SHE WAS MAD

She went about it methodically, giving me no peace until I was out of the house, although the court record of our divorce would never say so. By the time she had finished with me in court, everything was all my fault. It was very hard to sit still in the courtroom and listen to what she said. I wanted to get up and con- front her with the lies. However, enough of it was true that I could not deny it. I was not a good husband in the one way that the court considered essential to a marriage. A little more work by her private investigator would have uncovered my homosexual- ity. Fortunately, only one part of my sex life was discussed in court. Conjugal relations had been non-existent ever since Joshua was conceived. That made it almost seven years without an `attempt at coitus', according to her testimony. She told the judge that she could count on two hands the number of times we had sex during the marriage. Certainly, it had been infrequent at best even from the day when Jordan was started in her womb. That was the day we were married, and Jordan was nearly eight when we were divorced.

At the time, I was naive. I reasoned that she hated me, but in reality the marriage was a sham. It was true that I felt very little attraction to her, or any woman for that matter. It wasn't just because of her, but neither was the only problem behind the failure of our marriage was my homosexuality, far from it. She hated men every bit as much as I was turned off by women.

She showed her hatred for me in many ways, but the worst way was during the divorce. She wanted to take the boys, she told the judge, because they needed a mother more than anything else. She got them, and I got every other weekend. However, what she really wanted, and what she gave her best effort from then on, was to deny me any access at all to them. After a few months she returned to court, claiming that I was having an adverse affect. A 'NOW' psychologist gave evidence to support her claim that the boys would better off if my access was curtailed to one time per month.

As months turned into two years it became very clear that her goal had implications far beyond my worst imaginings. No only was she intent on keeping my sons away from me, but she concen- trated on making them into what she wanted. With the infrequent visits allowed by the court, I watched in dismay as she twisted their minds, leaving little opportunity for them to develop as normal boys. Their hair grew longer, their clothes became more girlish, their characters more effeminate. Guitar lessons, sing- ing lessons, and dancing lessons exacerbated their lack of mascu- linity until it depressed me. Strangely, it also fascinated me.

There was nothing I could do to stop her. I hated her and what she was doing to my sons, but at the same time, I found myself loving them more and more. Equally strange, was that the boys took it all in their stride. They never complained to me. Not once. Nor was it a matter of accepting something that was beyond their control. Slowly I came to realize that despite their physi- cal appearance, what was happening was not entirely out of charac- ter for them. Indeed, sometimes they seemed unhappy with me when I wanted to do things with them that most fathers normally did with their sons.

It was not all bad. I would be lying if I said that I was not delighted to have them around me even when they began to express qualities that I was not exactly comfortable with. They were hap- piest when we sang together, sitting around the piano in the liv- ing room or in the car together singing to the radio. Perhaps they still harbored sweet memories of the family singing together. They were boy sopranos, but not with the crystalline delicacy of choirboys. They sang pure Country and Western, with voices that were clear and strong. Both had perfect pitch and an innate abil- ity to harmonize with my baritone.

That the boys could sing was not surprising given both genet- ics and environmental influences. Although I had given up on mak- ing a career from Country and Western music, my wife continued to harbor a dream of making the big time. Nashville was waiting for her, she always said. While she waited for her big break, she sang in bars and a few cheap night clubs on Main Street, and hung out at a cheap dive called Robbie's where she wore her cowboy clothes.

And when she wasn't at Robbie's, she concentrated on the mak- ing boys everything that she was not. She was demanding, insisting on expensive lessons and lengthy practice sessions that denied the boys a normal childhood. I paid my share of the costs for les- sons willingly because I loved them and I could see the talent they possessed was much more than either of their parents ever had.

Only on the occasional weekends when I had custody were they free of her demands, and then I tried desperately to achieve a semblance of a normal life for them. I tossed balls, tried to get them interested in fishing, took them to baseball games, tried to get them interested in 'guy' things. Yet, each time I saw them, I watched them changing, fitting closer to the perverted mold she had made for them. Yet, as the first year of loneliness crept past I began to discover that there was also a strange pleasure in see- ing their masculinity repressed. Sometimes I found myself staring at them, awed by their good looks, their wonderful voices, and sprightly young bodies.

