True story of All the Ways I've Hurt my Balls

My first memory of doing violence to my penis was when I was about seven and on a camping trip. I wandered off for a moment on the island on a lake where we were camping. Alone in the woods, I started picking up small twigs, pine cones and pine needles and sticking them into my urethra. The mix of the pain, the sexual arousal, and the adrenaline rush from worry that I might get caught, was overwhelming to me and was the start of my long career of self-abuse. I staggered, shaky from the adrenaline, back to the campground with my secret.

For several years, while still at a young age, I would fantasize about S&M. It was not something I had been exposed to (my parents never abused me, I didn’t have older siblings that showed me porn, or anything) so I believe I essentially made it up on my own. Initially my fantasies were about controlling women. Usually I fantasized that I could shrink them to a small size, and keep them in a bottle naked. I would take them out and make them crawl inside my urethra. They would have to eat their way out.

My first serious self-injury came at about age 10. I lived on a small hobby farm where we kept every type of animal, from chickens, ducks, geese, and turkeys, to rabbits, sheep, goats, pigs, ponies, cows and horses. The pigs fascinated me because I had heard that there were stories of them eating small children. I often fed them slop buckets of remains from our kitchen. The way they would devour the food, I quickly made a connection. One day, when I was sure I was alone in the barn, I slipped down my pants, and covered my penis with some gravy, then, having a huge adrenaline rush I pushed my penis through the slats to the pigpen. The pigs were fighting with each other to get to me, and one of them took a bite! I was uncircumcised, so it just tore off a piece of my foreskin which was very painful and of course started to bleed profusely. Shaking, I tied it off with some twine. I was able to bandage it later, and it healed over time without my mother finding out. However, I never quite got the courage to do that again.

Instead of pain, I started to seek pleasure. We always had baby sheep and cows around, and it is common to nurse them from a bottle. Anyone who has grown up on a farm, has let an animal lick and suck their fingers, and again, as a horny young boy, I quickly made the connection. For a couple years, every time I had the chance, I would let the animals nurse from my penis. I could not yet orgasm yet, and actually the roughness of the animals tounges was painful, but I was in heaven. One day while one baby goat was on my penis, it’s twin tried to butt in. It started nursing on my testicle, and a whole new era emerged. The pain was exquisite! I then would regularly let the twin goats nurse each on one testicle. To this day, I wish I was still on a farm!

Another pain-seeking adventure on the farm was the electric fence. Any boys on a farm will eventually dare their friends to see who can hold onto the electric fence the longest. There were also always jokes about peeing on the electric fence. Of course this grew into a thought, then a desire, and it wasn’t long before I was regularly zapping my genitals on the electric fence.

My mother did most of the farm work, and of course she would castrate the animals, and dock their tails. Once there was a fieldtrip of my class to our farm, and she castrated a sheep as a demonstration – I really don’t know why she did that, but many years later I met up with one of my old classmates and he still vividly remembered that trip! I can’t say that I really fantasized about being castrated (or I probably would have done it), but I think the seed was planted.

Unfortunately we moved off the farm before I was able to orgasm. At about age 11 I had my first orgasm, and stronger erections, and that started a renewed interest in my genitals. Occasionally, my friends would get hold of Playboys and such, and my fantasy life became very intense. I spent all my time in a sexually agitated state, frustrated by the fact that I couldn’t get an outlet with a real girl. I started masturbating about 10 times per day, and this over time left me feeling very drained. I started to hate my lack of control and therefore hate my sexuality, and took it out on my pubescent cock and balls.

I started crushing my testicles any way I could. My father’s vice in the workshop was one of my favorites, as well as any door I could get access to.

