I've always been rather ambivalent about sex. I don't mean about my orientation. I'm strictly straight. It's my overall atitude toward sex. Physically, I've gotten great pleasure from it. Emotionally, I feel disgusted and stressed out. It's always been that way ever since puberty.

When I was twelve years old, I was disgusted to wake up with sticky undershorts or to find stiff spots on the sheets. I was embarrassed by erections which popped up unexpectedly at the damnedest times. But, most of all, I was upset by the emotional turmoil which ruined my peace of mind.

If you'll excuse a parody of a biblical quotation, "Why do the hormones so furiously rage, and why do they imagine a vain thing." I found that the morning mess could be avoided by masturbating enough, though that had disadvantages, too.

"There was a young man from Iceland

Who thought masturbation was grand,

Though he viewed with distaste

The gelatinous paste

Which it left in the palm of his hand"

I thought that semen was the ickiest nastiest stuff I'd ever seen. Alright for making babies, I supposed, but not to be seen. I feel the same about it today.

I definitely didn't want to grow up like my father, a crude, vulgar sex addict. Mom died when I was four and Dad never re-married. I'm sure he was glad to be free from the restrictions and obligations of marriage. I was brought up by a series of middle-aged nannies .

When I started showing the signs of puberty which I've mentioned, he wanted to make damned sure that I grew up straight. He was and still is intensely homophobic. I'm indifferent to gays, myself. Their sex lives are their own business.

By then, I didn't need a full-time nanny, but dad hired "baby"-sitters to stay with me when he went out on dates, just about every night and with 6 different women.

After he'd given me "the talk" on the facts of life, which I already knew, he ostentatiously dumped a handful of condoms into the drawer of my bedside table, "In case you need 'em." That evening, I found out why.

My new "baby"-sitter was a sexy curvaceous brunette with boobs like canteloupes. I soon discovered that she is a nymphomaniac and that he had fixed me up with her deliberately to get me "bred" as soon as possible. At twelve, I was already hung like a boy of 14 or 15. I didn't inherit that from Dad, so there must be some stallions on my mother's side of the family.

She started seducing me as soon as Dad got out the door. You'd think that a horny pubescent kid, which I was, would jump at the chance. I was scared stiff ( but luckily, not scared limp) and more than a little bit disgusted. Leaning backward a bit to show her boobs off to best advantage, she told me that I looked very well hung for a kid. I assured her that I was. (Of course, I'd seen the other kids in gym class, and I knew that I had more than any other boy in my 7th grade gym class.)

So, Shirley asked "Can I see?" (Sheesh ! Nothing like being obvious.) I said "I guess so." and modestly turned my back on her. I dropped my jeans and my briefs. Of course, I got an immediate erection and it stood up at about 40° to my belly, 4½ long and starting to ooze lube. I was embarrassed and horny at the same time. I turned around, blushing furiously and let her see.

When I did, I saw that she had her hand down inside her jeans and was obviously masturbating. "OOH," she said, staring wide-eyed, "You're a BIG boy." I don't know where I got the nerve to say it (probably those furiously raging hormones), but I answered "Turn about's fair play."

Well, she wasn't wearing anything under her blouse and jeans, no bra and no panties, so she was stripped for action in a flash. I almost creamed when I saw her boobs. Big though they were, she didn't need a bra. They stood right up. They were the stuff wet dreams are made of. I looked further down, to her crotch. What I saw there disgusted me so much that I nearly lost my erection and I felt like barfing.

I don't know how anybody can claim that thing is beautiful. I think it's ugly. However, I decided that I didn't have to look at it, just put my penis into it. If she hadn't been holding it open (I guess she thought that made it look inviting ) it wouldn't have been so ugly. If I were queer, I could understand my reaction, but I don't find males' bodies or their sex organs at all attractive. I'm straight and women make me horny.

Shirley walked toward me slowly. I began to shake, whether from lust or fear, I don't know. All of a sudden, I was in her arms and she was kissing me. I'd never been really kissed before. WOW ! I had no idea it was so sexy. I was fondling her boobs and she was playing with my balls and gently touching my penis.

