poem for a lad after Burdizzo clamping
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After a word with a dizzoed lad Feel for his ball filled sac, warmed for the clamp to close crushing the loosened cords - his own spermatic hose, severing nerves where feelings of pain arose and tubes through which, til then, his blood still flows. To play the man, brave as his right side cords felt by a top, are prepared for their journeys ends. Pain, as the vice-like squeeze, severs those vital cords Then, on the left, hard pressed and farewell to its dying friends. How often had the lad thought of emasculation ? How long when compared with two moments of castration ? Then the seconds counted, separating the lad from his orbs, the fresh eunuch from the manhood that it now absorbs. Look back on that man, virile before a Burdizzo clamped on his cords and made him double-O, balls getting smaller as they gradually go, leaving a eunuchs cock, but nought below. Consider the eunuch, think back on a fateful day that, in two bursts of agony, ended the long delay, back on the thoughts, dreams, chats and painful play, now feel the empty sac, loose in its sexless way.