Forever Young

I wasn’t the kind of son he wanted. When other boys were out playing baseball or football with the other guys, I was shy and sensitive, and made friends only with girls. Physically, I was short and slight. “Are you a fag?” he would ask me, his tone of voice letting me know that a fag was a very bad thing to be. I would hide from him in my room, frightened to even be around him.

One day I spent all afternoon with my friend Angela, who decided we would play makeup. I rushed home, my face covered with mascara, rouge and lipstick, hoping to get there before my father came home from work. But he was already there, and went into a fury when he saw me. “No son of mine is gonna look like a girl,” he shouted. I wept into my pillow all night long, my body still aching all over from where he struck me with his fists.

So I wasn’t at all sad when my father was killed in a car crash a few months before my 12th birthday. I went into the legal custody of his youngest brother Steve, who wasn’t anything like my father. Steve was in his early 30s, a handsome and loving man. He hugged me and comforted me, not knowing that I was glad my father was dead. The feeling of his arms around me was heaven, as I hadn’t experienced physical affection since my mother left me.

My life changed for the better in so many ways. Instead of pushing me to be like the other boys, Steve let me be myself. He encouraged my friendships with girls, and never scolded me for being a sissy, as my father always did. Best of all, he hugged me all the time, holding me and stroking my hair and telling me how much he loved me. My heart pounded from joy as I finally experienced what it was like to be loved.

Once, after playing makeup with Angela, I came home not sure of how Steve might react. But he only smiled as he closely examined my face. “You are so pretty!” he exclaimed, hugging me. Steve kissed both of my rouged cheeks, and told me that I could put on makeup whenever I felt like it.

But even as my home life got better, my days at school were going downhill. The other boys were picking on me constantly, calling me fag and queer. When I came home one day, sobbing from the harassment, Steve held me tight for a long time. “You don’t have to go back there. I can teach you here at home,” he said. I quickly agreed, happy to be away from the bullies, and near to Steve all day long.

He encouraged me to grow my hair long, and even took my to a salon to get it styled and streaked with lighter color. I loved the way it fell over my shoulders. Soon after, he asked me if I wanted my ears pierced, and I eagerly agreed. “You are so beautiful,” he said, stroking my hair and admiring the gold rings that now dangled from each ear.

As the months went by, Steve became more loving toward me. One day he came into the bathroom while I was bathing. “Don’t be shy. I want to help you get nice and clean,” he said, kneeling by the side of the tub. I closed my eyes in contentment as Steve rubbed the washcloth over my face and shoulders.

“Stand up, Brandon,” he said. I did as he asked, water dripping off my thin frame. Steve rubbed the cloth over my narrow chest, smiling as my flat boyish nipples firmed and stood up. He scrubbed up and down my legs, then put down the washcloth to pour some body soap into the palms of his hands. I sighed and closed my eyes as his hands moved over my genitals.

Steve spent a long time there. He rubbed the soap into my scrotum, stopping to feel my immature testicles between his fingers. Then he gently stroked my uncircumsized penis, pulling back the foreskin to clean the smooth head. It was the most wonderful feeling I had ever had.

Steve dried me off, and led me into his bedroom. “Lie face down, Brandon. I want to give you a massage,” he said. I complied, and Steve dripped a warm oil onto my back. His hands moved over my shoulders and back, rubbing the lotion into my hairless body.

I sighed with pleasure as he massaged my feet, rubbing each toe carefully. He worked his way up my legs, then started rubbing my butt cheeks. I reflexively pushed them together, but Steve whispered, “Don’t worry. You’ll love this.”

As I relaxed my cheeks, Steve began working the oil into them. I felt his finger moving over my anus. “Do you like the way that feels?” he asked. When I nodded, he continued probing my hole, pushing his finger in up to the first knuckle. My sphincter tightened around it, and Steve paused, holding it in place. When he felt the muscle relax, he continued pushing until his whole finger was buried deep inside.

Steve slowly and gently moved his finger in and out, never completely withdrawing it from my rectum. At first it was uncomfortable, but gradually my muscles relaxed and he was able to move his finger freely. I sighed deeply as a warm feeling radiated out from my rectum. I later learned that he was deliberately rubbing against my prostate to stimulate me.

Steve removed his finger and dripped more oil onto his hand. “Relax now,” he said, pushing two fingers against the opening. Once again my sphincter tightened against the invasion, but Steve gently persisted and soon his fingers were able to penetrate me. He pushed them both deep inside me, then probed until they pressed against my sphincter again.

Minutes passed, and my anus was completely relaxed, allowing Steve’s fingers to move in and out without any resistance. “That feels so good,” I said. “Just wait,” he whispered, pulling his fingers out of my ass.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain as a large object pushed against my anus. “Please stop!” I shouted. Steve paused but didn’t remove the head of his penis from my opening. “Relax, Brandon,” he said gently. “This will hurt a little, but you’ll get used to it. And then you’ll learn to love it.”

Once again he pushed his penis forward, the glans stretching my anus. I began to cry from the pain, but Steve’s naked body pressed down on mine. I felt his warm breath as he kissed my neck, then my ear. His lips sucked my earlobe, then his tongue darted into my ear. I loved the feeling, and it helped me forget the pain as he penetrated my rectum.

