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A Day in the Life of a Boy

We were in the kitchen, my two sisters, each younger than I, my mother, and my Aunt Karen. It was summer, so naturally, I was naked. They only let me wear clothes when it was cold, and never in the house. Clothes were a sign of status, and men and boys had none.

Only women and girls had status, so even though my sisters were younger, I had to obey them. They made my life Hell, but what could I do about it? If I hit one of them, my mother would cut off my dick. She had told me she would, and I believed her. I wouldn't be the first boy that had his dick cut off for hitting his sister.

I knew she'd someday have my balls cut off, but that was OK. All boys had their balls cut off, most when they were younger than I was. Jimmy Smothers, the boy next door, had his cut off three years ago when he was eight. Now, we were both eleven, and I still had mine.

I was OK with having them cut off. At least then, my sisters couldn't squeeze them, one of their favorite pastimes. It seemed that every time I walked by one of them, she'd reach out, grab my balls, and give them a squeeze. My balls weren't very big, but it hurt. No, I wouldn't miss my balls. What good were they, anyway?

My dick, though, I wanted to keep. If nothing else, I liked to pee standing up. I've seen some boys with their dicks cut off. They have to squat to pee, and usually the pee squirts all over their legs. I wouldn't like that; besides, I think a boy looks funny without a dick. I've been told a boy without a dick looks a lot like a girl, but I've never seen a girl naked, not even my sisters, and certainly not my mother. It wouldn't be right for a male to see a female naked.

My aunt looked at me. "How old is he now?" she asked my mother.

"I'm not really sure," my mother said. "It's hard to keep track."

My sisters celebrated their birthdays, but I never did. I only thought I was eleven, because Jimmy said he was, and we were the same age. Of course, his mother never celebrated his birthday either, but she had told him when he was born.

Why celebrate a boy's birthday when he was going to be sent away to a work farm when he was big enough to do a day's work, and his family would never see him again? Boys weren't good for anything but menial labor, and weren't kept around beyond thirteen. I guess someone -- somewhere -- knew my real age, because they'd come for me when I was thirteen, and according to my calculations, that was two years away.

A woman was always disappointed to have a son, and I guess I had been a disappointment, since I was my mother's first child. I've heard of women having nothing but boys. I guess my mother was afraid that would happen to her, but to her relief, she had my older sister the next year, then another girl two years later.

I think she stopped then, afraid the next one would be a boy like me. At least, she never went back to the clinic to be impregnated again. I always wondered what they do there to give a woman a baby.

"It doesn't really matter how old he is," my aunt continued, "it's past time you had his balls snipped. You know what a stink it will cause, if you let him reach puberty before having them cut off. Could you imagine the disgrace this family would experience, if he actually --" She cupped her hand around my mother's ear and whispered something to her. I couldn't quite hear what she said. I heard fu..., but nothing else, then she said out loud, "one of his sisters."

It must have been bad, though, because my mother's face turned red. "You're right," she said, "it's past time for him to be snipped. I should have had it done a long time ago, but I didn't want to have to pay for it. It seems such a waste to spend money on a boy."

"You don't have to pay," Aunt Karen said, "we can do it ourselves."

Now, I wasn't alarmed when they began talking about having my balls cut off. I knew I was past due for having it done, and Jimmy, having his done at the clinic, had said it didn't hurt. "Oh, it hurt some," he had said, "when they stuck a needle in my balls to deaden them, but it didn't hurt when they cut them off. The nurse cut my nut sack open, pulled my balls out, cut them off, then sewed my sack back up. It was a little bit sore for a while, but it didn't hurt as much as having a girl squeeze them." His sisters had squeezed his before they'd been cut off, too.

I'd actually been looking forward to having mine cut off, for the reasons I've said before, so my sisters couldn't squeeze them; but that's when I thought my mom would take me to the clinic.

It was one thing to have them cut off by a nurse that knew what she was doing and would deaden them first. It was quite another to have them cut off in my kitchen by my mom and aunt. I'd be lucky to get an aspirin from them.