It was during the next spring when the boys sang a duo at a regional talent show that I realized how far things had pro- gressed. They gave a wonderful if androgynous performance that aroused me sexually and won them first prize in the children's competition. Afterwards, I hotly denied there had been any hard- ness in my jeans. They were still dressed in their stage outfits when I had taken the boys to visit their grandmother. She tact- lessly commented on how beautiful they were. They were 'too beau- tiful to be boys' she said, and for the first time I realized what it was that had excited me.

After the divorce, I began to find I could be happy living on my mother's farm with monthly visits with my sons. I seldom spoke more than a few words to her. As a result I had no idea how deep- seated her hatred of males went, or how far she would go to achieve what she wanted. I was to find out by the end of an early Fall day. It was a day that would begin with devastating conse- quences for both of my sons. By the time I knew what she was really like, it was too late to stop what had started nearly eleven years earlier when we were married. It was a month to the day after Jordan's tenth birthday.

It happened on Friday, early October. After a dry, hot sum- mer, the leaves were quickly changing color. The mornings were chilly, the afternoons pleasantly warm, the nights just cold enough to require a jacket. She called me only seconds after I got out of the shower, a few minutes before I had breakfast. It was about 7.00 a.m. Her voice was stressed, her words clipped, pre- cise, slightly strained. Conversations with my ex-wife were never enjoyable, but since the divorce they had become extremely dis- agreeable.

"You're planning on taking the boys this weekend, aren't you?"

I had been granted weekend access, one weekend every month, from Saturday morning to Sunday afternoon, back by 4.00 pm or she would 'call the police'. It was not enough, not nearly enough, but I made the best of the time we had together. Usually, I took them to my mother's farm where they could do the things that boys were supposed to do.

"Yes! Of course I am." I tried to control my voice. She wanted me to argue with her.

"Good! There's a small change in plans this time. You won't have to pick them up from the house on Saturday. They're yours as soon as they get home from school today. I'll leave them at the Globe Motel. You know where it is?"

"Globe Motel? Hardly!" I replied argumentatively.

"It's right off the Parkway. First exit after the bridge, turn right. They'll be in room 125. They'll be okay by themselves for a while if you're late."

"Why am I picking them up from a motel?"

There was a brief pause.

"I'm getting the house treated. There are ants everywhere."

It sounded reasonable.

"Okay. Room 125, Globe Motel, right off the Parkway after the bridge," I repeated. "When?"

"'Round four. Don't come earlier than that! They won't be awa---ready `till then."

"Okay. What about clothes?" I asked uncertainly.

Something sounded wrong. I didn't know what it was, just wrong.

"They'll have what they're wearing. All their other stuff is at the house. I could swing past and pick up some things but it will stink from the spray. Buy them what they need. They need some new stuff anyway. It won't hurt you to buy them some new clothes."

"I'll try to bring them back at the usual time on Sunday," I said, hoping for more time but not expecting anything.

Every time we spoke I tried my best to sound grateful for something that was legally mine. I hoped that by ingratiating myself, she would voluntarily extend the access to every other weekend. I missed the boys terribly. They were the only good thing that had happened to me since I graduated from college.

"Whatever!"

"I might be a bit late because of the traffic getting to the zoo. I want to take the boys out to the farm again, if that's okay with you?"

"Whatever! I don't give a fuck what you do with them! Not now, not ever!"

She put the phone down with a loud click. When I smiled, I did not know that my ex-wife and our two sons were already at the motel, that they had been there since the night before. I did not know that she had not paid the mortgage on the house for four months, that anything of value was sitting in her Dodge Caravan, that she had destroyed everything the boys owned. That their pre- vious life was contained in the clothes they had worn to the motel and a few toys. All I was thinking about was the good news. I would have the boys with me from Friday afternoon until Sunday afternoon. It was like having an entire extra day. That was plenty of time to do whatever they wanted, including the required visit to the zoo for Josh on Sunday afternoon. The visit to the zoo was a ritual that we performed with religious punctuality an hour or two before I brought them back to their mother. With Friday after- noon instead of Saturday morning, we would have nearly two full days at the farm as a result.

Chapter 2.

