My name is Thecia and I’m a 31 year old “Cutter.” I’ve been deballing men for a little over seven years and I’ve cut a little over 100 sets.

I had a job in Enid, Okalahoma. I normally only cut in Mexico but I was offered three times my regular rate to do it in the man’s home. He was a very wealthy gay man with five or six “house boys.”

All but one of the “boys” was sent away and it was a simple procedure. I surgically cut him, put his nuts in a jar, pocketed the nine grand and I was on my way.

While driving back to Texas on a secondary road, a motorcycle passed me at what must have been more than 100 MPH. I just shook my head and continued on my way. Five or six miles later I reached for my water bottle and didn’t find it. It had been my kit bag and that was stored in the trunk. After stopping the car and retrieving the water I noticed a glint of reflected sunlight about 30 feet into the woods. The glint led me to a beautiful Harley that had wrapped it’s self around a tree, a few feet from it was the rider. He was face down and spread eagled on the ground.

When I saw the club colors on his jacket, my mind went back to my collage days.

My roommate Tracy had been on a date and she and her boyfriend ran afoul of a few members of the same motorcycle gang as my prone rider. Her date had been beaten senseless and she was beaten and gang raped. He was lucky to be alive and she never fully recovered. When they found her she was on the hood of their car, she was beaten and cum was running from her overfucked vagina in a stream. It ran down the car hood and trickled over each chrome piece in the grill until if finally puddled on the asphalt.

On this man’s back were the same colors. I felt my face redden as the rage rose in me. I checked his vital signs and he seemed to be ok.

My kit only had some bandages and a little betadine solution. My disposable scalpels had been tossed at my last job. However, my unnamed gang member had a nice sheath knife on his belt. Not as sharp as a scalpel, but it would do. Starting at his pants cuff the knife easily sliced through the heavy denim and up the back to the belt line. I removed his jeans and underwear from his boots to his belt leaving two very nice big balls exposed. His shoe lace made a tourniquet and the neck of his ballsack was tied tightly and securely. Normally I’m very careful about infections, today I didn’t give a damn.

I brought the big blade to bear and began to slice his baby makers off, it was more of a sawing motion than a slice, but it worked. His big balls came off in my hand. I bandaged the wound and returned to my car. For the second time in a month I had more balls then I had jar room for. Somehow I managed to squeeze the bikers set in with the older gay mans balls. When I got home I would re-label them, “older gay guy” and “Biker asshole.” My final act at the scene was to cut the stitches on his “colors” and remove them. This would throw the suspicion onto a rival gang. In fact it caused a gang war that cost the lives of thirty or so gang members. I didn’t shed a tear.

About ten miles further down the road sat a gas station/conveniences store. I stopped and bought a Coke, as I paid for it, I memorized the number on the pay phone near the clerk.

Back in my car, I called the pay phone and in my deepest voice told the clerk to call the state police and report a bad accident at mile marker 179. One at a time I tossed the exam gloves out of the window into the weeds, I then tossed the knife.

When I crossed the Texas border, the car, as if on its own, stopped at a place called “Ferg’s Eats.” The pulled pork barbecue sandwich was wonderful as was the Lone Star beer that I washed it down with. I get hungry when I nut a man. Life is good.

Respectfully submitted,

Thecia