I live alone and I don't like to cook, so each evening when I get home from work I walk to a local cafe and enjoy a dinner and a beer or two.

There are several cafes to choose from which breaks up the routine.

The area of town I live in is where most gays live; at least most single gays who don't have big jobs and enough money to buy with their partner a large house in the suburbs.

One Friday I got home early from work, and it was a nice Spring day, so I decided to take a long walk and visit a new cafe I had noticed while driving to and from work. When I arrived at the cafe it was not yet quite the dinner hour and the cafe was empty except for one handsome blonde guy sitting at a table in the corner.

I know most of the people who frequent the cafes where I usually dine, but I was a little outside of the "gay zone" and I did not recognize this guy, nor could I be sure if he was gay or straight.

I sat so that I could keep an eye on him, and on the door to see who else might enter the cafe.

One who is single and lives alone does not just dine at cafes for the food.

A friendly waitress with good personal contact skills explained the specials to me and I soon placed my food and beer order.

From our eye contact the mystery guy in the corner was as much checking me out as was I him.

It wasn't long until he got up from his table, went outside to buy a newspaper and returned inside.

Contact. He paused to ask me if I wanted the sports section as he has little to no interest in sports.

Bingo. Me either. One thing led to another, blah blah blah and soon I ask him if he wants to join me for conversation.

He moves his beer and food to my table. We seem to have at least a few things in common.

Conversation and beer lead to several more beers.

I do not take home just anyone I meet. I need to know someone a long time, or they need to come with a good referral from a friend.

This fellow, as it turns out, is a traveller; probably more appropriately defined as a drifter and is staying at a local motel.

I never did ask if he was driving, hitchhiking or travelling by plane or train.

This good looking guy was clean, sharp, dressed very well, spoke well, had money and credit cards and seemed like a good fellow.

He invites me to his motel, not far from the cafe.

One must consider safety. There are no guarantees in life. Some people are good camelions, sales hawks who can fake anything.

When out walking I usually leave my credit cards at home and just take enough cash to get by, and my ID.

Other than my personal safety I was not concerned about being robbed.

I am tall and fairly muscular. He was shorter than I and very cute and not muscular.

A fun evening or danger lurking?

The evening, up to a point, was great fun and everything I had hoped it might be.

He was hot. We were both hot. Passion unleashed. In fact, up until when things fell apart, it was

one of the best nights of my life.

I really never let my guard down, but somewhere during the evening, as I concluded later, he spiked one of the drinks he gave to me.

When I woke I was stark naked with arms, body, head and legs VERY tightly strapped to a cold hard table.

I don't know exactly what kind of table but since it could accommodate my entire body I don't remember it being in the motel room. It must have been hidden somewhere or brought in later.

I felt very disoriented and groggy and not quite in touch with my situation. It seemed like a dream really, but I knew it was reality

When he spoke I could tell from the sound of his voice that it was Rick who was in the room with me. Rick, at least that what he said his name was.

I

could not see him as he was dressed in a kind of operating room medical garb with his hands in rubber gloves and a mask over his face.

As I started to twist and turn in a feeble useless attempt to escape the bindings that held me to the table I saw Rick approach and I felt a needle go into my arm.

It didn't take long for whatever was injected to take effect. I remained conscious but had no energy or will to try and escape.

Soon I felt a cold wet material being wiped on my groin.

Next my penis was securely taped to my stomach.

The fear in me could not quite rise to the surface.

I wanted to scream and shout and protest what was happening but it was as if my thoughts and mind were trapped inside of me and I had no control over my body to do anything.

I remember hearing Rick tell me to relax.

Confused. Bewildered. What is happening.

I felt a needle being inserted to my groin and scrotum numerous times. It hurt a lot at first but soon the pain went away; in fact all sensation went away.

I could tell that Rick was fiddling with my genitals but I could not see what was happening and I could not sense what was going on.....at least not until I heard Rick say, there we are, your scrotum is finally detatched. Certainly not mine! I didn't want my scrotum removed!!!. I could feel a kind of pulling and tugging in my groin area but I didn't know Rick was surgically removing my scrotum. I must be bleeding to death. How ironic that next Rick would say, don't worry about the bleeding. The way I do this there is very little bleeding. I have lots of experience.

I almost came to consciousness and almost had enough will to speak and move when I heard the next statement. "With your scrotum completely gone both of your testicles are completely exposed and freely hanging outside of your body. This makes them very easy to get to. I will remove the right testicle first.".

About then I felt a tugging, a pulling, and then a release. I could hear a sizzle and smell burning flesh, which I now surmise was the cauterization of the cords, nerves, and blood vessels that were left behind after my testicle was removed. He came well prepared with all the tools he needed.

"OK, the left one now." Holy crap. First my scrotum, then one ball, now both balls ! I'm being castrated, neutered, de-balled, sack and all.

Mentally and emotionally I am screaming, but I can't move and nothing comes forth.

Tug tug, snip, sizzle. The left one is gone. I am in disbelief.

