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Excerpt from Dallas Morning Times, Letters to Dr. Laura February 1, 2005 For those readers who continue to follow the ongoing plight of Tom, our writer from North Dakota whose letters were reprinted in April 1, 2004 and January 25, 2005. I will use my allotted space this week to reprint the second half of the letter from this reader to update us on his progress. Caution, this column, while always suitable for mature adults, may cause some of you to feel a little bit queasy. Also, I reprinted this letter without changing any language. This reprinted letter deals with painful surgical, recovery and ongoing emotional issues. And now, the continued letter from Tom. The ride home was hell. The drugs had begun to wear off. I know that a vasectomy patient is more comfortable with tighter underwear to cup the scrotum during the healing process, but there was nothing inside my scrotum now to cup, so briefs wouldn't have done me any good even if I had them. The soreness traveled from my scrotum all the way up into my abdomen. My scrotum burned like fire along the line of the cut. My balls hurt, although it could only be phantom pain since my balls were swimming in a jar in my wife's purse, literally her possession now. I rode oddly sprawled across the car seat. My legs were lewdly spread and I was holding my butt slightly off the seat to allow my scrotum to hang inside my boxers without putting any pressure on the incision. I didn't care that I was only wearing boxer shorts, but I sure wasn't going to put my jeans back on. I knew that the extra weight and pressure would be more than I could handle as the local drug wore off. The weight of the bandage on the thin skin of my scrotum felt like a five-pound weight every time Heather hit a pothole in the road. Heather briefly stopped at a drive through pharmacy to pick up a painkiller prescription that Dr. Storms had called in. The young girl at the window practically broke her neck trying to see the new eunuch in the front seat of the car. She obviously knew that something was up with me because of the doctor's name, and my obvious undress and discomfort. Heather paid the window agent and we were off in a screeching cloud. My wife obviously didn't appreciate the appraising glances of the girl at the window and mumbled under her breath for a few moments. Thankfully, Heather was silent the rest of the way home and allowed me to grieve my losses. The pain increased for the rest of the evening, only dulled slightly by the prescription from the doctor. Heather would visit me on the bed every hour to make sure I wasn't dead yet. Her only questions were "do you need a bedpan?" and "does it hurt much? Of course, I now know that was her primary goal. Her focus from the start had always been to hurt me. My obvious pain was like a drug for her. Day two as a eunuch dawned with Heather gripping my penis in her left hand as she lay in the bed next to me. Her fingers wrapped around my mushroom shaped head while her left thumb lightly brushed the eye of my penis. My dick, for it's part, bravely tried to erect to her touch, but the pain in my scrotum was severe enough to prevent more than a spongy stiffness. Realizing I was awake, Heather said, "I didn't think you could do it anyway" before she released my dick and walked into the bathroom. The pain lessened over the next few weeks. Heather jealously guarded access to me in my recovery. I saw one of my brothers, but no one else as my scrotum faded from a dark bruised color to something more recognizable. The sac had started to shrink, but was still recognizable for what it was. I knew, having seen both of my brothers that my sack would eventually tuck tightly to the base of my penis. I hoped that my penis would not shrink much, although I already knew that my days of erections were at an end. Heather still had my manhood swimming in their little jar. I had asked several times for her to dispose of them, but I would see her carrying them around with her. I had even tried to grab them from her purse one day, but she was too quick for me. My most crushing moment came during the testosterone withdrawal period. It had been a few weeks since my surgery and I still felt male in my head, but I knew that I was fully impotent. My penis refused to erect anymore no matter how much I had tried to manipulate it. I had begun to lose interest in Heather's nude flaunting, and her touch failed to arouse me. Her words though, cut my soul as deeply as the doctor's knife had cut out my manhood. Heather was talking to one of her friends in the front of the house while I was puttering around in my garage doing 'manly' things. I walked back into the house to discover my wife showing her friend the jar with my testicles in the preservative fluid. They were comparing them to a picture that Heather and I had taken with a timed camera during a particularly fun evening. The girls, not knowing that I was near, were giggling and commenting on how large my manhood had been. Heather described in detail how horny I had been when my manhood had been taken from me, and how my testicles had been cut out of my body; denied of a last release and full of my sperm. Heather's doom though, was when she casually commented that my stud days were over and that I was a 'pussycat' now. Michelle, my wife's friend, had been seated in a chair during my wife's lewd description. I could see her secretly rubbing her woman's organs on the edge of the chair during the story, and it sickened me that another woman was getting off on my emasculation. My rage was complete, but somehow unsatisfying. I flew into the room, surprising them both, and snatched the jar from my wife's clutches. I couldn't summon quite enough energy to scream and curse at them, but I just didn't feel very aggressive anymore, so I retreated to our master suite clutching my manhood in my hands. Heather followed me to the bedroom after showing