Nutted by God

Don't go crazy on the title please. God didn't actually castrate me of course, but then I was praying for help and so perhaps he had something to do with it. I mean, I was asking for help, trying hard to get it, and I kept praying and eventually those prayers got answered. Well, in a way they did. At least, I don't masturbate anymore.

Now, before you judge me, or my religion, don't be too harsh. I was sixteen when the accident occurred, and while I wish I still had my balls I think maybe I wasn’t supposed to keep them. I sure don't miss the way they controlled me. Who knows for sure? I have to say that I think about it a lot. The thing was a freak accident, at least that's what my father says, but still, when I think about what I was doing, and how, well, it just seems a little too weird to be all coincidence. Who knows? Maybe I deserved it.

I'm Mormon, plain and simple, and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That’s the real name, yes sir it is. Now don't mock it, and don't give me the cult crap, because well, I don't want to hear it and I don't want to talk about it. This is my story, not yours, and if me being Mormon didn't have anything to do with it I'd leave it out. But well, it does. You see, religion is a big part of my life, a very big part, and so when things go wrong, well, sometimes I try and use my religious background to try and understand them. Now my church has a few hang ups, yeah, a few, but most church's do and I can live with the ones we have. One of them of course is our Mormon underwear, and another is the church's open policy against masturbation.

Still, I was born a Mormon, into a strict Mormon family, and I love my church and while I might not agree with all the teachings of the church I can't exactly ignore them either. God is just a big part of our life. I don't smoke, don't do drugs, and I dress sharp and act right. I'm going to South America after high school, and I'll be doing important missionary work when I'm there. So, I think I've got my head on straight, and I am generally pretty happy with things. Still, I get a lot of crap from my non-Mormon friends, and so as I write this I'm not wanting to hear anything negative from you thank you very much.

Still, when you are a kid and growing up Mormon some of the church teachings are a little difficult to follow. At least, well, they were for me. The masturbation thing was one thing that I couldn't really stop. I tried, yeah...my mom was really strict about it and my dad gave me the lecture before I turned thirteen. My dad even gave me a pamphlet from the church that was a lot easier to read than it was to follow. It's titled "For Young Men Only" and it was written by Boyd K. Packer and was published at the General Conference Priesthood Session, on October 2, 1976. The entire document is long, and so I'll only quote a part of it but it will be enough to give you the idea. Here is what it says:

"This power of creation affects your life several years before you should express it fully. You must always guard the power with wisdom. You must wait until the time of your marriage to use it.

During that waiting, what do you do with theses desires? My boy, you are to control them. You are forbidden to use them now in order that you may use them with worthiness and virtue and fullness of joy at the proper time in life.

I wish to explain something that will help you understand your young manhood and help you develop self-control. When this power begins to form, it might be likened to having a little factory in your body, one designed to produce the product that can generate life.

This little factory moves quietly into operation as a normal and expected pattern of growth and begins to produce the lifegiving substance. It will do so perhaps as long as you live. It works very slowly. That is the way it should be. For the most part, unless you tamper with it, you will hardly be aware that it is working at all.

As you move closer to manhood, this little factory will sometimes produce an oversupply of this substance. The Lord has provided a way for that to be released. It will happen without any help or without any resistance from you. Perhaps, one night you will have a dream. In the course of it the release valve that controls the factory will open and release all that is excess.

The factory and automatic release work on their own schedule. The Lord intended it to be that way. It is to regulate itself. This will not happen very often. You may go a longer period of time, and there will be no need for this to occur. When it does, you should not feel guilty. It is the nature of young manhood and is part of becoming a man.

There is; however, something you should not do. Sometimes a young man does not understand. Perhaps he is encouraged by unwise or unworthy companions to tamper with that factory. He might fondle himself and open that release valve. This you shouldn't do, for if you do that, the little factory will speed up. You will then be tempted again and again to release it. You can quickly be subjected to a habit, one that is not worthy, one that will leave you feeling depressed and feeling guilty. Resist that temptation. Do not be guilty of tampering or playing with this sacred power of creation. Keep it in reserve for the time when it can be righteously employed.