The boys were still asleep at seven o'clock. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn. She had left instructions at the check-in for no one to disturb them. The room was booked for a single woman from Thursday through Saturday. At least that was how it appeared in the guest register. No one knew the two boys were there. Joshua woke up first, yawning, stretching as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. She came over to the bed immediately. She carried a glass of milk. There were eight sleeping pills in it, one for every year of his wretched life. The pills were over-the counter, and eight of them were not quite strong enough to put the sixty-two-pound boy to sleep forever. Without saying a word, she sat down beside the tousled-headed boy and lifted his head and shoulders up.

"Wha,..." Joshua murmured.

"Shhh! You'll wake you brother. Here! Drink this!"

"Why?"

"Because I told you to. I don't want any nonsense. Do you want your father to take you to the farm today?"

"I thought we were going to the farm tomorrow?"

"Hush! It's your choice. Yes or no?"

"Y-y-yes."

"Then drink. It's only milk. It won't hurt you."

Obediently, Joshua sipped. When he finally handed the glass back, his red-hued lips were circled with a white `moustache'. It tasted different, especially to his young taste-buds accustomed to several pints of milk per day. It wasn't sweet, or sour, or bitter. It was just a different taste to the one he was used to. Sleepily, he settled back in the bed.

Within a few minutes he was soundly asleep again. This time, however, it was not tiredness that closed his eyes for he would not have awakened if even there was a freight train in the room next door.

It was nearly thirty minutes later when the ten-year-old boy awoke beside his inert brother. With his eyes still half-closed, his right hand slid down, tentatively reaching for his genitals, just as he had done every morning for much of the last year. His penis was hard again. He did not know that an erection was a nor- mal and natural occurrence for a healthy male, even one for whom puberty was still several years away. He only knew that his mother considered that part of his body to be especially shameful, and what little he knew about his anatomy was playground talk that was as much fact as fiction. The problem was that it felt so good to touch that small part of his body that he could not stop himself.

His penis provided consolation, making up for the father who had abandoned him a year ago. His penis had become his only source of pleasure, strangely associated with vague images of his father or occasionally of other men who entered his life, his science teacher, the man next door, the lanky pimple-faced youth who lived in the house across the street. While the girls in his fifth-grade class liked him, even adored him, he treated them with disdain.

He rolled onto his side, then onto his belly, still half- asleep. He was totally engrossed. For nearly a minute he did not remember where he was, deluded by sleep and by the quiet darkness to think that he was in his own bedroom. He slowly humped against the mattress, wriggling his pelvis to move his aroused penis against the sheet, slowing grinding up and down and side to side. It was the way that provided the nicest feelings.

She stood silently, watching her son's innocent, yet obvi- ously very enjoyable self-stimulation. It was enough to make her feel sickened. Instead of commenting with biting sarcasm that would merely hurt his self-esteem and induce guilt, she waited for the right moment when the boy would be crushed. From the gradually increasing pace and the tension building in his body, his wretched orgasm would only take a few moments. She waited impatiently, less than a minute. Then without warning the gentle rocking motion became erratic, jerking as the waves of orgasm started through him. He squirmed, forcing his hardness into the mattress, every muscle tensing, straining, anxious for release that would not come beyond the rapid pulses in his dry, aching penis.

Slowly, in the silence that followed, the boy realized he was not alone. He shivered suddenly, sensing the threat of discovery. Not that having Joshua beside him in the bed was disconcerting. From a young age the two boys often slept together for company. However, for some time they had slept together for other reasons. Playing with each others' penises was not uncommon. He twisted over quickly, realizing on the way that he had spent the night somewhere other than in his bedroom.

His mother smirked back at him, giving him a distasteful look.

"Don't be teaching your brother your dirty little habit. You're so much like your father it's disgusting. That must be why they say 'Like father like son'! Leave yourself alone or I'll have it cut off."

Jordan glared at her, still holding the hot moist length of his throbbing penis tightly in his fist. She could not see through the blanket, but he was afraid to move lest it provoked a contin- ued attack. He trembled before her deprecating gaze. He blinked, feeling the need to urinate growing, his bladder tightening with pressure until it became unbearable. He tried to move, to tell her that he needed to use the bathroom, and then he shrank back as her look turned scornful.

