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Several days went by. During all this time I was confined in my shed (I came to think of it as my shed) mostly with just inquisitive rats for company. I was a mass of pain down there pain from my torn and bleeding anus, from the lopped-off ends of the ducts to my testicles, from the inflamed and angry tissue that had once been my scrotum, from the tender skin inside my thighs, scorched by the heat of the gelding-irons. A dull ache and throbbing deprived me of sleep, while stabs of more severe pain forced tears from my eyes. I cried a lot in those days. When a boys strings of courage have been snipped through, he gives up all pretence at being a man. I might have felt a little better if Id known that the brute whod raped me the gigantic Nubian - was now off the scene. Hed been sold to the owner of the chain-gangs who were building new works down at the harbour. It was the last resort for slaves who were too stupid, clumsy and ugly to do anything else. These slaves were continually lashed with whips; a few were even blinded. But all this I found out later. Twice a day an old woman called to bring me food, and a pitcher of water, and empty my slop-pail. She was a common old thing and I could barely make out her rough country dialect, but she had a kind heart as I was soon to find out. It was on the second day that she looked into my tear-stained face, and smiled. Ah she said. We cant ave yer goin on like this. Wait ere (As if I was going anywhere!) She came back with a steaming basin of water, into which she threw some crushed dried leaves and stirred them round. A strange smell arose, not unpleasant. I roused myself to ask her what it was. Woundwort, they call it. Its good for all kinds of urts, even yours. Now then lets look at yer. She unwound the dirty cloth from between my legs. Sharp black eyes took in the swollen and painful flesh, red-raw where it wasnt black. Taking a hank of lambs wool from her apron pocket the old woman began to gently swab my groin area. I shouted with pain at first, but then the effect became more soothing. Carefully holding my penis to one side she looked at me sidelong. Good thing they let yer keep that she remarked. Youre lucky. Not like some boys. This was true. Some boys got their penises lopped off as well. Many died as a result. My penis looked much as it had always done, rather long, tapering to a point where the foreskin covered the tip. (Not being of the true faith, few boy-slaves were ever circumcised). Just one thing left to do the crone muttered. Just turn over a minute. She raked about in the bowl, retrieved some of the aromatic leaves and pressed them into a pellet. Strong but gentle fingers pushed this inside my bottom. She rose to go. See yer again ter-morrer she said. Yerll start feeling better soon, mark my words. And remember. You aint the first boy to get is little balls cut off and yer wont be the last. Everything that old woman said turned out to be true, even prophetic. She came twice a day and repeated the treatment. Within a week my bottom no longer hurt me. In a rather longer time the horrible black scabs came away, leaving just a fold of skin where I once had a scrotum. I began to feel a little better in myself, except when I remembered that Id lost my future manhood, and then I cried again. It was one of her jobs to watch newly-castrated boys to make sure that their wounds didnt turn septic. All slave-boys who had not reached puberty could expect to be castrated, most of them, like me, by having the ball-sac tightly bound with cords and then severed with a knife or scissors, and the cut ends seared with red-hot irons. Though it sounds a hideous practice (and it was) it was very rarely fatal. A mere household slave like myself (and an Afro into the bargain) could expect nothing better than this traditional gelding operation. But there were exceptions. Take for instance a rich mans darling, probably a sloe-eyed little Greek. Or one of those fair-haired Celts that were occasionally seen in the slave markets, with a peaches-and-cream complexion, blue eyes and full, slack lips. Not to mention a sweet little rosy-red asshole, regularly washed out with perfumed enemas and lubricated with scented musk-oil. When this pretty child reached twelve or so, his master would decide that his pampered cherub was getting to be a big boy now time to be suitably pruned, while his body was still soft and boyish, and before he developed a sex life of his own. No gelding-irons or tarred twine for a boy like that. When the time came for him to lose his balls they would be shelled out of his scrotum with the finest surgical skill that money could buy, and afterwards hed spend a week in a soft bed with soothing ointments, until he was healed. But however it was done, being gelded always had the same result or so I believed. Three or four days later, I was actually getting well enough to feel bored. One afternoon footsteps sounded outside, the door was flung open and a great pile of new straw was pitchforked into the shed. This wasnt unusual they gave me new straw once a week. But the straw was followed by what looked, at first, like a bundle of old rags. The rags moved. Cautiously I went to look, expecting rats, or even snakes, and found myself looking into a white, frightened face with enormous dark eyes the face of a terrified eleven-year-old boy. He only understood one or two words of our language, but with those and a lot of pantomime I got to learn his story, and to persuade him that I was his friend. He had been taken as a prisoner-of-war in one of the skirmishes that were always happening up on the frontier. His tribe had been bringing him up to be a warrior and he had actually killed three men with his little sword. When the prisoners were rounded up, his captors had dragged him off to the camp kitchen-tent, where they had stripped him, and after stretching his ball-sac over a block of wood, they had hacked off his twin organs of generation with one blow of a meat-cleaver, afterwards pouring melted cheese over the wound to staunch the blood. Somehow hed survived the crude surgery and the long terrible march down to the coast and to the slave-market. Boy-eunuchs usually commanded high prices, but this waif was sold into our household at a knock-down price, just in case he didnt live. But live he did. His name was Narses. He was destined to become extremely famous one day. But that was many years on, in a future that neither of us could see. The old woman clucked when she saw the ugly mess of raw flesh between the boys thighs. He had cried out when she first began to bathe it, but her treatment helped him, as it had helped me and beyond expectations his wound began to heal, although it left a terrible scar. It was the custom with newly-made boy-eunuchs to put them among the female slaves, just as soon as they were healed. Some say that this was to make certain that the gelding operation was effective