Fixing Jim

"Oh please, Laura. Don’t start on that again. The answer is no."

Getting Jim to go for his gelding looked liked it was going to be even more difficult than it had been to get him to propose to me in the first place.

He didn’t want his gelding. He was still clinging to his youthful lusts with all the enthusiasm of a pubescent boy. It was embarrassing and undignified for a grown man to have such longings.

These days it is considered distasteful for a mature man to still be walking around in public with sexual desires. There is absolutely no reason for him to be in this condition. Testosterone poisoning is a serious health risk and socially undesirable. These days it is considered even more morally irresponsible than smoking used to be. The only responsible thing for a man is gelding.

My mother was starting to remark that it was my fault for not encouraging him enough. She really meant ‘nagging.’ Even Jim’s mother, despite her uncritical adulation of her only begotten, was beginning to drop hints that Jim’s continued possession of his testicles was somehow all my fault. She didn’t say it in so many words but underneath her comments was the implication that it was my selfish sluttish needs that were keeping Jim in this state, preventing him from becoming a decent respectable regular man.

Jim was ignoring all this. In some ways he was a traditionalist, born after his time. I think he should have been born in the twentieth century, before gelding became an established procedure for preserving the social order.

But then again, Jim is a lovely man. He is considerate, kind and gentle toward me and he’s a good father to our two children. He seldom displays symptoms of testosterone poisoning. You know the sort of thing: anger, resorting to violence, excessive competitiveness, exceeding the speed limit and all the other anti-social behaviour in which men indulge and which, these days, is attributed to testosterone in the blood stream.

Jim still has his libido. Even now he demands sex from me; several times a month too. I always indulge him there. I don’t mind particularly. Sometimes I even enjoy it. And no, I don’t find it degrading for my husband to penetrate me as the women’s magazines are always telling me. Sex after thirty is not shameful.

What is shameful though is male masturbation. I know that Jim still gives himself a release when he thinks he’s on his own. I find that disgusting. For me a grown man bringing himself off is the ultimate in self-degradation. Sometimes he likes me to do it for him, by hand or mouth. I hate that. And he expects me to clean up his sticky mess afterwards. Personally I think that is the best reason for Jim to be gelded.

Yes, of course I know there are those devices which men can wear to prevent them from masturbating. Jim has one but he won’t let me put it on him. He hates them. His mother made him wear one all through his teens. I can’t see why it should bother him so much. It’s perfectly normal for boys and single men to wear them all the time. I remember from my schooldays ogling the boys in their chastity devices. For gym and most games that was all they wore. We girls used to watch them and wish we were allowed to go nude too. We had to wear normal gym kit for our gym and games.

I remember on dates in those early days when I wanted to know more about how boys were equipped down there, those chastity devices were a terrible impediment. True you could fondle their scrotums, or is it scroti? but it was access denied for the serious part, the part you were really interested in. Jim’s mother kept the key to Jim’s device right up until our wedding day. She held it until after the ceremony and when she passed it over to me it was like she was giving away her right hand. She actually cried.

Being married gives a man full citizenship rights, like coming of age is for girls. Now he could vote and go into bars on his own. For Jim, part of that was never having to wear a chastity device again. He’s always maintained that wearing it all through the formative years causes the penis to be smaller than it otherwise would have been. I don’t see it myself. His four inches of manly flesh is perfectly normal as far as I can tell.

Most couples where the man is gelded tend to mix with their own kind. We were gradually losing our friends as other couples moved on into the tertiary stage of married life. It was becoming embarrassing. We were well into our thirties and were still in the secondary, childbearing phase, of our marriage. We should have moved on: our two children were now at school.

I was excluded from the support groups that other women of my age were forming. Even though her husband is gelded and no longer interested in sex, a woman’s needs in that area may still continue and the support group system provides them with a means of satisfying those needs. My friends tell me that women understand those needs better than a man ever can and that support group meetings are extremely pleasant. I have been a guest at one or two such meetings, just to see what they were like. They were okay once you accepted the idea that it was another woman you were with. I have to admit though, I do still prefer a man for that kind of thing.

Support groups are all very well but I had noticed that some women who were into the tertiary stage were starting to pay attention to Jim. Jim hadn’t noticed yet but women were openly reacting to him as a male. Ungelded males in our age group were becoming rare. I felt threatened and now I became really convinced that it was time that Jim moved on.

My mother seems to keep herself remarkably up to date on these matters. "My dear, if he won’t go for it in the normal way you should tempt him with a scene."

"A scene?"