"I know you've been teaching him your foul habits. Don't lie to me," she added.

He shook his head slightly, not exactly certain of what she meant but wanting to voice his denial of her accusation. The words wouldn't come. He was a bad liar. Not only had the two boys played with each other's penises for nearly a year, but sometimes they took secretive turns providing a warm wet mouth. He swallowed, thinking that she might relent if he apologized. Nothing would come out, at least not from his lips. It was painful. The pressure expanded, building inside him, the urge instinctive and unrelent- ing. He squeezed his thighs tightly together, compressed his but- tocks, hoping it would stem the flow through his aching penis. Without warning, his bladder released with a bursting agony and his hot yellow stream spread out beneath him to form a tell-tale dark circle on the white sheet beneath him.

"Jesus! You filthy little queer," she snarled. "Why can't you go to the damned bathroom instead of pissing in the bed?"

"I-I-I could-c-c-could-n-n-n't help it. I-I-I'm-m s-s-s- orry. I-I-I'll c-cl-cl-clean it up."

"Christ! You're ten years old and you still wet the damned bed! It almost as disgusting as playing with that ugly thing hang- ing between your legs. It ought to be cut off. "

"M-M-M-mom, really,... I-I-I couldn't h-h-help it."

She walked from the corner of the room. On the way, she picked up the glass of milk from the table. There were ten tablets in it. He was a slender boy, one of the smallest in his class at school. Ten tablets were enough to put the seventy-one-pound boy to sleep until the late afternoon. A few more and he would never wake up. During the half hour that the glass had been sitting on the table it had lost its earlier chill. She held it out.

"Here! Drink this now, Jordan."

"I'm not thirsty."

"You know something, I really don't care. Drink it!"

"Mom?" he whined.

One look at her face was enough to warn him that resistance was futile. He took the glass and touched his lips to the rim. The taste was distinctly different to the milk he normally drank. That it was no longer cold, made it even less appetizing. Still, he drank rather than risk her wrath. When he finished the glass, he wondered why she had not told him to get up and get dressed so that he would not be late for school. He glanced around the motel room, his confidence ebbing further as he absorbed the strange environment. He remembered why they had left home the night before. He was nervous. He had seen very few ants in the house. There was no other reason why he should worry about the treatment for pests. Although he had no way of knowing what the time was in the gloomy room, he was certain it was well past seven am. He was going to be late to school. He would have to get a tardy slip from the school office. He would have to stay back late.

"Give me the glass," she instructed impatiently. "Go to the bathroom if you have to. I don't want you wetting the bed again."

"I-I-I d-d-don't h-h-have to."

"That's what comes from playing with yourself. That's what causes it, you know. It makes you weak. You're disgusting!"

"I-I-I,- I can't h-h-help it," Jordan whimpered.

"Yes you can. You're weak, child! You're as weak as your father. You and Joshua both! Playing with your cocks at night when you think I can't hear. He ought cut both of them off! That would teach you a lesson. He might, you know. Sometimes men do that to boys, so they don't play with it all the time."

"I-I-I d-d-don't p

play with it a-a-all the t-t-time! D-D- Dad w-w-wouldn't d-d-do that!" he stammered uncontrollably.

"Don't bet on it. Sometimes they just cut the tip off."

The boy blanched, shivering slightly.

"You're m-m-making it up."

She shrugged. "Am I? Usually they just cut off the skin on the end, but sometimes they cut off the knob as well because it gets in the way." She smirked, visibly enjoying tormenting him. "And when a boy plays with it, they slice his cock off right at the base so there's nothing there at all. Your cock is so small it would probably have to be cut off at the base anyway. It'll make you turn into a girl. That wouldn't be so bad, would it Jordie?"

Jordan glared at his mother. The words stung because some of them were true. He had seen other boys' penises and he knew his was different. Although he did not know it, he was the only boy in his class with a foreskin. His penis was the same underneath, but that did not explain how or why his skin had been pulled forward and lengthened enough so that it completely covered where he peed from. Other boys didn't have that piece of skin and he was afraid to ask why. It covered the little knob that his mother claimed men sometimes cut off because it got in the way.