no possibility of erections. Others think that it was just to ram the lesson home, that a boy eunuch was not a man and never would be. You can make your own mind up on that. In any event, Narses was sent off to the kitchens where he spent his days scouring pots and pans, while I was taught to make rush-matting. That was the beginning of the turn of events that changed my life. I not only had to weave the rush-matting but to keep myself supplied with materials. The gardener used to place fresh rushes on the flat roof of a remote, disused part of the house. When they were dry I used to have to go and collect what I needed. It meant climbing a stairway outside the building, going along a passage past the disused rooms and then climbing another stairway to the roof. One hot afternoon I went in search of more dried rushes by this route. I had reached the end of the corridor when out of the corner of my eye I saw something someone in white. Then a whisper Psst psst. I turned around and saw my young mistress, by an open doorway. In here, quick! she hissed. I obeyed. The room where I found myself was evidently a store for old unwanted furniture. There was a couch, and a few broken chairs, and other lumber. My mistress shut the door and turned the key. I havent seen you for such a long time she said. She was smiling. You had me gelded I said accusingly. And then you sent for me afterwards, to make sure I had been. You even had a good look!. Oh, please believe me she begged. I had nothing to do with that I didnt, I didnt, I didnt! Then who did? I asked. My old nurse. One of her jobs is to see that the slave boys get cut when she thinks they are ready. Then she arranges for the gelder to call round and bring his instruments. You were just unlucky to be the next one. I wasnt convinced. What about your mother? Surely she guessed that Id that wed been No, she didnt she interrupted. I told her, and she believed me, that my period had suddenly come on, and Id sent for you to fetch me a napkin. Then all that stuff with pigeons blood on the sheets I went on. To make the neighbours believe youd been a virgin! That wasnt the reason. It was to show them that the bridegroom had done it. Well, of course the bridegroom did it! I replied crossly. But suddenly a doubt formed in my mind. Or, do you mean . Got it in one she said. It was rumoured before our wedding that he was impotent. The pigeons blood was supposed to indicate that he wasnt. And? Hes impotent alright. He never touched me. Never even tried. Meaning Meaning that the first boy who ever had me, and the last, was you! For a moment neither of us said anything. She beckoned me to sit beside her on the couch. Now that my eyes were accustomed to the dim light I could see that the white wrapper was the only garment she had on, and it was practically transparent, showing the halos round her nipples and the dark triangle between her thighs. Ive known you nearly all my life she said. And I cant think of a nicer boy to have done it with, my first time. So there! Without another word she wound her arms round my neck and began kissing me hard, and I kissed her back. My head began to whirl. After a while I found one of her hands beginning to loosen my cloth and explore between my legs. Gentle fingers closed around my penis. I began getting a strange feeling down there. There was no doubt at all. My penis was beginning to stiffen. The gentle fingers coaxed my foreskin back, then rolled it forward again, then back, then forward Ive learned, since then, that this was no mystery or miracle. If a boy-eunuch only loses his balls, and if his castrator isnt too heavy-handed with the gelding-irons, the combination of blood vessels and nerve-endings that control erections can usually does survive. He will go on being able to get schoolboy erections as long as he stays in good health. How big an erection depends on the size of his penis when he loses his balls, because they dont grow any more afterwards. Mine had been big for my age. If Id been gelded at age seven, as some boys are, Id never have had more than a little winkle! Before long I had five inches of penis standing out in front of me like a big key. My mistress pulled off her wrapper, so that she was naked. She opened her legs. Between her soft thighs the lips of her sex were wide open and wet. Put it inside me she breathed. Put it right up, and give me a nice time. I needed no persuasion, but knelt between her legs, found the spot- and felt my penis begin to slide in. She squealed with pleasure as it stretched her love-muscle and speared on up inside her wonderfully tight passage. She wrapped her legs round my waist and clasped me firmly, pulling me in further still. How unlike that first time when Id spurted inside her almost on the instant, pulling out immediately, terrified of what Id done. This was the stuff that dreams are made of; fantastic, wonderful, nectar-and-ambrosia, magical, stardust. I seemed to go on and on and on, up-and-down, up-and-down. We looked like a pair of sex-mad teens, which I suppose we were! I didnt come, that time. That was for the future and after a lot more practice. But I made her come several times, and it was dusk before we finally tore ourselves apart. Before I returned to the slaves quarters my mistress said that she was going to ask for me to be made her personal attendant right away. That was how I came to be with her twenty-four hours a day. During daylight hours she made me wear an ivory ring on my penis, to prevent me getting erections at awkward times (it almost prevented me peeing also!) but at night she would slide it off and her soft gentle fingers would coax me into hardness, for the hours of bliss that lay ahead. On those days when she had her period, so that I should not become frustrated, she used to turn over on to her tummy and let me make love to her as though she was a boy. Once, and once only, I said that if only I was not a eunuch, how much better I would be as a lover. If your balls were still in she retorted you would never have been allowed near me. So count yourself lucky. This lasted all of five years. There came a long, very hot summer, that you must remember. With the heat, there came a typhoid epidemic. My young mistress became ill and died. So did her parents, her impotent husband, and many of the household. I was one of the few to escape. Afterwards the old steward, a eunuch like myself, took me aside and said that before she died my young mistress had made a will, in which she had given me my freedom. And so, it seemed, I was free, though out of a job. Free but useless. I was too old to do any of the things that a black eunuch is expected to do, and I hadnt been trained to do anything else, like hairdressing or cookery. I drifted from place to place picking up a living here and there. No one was interested in me or how I came to be a eunuch. Black eunuchs are ten-a-penny. Until I fell in with you lot. And now you know it all, theres no more to tell. |