Michelle out. She apologized for her indiscretion and asked for my balls back. I was staring at them as I sat on the bed. I couldn't help but think that I had given them up for 'elective' reasons, and that my decision had not been based on purely medical reasons. Sure, having testicles increased my odds for many diseases including I wondered what was mentally wrong with me that I felt like I had to sacrifice my manhood to my dominant wife. All the same I meekly handed them back to her. She turned on her heel, and walked out of our marital bedroom. I never saw my manhood again. Heather and I divorced on August second. She took the boys, but offered a 'fair' visitation schedule. I had known that our marriage was not based on love, but on torture. I had grown tired of it, and because I didn't have testosterone to drive my manly aggressiveness anymore, I was no longer blinded by male sexual stereotypes. My mind began to think for itself for the first time since I was twelve, and my little head was completely silent. In early September I was walking through the local mall when I turned and literally ran right into a young man coming out of the video game store. He was uniformed in the typical attire of the teenager these days. I could see his boxer shorts bunched out of the top of his loose fitting jeans, and his shirt had some sport number printed across the front and the back. It took a few moments, but (as you have probably already guessed), I recognized the boy as my diseased friend from Dr. Storms' office. I could see the recognition on the boy's face just a moment behind my realization. He smiled, and I shooshed him as he started to yell "Hey...". I then said that yes, I was the person from Dr. Storms' office. I apologized for meeting him again so abruptly and holding out my hand, introduced myself as Tom. The boy grabbed my hand and exclaimed that his name was Tommy. He wondered how odd it was that we had the same name. We found ourselves wandering toward the food court. I was hungry and was on the trail of a chicken sandwich. Tommy, I guess, was just tagging along. He was incessantly talking, and I was beginning to revise my earlier estimate of 15 downward to something more like 13. I guess I had based my earlier estimation in the doctor's office on his obvious early sexual development. It was only after we arrived at the food court that I received the true shock of the day. Tommy, midsentence, announced that he saw his mother. Calling and waving toward her, he grabbed my arm and dragged me over to where she was seated at a table in the food court. From behind, she was what I would have once considered to be a beautiful woman. Obviously shapely, and endowed with that rare blond Scandinavian hair that used to turn me on so much. Tommy, skidding to a stop beside the table, loudly announced that he had run into the guy that he had met in the doctor's office who was about to have his nuts cut off. I cringed, not wanting to be introduced to a beautiful woman like this as a eunuch. I was suddenly conscious of my slightly pudgier body (I had thankfully not gained much weight), but more conscious of the hidden wound inside my pants. The woman, bless her heart, loudly shushed Tommy before elegantly turning toward me. Her apology was on her lips, I could see it there, when a sudden recognition flared; and we both fell silent. Have you ever had a moment when the world around you suddenly fell completely silent? When everything suddenly became awfully and painfully clear? I could literally hear the pieces coming together in my head like great blocks of stone and steel. This woman, at the center of my tunnel vision, was none other than Mary, my first love. This was the woman to whom I had given my virginity. My mind, unbidden in it's turmoil, supplied the necessary calculations. I suddenly knew, without a doubt, how old young Tommy was. I knew why he was prematurely developing his manhood, and why he was so much larger than his peers. And then, that sucking sound when the silence is overwhelmed by the rushing noise of the world around. Mary and I were staring at each other while Tommy yapped on about some video game he wanted in the gaming store. His voice trailed off as he saw how oddly his mother and I were acting, and he ended his sales pitch with a 'what....' trailing off into silence. Mary turned to Tommy and said, and I will never forget these words, "Tommy, I would like you to meet your father." The shock on Tommy's face was evident, but the shock in my heart was crippling. I didn't know what to do. Well, Dr. Laura, to condense the rest of the story into something you might want to read, Mary and I spoke into the night that day. We stayed at the mall until they closed and talked about old times. We went to Mary and Tommy's house when the mall security chased us out, and continued our conversation into the night. Mary believed me to be much more sensitive than I had been in our early teen years. She had managed to somehow finish school and had graduated 'cum laude' from medical school. She was just getting her start back in her hometown, and hoped to open a pediatrician practice in a few years. Mary described how she had been having a difficult time with Tommy since the onset of his puberty. She had caught him with girls several times in various states of undress. Mary said that she felt fairly certain that his one dip into the diseased well had taught him a valuable lesson about 'easy' girls. Mary said that she was happy that Tommy seemed to favor longer, more stable, relationships. Thankfully, there were no cheap jokes about the sins of the father. I, in turn, did not ask her why she never told me about Tommy's birth. Something grew between us very quickly. We were very much like old friends building a strong emotional bond. Mary and Tommy met and liked my Sons from my marriage with Heather. The boys joyfully embraced Tommy as their older brother. One night at dinner, Mary quietly