I had mixed feelings about the outing. I was filled with curiosity as to how I would feel looking at my testicles floating in a jar of preservative fluid. I wondered if I would feel any sexual promptings or urgings at seeing my balls detached from my crotch and openly displayed in a jar for anyone to see.

The clinic had called the previous day to remind me of my visitation appointment. I confirmed that I'd be there.

As I drove across town to the clinic, my mind recalled the events leading up to my castration, the forms I'd signed, the procedure itself, and the subsequent events since I had been emasculated.

During the two days I spent at the castation clinc last month, my mind was in a daze. It was sort of like a dream that you recall, but the details are blurred. I have no regrets over my castration, I had sought it diligently for years and finally went through with it after my sexual urges threatened to take total control of my life.

As I made my way through traffic, I remembered the discussion I'd had with my cutter, Brody, about the pre-admission forms.

"Why do I have to sign these?" I asked the handsome young castrator. "I've already given consent, and I probably won't change my mind."

"True," Brody said, "But even though each eunuch surrenders possesion of his testicles, these forms protect me from long protracted custody battles over the balls in the years to come. I grant you visitation rights to come and visit your balls anytime you want to, and to watch the video of your castration. These forms are necessary to relieve me of liability in case anyone has second thoughts, or accuses me of failure to fully disclose their rights, or misuse of their testicles following their castration."

I had signed all the forms. I had given Brody and his clinic complete rights of possession of my testicles in perpetuity. After all, I had fantasized about losing them for years: why would I fight him for possession of them once he'd cut them off? I wanted to be rid of them; I wanted to have them removed; I wanted someone else to hold them hold for safe keeping once I was castrated; I was afraid of what I'd do if I still had them, and once they were cut off, it was someone else's worry. And since my castration, I had calmed down a lot. Brody had done me a favor by cutting my balls off!

You see, I had contemplated so many scenarios for my castration, and had fantasized about being nutted so much over the years, I began to worry that this obsession would over take my entire life, and I decided to relinquish them and be done with it, so that I could focus my mind on other aspects of life. It seemed so unfair and unbalanced to be so totally overcome with thoughts about castration when there were so many other parts of life demanding attention!

"But you'll still be curious," Brody had told me at the signing. "You'll have a desire to relive your castration, so you'll want to see the video as you hold the jar containing your balls in your lap. You'll not be able to shoot a load while you're here watching, but you can relive the precise moment you lost them over and over again as long as you wish. I just need these forms signed to cover me legally. That's all."

When I arrived at the clinic for my visitation rights, I was ushered by an attractive secretary into the vault containing all the jars of balls. She told me Brody would be with me soon. Looking at her made me wish, if only for a fleeting moment, that I still had my manhood. Damn! She was good looking! There were shelves lining three sides of the vault, and each wall of balls had six layers of shelving. All the shelves were full of jars; each jar containing two testicles. It was evident that some of the balls had been floating in these jars for years because of the color of the fluid and of the balls themselves. Other jars were newer: the balls looked fresh and the fluid was clear. And as I stood there looking at them, I was struck with the realization that each of these jars represented some man who had voluntarily given their balls up. There was a finality of masculinity represented in these jars. Each jar of balls meant that some man would never be able to shoot a stream of hot, sticky, milky wet cum again. Each jar was a reminder of maleness past. Each jar told a story of some man's quest for closure of his manhood, a departure from his nut-prompted sexuality, of liberation from his poweful urgings that oftentimes got us guys in trouble. My eyes scanned the dozens of jars, and I wondered which jar had my balls floating in it.

Standing there waiting for Brody, I began to contemplate how each man had lost his testicles. I envisioned the circumstances leading up to his castration, the deed itself, and the subsequent submerging of his nuts in the fluid-filled jar. I wondered how many eunuchs returned to the clinc to spend time with the very balls they had desired to be removed. After all, these balls were all sealed in these jars because their initial owners had wanted them gone. And they each had consented to their removal voluntarily. What kind of morbid or driving curiosity would lure them back to the clinic to see their nuts again? But then, here I was, a month after my castration, standing in a vault full of balls, waiting for my visitation time with my balls! So maybe there was a demand for this sort of thing after all.

