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Excerpt from Dallas Morning Times, Letters to Dr. Laura January 25, 2005 Some of my readers may recall a writer from North Dakota who wrote to my column (Letters to Dr. Laura, April 1, 2004) regarding a radical double orchidectomy. This reader reported that his marriage was suffering from a reduced need for sexual contact. He also reported that all male members of his family past puberty had suffered from an aggressive form of prostrate cancer. I will use my allotted space this week to reprint half of the letter from this reader to update us on his progress. The second half will follow in a week. This is for those readers who have committed to a long-term emotional relationship, and have completed their family plans as far as children are concerned while setting aside ongoing sexual needs. 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. Dear Dr. Laura You may remember that I wrote to you early last year regarding a problem that my wife, Heather, and I were having with the sexual activity in our marriage. I am happy to report progress in some areas, but must also unfortunately report some disturbing events. My brothers, Dick and Harry, are still getting on well. They have recovered from their surgeries and have been given a clean bill of health. Their prostrate problems seem to have not affected any other system in their body. The doctors have kept a careful eye on them both for brain and lymph tumors. Happily, during their last week, Harry and his wife managed to conceive an unplanned, but well loved little boy. Harry Jr. was born in December. He will be taught what to look for since he is in direct line for the family prostrate problem. Having read your column in the April 1, 2004 newspaper, my wife and I decided to go ahead with my surgery. It wasn't an easy decision. I know that I wrote that we would follow your counsel, but it was the most difficult decision of my life to agree to visit the doctor for the evaluation. The surgery itself would be that much harder, but it wasn't scheduled yet so I still had time with my balls. One thing that did help convince me was my final PSA analysis. The antigen levels were elevated to a 'danger' classification, and I would have had to seek further testing. This would be especially important with my family's history. That test result clinched it, and Heather scheduled the evaluation appointment for two days later. The morning of my evaluation found Heather and I at Doctor Kimberly Storms' office. Dr. Storms happened to be the same doctor that performed my brother's surgeries, so Heather felt that she would be very qualified to take care of my 'problem' as well. Heather was very assertive and talkative that morning, and I remember thinking that she seemed to be a bit too enthusiastic about the coming trauma for me. I was nervous about what I had agreed to anyway, and my wife's obvious glee didn't ease my fears. The nurse showed Heather and I into the exam room after we had completed the requisite paperwork and insurance forms. I was sure, as the nurse issued her directions and closed the door, that her gaze lingered interestingly on my crotch. Exam room 2 was outfitted as an ensuite surgery with an adjustable exam chair equipped with stirrups, a high-beam exam light on an adjustable stand, and a sink. A small bathroom shared with Exam Room 1 could be seen through a partly closed door. A privacy screen was arranged next to the bathroom door and I was directed to undress there and don one of the white exam robes. At least this one tied on the side and opened in the front like a normal robe. I'm not sure that I could have managed the coming ordeal knowing that my rear was on display for everyone to see. A few minutes later, uncomfortable for me in my thin robe while Heather yakked away, a quick discrete knock at the door preceded Dr. Storms' quick entry into the exam room. She greeted us both warmly and then, having already scanned my thin file, asked why we were visiting her 'on this fine morning'. Hardly fine to me I thought, thinking that this was going to be a very difficult exam. Dr. Storms was obviously a very beautiful woman. My brothers had said that she was merely pretty, but I guess that their eyes were as much a failure as their prostates. I couldn't imagine, as I hardened under my thin robe, how I would get through this evaluation without embarrassing myself. I think that my discomfort was obvious as Heather and Dr. Storms were both looking at me oddly. It was obvious that someone had asked a question while I was daydreaming, but Heather took my silence as a license to blurt out that we were there to have my balls cut off to help prevent prostrate cancer. Heather went on to describe my family's medical issues, hardly allowing me any interruption. Again, I was a bit put off by my wife's obvious thrill. I remember thinking that she was getting off on this whole event. Dr. Storms, I guess understanding my discomfort at Heather's ceaseless yakking, asked me to sit on the adjustable chair in order to facilitate her exam. She carefully adjusted the stirrups so that I was securely spread wide open for her professional appraisal. My embarrassing erection was still covered, barely, by the thin shift, but I knew that she