"Yes. Make a ceremony of it. Most men of James’s type love having a woman pay attention to their private parts. Instead of a boring old eunuch surgeon doing him get one of these pretty girl cutters. You should be present too and perhaps even some of your friends.

"But that’s like him being fixed in public."

"Why not?" mother said. "You got married in public didn’t you? Lots of men are going for that kind of thing these days."

"But I don’t want other women involved." I’ve always been a tad jealous of other women in Jim’s life.

"Don’t be silly, darling. Besides after he’s done it won’t matter a dam’ will it? At least let him go out in a blaze of glory."

Sometimes mother surprises me. For all her high moral tone she can be disgustingly practical at times. What she meant but didn’t actually put into words was ‘if that’s what it takes to get him gelded then so be it.’

Mother introduced me to a cutter. She wasn’t just a pretty girl, she was beautiful. Central Casting couldn’t have done it better. I was loathe to let Chantelle Turnbull loose anywhere near Jim but she knew her stuff. When she met Jim she went into a ‘little me’ wide-eyed flirting mode and told Jim how she’d just love to castrate him. I could have scratched her eyes out. And Jim fell for it, the fool. He agreed. At that point any qualms I had about Jim losing his testicles were gone. But I didn’t want her doing it.

It took mother to calm me down and she was so persuasive that I even agreed to Jim having an hour of one on one counselling with Chantelle so that he would know what to expect. One hour became two and Jim came out looking a touch sheepish. To this day he denies anything other than counselling happened but I’ve never really believed him.

I told our children that daddy was going for his gelding. "Gross," said Candela, 14. "I thought you had him done ages ago." Timothy, 10, didn’t respond at all.

However, come the day I drove Jim, his mother and mine to the gelding at Chantelle’s private clinic. I’d invited some of my girl friends to be there to formally witness the event. Inside the clinic was pure kitsch. It looked like a cross between a Las Vegas wedding chapel and an operating theatre. All the women were dressed like it was a wedding. I wore a pastel blue outfit and, ye gods! a matching hat with a wide brim. I felt mildly guilty at the extravagance. I knew I’d never wear it again but, well, your husband’s gelding is an important event in your life and you should be properly dressed for it. And I did like myself in that hat.

We took our seats and Chantelle, dressed in priestly robes emerged to some organ music.

"Friends, a happy marriage is always a beautiful and precious thing," Chantelle began. "Laura and James have been married for seventeen years and they have long since progressed from the primary, or honeymooon, phase to the secondary or childbearing phase of their marriage. Today we are going to see them progress to the tertiary, or happy-ever-after phase."

Chantelle paused, wasted a much too beautiful smile on her female congregation, and said "Will James and Laura please step forward."

We stepped forward up on the dais with Chantelle. She turned to me. "Laura, are you ready and willing to go forward into the third phase of your marriage?"

"I am."

"Do you understand and are you ready for James, your husband, to make the sacrifice that will permit you to enter the third phase?"

"I do and I am."

She turned to Jim. Jim had had a mild sedative before coming here and it was just as well. He looked like he’d happily bolt from this situation. Without that downer he would have.

"James are you ready and willing to make the sacrifice that will let you move forward into the third phase of your marriage."

"Er - I am." I can always tell when Jim is lying.

Chantelle nodded to an acolyte who was also too beautiful for words and younger. The acolyte took Jim’s hand and led him to the table of sacrifice which was toward the back of the dais.

Chantelle held my hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze and again addressed her small audience. "Ladies, at this important stage of the ceremony it is perhaps worthwhile to remind ourselves why we require that our men make this sacrifice for entering the tertiary stage of a marriage.

"We know that a man needs testicles to become a man, to enable us get him to marry us and to father our children. But we know too that men are apt to become violent, are given to rages and to conflict. We know that any ungelded man has at least the potential to become a rapist.

"Of course not all men behave badly. Very few of them show the symptons that we call testosterone poisoning. Perhaps occasionally they lose control but on the whole we are well able to love them as nature made them.

"So why do we call for this sacrifice from our men? Why does society demand it of them? Why should they be required to give up their ability to make love to us?

Good question, I was thinking. Why should Jim lose his balls? I knew he didn’t want to lose them and I’d had to get Chantelle to sucker him into agreeing. Meanwhile, behind my back I knew the acolyte would be undressing Jim, getting him ready for his gelding. She would be stripping him completely nude, making a production of it and carefully and neatly hanging up his clothes as she removed them.

As I stood beside Chantelle, facing the audience, I could see their attention was concentrated on the action behind me. They weren’t taking too much notice of Chantelle’s words.