Steve was right. It really hurt at first, but gradually my hole loosened up, allowing him to push his penis completely inside me. He held it there for a long time, then began a slow in-and-out movement. Steve moaned as he fucked my virgin ass. I was still a little frightened and hurting, but at the same time I loved the feeling of his body against mine. Knowing that my body could give him such pleasure made me really happy.

“Oh God!” he cried, his body stiffening. Steve pumped his penis in and out of me rapidly as he moaned. After a few minutes passed, I could feel his cock soften inside me. He pulled it out, and I felt something wet dribble down my crack. Steve held me tight from behind, kissing my neck and hair, and rubbing his hands over my chest and stomach. I never felt so contented.

Steve made love to me every day, teaching me about the different ways we could pleasure each other. At first the idea of putting his huge penis in my mouth seemed scary, but he guided me into my first cocksucking experience. Before fucking me, Steve would lick my anus, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

He bought me new clothes, including panties made for girls. I loved the way they felt against my skin, and Steve admired the way they hugged my buns and my youthful genitals. He also brought home makeup, and we spent happy hours applying it to me. He even painted my nails and rubbed rouge on my nipples, making them pinker. “What a beautiful boy!” he said as I admired myself in the mirror, and he brushed my shoulder-length hair.

Sometimes we would go out, and people would mistake me for his daughter. With my long hair and makeup, and my slim body, I had a definite feminine look. Steve constantly praised my pale, hairless body as he bathed and dressed me. “I love you just the way you are,” he told me many times.

But a few months later, as I neared my 13th birthday, something happened that changed things forever. Steve had just finished fucking me, and was holding me from behind as he rubbed my chest and stomach. Then he moved his hands lower. “What the fuck?” he gasped as his fingers touched my penis.

Steve was horrified as he stared at my groin. My penis, which had always remained small and flaccid during sex, had suddenly stiffened and grown dramatically. My cockhead was peeking out from its foreskin, and a drop of clear fluid was oozing from the pisshole.

“Oh God!” he cried. “This can’t be happening already. My beautiful boy!” I was grief stricken as I watched Steve fall apart. I felt enormously guilty, even though I wasn’t responsible for the way my body was reacting to the pleasure Steve had given it.

After Steve calmed down, we lay together in bed, with his arms wrapped tightly around me. He told me how my body would now be changing. My muscles would grow, and hair would start appearing. My voice would grow deeper. I would lose my feminine appearance that he loved so much.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “You are so beautiful the way you are.” As he began sobbing again, I wished with all my heart that I could stay just the way I was. I loved Steve, and was so unhappy that I couldn’t do anything about this.

In the next few weeks, I began getting erections whenever Steve held me. Then, once when he was fucking me, I couldn’t resist the urge to stroke my penis. The pleasure I felt was tremendous, and I experienced a tingling that was completely new. Suddenly, the most intense spasm of pleasure jolted me, as I felt something wet hit the back of my hand. I had just had my first ejaculation.

When Steve saw me wiping my cum off my hand, he became very angry. He pulled his cock out of me, and quickly got dressed. I was crestfallen.

Steve didn’t mention what had happened, but I noticed he seemed withdrawn for the next few days. We stopped having sex together. I was terribly scared that I was losing the only person who had ever loved me.

About a week later, Steve made me breakfast. “Be sure to drink all of your orange juice,” he said, smiling. Steve watched as I drained the glass. Suddenly, I began feeling dizzy. “What’s wrong honey?” he asked, kneeling beside my chair. “I don’t know,” I responded. “The room is spinning around.”

Steve helped me to his bed as I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was lying there naked. I tried to move, but my hands and feet were tied. “W- what’s going on,” I said groggily. “Try not to move, sweetheart,” Steve said, wiping a wet washcloth over my forehead. “You need to keep still.”

Then I noticed another man in the room. I recognized him as a friend of Steve’s who had been to the house once before. “I’m going to give you a shot that will make you sleep now,” the man said, holding a hypodermic in his hand.

“No, stop!” I shouted as he felt my arm for a vein. “Brandon, you must be quiet,” Steve said gently. “Jim here is going to give you an operation that will solve our problems, so we can stay together always.”

I felt a sharp sting as the needle found its mark. Seconds later, the room got dark and I once again lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, I could see Steve and Jim standing along side the bed. My groin ached, but when I tried to reach over and touch it, my hands were still tied.

"We need to keep your hands away from your crotch for awhile," Steve said, smiling. "W-what did you do to me?" I said, tears in my eyes.

"Brandon, we did an operation on you called a castration," Jim said. "We took away the things that were making you change from a boy into a man."

"Now we can always stay together and love each other," Steve said, smiling. He kissed me gently on the lips. Despite my pain and confusion, I suddenly felt calm. Steve's love was all that I needed.

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I'm now 18 years old. Steve was right - even though the operation was over 5 years ago, I haven't really changed. My shoulders are still narrow, my chest smooth and flat. No hair has appeared on my thin body. My voice is still boyish. Only one thing has changed, really. Under my small soft penis, my sack has almost disappeared. Steve keeps my balls in jar to remind us of our close call. I'm so glad he castrated me when he did.