"No -- please," I said, "take me to the clinic."

My protestations angered my mom, because she said, "One more word from you and I'll cut off your dick, too."

That shut me up.

"Do you think we can do it?" my mom asked my aunt. "I'd hate to have him bleed all over the place."

"It can't be that hard," said Aunt Karen. "They used to castrate boys all the time, long before they even had doctors. I read about it on the Internet. First we heat some oil to boiling, cut them off, then pour the boiling oil on his scrotum. The oil will stop the bleeding."

Boiling oil? They were going to cut my balls off, then pour boiling oil on me. I didn't know how much it would hurt to have my balls cut off -- although I imagined, quite a lot -- but I knew how much it hurt to get burned. I'd spilt boiling water on myself before. After all, I had to do most of the cooking, and cleaning around the house. My mother had often said that that's all boys are good for.

I thought about running away, but where could I go? Any boy seen out on the street, unaccompanied by a woman, would be picked up right away; and if I ran, it would just cost me my dick, too. I didn't run, but I was crying. I was that scared.

"Quit your blubbering," said my mom, "You haven't even been cut yet," but she while she was saying that, she was taking a bottle of cooking oil out of the cabinet. I watched her as she poured it into a pan and turned up the heat beneath it. They were going to cut off my balls -- then pour boiling oil on my ball sack; and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Can we watch?" I heard my older sister, Jennifer, say.

"Of course," said my mother, "and if you want, I'll let each of you snip one of them off."

"Yay," I heard Susan, my younger sister, say.

"Cool," said Jennifer.

Instead of the kitchen, they took me out back onto the patio, tying me first to a little steel table, my legs spread apart, tied to two of the table legs, and my arms to the others. I couldn't move.

When my mom stood over me with the knife, it scared me so much that I pissed and shit all over myself. I couldn't help it. It all just squirted out, but boy, did it piss my mom off. She had to hose me off before she could continue, but that's not what really made her mad. Some of my piss squirted onto her dress.

"Now, you've done it," she said.

I didn't know exactly what that meant, but I didn't like the sound of it.

After she had me cleaned off, she stood over me again with the knife. If I could have shit or pissed some more, I would have, just to delay what I knew was to come, but both my bladder and bowels had emptied that first time. Maybe a few drops came out of my pecker, but not enough to delay her.

She lifted my ball sack, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, placed the knife at the bottom of it -- I know, because I had my head craned up, watching her -- then split my ball sack from top to bottom. Jeez, it hurt, but not nearly as much as what was to follow.

Next, she pulled my ball sack aside. I could see my balls lying there in the open. They were squirming, like something alive, like they, too, knew what was about to happen and were trying to get away.

Picking up a little pair of scissors, my mom held them out to Jennifer. "OK," she said, "you get to cut off the first one. Only one, though. Save one for your sister."

I was bleeding, but my mom kept washing the blood away with the hose. I remember how cold the water was. I could see my balls lying there. They were kind of whitish, and attached to cords. "Wow," Jennifer said, "so that's what they look like."

They were about the size of pecans. I guess they looked OK, not that I knew what balls were supposed to look like. At least they weren't mush. As many times as my sisters had squeezed them, I was surprised they weren't.

"How do I do it?" asked Jennifer.

"Just grab hold of one of them," Aunt Karen said, "pull on it and cut through the cords holding it."

"Like this?" Jennifer asked, picking up one of my balls. Sensitive to her touch, it hurt for her to hold it. I was screaming by this time; and my mom wasn't even trying to make me stop.

"Yes," said Aunt Karen, "now pull on it some -- not too hard, but just enough to stretch the cords enough to get the scissors behind the ball."

She did. I felt it, clear up into my gut.

"Now, what?" asked Jennifer.

"Just snip through the cords with the scissors. Be sure to get through all of them, just the ones attached to that ball, though."