When Brody came in, I was struck once again for how good looking he was. He was six-feet-two, had dark short hair, and was muscular and in physically good shape. He looked to be in his early to mid thirties. He asked me to drop my pants so that he could do a post-op examination of my crotch to make sure everything was healing well. It was.

As he looked me over, I just had to know something from this handsome young man. "Brody, are your balls in one of these jars?"

He looked at me quizzically, and grinned. "No; they're still in my scrotum attached to my body. But I haven't ruled out reserving a jar for myself some day. I get extemely hot and aroused at the thought of castration after deballing guys all day long."

I appreciated his candor.

He pronounced a clean bill of health for me, and then walked over to a shelf, consulted a clip board, and then retrived my ball jar from the shelf. I looked them over as he handed me the jar. My testicles, like the other newly-castrated bulbs in the recently-filled jars, were fresh looking. They were pinkish gray, and the fluid was clear, making the balls themselves come into crystal-clear focus.

"This way to the viewing room," Brody said. I followed him down a hallway into a small theater room furnished for just this special occasio;, my specially-sealed balls held firmly in my hand. I sat in a theater chair as Brody put the DVD in the player. His visage came on the screen as he announced that the presentation to follow was a before-during-and after documentary of my castration.

Popcorn, beer and soft drinks were on a counter if I so desired.

Brody left the room as I settled in to watch my castration episode.

The first act showed me completely naked atop a medical examination table. Brody and his female assistant prepped me. I was examed prior to prepping to make sure I was medically cleared for the procedure. I watched as the female assistant shaved my pubic hair, my crotch and my upper thighs. I relived that blade working in and around my genitals removing my hair. I watch wide-eyed as she had me get off the table and bend over as she administered an enema to me. I remembered that enema: it filled my gut with warm soapy water until I felt like I was going to burst. She then isntructed me to sit down on a toilet near the corner and relieve myself. I had faint recollections of shame at having someone else present in the room as I emptied my bowels, but she had told me in advance that I must be accompanied by someone through every step of the procedure. As I viewed the screen, I was fasinated with the sight of my own anus as the assistant inserted the enema tube and began to fill me. I mean, how many people ever get to see their own butt holes? And I was astonished that the enema tube, which was about eight inches long, went all the way in! I had never actually thought about butt hole arousal, but here it was on the screen, and I found myself sitting in that theater chair falling in love with my own anus!

I was also intrigued with how low my ball bag was hanging in that video as I was bent over receiving the enema tube up my butt. My nut sack was loose and dangling freely. As I watched it, I remembered that in a few moments it would be emptied of its masculine contents. I felt a surge of lust well up in my chest at that sight, and I clutched my ball-filled jar a little more tightly. My dangling scrotum and balls were so obvious on that screen I was struck with the thought of why a guy would go throug with such an act. After all, it meant he could no longer "get off" sexually once his balls were gone.

Following my shave and enema, my scrotum was banded, and then I was instructed to take a shower. Seeing my nude body in that shower stall on that screen was a lustful sight. I had no clue I looked that way naked. But then, I was seeing myself differently now, unlike any other time I had been naked in the past. Because this nakedness at this moment portrayed on the screen was leading up to something I had desired, planned, thought about and fantasized about for years: my own castration! I was also reveling in the open shame and humiliation of being on display, and being readied for what was to come within moments.

After my shower, I watched myself get back up onto the table where Brody and his assistant continued my work over. I heard Brody ask me, "Do you want to have a final climax before you lose your balls?"

I heard myself faintly respond, "Yes." I heard myself ask if his assistant would remove her clothes and allow me to look at her nakedness while I stroked my penis and squeezed my soon-to-be-gone gonads. I watched as she complied, removing her clothes and presenting me with various poses aimed at arousing and satisfying me. I especially enjoyed seeing her hairy female crotch and tits, and loved the sight of her beautiful female butt! On that table, and now in this theater chair, I questioned myself as to why a guy would give all that up voluntarily with the mere act of submitting to castration!

As I watched, I relived that moment. I remembered the sensual attractiveness of that girl, and how her presence there as I jacked off seemed so thrilling. I heard myself ask her to insert a finger into my anus and massage my prostate. I also asked Brody to squeeze my balls dry as my climax erupted in full view on the screen. As my last cum shot out of my fully-erect penis on the screen, I saw the sperm loop up about a foot from the tip of my cock and land on my belly, filling my belly button with male milk.