He felt very uncomfortable. It was the first time he had heard her use the word that boys used in the playground to refer to their penises. It was the word that every boy in the fourth grade and above used, either 'cock' or `dick'. Until recently, his brother had called it a `weiner', but now even Joshua had adopted the new words to show he was no longer a baby.

"Y-Y-You're m-m-making it up," Jordan protested uncertainly.

"Am I? Why are you so sure of yourself?" She laughed cru- elly. "Maybe I'll talk to your father. Maybe when you wake up one day, you won't have a cock any more."

"I'm s-s-sorry, okay. I-I-I'm s-s-sorry."

Jordan glanced at his younger brother. He was increasingly worried that he would be late for school.

"Should I-I-I w-w-wake him up?"

"No! Let him sleep. You can go back to sleep too. You won't be going to school today."

"Why n-n-not?"

"'Cause I said so." She smiled. She had plans for the two boys that would change them forever. "You probably won't be going to school next week either."

"Whuy?"

He slurred his single word. His mother smiled again and quickly turned away. She found something funny, but he did not know what it was.

"You and Joshua are going to be sick for a few days," she said vaguely.

"Hunh? S-s-sick?" His head felt strange, like it was rocking from side to side.

"Maybe your father will want to cut both of your cocks off when he finds out what you've been doing with Joshua. You won't be able to pee properly afterwards, you know. You'll have to sit down like I do. It'll probably hurt a lot too."

"Y-y-you're m-m-making it up."

It seemed to take forever for him to get the words out.

"Maybe I am, Maybe I'm not. You'll find out soon enough. Maybe you'll be a girl when you wake up."

"Mom?"

She smirked at him, contemplating the boy's reaction when he awoke later in the day. What would he feel down there? It stood to reason that it would hurt terribly. If it felt so good that a boy could not leave it alone, then it also had to hurt when it was removed. And then there would be the shock of finding he was no longer male. The boy would never forget the day, and neither would his father. There would be overwhelming shame too, from what his friends would say when they discovered what had been taken from him. For a male, even an immature boy, it was the most important part of his anatomy.

Instead of answering, she carried the empty glass back to the table and sat down. She picked up the remote and turned on the television, switching channels several times before she reached the Shopping Channel. There she stopped, watching the images of goods for sale at bargain prices and thinking about calling in to buy one of the faux-pearl necklaces that were for sale. A few min- utes later, as she drank her lukewarm coffee, Jordan's head dropped heavily onto the pillow.

Chapter 3.

He was scheduled to arrive between eight and nine am. It was close to ten o'clock before she heard the uncertain knock on the door. She contained her fury at his tardiness, opened the door and let him in. The man was fifty-five years old and the last five years on the streets had been the worst years of his life. He looked old, at least seventy. He was emaciated. His cheeks were hollow, and lined with a myriad crimson veins that came with alco- holism. He grunted a hello and dropped a small paper bag on the table. He regarded the woman suspiciously.

"You got the money, right?" he asked. His voice was raw.

"Yes."

She glanced towards the bed as if to let him know that he would get the money after the job was done. He looked too, but not closely. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but his expres- sion showed surprise.

"You gotta be crazy. They're only kids. Shit! It don't make sense getting' `em fixed."

"It's none of your business. I said I wanted them de-sexed and you agreed to do it for four grand."

"You can't mean,..."

"I want them fixed. Do it or get out!"

"You can't be serious. Why on earth would you want to do that? They look like cute kids too. I mean, shit! They're just little kids and all."

"Why is not something I'm about to discuss. You said four thousand bucks. I've got all of it right here. If you do it, the money's all yours."

He stepped closer and gazed down at the small forms of the two bodies under the blanket. Although there was no sign of their sex organs both had long hair. He ascribed gender accordingly.

"Anyway, you're joking!"

"About what?"

"Fixing them. Christ! You asked me whether I could de-sex a guy. The world is full of sick people. In fact, I thought you were joking at first, like some guy you knew was playing around and you wanted to teach him a lesson, but hell, these are kids."

"So? I don't see what difference it makes."