An interesting practice I discovered was based on a science experiment I saw. It is the one where a hard-boiled egg can get sucked into a bottle by lighting a piece of paper which is dropped into the bottle, then the egg is placed on the mouth of the bottle. The fire uses up the oxygen which creates a large amount of suction. I had previously tried to stick my penis into bottles, but never could really do it because the air inside would prevent this. With my new science, I practiced this trick of sucking my penis into bottles. I quickly discovered that the bigger the bottle, the more suction could be created. My dream came true when I found a large cider jug, that had a huge bottle part, and a perfectly-sized mouth for my adolescent penis. My penis would be sucked in very hard, and then my erection and the pressure of the neck of the bottle would get my penis quite lodged within. I would then stand up, and the weight of the bottle (which was substantial) would hang from my penis. I could only extract my penis after orgasming multiple times, and even then it was close. I would have to use a table knife to create an airway down the neck of the bottle, so that the suction would be released, then had to work my penis back out. One time I was in the middle of doing this when my family came home. I rushed into bed, and threw blankets over myself trying to hide the big bottle. My mother seemed suspicious about my excuse that I was taking a nap – I think she thought I was masturbating – but she left it at that, and I frantically succeeded in extracting myself.

Eventually, I really began to despise my lack of control. I had a dramatic episode at the age of 13. I decided I would cut my genitals off. I went to the kitchen, and took out the carving knife and a cutting board. Naked, pressed the knife into the base of my erect penis. I drew the knife a little, and immediately started to bleed a lot. Despite my state, I was with it enough to realize that it would be life-threatening to cut off my penis. I was not suicidal. But I wanted to do some cutting. I started cutting a few small pieces off of my foreskin, and then cut the tendon that on uncircumsized men connects the foreskin under the head of the penis. It bled a fair bit, but actually turned out to be a good modification – once it healed, my foreskin had about twice as much “play” because it was no longer constrained by the tendon.

I did very well in school, and skipped a few grades. I therefore headed off to university at the tender age of 16. I went to live in the dorm. That amount of independence was a watershed for my self-abuse. One of my main ones was to staple my foreskin. My record was 20 staples at one time. Then I would painstakingly remove them all with pliers.

I certainly had some good sexual experiences in university, with both regular girlfriends and chance encounters. I also started sneaking into strip clubs, for which my city has some of the best in the world – and free cover charge to get in! But my constant libido was never satiated by my brief sexual encounters. No woman I found was willing to get me off the ten or more times per day to which I was accustomed. So the self-abuse continued …

I wanted to do further genital modifications, such as the one I had done with the tendon. However, most were impractical, due to the potential bleeding. But I decided I would do a self-subincision, slowly over time. I used a pair of needle-nose pliers and diagonal cutters and went to work. I slowly did it. I enlarged my urethra by cutting on the underside, until I had essentially split the underside of the glans. I then worked my way down the urethra and got a full subincision. This methodical self-injury was kind of therapeutic in that I felt like I had some control, that it wasn’t overly dangerous, and it filled my regular need for intense genital pain.

During late university, the Internet really started to flourish, and as a geek I was right in there. I discovered that I was not alone in my self-abuse, and also discovered the eunuch community. Right then I got hooked on the desire to be nullified. I tried castration, and regularly would tie up my balls with cords and elastics. I found that I could not do this for long, or the ache would prompt me to take it off. So I would put on the constraint, then go into a situation where I would not be able to take off the elastrating device. For example, I would go on a city bus ride. But still, the longest I could ever go was 5 hours. But I still had immense satisfaction in watching my balls turn that deep blue-black color.

I got a summer job at a fabrication facility, where I started working with power tools. I could never bring myself to do anything drastic with them, although I fantasized about it constantly, but I did use industrial glue to glue my urethra shut then masturbate. To masturbate with no chance of the semen escaping was wild, and the pressure of my orgasms intense. Of course I had done similar things with restrained orgasms using elastic bands, cock rings, etc. The most serious thing I did there was that they had hot glue pots, where we would make the boxes to ship the goods. I filled up a cup with hot glue and went to the bathroom. I gritted my teeth and quickly dipped my cock head in the glue. The pain was perhaps the most I’ve ever felt. And of course the glue could not come off quickly so continued to burn. In fact, I didn’t want to take it off because the underlying burned skin would rip off. I ran it under cold water. When I got home that evening, I carefully chipped away the glue. The burns were serious, and I have the scars to this day.

Burns were another area of exploration, and I have given myself serious burns in several ways. I still regularly take a small birthday candle, place it in my urethra, light it, and wait for it to burn down. The pain alone makes me orgasm, and that puts out the candle. At any given time, I usually have a scab or scar from a burn on my penis.