Shirley handed me a condom which I hadn't noticed she was holding and told me to put it on. It was adult-sized, but it wasn't at all loose when I rolled it onto my stiff organ. I felt sort of proud of my size. Then she fell backward onto the couch and pulled me down on top of her. Well, Mother Nature took over from there on. I just did what came naturally.

So, there I was, thrusting away like I'd been doing it all my life while she massaged my rod with her vaginal muscles. I had to admit that it felt a helluva lot better than masturbation. I knew, though, that it wouldn't last long unless I slowed down. Boy, did THAT take an effort of will. I slowed down and tried to relax and enjoy the feeling. Relax, I couldn't; enjoy it, I did. After all, this was my first fuck and I wanted to make the most of it.

Finally, though, I couldn't hold back any longer. Shaking from head to toes, my heart pounding so I thought it'd explode, panting and moaning, I blew my wad into the condom. I'd gotten laid (at age 12 !) for the first time. This wasn't play, like masturbation, this was the REAL THING. Shirley bent down, took my face in her hands, and kissed me, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I felt very masculine, very adult, and very urbane. I looked Shirley in the eyes and said "Well, I think we should continue this upstairs where I have a drawer full of condoms, don't you ?" I think Shirley was both surprised and amused to find that I didn't think that once was enough. Perhaps she didn't know that boys my age were little semen factories, able to cum, if not much at a time, at least several times in a few hours.

When we got up to my bedroom, I did what Dad always does on returning from a date. I peeled off the used condom and dropped it into the waste paper basket. It was my job to empty the waste paper baskets, and I could always count on finding a used condom in his after a date. If he looked in mine the next morning, I planned on his having a surprise.

Shirley was very willing, and, having gotten my second wind, I was very able. We had a go at it five more times before Dad got home. I pretended to be asleep when Dad came into my room with a flashlight and looked in my waste-paper basket. I heard him mutter softly "Holy shit ! she wasn't kidding." I guess he knew then that he could count on me to turn out straight.

Though I couldn't deny having enjoyed the sensations very much, I didn't like the feeling of disgust, both during and especially afterward, one bit. It was a conflict which was to worsen as I got older.

At thirteen, I was even hornier than I had been at twelve and it interfered with my studies. I was the envy of all the boys in my gym class. I was the first boy, in 7th grade, whom Mr. Stark had advised to get a jockstrap, and in 8th grade, I acquired the nickname of "Batboy". It happened when we were playing softball. I came up to bat and somebody said "Give Mitch a bat."

Al Gruber remarked loudly. "He don't need a bat; he's already got one." Having seen my mighty tool in the showers, everybody laughed and I was called "Batboy" from then on. I didn't brag about having sex with Shirley (Dad still hired her to "baby"-sit me once in a while.) both because I didn't think anyone would believe me and because I don't believe in bragging about your sex life, the way Dad does.

But, the conflict between pleasure and disgust kept nagging at me. At thirteen, I was already nostalgic for the "good old days" when I was interested in science and technology rather than boobs and butts. I knew that sex is necessary to maintain the race and I knew from experience how good it feels, but how could anything so good be, at the same time, so nauseatingly revolting ?

One day, I was looking up Darwin"s "Origin of Species" in the Britannica when, I ran across the article on Origen first. I was not especially interested in second century churchmen, but I noticed that, tormented by the conflict between holiness and lust, Origin had resolved the conflict by castrating himself. This struck me as a drastic but unquestionably effective solution to the problem.

I thought long and hard about whether I would be willing to give up the pleasure of sex to be rid of the desire. Origen must have thought long and hard about it, too.

I didn't want to punish myself for enjoying sex, so, If I ever did it, I'd want to find a painless way of doing it. I read everything I could find about castration, both of humans and of animals, and all of the methods I read about seemed to be painful, messy, and dangerous.