One of you, perhaps, has not fully understood until now. Perhaps your father did not talk to you. You may already have been guilty of tampering with these powers. You may even have developed a habit. What do you do then?

First, I want you to know this. If you are struggling with this temptation and perhaps you have not quite been able to resist, the Lord still loves you. It is not anything so wicked nor is it a transgression so great that the Lord would reject you because of it, but it can quickly lead to that kind of transgression. It is not pleasing to the Lord, nor is it pleasing to you. It does not make you feel worthy or clean.

There are ways to conquer such a habit. First of all, you must leave that factory alone long enough for it to slow down. Resisting is not easy. It will take weeks, even months. But you can get the little factory slowed back to where it should be.

I have other suggestions. The power to prevent such habits or to break them rests in your mind, not in your body. Don't let that physical part of you take charge. Stay in control."

Well, when I first got the pamphlet and read it at twelve and didn't understand it. But by the time I was fourteen I understood it quite well, but the problem was that I wasn't having much success with it. At least, not in the control area. In fact, I was jerking my meat at least once a day. I just couldn't stop....it felt so damn good. I knew from the locker room talk at school that my non-church friends were doing it too, and they joked about it all the time and the sin didn't seem to bother them.

I asked my dad, thinking he might straighten it out for me, but he was pretty wishy-washy in his answer. He told me that it was forbidden by the church, and he warned me do my best to not fall into the trap of touching myself. He said from time to time I'd probably slip up, especially as I got older, but an occasional slipup wasn't that big of a deal. Of course, that's not what the church said, and he and I both knew it.

About that same time I was beating my meat and discovering the pleasure I could bring myself my church sponsored a youth weekend retreat of sorts and one of the topics they discussed was the perils of masturbation. That weekend the church gave everyone my age another pamphlet. It was called "For the Strength of Youth" and the one line in it that I couldn't get out of my mind said “The Lord specifically forbids certain behaviors, including all sexual relations before marriage, petting, sex perversion (such as homosexuality, rape, and incest), masturbation, or preoccupation with sex in thought, speech, or action.” God...I was damned!

My mind just was filled with sex thoughts all the time, and no matter what I did I'd wake up with a raging erection, and most of the time I'd start touching it, and then before I knew it I was squirting out my cream and painting it across my belly. Afterwards I always felt really guilty. Occasionally, I would get feeling really noble, especially after church or after hearing a discussion on my virtues as a person, and then I'd manage to hold off for a few days.

I really tried to reform myself. Still, by the end of a week my dick would be hard almost constantly, and my balls would hurt so bad and the need I was feeling would build until it seemed it was so great that I'd always in the end reach out and touch myself. God...I'd pray but it didn’t' matter. Soon I'd be shooting another huge amount of jizz.....and it always was so damn intense and I'd shoot and shoot and shoot. I prayed I'd stop making the stuff...but I seemed to just make more and more of it, and it felt so great to pump it out that I just had no control. I tried. I really did. But I always grabbed my dick in the end, and pumped myself like a machine until I shot my wad.

When I was fifteen I made the mistake of confessing to my priesthood leader. In my church we all see him once a year for a session of counsel. When he asked me the golden question, as me and my friends used to call it, I decided to fess up to my difficulties. Every year they asked the same question, "Are you morally clean?" Previously, I had always lied, but the guilt kept building up and increasing year by year, and the more I masturbated the more I felt sinful. I didn't have many friends, and I was just so humiliated what I could say to my parents? So, finally, I told the truth.

When I did he told me flat out that any sex before marriage was dirty and disgusting, and he told me that when I did that I was allowing Satan to use me as his tool. I felt even guiltier after that! I just wanted to be good, to be a good man, and to be worthy of the church. Yeah, well, he counseled me, and gave me some things to try to help me get more control of myself. He told me to limit my time in the bathroom, to wear two pairs of underwear, and to keep my door ajar and to limit my time I was by myself. Above all else, I was supposed to do something else, quickly, whenever the idea entered my mind. He told me to yell "STOP" if I got the urge, and to open the Book or Mormon and start reading until the urge left me.