Cooking a hot dog in my microwave, my mind made a connection. Perhaps I could cook my genitals in the microwave … I tried all day trying to squeeze my dick or even just my balls into the microwave and close the door. However, the way the microwave was constructed the door fit too tightly and would not start if it sensed anything jamming the microwave. I actually broke my microwave because the latch broke while I was trying to force the door closed. I then went out and bought a couple of second-hand microwaves. I finally hit upon the idea of drilling a hole through the front glass through which I could insert my genitals. It took a while to drill the right kind of hole, but finally I was ready. I put my modified microwave on the counter and plugged it in. I then securely tied around my genitals because I didn’t want the blood that was going to be microwaved to be going back into my system – I didn’t want to die of some weird blood poisoning or clot. I made sure very little blood was in my penis before tying it (i.e. no erection). I first inserted my testicles, and then my penis. I had made it a pretty tight fit, because I didn’t want to microwave the rest of my body. But I could pull my cock and balls through from the other side by opening the door, so really had done a good job of getting them fully inside. I placed a hot dog in the microwave compartment as sort of an indicator to how much roasting I had done. I closed the door, pressed myself against the microwave, and with my heart pounding I set the time for 2:00 minutes then pressed “Cook”. Because I had tied off my genitals, I couldn’t feel as much as I would have liked. The hot dog started to sizzle, and then my dick began to sizzle. When the timer rang, I was giddy with the adrenaline rush. My genitals had been decently cooked. They were a funny dark red color, different than just the tying off would have created. I was happy because I figured I had finally killed my sexual organs, and it would just be a matter of time before they dropped off. After about a half hour, I untied them. They felt very strange. They were burned, but burned inside. The overall feeling was more of an ache than pain though. I started to massage my penis, and quickly got an erection. I couldn’t help myself but masturbated myself over and over, thinking that these were the last few erections I would ever get. The first semen contained a bit of blood and looked strange. But several days later, it looked like my dick and testicles were on the mend. The color slowly returned to normal. The exterior burns peeled off and healed. Once again, I had not succeeded, but I never had the courage to do the microwave thing again. I’m funny that way – I like to get as close to castration as possible, but never have the guts to go all the way. It is a real desire, but because it is not easy to fulfill I keep stopping short.

But in my mind, the quest for castration began in earnest. I realized I couldn’t really do it to myself. I am also heterosexual and was not at all interested in being castrated by a man. So I was in search of an interested woman. As most of you know, they are very rare, and I never really found one. Once I started to make enough money, I regularly would hire a dominatrix, or a prostitute, to give me cock-and-ball torture. But none of them really seemed into it in the way I wanted. It was obviously just a job, or a joke, to them but never a serious interest. I definitely got some good ball busting though. There was kicking and trampling my balls, of course, and I would often bring a vice which I would pay them by the turn of the handle (every full turn was $5), with an extra tip for them if they could make me cum purely with pain. I tried to get them to castrate me, but none of them would do it. I would even try to trick them into it, or pay them to tie up my balls and leave me for hours. The most intense time was when I got a dominatrix to crush my balls almost flat with my vice, and then leave me for an entire weekend tied up in her dungeon (only released for quick, supervised, visits to the bathroom).

One interesting thing, which most of you probably experience, is that once I orgasm my interest in pain is greatly diminished. This is one of the dangers with our desire: that our perception changes so drastically, even within minutes. Do we really want permanent castration?

The most astonishing thing to me however was how resilient my balls are. Every time I thought I had finished them off, they just kept on ticking. I would still be horny, and could still produce a lot of semen-laden cum. I guess nature knows that some of us will do these sorts of things, and evolution allows for it.

Once I realized that my balls were difficult to destroy, I started to get even more creative. I started buying female hormones off of transsexual prostitutes, and I would inject them directly into my testicles. They would have varying effects, and ultimately did make my body fat change and some breast development, but my body seemed to try to counter the hormones with extra testosterone production. And after a month or so after my last female hormones, I would be back where I started with a raging libido. Chemical castration wasn’t easy either! Plus, I didn’t want to be a woman, or seriously endanger my general health.

