pause, then, “I don’t know, but Kenny Walters has been acting kind of, you know, friendly, and I’ve heard he’s really big. Okay. See you.”

That imaginary ring around my balls was now so damned tight that they were just about choked off and most of my romance was with Mama Thumb and her four daughters. I dated all through high school but the only action I got was with older women who seemed to want to mother me. It was okay; there’s no such thing as a really bad fuck but I was acutely aware that I wasn’t any world class stud and I knew that all they wanted was the chance to take a really young boy to bed. I was eighteen when I graduated but still small and almost totally beardless. I could easily pass for a boy of fourteen or fifteen and ultimately that’s just what I did. I purloined a kid’s schoolbooks and instantly was transformed back into a fourteen-year-old high school freshman, and started right in chasing junior high teenyboppers in a neighboring town. Back when I had been a young teen I didn’t have a clue about thirteen year old girls. Since then I’d learned that they were just as horny as thirteen year old guys and that all a guy needed to do was come on strong enough and they would be yours.

I picked out one at the dairy Queen, smiled at her and turned on my charm and she simply melted. Her parents didn’t get home until six, and at four in the afternoon three days after I met her I popped her cherry right in her own bedroom. That ring around my balls immediately loosened, my cock felt like it was three inches longer, and for the first time in my life I had a partner wasn’t aware of my shortcomings, no pun intended. It kept getting better and better as word got around.

I fell right into the role and quickly adopted the speech patterns and behaviors of a fourteen-year-old boy, even though I was more or less independent at the time and worked a graveyard shift at one of the local mills. I lived at home then in the rental apartment Dad had built over the garage, and I obviously couldn’t use motels or any other place where I might be recognized so I usually utilized the girl’s own home for our dates, and I even met a few of their parents.

An eighteen year old man, okay, boy, fucking thirteen year old girls is asking for trouble and I knew good and well they were jailbait, but I just couldn’t stop. The end finally came when I started getting kind of picky and my sights on the most beautiful thirteen-year-old girl on the planet. Teresa looked like and acted like a stuck-up princess and acted as if she didn’t want anything to do with me, but I knew that deep down she wanted me. I kept at her until one afternoon she agreed to let me listen to her new Beatles record. Her parents weren’t home so we went up to her room and she put on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band. I had learned that the best way to break the ice was to take off my shirt and let them see my manly chest. Usually they responded by shedding their blouses but she headed for the door. I intercepted her, and she sat warily on the edge of the bed while I stripped off my pants. They always come around sooner or later, but she was somewhat reluctant so I kind of had to help her out of her panties. She struggled and put up a little fuss as I pinned her to her bed, and even though she screamed at me to stop I could see by the look in her eyes that she really liked it.

My balls were finally completely free of the constricting band and felt like they were the size of lemons, and my cock felt as if it were a foot long by the time I came and I rolled off of her, exhausted and totally spent, and was still that way when her father burst into the room. “Don’t move, Hotshot,” he said, holding a double barrel shotgun a few inches from my crotch. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger.”

I completely emptied my brain but for the life of me couldn’t think of any reason, and I think the only reason he didn’t shoot was that he thought that I was only fourteen or fifteen years old. Had he known my age I’m sure he would have blown my balls off right there, and maybe that would have been for the best. After the dust settled and word had gotten out I ended up getting convicted of one count of forcible rape with a minor child, six counts of statutory rape with minor children, and one count of forcible sodomy with a minor child. The last charge was bogus: The sodomy was consensual. I got sentenced to one hundred and fifty three years, so I’ll be eligible for parole when I’m sixty-nine years old.

I’m sure you’ve heard stories about what happens to delicate young men of small stature in prison and I’m here to tell you that they’re all true. When I was thirteen my fondest wish was to be in a situation where I could have sex twenty-four hours a day. Trust me; it ain’t that great. With my balls gone I retained my delicate and almost hairless physique for the next ten years, and during that time I developed an absolute aversion to sex. It was a foregone conclusion that I’d be castrated in prison; rapists in general and child molesters in particular rarely get to keep their balls. The only question was how long I would get to keep them and how I would happen to lose them. I had vowed to fight with every ounce of my strength to keep from getting nutted but it was no use. I had only been there six months when four guys jumped me in the laundry room and held me down while the lucky winner of some kind of lottery simply grabbed my balls and twisted them until they tore free of my body. I learned later that the title to my balls actually belonged to Big Eddy and he kicked some serious ass when he found out that he had been cheated. All prisoners like blowjobs and it is hard to coerce a guy without balls into giving one.

I’m way past fifty now and no one seems to find me attractive enough to fuck and they leave me alone for the most part. My balls may be gone but I still miss them. I have dreams about frolicking around again with a girl and I can almost feel myself getting hard and coming again, but when I wake up it’s always with the same soft little insignificant dick that I've always had, and for the last forty years has only been good for pissing.