Watching this scene on the screen made me feel so totally self-focused and selfish during my visitation, but at the time it occured a month ago, I couldn't help being selfish. I wanted my castration episode to be so totally about me and my balls I wasn't concerned about anyone else. Yet Brody and his assistant went through it all like pros: they obviosuly had seen and done this many times before.

I watched myself relax in my post-cum let down. The woman slowly slid her finger out of my asshole, and Brody turned loose of my scrotum.

Previously, I had requested that my nut sack be opened up surgically with a scalpel, my nuts dangled on the sperm cords, be excised as they hung on the cords near my my butt crack, and then my scrotum be stitched closed. I told Brody that my scrotal tissue was very sensitve and I had enjoyed gently rubbing the nut sack skin and found it arousing. So he agreed to taking my balls and leaving me my scrotum.

I watched as Brody took the scalpel, and made an incision in the very middle of my banded ball bag. My eyes widened as I recalled how it felt to have that blade slice me open. I didn't feel pain-I had been mildly sedated-but I did feel the tugging of the skin as the blade did its work. And now I was watching my ball bag being opened for the first time!

I was aboslutely amazed as Brody now squeezed my opened scrotum, and popped a ball out. I heaved a heavy sigh as I saw my left testicle dangle from its blood-supplying vessels and sperm cord. My eyes were mesmerized looking at my nut. I took a glance at my balls in the jar resting in my lap, and wondered which one of them I was watching on the screen!

Then I watched as Brody pushed the last nut out. He stood back so that the video camera could record the sight for all time: My two testicles were hanging out of my nutsack in full view, vulnerable, unprotected, naked, visible, and about to be cut off!

As I watched, I began to breathe heavily because I knew what took place next. I saw my balls nearly reach my butt crack as they hung momentarily from my opened scrotum. Brody had told me previosly they probably wouldn't hang all the way down to my butt hole because I had asked it it was possible to shove them inside prior to being castrated. He told me no.

I then watched as my sperm cords were stitched and tied off. Brody took a pair of surgical scissors and cut one of my balls off, and his assistant cut the other one off. I took the remote control and rewound that part: I just had to see it again and again! Lustful surges of desire, regret, unrequited impulses flowed through my chest as I watched my own castration on the screen. Oh how I would love to have the ability to climax one powerful sperm gush one last time! But it was not to be. Not now.

As I watched, once my balls were severed from my crotch, they were dropped into the jar I now held in my lap, and sealed. The final act was Brody stitching up my scrotum as I had requested. Then I watched as my gurney was wheeled into the recovery room, and that is where the video ended.

I hit the replay and watched the entire fifteen minute video again. Then I watched it again. Brody was right: I was fasinated with my own castration and found viewing it quite an attraction even if I couldn't bring myself to cum right now. What a rush it was seeing myself emasculated. But only now it was a mental rush: I would not be able to physically do anything about it.

When the video ended the third time, I held up the jar containing my balls and said, "Thank you for all the pleasure you've given me over the years." I then kissed the jar, and summoned Brody.

"Well how did it go?" He asked. I thanked him profusely for allowing me the privilege of being able to relive my castration over and over again. I told him I had fantasized about being castrated for years prior to the actual nutting, but now once it was done, I appreciated his methods for preserving the balls and the video so that I had visual memories to view. I also told him that I felt set free from my ball bondage now.

"My pleasure," he said, and asked if I wanted to scheduled another visitation time. I asked him if I could invite some friends to view my castration video, and he said yes: as many as the small theater room could accommodate. He said I was even allowed to charge an admission fee if I wanted, as long as he collected a small percentage of the proceeds.

I scheduled another visitation time for the following month. I wanted several people to be there for my castration. I wanted others to be present for my humiliation, my exhileration, and my eventual un-manning. I wanted them to see my balls in the jar, and my balls dangling from my scrotum haning above my butthole prior to being severed. I wanted to share my shame and my humbling and my nutting.

Before I left, Brody informed me that I could receive a percentage of any future castration fees if I made referrals to other men for the procedure, or if anyone desired also to be castrated after watching my video. How enticing was that! I could conceivably realize some income off my balls even though they were off me!