I was twelve, just shy of my thirteenth birthday when I was castrated by my mother’s boyfriend, Roger; but I wanted him to do it. Even though I was almost thirteen, I hadn’t started puberty, and starting puberty was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted him to castrate me. I would have begged him to do it, had that been necessary; but Roger had wanted to castrate me almost as much as I had wanted him to do it. Even my mother had wanted me castrated, not that she would have admitted that to me or to herself. When I had begged her to let Roger do it, she had consented readily enough, though.

About all I had to say was, “Mom, I want to be castrated,” and she let Roger do it. I probably didn’t put it exactly like that, but that’s close enough. I did threaten to kill myself, if she wouldn’t let Roger castrate me, but the threat was a lie, spoken to sway her, if she needed swaying. She didn’t; but it gave her an out: she was letting me be castrated to save my life, she could later tell herself to ease any guilt she might have about letting him do it.

I saw the look on her face, though, when he cut the first of my balls, a look of pleasure – sexual pleasure. I fainted, when he cut off the second one, but had I stayed conscious, I would have witnessed my mother having an orgasm at the moment I became a eunuch. At least, that’s what Roger told me later:

“Your mom got off on me nutting you, Kid. I mean, when I cut off that second ball, she had a fucking, full blown, orgasm; and the sex we had afterward was the best we ever had. Hell, it was so good that I wish you could grow some more balls, so I could cut them off again. I’ll have to admit that cutting them off was a turn-on for me, too.”

It was a big turn-on for Roger. I wouldn’t be the last kid Roger castrated or caused to be castrated, but I’ll get to that story.

I had a little boy’s dick when Roger cut off my balls, and I still have a little boy’s dick. My scrotum, long empty of balls, has shriveled to nothing. It’s no more than wrinkled skin at the base of my dick; it’s too small to be called a cock. I’ve had no erection, since I was castrated. I’ve never jacked off or fucked anyone with my dick; and I never will.

I’ve grown no beard, and other than some fine, blond, hair on my arms and legs, I have no body hair. I’m long and lanky, possibly with longer arms and legs than I would have, had I not been castrated so young. If I wanted, I could pass for a girl: my shoulders are slender; my hips are full; and I have a smidgen of breasts.

I never wanted to be a girl, though. I am what I wanted to be: a eunuch. I think, mentally – psychologically – I was born a eunuch.

I was definitely a late bloomer. I inspected my dick and my balls every day to prove to myself I hadn’t started puberty, and when Roger castrated me, I hadn’t seen any sign that I had, not one hair on my balls or above my dick, not any growth, that I could see, of either my dick or my balls. All my friends had already started puberty, and I was sore afraid that I would.

I was glad Roger castrated me; I couldn’t have done it myself; but I hate Roger for what else he did.

Here’s the story of my castration and of my life as a eunuch:

Mom was fucking Roger, the latest in a long line of boyfriends. I never knew who my father was; Mom didn’t know; although she could narrow it down to the three she was fucking at the time. Anyway, they were long gone and were long gone by the time I was born. I’m surprised she didn’t abort me, but she was raised a Catholic. She didn’t practice the religion; I’ve never been inside a church; but I guess abortion, a mortal sin, was one she couldn’t bring herself to commit.

Some of my earliest memories are lying in bed, which was in her room at that time, watching and listening to her get fucked by her latest boyfriend. I was too young to know what was happening, but it frightened me, and I knew from a young age it wasn’t something I ever wanted to do.

I never played with my dick. I only touched it, when I had to pee. It got hard sometimes, before I was castrated; but I never touched it when it was hard. I’ll bet few boys can say that.

Roger put the idea of having him castrate me in my mind. I knew my balls would eventually cause me to go through puberty, and I had even made a vain attempt to cut them off myself – if a tiny scratch on my ball sac could be considered an attempt – but I knew I’d never be able to do it.

Roger made fun of my little dick. He teased me, calling me a eunuch, telling me he should cut off my balls and make me one for real. Little did he know, that’s what I wanted more than I wanted anything else.