He also told my parents. Oh that was so embarrassing! They started watching me, helping me they said, but no matter what somehow after a few days I'd find a way. Sometimes I cried while I beat my meat, but still, I'd pump it out just the same, squirting my load. Usually, I did it at night, in my bed, and when my parents found my stained sheets I tried to pass it off as a nocturnal emission. It was OK to have wet dreams, and so I lied and told them that what it was. But soon enough, with me staining the sheets night after night they figured it out. I started doing it in my underwear next, and then, later, into my sock. Mom started checking my clothes in the morning, and she figured out what I was doing every time.

Eventually, my mom talked with the bishop, and after that she tucked me in at night, tying my wrists out to the sides of my bed to keep my hands from touching anything while I slept. I'd wake up in the morning with this massive hard on, and it would be jutting there, stiff and eager, and she'd come in the morning and get angry when she saw it. Of course, with my hands tied, there wasn't anything I could do but wait for her to come, and so morning after morning she saw my prick tenting up the covers. Each morning she chastised me with a vengeance.

Whenever she would find me hard she'd make sure she watched me closely, as I got ready for school, and eventually it would go down after I took my morning piss. But the showers in the morning were closely monitored, and I was never allowed to close the bathroom door completely after that. She wouldn't stare or anything, but she would keep coming by to make sure I wasn’t doing anything, asking me how it was going, and to remind me to keep my thoughts pure.

So, life was hell at that point. My balls seemed to control me, and no matter what I did I couldn't stop the need. Looking back, I figure Satan had me in his grip. I started looking for anywhere I could do it after that. Mom was always home when I got home from school, and every minute I was home either she or my dad kept their eyes on me. Privacy was virtually non-existent. It was horrible, and yet they were doing it to help me and so I couldn't let them know how much it bothered me.

Still, being alone became more and more important. All I needed was five minutes and if I could get alone for that length of time I'd almost always grab my dick and pump out my wad. Just five minutes and I could do it. The pressure was overwhelming me. What could I do? Still, I always seemed to find a place. By the time I turned sixteen I was shooting out a wad every day, and sometimes more than one, and that was even with the close monitoring. Of course, I just tried to keep it a secret, and I lied and told everyone I was doing better. Still, the pressure at home continued and was something I couldn't deal with.

Then, just after Christmas in my junior year, I got caught, at school of all places, jerking my meat in a utility closet. I just couldn't control it and it was too difficult to find the privacy at home so I had just stepped in the closet for a quick meat-beating. Another student caught me, and he started laughing and started telling everyone. Before I knew it I was in the principal's office, and it was the most humiliating day of my life. I was so embarrassed words really can't describe it. Of course, the school called my parents and suspended me for a week, with the recommendation that I get some counseling. The word spread and after that I was the laughing stock of my school.

Of course, getting caught at school got me sent back to the priesthood leader for more church counseling. I confessed everything to him since there wasn’t anyway I could hide what I had done and by that time all I wanted was to stop doing it. This time he gave me a pocket calendar, and told me to color in everyday that I masturbated black. He also told me specifically not to discuss my problem with any school counselors, or with anyone outside the church under any circumstances. He told me it was up to me, but that if I prayed hard enough and long enough I could get the help from God that I needed. He also told me that I was going to have to fix this on my own, that my parents couldn't do it for me. He told me it was my responsibility. He told me to be a man, and to do whatever I had to do to stop myself.

I promised him, and myself, to never masturbate again, but by then it was an obsession with me. I had the hideous habit and it was virtually impossible to quit even with my good intentions Satan had me twisted around his finger, using me, and I didn't think there would be any way to get rid of the sin that was plaguing me.

I worked at it though, and really tried hard to keep the pledge. January came and I managed to cut down some, and with the regular counseling sessions with my priesthood leader and help from my parents I really did start to make some progress. By February, when I was still sixteen, I had managed a full week of jack off free days. I thought I had it finally beat. One day blended into the next, and I was staying busy and living life, and I started to think perhaps this would work. Another week passed, and I thought perhaps the little "factory" was finally under control, slowing down even. Fourteen days became twenty, and then twenty one. Three weeks! God I was feeling good, and my little calendar book was looking good too. The priesthood leader congratulated me. I was feeling good, on top of the world even.