would eventually see everything. I remember thinking that nothing was hidden from her, as I was quite certain that she was completely aware of my erect state. Dr. Storms began asking all the standard questions given during a physical. She inquired as to my last bowel movement and my last urination. She inquired when Heather and I had last had sex (not since your article on April 1), and inquired if I had masturbated since then (I had not). During all this she had untied my top lace to lay bare my chest and was listening to my heart and lungs with her stethoscope. She untied the second lace of my cover with one hand while pulling aside the middle part of the robe to thump my abdomen with her fingers. Like all doctors she 'hmmped' and 'hawed' as she worked until the inevitable happened. I didn't even realize what she was doing before I found myself suddenly completely exposed to Dr. Storms' appraising view. I suddenly felt a draft and knew that I was completely exposed. I'm sure she was impressed, as I've told you before; my family is blessed in the cock and ball department. Of course, at full mast, my erection is very nice and big enough to please any woman. I was still embarrassed as this strange beautiful woman handled my manly parts. She first examined my penis, handling it from side to side and briefly spreading the glans to examine the inside of my organ. Then, allowing it to spring back against my pubic region, she lifted my testicles in their sack and examined them carefully before allowing them to return to their rest. Suddenly, the first surprise of the day was thrust upon me. I was informed that, unlike my brothers' more complex orcidectomy and abdominal prostrate surgery, my procedure was simple enough to be done as an outpatient procedure in the office. I mean, I wasn't prepared at all for that, and the expectation seemed to be that I immediately spread my legs and allow the doctor to just cut my nuts off just like that. Oh, and don't forget to say thank you when she neuters you. Heather was staring at me, her expectation- and excitement, evident in her eyes. It was obvious that she wanted my balls NOW. All the forms had been signed I realized, as a 'convenience' to supposedly streamline my admission to the hospital at some, I hoped, far off surgery date. For my part, I regretted signing the consent forms almost as much as I regretted marrying this woman who required this of me. The doctor just stood there between my legs spread wide open on either side of her and waited for my answer. I knew that there could be only one possible answer if I was not to be accused of going back on my commitment in the letter Heather and I wrote to you. But how can I say it? How do I say that I'm not ready? How can any man willingly give up that part which makes them a man? How can I be castrated now? I haven't had sex since April, and I wanted to fuck the doctor, not let her cut my balls off. I was so horny, and I suddenly realized that I wasn't going to be allowed to do anything about that. I remember distantly saying 'yes' to the doctor's proposal. Not really wanting to, yet knowing that my balls were on the block along with my honor. With my approval Heather's victory was complete. I am sure now that she was campaigning to have her well-hung husband emasculated since the first time she set her eyes on my cock and balls as kids. Here was my place, and this was the time when she would see my balls taken from me, and my cock rendered forever useless. I guess I hadn't thought of things to that depth before, but I certainly couldn't go back on my commitment now. Dr. Storms flipped several toggle switches beside the door to signal the nurse to bring a surgery tray into the room. She carefully unlaced the final tie on the exam shirt and instructed me to go relieve myself before the surgery began. I obeyed, leaving the thin robe on the chair and knowing that I was moments away from losing my manhood. I intended to get a quick wank in before coming back out, but I was to be thwarted in that as well. Just as I was closing the door behind me, Heather called out 'You better not cum while you are in there'. My frustration was complete as I stood in the stall and relieved myself. Denied a climax, I concentrated to make my erection subside enough to start my urine. Finally succeeding, my yellow stream was loud as it hit the water in the bowl. I remember thinking that at least I would still be able to piss standing up. Turning, I found myself facing a young man of about 15. He too was nude, standing in surprise at the entrance to the stall. I could see the door to Exam Room 1 close on it's spring hinges behind him. I harshly reminded myself that I should have checked the lock on the other door. The boy was obviously embarrassed to walk in on me, but curious also as his gaze traveled down my body and lingered on my semi-erect penis. I briefly admired his pretty face crowned by his dark blond close shorn hair. He had some type of pendant strung around his neck on a leather thong. The silver piece dangled exactly between his tiny dime sized nipples crowning the growing pectorals on his chest. His lean body tapered down into a flat ripped stomach above a small patch of pubic hair crowning his penis and large testicles. It was obvious that