Mom knew he teased me about cutting off my balls. Hell, she laughed when he said it. One night, when I had mouthed off to her, she said, “Watch your mouth, or I will let Roger cut off your balls. How would you like that?”

“I’d like it,” was my answer.

She was surprised. What mother thinks her son wants to be castrated? She wanted it done though; I knew she wanted it done. I don’t think she wanted me to grow up to be like her boyfriends, either.

While I readily admitted to myself I wanted to be castrated, she hadn’t admitted it to herself. Even today, I’m sure she tells herself she only allowed it done, because I wanted it so much – so much that I threatened to kill myself, if she wouldn’t let Roger do it.

What kid doesn’t threaten that for one reason or the other, though? I’d used the same threat before many times, sometimes, for something as trivial a toy, and she hadn’t bought it, but I told her, “Castrate me, or I’ll kill myself,” and she lets it be done the same day. Tell me she didn’t want me castrated.

What was it like to be castrated? It hurt like hell. It hurt more than anything I had imagined – at the time - could hurt. Roger had only castrated dogs and pigs and he had never been concerned whether cutting off their balls hurt them or not. He knew it would hurt me; he told me it would hurt me; but he told me he had nothing to give me for the pain, no local anesthetic or anything like that. I’m sure, now, he could have obtained some, had he wanted, but he wanted it to hurt: that’s Roger for you. That’s OK. You can’t remember pain; you can remember the hurt; but you can’t recall the actual pain. Thank God, I guess.

I took a bath – my last bath, while I still had balls – scrubbing my dick, my balls, and my crotch like Roger told me. He did it on the kitchen table. I lay on it naked. He tied down my arms, my legs, and tied a rope across my chest; he gagged me, so my screams wouldn’t rouse the neighbors. He slit my ball sac down the middle. Fuck! It hurt; but that was only the beginning.

He took my balls out of their sac, separating one from the other. He sutured the cords to one of them – to this day, I don’t know which he did first – took that ball in his hand, pulled on it, and cut through the cord below where he had tied it.

Now, that did fucking hurt.

He dropped my ball into a bowl and started suturing the other’s cords.

I’ve changed my mind. Don’t cut the other one off. I don’t want to be a eunuch. It hurts too much. But I had a gag in my mouth – not that he would have stopped, anyway. At that point, he was going to nut me, whether I wanted it or not; and I doubt my mother would have stopped him.

I didn’t really want him to stop, either. I just didn’t want having the second ball cut off to hurt as much as having the first ball cut off had hurt.

He finished suturing the cords to the second ball. I remember watching him place the knife to the cords, but that’s the last thing I remember. I don’t even remember his cutting off the second ball; I fainted, waking up later in my bed with a bag of ice on my then empty ball sac. I wish I could remember having both of them cut off, but it doesn’t matter, I guess. There are no balls below my dick; besides, he showed them to me the night he cut them off – I saw them lying in a bowl. I even kept them in my drawer in a bottle of alcohol for a while.

I remember my first day at school, after I was castrated. I wanted to shout, “I don’t have any balls,” but I couldn’t. No one would understand. My mom would go to jail; Roger would go to jail; and I would end up in a foster home, or a psych ward, if they knew I had wanted to be castrated, that I was glad to be castrated. I was glad. I was fucking free. I would never go through puberty. I wouldn’t have to examine my penis or scrotum any longer, fearful that I would find a hair growing on or around them, fearful that puberty had begun.

Mom had requested that I be excused from Gym for the week. She had almost panicked when realized that I had Gym class at school and we had to dress out. She knew we were supposed to shower after Gym, but I told her I seldom did. I didn’t like being in the shower with a bunch of pubescent boys, seeing their heavy balls and elongated cocks – elongated, compared to mine, anyway –swinging back and forth. Besides, some of them always made fun of my little dick and my hairless crotch. I could change at my locker without anyone knowing I no longer had balls.