Then, on the second of March, during the school lunch hour, I was approached by one of the most beautiful and hottest girls in our school, and she made it very clear that she liked me! She was gorgeous, and her tits were so big and perked up in her blouse, jutting there, that I remember I could hardly talk. Nevertheless, I somehow got up the nerve and asked her to the Saint Patrick's school dance, and when she accepted I was on top of the world. That afternoon when I came home from school I was skipping, and I was so happy and so excited I can't really describe it.

Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t there, and suddenly when I realized I was totally alone I had this tremendous urge and my dick went hard. I opened my pants, just to look, and then of course I started to fondle it. I started to play with my cock, and the end was beaded up with the need, the tip of my cock anointed with precum. It was oozing, literally. I stepped out of my jeans, and then my underwear. My balls started aching with desire and I could literally feel the sperm churning inside of them. They were so full! In seconds I had my pants off then and on the floor, and my cock was up, eager, and then without a thought my hand began the stroking.

I was standing in my bedroom, looking in the mirror as I stroked my dick. My thoughts went to the girl at school, thinking of her big tits and her tight pussy that I dreamed of fucking. I just didn't have any control, and all I can say is that the intensity of the lust was just completely overwhelming. It was building really fast, and I knew it wasn't going to be long. Then, just before I squirted...I shook my head. I stopped....and screamed "NO! STOP!!!!!" I shook my head again, and yelled "STOP!!!" even louder. Finally, just in time, I let go of my dick. I had to regain control!

I was shaking, the need and the desire and the feeling just consuming my soul. I was desperate. Without thinking really I looked down and stared at the two books on my nightstand. There was the Holy Bible and the Book of Mormon. Without a thought, I just opened up the first book I grabbed, letting the pages fall where they did. I was shaking. It didn't matter what I read, or even what book I read. I just needed to read something, to read anything really. I needed strength and I needed guidance. My cock bobbed up and down, up and down, literally, to my heartbeat, the feeling of lust in my balls greater than I ever remembered it. The entire time I was right on the very verge of shooting my wad.

It turned out that I opened the Bible at random, and just started to read the first words I saw, out loud, trying to regain control. As I read, the words just seemed to flood into my brain, and as I read them the answer I had never contemplated just came to me in a flash of inspiration. I stood, staring, and as I read the random passage a cool calmness seemed to overwhelm me.

"And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter halt into life, than having two feet to be cast into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched."

Suddenly, I just knew what I had to do. I never hesitated. I reached to my night stand, and opened the drawer, where I kept the hunting knife that dad had given me. I opened it, and with my left hand I grabbed my balls, just grabbed my big teenage sack and pulled it outward. I remember looking at my cock, how it was jutting up from the pubic hair that I was growing down there. Along with the hair under my arms, it was the only sex hair I had, and yet as I looked at my cock sticking up out of it wasn't something I wished I had right then. I didn't know if I could do it, but the words were in my head, and I knew Satan had my dick and he was using my balls to control me. I laid the knife at the bottom of my sac, against the thin skin there under my nuts. I stretched it out, tight, and then I swallowed. I steeled my breath, and gritted my teeth, and then with a single, quick jerk, I just pulled the razor sharp knife completely through the bottom of my sac.

I screamed, but my eyes were wide and the feeling, as intense as it was, wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I looked down, and the bottom of my scrotum was completely gone. I reached there then and ran my hand along my sac, squeezing closed my fist and drawing out my two testicles that were still attached by their cords. With the entire bottom of my scrotum sliced open they came out easily. Still, it was a deep, primal pain, and I almost vomited. I tugged, and the feeing was really deep then, and it hurt bad. Really bad. I tugged harder anyway, and threw my head back. Still, it was all too much.

Satan had me, and I started to ejaculate. I felt my prick throbbing and my wad of sin just came flying out my dick, shooting up and onto my black t-shirt, staining it in white lines of cum. I was squirting it out in powerful spurts one after another. My entire body spasmed, and the feeling went deep, primal. I had never had an orgasm like that one. It had been three weeks since I had shot my wad, and what came out was thick and copious, just shooting out, gobs of it, shot after shot after shot.