"So these are girls. It'd be different if they were boys. Castrating a boy is one thing. When you get down to it it's really no different to a neutering a dog because everything is so easy to get at, being more or less on the outside and all. But a girl! Christ, spaying is risky for a bitch. To do it to a kid without being in a surgery, hell, I could kill her." He shook his head and backed away a few steps. "No way!"

"Girls?" She chortled with glee. "Maybe they look like a cou- ple of girls, but if you took the time to look properly you'd see that they've both got dicks. Small ones maybe, but they're still dicks. Anyway, what I don't understand is why are you talking about dogs for? You're a doctor aren't you? That's what you told me. Don't tell me you're a fucking male-nurse?"

Wayne regarded her with distaste. He still had some pride. "I'm a veterinary doctor. At least I was until a few years ago."

"You're not a doctor?" she demanded. "You damned liar! When we talked about it at Robbie's, you said you were a doctor," she repeated angrily.

"Maybe I didn't explain properly," Wayne retorted. "Does it fucking make a difference. If what you want is for me to neuter both of your boys, it probably doesn't matter a damn that I used to work with animals. It's basically the same reproduction anat- omy for boys and dogs. They've both got cocks and a pair of balls. In fact, I bet I've got a lot more experience with castration than any doctor you'll ever find. I must have cut the balls off thou- sands of dogs over the years, not to mention the fucking cats. And like I just said, the anatomy is very similar."

"You'll do it to them?" she demanded. "You'll cut their balls off?"

"For the four grand, I might."

She smiled hesitantly. "Might?"

"I guess I want to know why you want their balls cut off for first."

"Why is none of your business."

"Then find someone else," Wayne said flatly.

"Why did you cut the balls off of the dogs?" she asked cru- elly.

"Most of the time it was done so they couldn't breed. Some- times to make them more docile. I don't see what that has to do with it?"

"My reasons are the same. I don't want them to breed," she laughed strangely. "And docile too," she added. "Like girls."

"Why not? They're both good looking boys."

"I hate their father if you must know. I've hated him since the day we were married. He ruined my career. I could have been so successful if it wasn't for him."

"So why didn't you leave him?"

"Because I was pregnant."

"You could have had an abortion."

"Get real! I carried his child only because I didn't have a choice. Abortion is evil!"

"That still doesn't explain why. Put them up for adoption. Let their father take care of them, whatever?"

"No! So, I hate them because they're half his. I hate them because they're male, just like him."

"That's why you let them grow their hair long. So they look like girls?" Wayne asked. "Weird. Truly weird, but I guess we all have our neuroses, don't we? And you really want them neutered? You can't put them back once they're gone, you know?"

She shrugged without saying anything. It was answer enough.

"I could do a vasectomy? That way if you changed your mind,..." he suggested.

"No! I want it done permanently. I sure don't want their balls put back. I don't want any vasectomies that can be undone. I've got the four thousand," she said abruptly. "Are you going to do it or not?"

"Okay. Only I can't do it here," Wayne replied absently.

Already he was thinking of the money. Four thousand dollars would bring him a fresh start. He could take the bus to Florida, find somewhere to live for a while until the money ran out.

"Why not? I went to a lot of trouble to bring them here."

"I mean here on the bed. There'll be blood everywhere for Christ's sake."

"I don't care. They can wash the damned sheets or throw them in the trash," she replied. "Either you do it right now or get the hell out of here."

"The light, it isn't good enough either. I won't be able to see what I'm doing."

The man glanced around the room. There was a table in the corner and a desk lamp that might provide enough light, especially if the curtains were open a few inches on the nearest side. How- ever, he smirked when he looked through the open door. The bath- room. It was obviously the best place. The fluorescent light was much stronger in there. It also wouldn't matter how much blood there was if he did it over the basin, and if the patient was lying on the top of the vanity he'd be nearly at the ideal height.

"We'll use the bathroom," he said without hesitation. "Which one of them do you want done first?"

She thought for a second and slowly smiled. "He came into the world first," she answered, gesturing at Jordan.

He was most like his father despite what little evidence of his masculinity remained.

"He might as well lose his balls first too."

"Okay. It makes no difference to me either way. Help me carry him in."