Jennifer was still pulling on my ball. I was still screaming. Then I saw her put the open scissors around the cord to my ball. She closed her eyes and squeezed. This time, though, my ball came loose in her hand. God, it hurt. I didn't think it was possible for anything to hurt that much; and I still had another ball to get cut off -- then the boiling oil.

Jennifer jumped up and down, laughing, my ball clutched in her hand. "Can I keep it?" she asked.

"Of course," said my mom, 'we'll put in a bottle of alcohol. Maybe later we can have it plasticized. Then you can make it into a necklace. I'll bet not many girls have one of their brother's balls to wear around their necks, especially not one they've cut off themselves."

"Can we really?" asked Jennifer. "I'd like that."

"My turn. My turn," said Susan, reaching for the scissors, still in Jennifer's hand. "Can I make mine into a necklace, too?"

"Of course," said my mom.

In a way, I just wanted them to get it over. I hurt, laying there on the table. It was going to hurt more, when Susan cut the other one off; and I knew for certain the boiling oil would hurt, but waiting for it to happen -- knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it -- was just as bad. At least, once it was done, I could start healing; and in a few weeks, it would just be a memory. I was sure envious of Jimmy, though, for having his cut off at the clinic.

Susan grabbed hold of my other ball. In her excitement, she almost pulled it off. I thought she was. It hurt almost as much as it did, when she cut if off a moment later.

She, too, jumped up and down with my ball in her hand, shouting with glee. "That was fun," she said, "I wish he had more we could cut off. Can we cut off his pecker, too?"

"I don't see why not," said my mother. "He was a bad boy, peeing on me as he did; but I'd better do that. We want it cut off right next to his groin, so he's nice and smooth."

I could barely talk, I hurt so much, but I said, "No, please, not my dick. I don't want to pee sitting down."

That made my mother even madder. "There's noting wrong with peeing sitting down," she said. "Actually, I've always intended to have your penis cut off. They're gross little appendages. I'm tired of looking at yours. With that, she picked up the knife and sliced it off. One moment I had a dick, the next moment, I didn't. "Who wants it?" she asked my sisters.

Of course, both did, so she had them flip a coin. Susan won my pecker, which pissed Jennifer off. I knew she'd take it out on me, but it wasn't my fault I only had one dick.

I was bleeding pretty bad and was about to faint. My crotch was bare, except for the folds of skin that had been my nut sack. "Want me to cut this off?" asked my aunt, picking up on side of my sack. "He'll look better without it."

"Sure," said my mom.

She cut it off. I fainted, which was good, because I didn't feel them pour the boiling oil on me. My groin really hurt when I awoke, though, from the cutting and from the burning.

My mom didn't save any money cutting me herself, though. My pee hole closed up, so I couldn't pee; and she had to take me to the clinic for an operation to make me a new pee hole. It would have been cheaper for her to have me cut at the clinic in the first place. I heard the nurse tell her so.

I wished she had. It would have saved me a lot of pain. As it was, it took me over a month to heal. Jimmy had been over his castration in week. He hadn't been able to run and play, but at least, he hadn't hurt. I still hurt sometimes, and it's been almost six months.

It doesn't do me all that much good to squat to pee. The way my pee hole is situated, the pee squirts out all over my legs, anyway. Since my mom won't let me pee inside the house, because I can't keep it in the toilet, I have to go outside, if I need to pee. There, it's just as easy to pee standing up. It's going to get all over my legs, anyway.

My sisters still tease me, but at least now they can't squeeze my balls. I miss my dick, but not them. What are balls good for, anyway, except for sisters to squeeze. I just wish it hadn't hurt so much.

Both my sisters had my balls made into necklaces. Plasticized, they hang from a gold chain. Susan sometimes wears my dick on a charm bracelet. Mom had it plasticized, too. It's not very big, only about an inch and a half long. It was bigger than that, but shrank after it was cut off.

In less than two years, they'll come for me to take me to a work farm. I wish they'd come for me now.