I almost feinted....but God gave me strength. I closed my eyes and was angry as I squirted. I yelled: "If thy hand offend thee, cut it off!!!! If thy foot offend thee, cut it off!!!! If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out !!!!" I screamed so loud then, and as I screamed I squeezed my fist as tight as I could and then just jerked my hand hard, downward, jerking so hard that I literally plucked my two balls right out, out of what was left of my sac and away from my body, snapping their cords in the process. I grunted, as I plucked them out and castrated myself, and after that they were in my hand, even as my final sinful boner pulsated out the last of my pent up load of teenage sperm.

There was blood, and I remember thinking I didn't want to make a mess. I staggered into the bathroom, and just before I reached for the towel I tossed my two balls into the toilet. Then I stuffed the towel against my groin. I sure didn't want to die! I remember looking in the toilet, and my two balls, and they were magnified in the water. They looked in a way like hen eggs, quivering there, almost as if they had a life of their own. I watched them pulsate for a while, and then they stopped wiggling. I was at peace with myself, and knew what I had done was right for me. As I had that thought I heard my mom's car pull into the driveway, and so I flushed the toilet and after that it was done.

Of course, there was quite a commotion then, and before it was all over with I'd talked with the police and spent a few days in the hospital. The mandatory counseling I've received since then has been slanted a little differently than what I received from the church elders, but all in all I'm not unhappy about any of it. Sure, I don't have my balls, but the sexual purity issue is behind me now, and I've got that part of my life under control. I don't think I've even had an erection in quite some time. Isn't that grand?

[Authors note: © Copyright November, 2003. All rights reserved. Not to be copied without the consent of the author.]

Note: This story is fiction, and it never happened. It is not a story against a religion, and if you read it as such you have missed the point. Anyone can be pressured by their faith, and priests and preachers and well-meaning church officials have a power in the words they say that can be dangerous when a young mind is still being molded. Abuse can happen in any church and in any faith, and it can be physical or mental, real or imagined. Still, this story is a Mormon story, because the background of this story is true, and the essential facts as outlined within it are well researched and indisputable.

While most boys growing up in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are great young men, they all have to balance their physical needs of adolescence with the written teachings from the church they are a part of. I'm sure they each handle it in their own way, some perhaps better than others. I've dedicated this story to the memory of one such boy, a real teenage boy who went by the name of Kip Eliason. You can look him up on the internet, and his story is easily researched in any major library.

On March 2, 1982, Kip Eliason committed suicide. He was sixteen years old and was a very well liked young man, growing up in the Mormon church that over time became his life. He loved his church, and was a devote follower of its teachings. But the closer his church brought him to God the more he was filled with self-hate over his inability to stop masturbating. His church told him that he'd only find guilt and depression and self-hate if he continued to masturbate, and he believed it. They told him he would go to hell if he didn't stop. He believed them. They told him he had to stop to be pure. He believed them. He tried, and he failed. Like most healthy teenagers his age, he masturbated when the need reached the point where he could no longer ignore it. Kip fell victim to the guilt and self-hate that was created when he lacked the ability to control what most of us would see as a normal healthy sexual desire, but which was condemned by the church he loved.

Kip's father wasn't Mormon, and apparently he told his son that masturbating was a normal part of adolescence. But the church said otherwise, and Kip struggled with his inability to control his desires. In a diary of sorts that his father found after his death, the boy wrote this: "I know immorality is a very serious sin. I really want to repent and be free of this terrible and degrading burden of masturbation. I am willing to do anything I have to do, even excommunication, to be able to repent and be free of this sin. I would rather go to hell and suffer there than be unworthy."

On the day he died, Kip left his father this note:

"Dear Dad,

I love you more than what words can say. If it were possible, I would stay alive for only you, for I really only have you. But it isn't possible. I must first love myself, and I do not. The strange feeling of darkness and self-hate overpowers all my defenses. I must unfortunately yield to it. This turbulent feeling is only for a few to truly understand. I feel that you do not comprehend the immense feeling of serf-hatred I have. This is the only way I feel that I can relieve myself of these feelings now. Carry on with your life and be happy. I love you more than words can say.

--Your son, Kip"