And so, the conflict over pleasure versus disgust went on and on for years. By my mid-teens, I was very handsome, very suave, and VERY successful with the girls. I got laid about three times a month and, though I never bragged about it, the girls gossipped about what a good stud I was. When I was sixteen, a non-virgin club invited me to be their "official cherry-popper." None of the girls ever complained about my services.

Some evenings, though, after balling some disgusting skag who was a virgin for a very good reason, I had to go into the bathroom and quietly puke. That was why I finally quit. I was getting a bit blasé about sex, and the disgust was beginning to over-ride the pleasure.

I was still interested in science and technology, when I could get my mind off sex, and I liked to go to flea markets to see what kinds of interesting gadgets I could pick up. One day, I found an ultrasonic jewelry cleaner. I realized that this could be an interesting source of ultrasound. I could test its effects on colloids and other things.

One of the "other things" I tried was an egg. What would happen ? Would the gel structure of the white or the membrane of the yolk break down ? I filled the water container with cold water and gently lowered an egg into it. I turned the power on for 15 seconds and then removed and broke the egg. It was full of a light yellow liquid much like what I would have gotten by stirring the egg in a bowl with an eggbeater.

There was no trace of structure, neither the gel of the white nor the outer membrane of the yolk. Everything was liquefied. I immediately wondered, what would this ultrasound do to MY "eggs" ? Would it liquefy the seminiferous tubules, or the gelatinous epithelial tissue, or both ? How would it feel ? Would it hurt ? would it just be uncomfortable ? Would I feel it at all ? Could this be the painless method of self-castration I'd been looking for ?

There were two questions I'd have to settle, though. Should I do this ? And, if so, when should I do this ? I 'd studied enough about castration that I was pretty sure I knew just about all of its effects and there was nothing there that I couldn't live with if I wanted it badly enough. Was being disgusted , even nauseated, by sex enough of a reason to put up with being soft, weak, fat, and mostly hairless (except for the top of my head), and maybe even grow boobs ?

It had gotten to the point where I was pretty sure that the answer to that question was YES . The way I understood the law, until I was 18, I had to get my old man's permission to do anything to my body, like get a tattoo or have an earlobe pierced. For sure, I wasn't going to ask him for permission to destroy my nuts ! Well, on July 17, I'd be 18, so, on the 18th, I could castrate myself if I wanted to.

I still wasn't sure it'd work, though. The ultrasound frequency was given on a plate on the bottom of the cleaner, so I had to figure if that was the right one to do what I wanted. I looked up the dimensions of the seminiferous tubules and the epithelial cells in Grey's Anatomy , did some calculating, and decided that it was close enough. I could probably tweak the oscillator a bit, if I had to.

If I was right, the ultrasound would make mush out of the seminiferous tubules and liquefy the epithelial tissues just like it did the egg white. I still had 79 days to wait and to decide if I REALLY wanted to do it. I realized, of course, that, if I did, I'd have to live with the results for the rest of my life, so it was an important decision.

I got laid a couple more times while I was waiting. Dorothy Golden had a body odor I didn't like and Phyllis Falvey was menstruating ! UGH ! I just barely managed not to puke when I saw the blood on the rubber when I took my penis out of her. By July 18, I wasn't questioning whether I wanted to go through with it. I was sick (to my stomach) of sex.

There's an old detached garage on our lot which we don't use for a garage because the approach to it is so odd. It faces away from the road and the driveway comes up alongside it and curves around 180° like a fishhook to approach the door. Dad put in another driveway and a carport on the side of the house. So, he let me have the old garage for a playhouse and later a lab. It was there that I planned to use the ultrasonic cleaner on my testicles.

"C-Day", July 18, finally came. I brought a kettle of warm water out to my lab and set the ultrasonic cleaner on a low step stool so that I could squat over it with my testicles hanging down in the water. For safety, I connected the cleaner to an isolation transformer. I took off my jeans and my briefs, poured warm water into the cleaner, squatted over it so that my testicles hung down into the water, and turned it on.