Chantelle continued. "The sacrifice is for their own good. First and foremost testosterone poisoning is real. Apart from anger and violence it also suppresses the part of their brain that lets them understand themselves and their emotions. The ability to feel those emotions is a gift to them. Secondly it is better for their health and the length of their lives. Their gift to us is themselves and a longer life together.

"Thirdly James is now at a stage when he no longer needs the sex drive and the libido that testicles give him. He is ready to advance into respectability. Laura and Jim have had their children. Jim will never need to sire a child again. The passionate sex of the primary stage of their marriage is behind them. The few seconds of orgasm that a man has now and again is a small and pitiful reward for the cost of bearing testicles."

"After the sacrifice that James is about to make, he and Laura will move on hand in hand, in love, forward into the rest of their lives together."

The organ music started up. Chantelle and I turned to see that Jim was now on the table of sacrifice and the acolyte had given him a pubic shave. This was the one occasion when a man was expected to display his erection in public and Jim was co-operating wholeheartedly. The acolyte had done an excellent job there.

Chantelle addressed the audience again. "Ladies as Laura and James enter the tertiary phase of their marriage, I‘d like you to come up and each of you to stroke James’s scrotum as a farewell to it’s contents. We want James to enjoy his last few minutes as a full man."

Chantelle injected Jim with anaesthetic and then nodded to one of my friends. Dolly was a bubbly fun-loving extrovert. She came up, gave James’s whole cluster a really hearty loving caress. She even kissed the tip of his prick. Then, licking the pre-come off her lips, she held James’s balls in both hands and gave them a squeeze. "Good-bye fellers. You really have done a lovely job. Jim’s a super guy and you’ve given Laura two lovely children."

All the rest of the girls in their turn got in a loving fondle of my husband’s cock and they bade his balls a fond farewell. James for his part was so horny from all this attention and loving it so much he seemed to forget what the next part was going to be.

It was my turn. Holding Jim’s prick I kissed him lovingly on the lips as he lay on the table of sacrifice. Chantelle got to work. Jim’s balls had had more handling in the last few minutes than in all the rest of his life. She applied disinfectant which I feared would sting but by now the anaesthetic had begun to work.

The girls hadn’t returned to their seats but were standing around taking a very close interest in what Chantelle was doing. I felt them wince as Chantelle made the incisions. They gasped and gaped as she popped his testicles out of their bag. Marcia Anders always needs to pee when she gets excited. She was standing with her legs tightly crossed staring open mouthed at Jim’s testicles dangling there in the open air. Janet Dawkins was absently running a finger around the crotch of her slacks. Dolly, bless her, had tears in her eyes.

I was lightly masturbating Jim, going very slowly so that he didn’t come too soon. This was one of those times when everything has to be right first time. There would be no second chance. Chantelle had two clamps ready to apply, one to each cord. She nodded to me and I increased the stroke rate.

Jim always came with a yell. "Yeah!" he cried and his squirts shot out from his penis. I went to maximum stroke rate and was, from habit, trying to make sure I worked him right through. The squirts ceased as Chantelle severed the cords. She was busy closing the severed cords with tiny stainless steels clips that would remain forever in place. Jim twitched as a signal that he wanted my hand to keep going. I did but I turned my head. I didn’t want him to see that I too had tears in my eyes.

Jim was done. The symbolism as the table of sacrifice glided silently through a curtain wasn’t lost on me. At least Jim was going to a recovery room and not into the crematory furnace but even so the old Jim was no more. Never again would he penetrate me or pester me for a hand job. Never again would I have to clear up his sticky mess. Nor would other women secretly envy me for still having a sexually active husband.

Oh God! What have I done?

"Don’t be silly," mother hissed at me at the all-female reception we had after the ceremony. It’s ridiculous for a man still to have testicles at his age. Disgusting in fact. You should have had it done years ago. Both of you will be much better off for it."

It turns out mother was right. It took nearly a year for Jim to adjust but after he came off the ‘soft-landing’ course of slowly reducing h.r.t. he was happier. He was free of testosterone poisoning and free of libido. "It’s as if I’ve grown up at last," he told me. "Now we really are into the tertiary stage of our marriage. Laura, we are living happily ever after."

We are too but it is just a touch boring and predictable. Jim is safe and loving. No other woman is going to get her hooks into him and I love him as much as ever. But… Sometimes I envy those women whose husbands still have their testicles. The women’s support groups aren’t really the same… The other day Janet Dawkins did mention, in strict confidence, that there were special services for women who weren’t happy with the support groups. Would I consider…?

Certainly not. I would never do anything like that. I just let her put my name forward because I was curious. That’s all.

End