I had no complications from my castration. Roger took out the stitches in my scrotum. He said the sutures around the cords to my balls would dissolve on their own. The swelling went down, and my ball sac was empty. I was definitely a eunuch.

Roger liked to look at his handiwork. Every time he came over he wanted to examine my empty ball sac. He got off on it; Mom did, too. They’d usually fuck afterward. I no longer cared that they did; I knew I wouldn’t ever fuck anyone; that’s all that mattered to me.

One day – I was well past thirteen by then – I was over at Shaun’s house; he’s my best friend. We’d been playing video games and were kicking back lying on his bed.

“Have you started jacking off yet?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

“Haven’t you started puberty?”

Again, I shook my head.

“Maybe your mom should take you to the doctor or something. Every other kid our age has. I started growing hair down there almost two years ago.”

“She already has,” I lied. “Something was wrong with my balls, and I had to have them removed. Remember that week I missed school. That’s when I had them cut out.”

I don’t know why I told him, despite all my promises never to tell anyone; but I wanted someone besides Mom and Roger to know. I was proud that I was a eunuch, and Shaun was my friend. I wanted him to know.

“Fuck me! You never.”

“Yeah, I did. You want to see?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“You can’t tell anyone, not even your mom or dad. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone I was castrated.”

I loved that word; I loved saying it; I liked how it rolled off my tongue.

“I won’t let you see, unless you promise.”

“I promise; now let me see.”

I was wearing shorts with no underwear. I seldom wore underwear any longer. I pushed down my shorts.

“Fuck me! You don’t have any balls.”

He flattened my empty sac between his thumb and fingers.

“Cool, huh?” I said.

“Cool? You mean, you like it? You like not having balls? But your dick will never grow, will it?”

“Nope. I never wanted it to grow.”

“You’re weird, you know that?”

I shrugged.

“What are you going to do, have a sex change or something?”

“No, I don’t want to be a girl. I’m what I always wanted to be.”

“What’s that?”

“A eunuch.”

His cock was pressing against his shorts. To this day, I don’t know why I did it; I wasn’t horny or anything like that; but he was, and I think I knew he wanted me – needed me, even – to do it. I pulled down his shorts. He said nothing; he stared at his own hard cock after I exposed it. I leaned over taking it into my mouth.

He shot. As soon as I put my mouth around it, he shot, and I didn’t pull away. I let him shoot into my mouth, and I swallowed it. I’m not saying I liked the taste of it, but I swallowed it.

I crawled on top of him afterward and kissed him. I stuck my tongue in his mouth; he let me. I’d never kissed anyone on the mouth before, not even my mom. I’d only kissed her on the cheek.

We kissed, each exploring the other’s mouth with our tongues. Beneath me, I felt him get hard again.

“Want me to do it again?”

He nodded.

I scooted down, until my face was alongside his cock.

“You have a nice cock.”

It was a nice cock, I realized. I’d seen it hard before, and I’d never thought that before, but then, I had balls, and I was afraid mine would grow to be like his. Now, that I didn’t have balls, it never would.

I had sworn that I never wanted to fuck, and I didn’t, not with my dick anyway, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to have sex. I liked giving him pleasure – enough liked having him cum into my mouth. Sex wasn’t just fucking I realized for the first time, sex could be sharing – giving. Because hormones weren’t driving me crazy – as they probably were Shaun – I could relax and enjoy his body, enjoy the feel of him beneath me, enjoy having his cock in my mouth, enjoy even, the taste of his spunk.

I took his balls in my hand, rolling them back and forth. They were huge compared to how small mine had been. His cock was hard, the foreskin pulled back exposing the head of his cock. The head of my cock, always covered by foreskin, almost never saw the light of day. My cock was little more than two inches long. His was six inches, at least. I held the shaft of it, while I licked the head of it, glancing up from time to time to see him watching me. I could see the hunger in his eyes. I grinned.