mentioned that she could prescribe a testosterone supplement for me. That got Tommy's attention, but we had always been very open about my ball less state. Tommy had asked one day on the way home from school if I had gone through with what I had told him in that office that day. I assured him that I had, but I don't think he believed me until I allowed him to see me one day while we changed at the YMCA. He seemed satisfied with that and never seemed to have a problem with the fact that his father was a eunuch. Mary came through on the prescription as promised. The first few weeks of treatment were difficult as the dosage was adjusted, and I adjusted to a new 'maleness' that I hadn't really missed. I could feel it in my veins, and it felt good. We had been sleeping together for some time, but only just sleeping. It had never occurred to me to try anything sexual since I believed that those days were over. Mary would come to bed wearing her pajamas, and I would wear my boxers and t-shirt. Mary surprised me one night, as we got ready for bed. She came out of the bathroom wearing only a nightgown. My shock at her dress was only exceeded when I felt, actually felt, my cock respond to her. The surprise must have been evident on my face because Mary immediately rushed to my side to make sure I was OK. Well, things led from one to another, and Mary and I made love that night. Tommy's conception had been the result of two teenagers having sex. Tonight though, Mary and I made love. I know that I wasn't very good. I couldn't really keep it hard, but Mary was very kind and took her time. I hope that I satisfied her, and my pleasure warmed my heart for days. The next morning Tommy could instantly tell that something had changed. He smiled at his mother and I like some kind of fool all morning. I could only take his quiet enthusiasm as approval, and was glad for it. Mary and I married two weeks later in a small civil ceremony. My oldest son was by best man. He wanted his name changed immediately, so we did the legal work necessary to make that happen and I was able to finally proudly introduce him as Tom Jr. Heather found someone else too. I pity the fool, but he has to discover the price of his lust for himself. I hope it isn't too high for him to live with. Mary and I will never have children of our own. However, if Tommy continues in his ways we might easily have a grandchild before too much longer. My 14-year-old son, just like his father, lets his cock do most of his thinking for him. He has learned that I can be trusted to keep a secret, and so confides in me his fears. In return I make sure he doesn't commit any serious errors, and make sure that he promises to always use a condom. I hope he does now, but I know that he has not always done so. Mary was called away to an emergency one night. We were on a date, and had just started dinner when the call came. I dropped my new wife at the hospital, and then drove home. Walking through the front door I heard some music coming from the entertainment room. Curious, I walked quietly back there and saw my son and his girlfriend on the pool table. She was lying on a towel to catch any mess, and had spread her legs in the missionary position. My son was on his knees and was guiding his erect penis to the wet entrance of her sex. God, he was hung. Fourteen and every bit of 7 inches. I couldn't help but notice that he was also bare, and was obviously thinking about repeating his earlier mistake of unprotected sex. Horrible images of disease and horrible consequences ran through my head, but were overwhelmed as I imagined my son's seed waiting in his fully intact testicles. I could see them swinging there while my son tried to line his cock up for penetration. I suddenly knew that, if allowed to continue, my son would conceive a child on this night with this unwitting girl. I had to stop it before it started, so I discretely knocked on the door to announce my presence. After the embarrassment of the moment was over, and the three of us were dressed and settled down with our hot cocoa, we had a frank discussion about my Son's love for his girlfriend. Jen, it turns out, was a virgin. She wanted to give that to Tommy and seemed very certain of her intention. She knew Tommy's history and was OK with that, and they genuinely seemed to care for one another. So, I got Tommy a condom from a box I kept for just such an emergency, and guiding them to Tommy's bedroom, told them to have fun- and be safe. A few minutes later I heard a muffled cry of pain from Tommy's bedroom as he took her virginity. I silently cracked the door enough to see the girl on her back with Tommy on top. His buttocks were alternately clenching and relaxing as he thrust his (now protected) penis in and out of his lover's body. His balls were swinging in their sack as he thrust deeply into the girl's pussy. Her moans had turned to gasps of pleasure and Tommy was beginning to grunt as he neared his climax. Tommy tightened his body in ecstasy as he began to spurt into his condom, and the girl followed in short order as she felt his cock enlarge inside her. Tommy rolled off of his young lover, and seeing me out of the corner of his eye smiled at me and acknowledged the rest of the box of condoms as I set them inside the door. I never told Mary of Tommy's near violation of his promise not to engage in unprotected sex. Tommy appreciated the privacy I gave him. I was, and am, very proud of my young son. Well, to bring this tale to a close, I can certainly say that I am happy with how things turned out. My happiness cost me my balls, but I still have Mary and Tommy. My other sons seem to be withdrawing from me, but I'm sure they will come to realize the error of loving their mother unconditionally. Mary and I are serious about adopting an East European girl who caught our eye. We are planning to take Tommy and his girlfriend to Europe with us to tour the orphanage and meet little Sophia. |