he was only mostly grown, but I still envied the life he surely had before him. The boy reminded me of another boy, remarkably like myself, yet different somehow. He blurted out an apology before I could say anything, and then, as young people will do, volunteered his life's story while I washed my hands and gazed at my package in the mirror. I could hear his stream hit the water as he explained that he was at the doctor's office to get some shots since he had caught a disease from his girlfriend. He proudly showed the needle puncture marks on his buttocks, left and right cheeks, twisting his body as he pointed them out to me. His randy grin reminded me of another certain 15 year old, since I had scars of needle marks very similar to his. I could imagine his immature tool as if it was mine, hard and plunging into that dark wetness between some girl's, any girl's, spread legs. My mind imagined his spunk spewing, filling her womb in a final climax worthy of any man. I was suddenly intensely jealous that such a climax would no longer be allowed to me. My seed would never spray. I could never fill a womb again. Still, I didn't have to do it, but I didn't really have any choice. My balls were hers. As young people do, especially when in the nude, my young friend forgot his inhibitions and asked me why I was at the doctor's office today. As he twisted his body again to allow easy scratching of one of the injection spots, I briefly considered candy-coating my reply to something less sinister than the truth. I decided that I might be an important lesson for this budding stud in front of me. His large balls might someday be on the chopping block too, and it was my duty to prepare him for that. I looked directly into the young man's eyes as I explained that my wife wanted me to have my nuts cut off so that I wouldn't want so much sex anymore and couldn't make her pregnant. His hands instinctively cupped his balls as he decided if I was telling the truth, or just pulling his chain. His reply was also predictable for someone of his generation. These words will also haunt me forever: 'aww man, that sucks' he said with detachment adolescents are known for. With that, and still protectively cupping his manhood in his left hand, he walked back into Exam Room 1. I remember thinking, as I watched his muscled hairless butt retreat through the door, that my body was destined to change as my brothers' had. I would lose my toned look, and my firm buttocks. Oh well, another jealousy I had of the young stud being treated in Exam Room 1. I turned and faced my fate, together with my fears and my regrets. The surgery was relatively quick. As you said in your article, the male sterilization procedures are simple because of the external nature of the male organs. I found myself again in the chair. The doctor, a nurse (female) and my wife had all donned surgical masks and gowns. This time, I felt more exposed as the nurse strapped my arms and legs down to the stirrups and armrests. A tray with instruments was carefully arranged next to the chair, and I remember seeing them all arrayed there glinting in the high intensity xenon light from overhead. The scalpels looked extremely sharp and I couldn't help but wonder how much this would hurt. I knew that being kicked was very painful- how being cut must hurt! My penis was enthusiastic with three women in the room, but the doctor professionally taped it to my stomach. At least it was in no danger from a stray knife slash. I was so horny, and my sperm boiled in my balls. Lost forever, and forever denied to a fertile womb. My wife discreetly fingered the tip of my hard penis, and inserting her finger in her mouth nodded her approval that I had not secured a final release. She knew then that my balls were fat with their seed, her seed. Her unwanted, wasted seed. Oh how I hated her. The doctor glanced briefly at me before plunging a syringe into the base of my cock. Manipulating my scrotum, she injected me again in my perineum. The shock of the needle punctures startled me back to reality again as my scrotum chilled and then numbed as the doctor handled my testicles. I could see her gloved hands squeezing my sack, but could not feel the pressure any longer. A few moments more found me staring, detached, as the doctor picked up a scalpel, and plunging the tip into my thin scrotal sack, draw it down the front of my sack to the base. A thin line of blood appeared as my sack sprang open. My balls were hers. I remember the shock as I realized that they were exposed there, and this was happening to me. Two snips later and I was castrated. My balls were in their jar, swimming in their seed killing solution. I knew that there were likely sperm cells still alive. Still viable in their fleshy orbs, but denied forever a release or their short swim to triumphant fertilization. How I ached for my balls. How I ached without them. How they ached! I was jealous of my young diseased friend as the doctor sewed my sack closed. He had a future that I would never again have. I believed that I could feel the essence drain from my body as the doctor finished with a bandage. My humiliation was complete as my wife tucked my manhood into her pink woman's purse and bustled out the door to pull up the car as if for an old woman. |