She lifted back the sheet and blanket. Wayne could not help but lick his lips as soon as he saw their slender young bodies. It was an instinctive reaction. He wasn't attracted to boys. How- ever, they were perfect. They were innocent. They reminded him of sleek lithe dogs, slender like Egyptian hounds. He thought of the thousands and thousands of dogs that had been stretched out on the stainless steel table in his surgery. The lean sleek dogs were his favorites. If he did not think about it he could convince himself that this was really no different.

The boys were dressed in white stretchy tee-shirts without arms and low cut on the chest. The floral-patterned briefs that covered their loins had lace edges on the waist and leg openings. They were girl's panties.

"You'd better take their undies off first," he grumped. "Why do you dress them like this, in girl's panties and all?"

"Because that's what they're going to be after this morning. I'm going to give him two girls in place of his precious sons."

The oldest boy was taller than his sibling by several inches and about ten pounds heavier.

"You should have stripped them while they were still awake," Wayne said critically. "It's going to be hard getting their clothes off now."

"Give me a hand," she demanded as she sat down on the bed and leaned over Jordan's inert body.

"Getting them naked is your job. Right now, I need a drink. I'll help you carry the kid in when you've got his clothes off."

Wayne shuffled off, heading for the paper bag he had left on the table. He slumped into the armchair, opened the bag and pulled out a half-finished bottle of cheap Kentucky bourbon whisky. He rubbed his hand through week-old stubble and unscrewed the cap. Although he really didn't care one way or the other, he found him- self musing why he was going to do it. This was not the first time, but it was very different situation to what happened more than five years earlier.

The first time he had a human patient was only a few weeks before his clinic had been declared bankrupt and his marriage ended in a brutal divorce. He needed the money. Then, the woman wanted her thirteen year old son to have a vasectomy. The boy was sexually active, and not only with girls his own age. There was a good chance that the boy's own mother might become pregnant. Wayne had never performed an operation on a person before. He had enjoyed every moment of the surgery, handling the recently matured penis and testicles until the boy became erect. It hap- pened with dogs too, despite the local anesthetic.

Once the groin was denuded of pubic hair, he made a small incision on either side of the plump still-hairless scrotum to extract the pink-grey vas deferens. It only took a few seconds to tie a tiny knot around each one. He left the boy's reproductive system basically intact, but no longer able to convey sperm from the testicles to the penis. Ten minutes later, he had inserted a couple of stitches to close the incision. He had received a $1,000 in hundred-dollar bills for that and the entire thing took less than thirty minutes. The money lasted until the end of the month.

Wayne drank straight from bottle, thinking of what he would be doing in a few minutes. There was a sense of potency, of subju- gation and superiority in doing what he was about to do. He remem- bered that he had felt the same way when he castrated animals, especially dogs that had not reached physical maturity. That was the time to do it. It made sense to perform the operation of pup- pies, not after the dog was mature. After neutering, a puppy was,... well he just wasn't a dog any more. Nor was he a bitch. he was somewhere between the sexes, held in limbo, and to all intents and purposes, rendered sexless.

That he could eliminate the right of another male, animal or human, to procreate aroused him. It did not matter that he was now homeless, that he drank so much that he fell into gutters and uri- nated in his pants. He had the power to emasculate and make another male sterile. He had nothing to lose by doing it. No one would know. He would be on the next bus to Florida. He had no feelings for the two boys and he had nothing to fear from them. After castration, a boy was nothing, not even a male. The woman wanted her sons castrated and was prepared to pay him a lot of money to do it. Her motives did not perturb him, if anything they merely confirmed what he felt himself. It was all about power.

"Okay, they're both naked," she said loudly. "Get over here."

He stumbled to his feet, not inebriated but well on the way. He snorted, scratched at his unwashed crotch and placed the bottle back on the table. The woman glared at him. He knew her type. She dominated men and manipulated them like a cowboy drove cattle. It was always about power and the ability to control. As he approached the bed, he looked down at the eldest boy. He was naked now. The sight stopped him in his tracks. The boy was startlingly beautiful, and his perfection seemed to be centered in his groin. His puny sex organ was limp, the small scrotal pouch loosely hang- ing between his slender lightly tanned thighs. He could discern the shape of both testicles. They looked as small as those of any dog he had done. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He resented that anything could be so beautiful as to take a person's breath away. Such beauty could not continue to exist in his ugly world.

