A couple of months passed. I had thought being a eunuch would cause a lot of problems for Shaun, but he embraced being one; he bragged about it; he flaunted his empty ball sac in the locker room and in the showers – at least, I supposed he did in the showers; I still hadn’t come out as a eunuch, and I didn’t take showers.

I wanted to come out as a eunuch, but I didn’t know how I’d be able to explain not having balls. If I could do it all over again, I would have done it like Shaun did, had alcohol injections and then had a doctor cut them out, except that Mom wouldn’t have paid to have them cut out. I’d still have dried up lumps in my ball sac.

I think Shaun was more popular as a eunuch than he had been as a boy. He was mellow; hell, even the girls liked him. If he could still get it up, he could have probably fucked more than a couple of them. They flirted with him. Maybe, he was a challenge to them: which chick is hot enough to turn on a eunuch or some shit like that.

Shaun wasn’t interested in sex. If he could get his dick hard, I never saw it hard. I saw him naked at one time or the other almost every day, although some of those times were at school during Gym; I never saw his dick even halfway hard.

Roger and I had a more-or-less unspoken truce. I still didn’t like him, but since I knew I would never grow up to be like him, having him around didn’t bug me like before. It didn’t even bother me to hear him in fucking my mom. I would never fuck anyone.

I hated what he and mom’s other boyfriends were, guys that only cared about fucking, and I had been afraid, once I hit puberty, I’d be just like them. Maybe, not all men are like them, but if they aren’t, I’ve never met them. None of mom’s boyfriends, including Roger, ever gave a shit for me; and if my mom didn’t have a pussy, none of them would have given a shit for her.

Shaun’s dad, in his role as Shaun’s father, never impressed me either. He doesn’t hit Shaun, and since his bedroom is down the hall from Shaun’s, I doubt Shaun has to listen to him fuck Shaun’s mother; but he never does anything with Shaun: he never takes him to ball games; never plays catch with him; never even really talks to him. I’ve eaten dinner at their house: everyone gets a plate and sits down in front of the TV. No one says anything to anyone. If Shaun hadn’t showed his dad his destroyed balls, he probably could have gone until his next yearly physical without anyone knowing.

I wonder if Shaun’s dad is one of the reasons he wanted to be castrated. It’s not like either of us had good male role models. If you don’t like the men you’re exposed to every day, why would you want to grow up to be like them? If you don’t want to be like them, and you get rid of your balls, you won’t be like them. They are men; you are a eunuch; and I firmly believe that eunuchs – as long as they don’t take testosterone – aren’t men, or as far as Shaun and I are concerned, aren’t boys. I feel as out of place in a locker room full of naked boys as I would in a locker room of naked girls. Actually, I’d probably be more comfortable in a locker room full of naked girls.

I am not a boy.

The next time I was over at Shaun’s house I asked him:

“Are you a boy?”

“What do you mean? You know I’m a eunuch.”

“I know you’re a eunuch down there,” I said, pointing to his groin, “but what about up here?” I tapped my head. “What are you up here? You seem comfortable around the other guys in the locker room. Hell, you strut around like you still had balls. I feel out of place there.”

“That’s because you don’t want them to know you’re a eunuch. You’re afraid they’ll find out.”

“That’s part of it I guess, but even before I was castrated, I felt out of place. Before all you guys started puberty, I didn’t feel that way, but once you had, I no longer felt like I belonged. You even smelled different.”

“We smelled different?”

“Yeah, pubescent boys reek of testosterone, or because they’re full of it, they smell different from prepubescent boys.”

“Do I smell like that now?”

“No,” I said, “but you haven’t had balls or testosterone for months. You haven’t noticed how they smell?”

He shrugged:

“I don’t know. I hadn’t ever thought about it, but maybe you’re right. Little boys smell like little boys. They definitely don’t smell like guys with hair.”

Putting his nose at my neck, he sniffed.

“You don’t smell like a little boy; but I guess you don’t really smell like the other boys in Gym class, either.”

“You probably never noticed before,” I said, “because you had balls and smelled like them. The next time we’re in Gym class, see if you can’t tell the difference in how they smell.”

“OK. Hey, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What?”

“Tommy Wilkins wants to be castrated.”