Immediately, I felt a powerful tingling sensation in my balls. It wasn't umpleasant, at least, not yet. In fact, if it hadn't been SO intense, it would have been rather pleasant. Then I wondered about the bodybuilder's adage "No pain, no gain."

But, behind the tingling, I noticed a dull ache. "Ah hah ! " I thought, "there's the pain and that's the gain." If so, the gain was increasing, because the ache certainly was.

I soon realized that that ache was what would set the limit to how long I could expose my testicles to the ultrasound. When it got too harrassing, I'd have to quit. There was something else going on down there, too. It was a kind of a turmoil like the feeling in my balls just before cumming. After around a minute, the ache was getting really bad and the turmoil came to a peak.

Suddenly, a thick pink slurry gushed out of my penis. It was full of tiny pieces of what looked like white thread. I had a sudden feeling of great relief in my balls as about a cupful of gunk poured out and splashed on the floor forming a thick viscous puddle. It came to me as something of a shock when I realized what that stuff was. It was the insides of my balls. The bits of "thread" had been the seminiferous tubules and the thick pink liquid had been the epithelial tissue.

Once the flow stopped, I shut off the power to the ultrasonic cleaner and stood up. I reached down and felt for my balls. All I could find in my scrotum were a couple of flabby empty sacs. I squeezed them gently and more gunk dribbled out of my penis.

I stripped them by running them between my index and third fingers to work more of the slurry out of them and then ran my thumb along the urethra on the underside of my penis to work out the last drops just as I did after masturbating.

What I couldn't figure out was why didn't it hurt more when the seminiferous tubules were bursting and disintegrating and the epithelial tissue was liquefying ? My balls seemed to have been numb while all this was going on. Then I remembered one time when I was cutting down a tree with a gasoline chain saw and had to stop work because my hand had become numb from the vibration. Apparently, the ultrasonic vibration had numbed the nerves of my balls. In fact, most of the tingling I had felt was in my scrotum, not my testicles.

I didn't put on my briefs right away and, as I cleaned up the mess on the floor, I noticed that some fluid dribbled out of my penis. It wasn't the same slurry, but much thinner. I realized that I was going to have to put on a condom as soon as possible to avoid messing up my briefs. Luckily, I had one in my wallet.

I kept a record of the effects of my experiment in my diary. During, the night some fluid accumulated in my balls, but when I pissed in the morning, they emptied themselves. This happened 3 more times. On the morning of the 19th, I woke up with a rather rubbery erection. On the 20th, it was hardly noticeable. After that there were no more spontaneous erections, though I could raise one by hand.

I shaved for the last time on August 2nd. By the end of the month, there was no hair on my legs, belly, or chest. Thank heaven, I did NOT grow boobs. My nipples and areoles became larger and darker than they usually are on men and there were bumps under them, but you couldn't really tell them from my pectoral muscles. I watched my diet, cut out sweets and fats and cut down on starches. It was enough so I didn't get fat.

Of course, the important thing was how did I feel ? I've read that castration tends to cause depression. I can't say I ever felt really depressed about it. I was a bit wistful, especially when I noticed that my penis had shrunk quite a lot. I looked at it in the mirror one day, sighed, and said "Well, I'm not Batboy any more."

Sex wasn't a problem any more. I still was mildly interested in girls, but I'd had plenty of sex in my teens and hadn't enjoyed it very much. I tried masturbation and found out that it still worked, but I wasn't really interested in doing it. I felt more like I had when I was 11 years old. I was interested in science and technology again and didn't think much about sex.

In September, I went to Earl University and majored in technology. I had decided not to hide the fact that I am a eunuch. I didn't (and don't) flaunt it, but I don't go to any pains to hide it either. If anybody asked me about it, and almost nobody did, I just told them that I'd caught mumps in June and it went down on both sides and destroyed my balls.

I'm a sophomore now and anybody who is the least bit interested knows about me. Nobody ever mentions it to me or, as far as I know, about me. That's just fine with me.