I took him into my mouth. He thrust with his hips, trying to drive his cock farther into my mouth. I gagged at times, but I knew – with practice – I would get better at it. He shot again. Already, I was beginning to like the taste of his cum.

I pulled off my t-shirt and helped him off with his. His naked body felt good next to mine. He put his hand down to my ball sac and rubbed the empty skin between his fingers and thumb. He got hard again. I knew we weren’t through. I wondered how many times I could make him cum. I wanted to find out.

He grabbed my limp dick.

“Does it ever get hard?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to do anything? I could suck on it, I guess,” he said.

“No, you don’t have to do anything, unless you want to fuck me.”

I don’t know where that came from; it just popped out, but once out, it sounded like a good idea.

“How?”

“In my ass, Dumb shit. You got to use some Vaseline or something, though. Your dick’s pretty big.

“Mom and Dad have some lube,” he said. “Sometimes, I use it when I jack off.”

“Go get it.”

He jumped off the bed, his hard cock swinging to and fro, and ran out of the room, coming back in a jiff with a tube of lube.

“How do we do it?” he asked.

“Fuck, I don’t know. It’s not like I ever did it either. I guess we’ll figure it out.”

He spread some of the lube on his dick, and after putting some on my middle finger, I stuck that finger in my hole. He scooted around between my legs and I raised them a little. I felt his cock between my butt crack, but it was missing my hole, so I reached down a guided his cock to it.

“Do I just push it in, or what?”

“Do it easy,” I said, “not too fast. Push kind of slow.”

I didn’t think it would go in, but he was getting hot and pressing harder all the time. He wanted to fuck me; and I wanted him to fuck me.

“Ow!”

It hurt when he forced it past my sphincter, but once it was in, it felt good.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I don’t know that it would have really mattered to him, if I weren’t. He was humping me as he asked. I think he would have been sorely disappointed, had I told him to stop.

“I’m fine; don’t stop.”

I wished he could have lasted longer, but he didn’t. He came again, in my ass, this time. I figured he was good for more, and he was.

“Do you think I’m gay?” he asked, as we lay in each other’s arms.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“We’re two guys having sex.”

“I’m not really a guy any longer. I’m a eunuch. I don’t have balls – remember? Men used to keep eunuchs for sex, even though they had wives. Fucking a eunuch isn’t the same as fucking a guy.”

“How’s it different?”

I thought about it for a minute. It was new to me. When I’d come over, I had no idea we’d end up having sex; but I liked it; and I was glad we had. I wanted to do more.

“Would you like sex if you couldn’t cum?”

“That’s stupid,” he said. “That’s why you have sex – to cum.”

“I can’t cum, and I liked it. I like making you cum. I like the look on your face when you cum.” I laughed. “You squint and screw your mouth up like you’re in pain. It’s funny, but I love it. I love making you cum. That’s the difference between a boy and a eunuch. You like to cum; and I like making you cum. I don’t know whether you’re gay or not, but I don’t think fucking a eunuch makes you gay. Eunuchs are kind of a third sex, neither boys nor girls.”

He was hard again.

“You want to do it?”

He nodded, scooting between my legs. This time, he had no trouble finding my hole, and he didn’t have to push as hard to slide it in. There was some resistance, but my hole – by this time – was lubed with his spunk as well as with the lube, so it slid in.

“Go slow this time,” I said, “and kiss me.”

We kissed, and he slowly grinded his cock into my hole, until he got close, when he humped faster and faster until he came.

We fucked some more, and took a bath together. I gave him a blowjob in the bathtub. I was going to keep track of how many times he came, but I lost track:

“Ten times,” he said.

It probably was that many. We were playing video games, when his parents came home. They never suspected a thing.

I knew Shaun had liked it – he had cum ten times – but what would he think about it tomorrow? Would guilt about having sex with a boy – even though I was no longer one – get in the way? Would he be afraid he was queer? Would he blame me, if he was afraid he was?

I didn’t mean for it to happen; it just had.