I investigated several full surgical solutions. But Dr. Felix Spector scares me. I would never let a doctor that old operate on me for any procedure. I got in contact with Dr. Harry Miller. He would do a penectomy as well, which is a big desire of mine. However, he would only operate out of Mexico, and the overall cost was somewhat steep (at that time it was $10k plus travel). I just didn’t want to put my life in jeopardy by getting a quack operation in a foreign country. I did find one body mod artist in Los Angeles, and she was a fairly hot woman! She would use an electro-cauterizing scalpel. But after we had talked a bit she backed out – I guess realizing that a penectomy was a little bit beyond other genital modification.

I have ended up in the hospital once for one of my self-abuses. Before my subincision, I once took a fishing hook (treble-hook), and put it into my urethra, then worked it down until it was inside my penis at the base of my shaft. Of course I couldn’t get it out. I thought I could live with it in there, but of course my body didn’t like this foreign object, and a dull ache began to persist. Eventually, I had to get it out. I went to a clinic where I knew there was a female doctor. I had some pleasure in shocking her, although she reacted professionally. I said I got it during an S&M encounter. She referred me to a urologist, who had to cut it out from the outside. They put me under general anaethesia for the operation. When I woke up in the post-operating room, the young nurse (who I thought was beautiful) asked me how I had got something in my penis. It wasn’t very professional of her to ask, but I guess she wanted a story for her friend. Besides, she was pretty and I was groggy. So I told her it was an S&M session gone wrong. Overall an embarrassing situation, but I wasn’t really that embarrassed about it.

I got into suspension by my balls, and would hoist myself up over anything sturdy enough I could find. I had one dominatrix suspend my by my balls fully off the ground for about a half-hour while she whipped my balls. That was heaven for a pain slut like me! The craziest suspension I did was using have an elevator in my building. It has very sturdy railing inside. So one quiet night when I was sure no one would be using it (although the risk someone might come by made it all the more exciting), I took a thin nylon rope and tied one end securely to the railing, and the other end wrapped tightly around my balls. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, then I stepped out of the elevator. The door closed on the string (it was thin enough and loose enough that it did not trigger the door opening mechanism). My heart pounded as I heard the elevator start to ascend. The string tightened and I watched as the angle increased where it went around the door. I was yanked right up to the door and then pulled by my balls right up along the walls, completely off my feet. As I was going up, I believed my balls were going to be yanked right off and the thrill was overwhelming. Amazingly, about three quarters of the way up (my hands were already on the ceiling, the rope broke, I guess from friction and I fell to the floor. My balls were stretched amazingly where the testicles were right at the end with nowhere left to go. I pressed the call button for the elevator, and when it came back down I retrieved the other end of the rope. I didn’t try that again because I realized that having my balls ripped off would have been very messy and probably life threatening, not to mention embarrassing.

Anyway, I have an otherwise very normal, even successful life. I am married to a wonderful woman who knows about my tendencies. It makes her sad when I hurt myself, but we really love each other. Even after years of testicle abuse, I was still able to father children (she got pregnant after only a month of trying). I still spend most of my day fixated on nullification, but have slowly come to realize that it is not something I can practically go through with. I also question my motives, because whenever I am not horny I really don’t want to hurt myself. My change of attitude is enough for me to realize that whenever I am agitated with these fantasies, I am not thinking clearly.

Instead of rejecting my masculine sexuality, I am learning to embrace it. I have learned that masturbation is okay, and now use it to regulate my libido. I find that masturbating once every three days is sufficient to keep me under control but without draining me. I am getting quite serious into weight training, and my body is becoming quite masculine. The best thing about weight training is that it is a good outlet for my testosterone-induced energy. Instead of violence and sexuality, I am re-channeling that energy into a constructive pursuit.

My castration desire still is a large facet of my personality, and every day I am in danger of injuring myself. But I have come to accept that part of my life and move forward anyways. I hope others can benefit from my story by knowing that they are not the only ones struggling with their libidos.

Cheers!