Next I see both of my testicles dangling above my head. He is holding one in each hand, each by its cord, and he lets them sway back and forth and they bang into each other. Rick says, "Here they are. Aren't they beautiful. Nice specimens." I feel like throwing up but I can't even do that.

"Time to close it up so it looks nice and neat and smooth" I hear my castrator say.

A great deal of time was spent bringing the remains of my groin together so that it could be stitched to close up the gap where my balls and scrotum use to be located.

Then I heard, "For having put you through this, you will get a DVD video copy of the operation. I get to keep your scrotum and balls." "You should heal up just fine with no complications. If any follow up is needed instructions can be found on the post-op information sheet that will be provided to you."

Another shot in the arm, and I went unconscious again.

I don't know how he managed to move me around while I was unconscious. He did not seem that big or strong.

This time when I woke up I was still in the motel room, dressed and alone and sitting in a chair.

There was no big table. The room looked just as it did when I arrived, minus Rick and his belongings.

The sun was just coming up.

Was I waking from a nightmare?. I felt much worse than an ordinary hangover.

As I tried to get out of the chair it didn't take long to realize I had not just experienced a nightmare, but that I had survived a real one.

Between my legs was the padding of gauze and tape where my scrotum and balls use to be.

At least I assumed that to be the case.

I could feel nothing so I wasn't sure if there was just a bunch of gauze on top of my genitals, or in place of my genitals.

What to do, what to do?

I had nothing else to do but to lower my pants and shorts and pry the tape and gause loose and see what kind of a dream I was living in.

Fear of fears, my worst fears were true.

Instead of a scrotum and balls I had stitches.

First I vomited, then I passed out.

When I came to all I was in such shock that all I could do was wimper in disbelief.

It took a long time before I started to think about what next?

There seemed no point in calling the police. The deed was done, my attacker was gone.

I could give a description of him but he could be in another State by now.

And nothing I did, or didn't do, was ever going to bring my balls back.

I certainly could not endure the humiliation of telling someone what had happened to me or how stupid I was to go alone to a motel with someone I did not know; someone who was a "traveller", a drifter, an unknown, so I did not notify the police, nor have I ever told anyone of my castration.

Next to me on the table I saw a video DVD, a post-op instruction sheet and a note. In the note it said: "Thanks for a great evening. You were very good in bed. In fact you were perhaps the best person I have ever had the privilege to have had in bed. We did everything didn’t we. It was wonderful. You have, or should I say you had, probably the largest balls of anyone I have had sex with. They will be given a special place of honor in my collection. Sorry we can't have sex anymore. You were very good. I would have loved to continue our encounters. It was fun fondling and squeezing and sucking on such large hot balls. But when you are a collector like me you need to move on. Take care. "

I had to use sick leave on Monday and Tuesday as the pain was pretty intense Without a prescription for anything stronger all I had to use was retail pain suppressants. When I did finally go to work I tried to discretely let it be known that I was suffering from a severe case of hemorrhoids; that helped to explain why I was walking and sitting like I was.

Fortunately I had no complications with the healing.

My sex drive disappeared after only a few days. First from the pain, then from the discomfort, then from the lack of testosterone.

The instruction sheet told me how to remove the stitches. That wasn't as bad as I had anticipated, but it was no picnic.

It has been six months since the castration.

I must admit Rick, or whatever his name is, knew what he was doing. There is no scar

My groin looks as if I was never even born with a scrotum or balls.

My now tiny shrunken limp dick however looks pathetic and forlorn.

It almost seems as if it would look better if it too was gone, or better yet, perhaps filled with a prosthetic so that it could be large all the time.

I have been thinking of starting some testosterone replacement but I am too embarrassed to go to a doctor.

I would not know how to explain why I have no scrotum or balls. How do you lie convincingly about something like that? What would I say?

But I guess I will have to bite the bullet and get to a doctor soon.

I don't like how I have been feeling lately.

I am weak, my muscles are shrinking, I feel confused, disoriented and irritable, and of course have no sex drive.

A gay man without balls surely must be an oxymoron. How can one be gay if one has nothing to offer.

There may be no scar between my legs but the emotional scar I bear has be very upside down, frustrated, angry, bewildered.

The best thing to do I guess is seek professional care for my physical and emotional well being.

It's going to be a long journey. I am not looking forward to this trip.

I watch the DVD of the operation now and then. I use to vomit when it got to the part where my scrotum and balls were removed, and again when Rick dangled them above my head.

Mainly I pause the video at the beginning where I can see myself complete and whole and I fantasize touching myself, fondling my balls, stroking my long hard dick, and feel my big heavy balls bang between my legs. Those days are over. I get depressed. I can either commit suicide or get help and crawl out of this hole I am in.

There is much about life that I enjoy, at least in my old life. I am faced with developing a new life. One without balls. Maybe out there I will find someone who has a real fetish for a guy who has lost his balls; at least someone other than Rick. He had best not cross my path again as I know for sure what I will do to him and his balls, and it won't be quick, easy, or painless.