"You take his feet," Wayne said brusquely. "Let's get this over with."

Between the two of them, they lifted Jordan up and carried him into the bathroom. He was bumped against the side of the door frame hard enough to leave a bruise. Wayne eased the small body down onto the counter, still surprised at how little he weighed. Between seventy and eighty pounds, he weighed little more than a large dog, a german shepherd, or a retriever. He repositioned the boy's slender legs so that they were wide apart, one leg close to the mirrored wall, the other hanging over the edge of the vanity, his compact groin over the edge of the sink. Under the bright blu- ish fluorescent light, the boy's body was startling beautiful. Reflected back, the incongruity of utter perfection compared to his old man's filthy ugliness passed him by.

It was very easy to see why he had first assumed the child was a girl. The long golden brown hair reached to the boy's shoul- ders, and framed his face. His features were girlish, delicate eyebrows that looked as if they had been thinned deliberately, full lips that were red enough to suggest lipstick had been applied, a small pert nose. With one exception, all of his fea- tures lacked any semblance of masculinity, and that remaining feature was destined to go.

"Well, are you going to do it or not?" she demanded coldly.

Wayne was startled, suddenly realizing that he had been staring at the boy for nearly a minute. He glanced at the woman, saw her arrogant impatient expression. He shrugged.

"What's the rush? What did you give him?"

"Ten of the Somnol."

"Then there's no rush. You gave him enough tablets to keep him asleep until tomorrow."

"The sooner we get this over with the better," she said blandly. "I have plans."

Wayne walked out, ignoring her. He picked up the paper bag and started back into the bathroom. After a few paces, he stopped and returned to pick up the whisky. He took another swig before he walked back into the bathroom. The woman scowled but said nothing. He placed the bottle on the counter and rifled through the con- tents of the paper bag.

"At least we don't have to shave him," he commented dryly. "I did one kid a few years back. Thirteen years old, he was. I guess he was a year or so into puberty so he had a bit of hair down there. He had nice big balls too. His mother wanted him cas- trated."

"I can't see the point in talking about your past exploits. Maybe his mother caught him jacking off," she said crudely.

"I doubt it. He was too busy fucking her every night. I think she was afraid he was playing around with girls his own age after school."

"Just get on with it," she barked angrily.

Wayne hesitated, slowing his search in the bag to mere fum- bling to annoy her further.

"Anyway, I did it to him," he snorted. He decided to lie about what he had done. "I cut his nuts off and handed them to her. And you know what she did? She threw them in the trash. She was as looney as they come. I finally figured out that she didn't want her kid to get her pregnant. That's why she wanted him fixed."

He glanced sideways to see the effect of what he had said. There was no response. He shrugged. The boys did not seem old enough to be capable of having sex with their mother. They did not look as if girls would interest them either.

"Are you going to waste the rest of the day?"

Wayne shrugged. "It doesn't take long. They'll be eunuchs before you know it."

He removed several items from the paper bag. The first thing was a one-quart bottle of methyl alcohol. Then, he placed a metal- handled Exacto knife on the counter. The pointed blade was new and very sharp. It was not a scalpel, but it was the next best thing, available from any craft-shop or hardware store. He had purchased this one and several spare blades from the art supply store of Seventh Street, a place where there would be no suspicion or lin- gering memories. Elsewhere, he had also purchased a packet of small silver needles and a spool of fine 6-pound test nylon fish- ing line. The last thing he removed was a pair of tweezers. All of the items combined had cost less than ten dollars.

He went to work with a methodical approach that belied his near drunken state. He took a drinking glass from the shelf and removed its protective plastic covering, unscrewed the top from the bottle of alcohol and filled the glass to within an inch of the top. The knife, several needles, and several short lengths of nylon mono filament were placed in the sterilizing fluid.

"I couldn't get real sutures without going to a medical sup- ply place," he explained absently. "But it really doesn't make a whole lot of difference. This stuff works just about the same and costs next to nothing."

He splashed some alcohol onto a handful of tissues he pulled from the box that was built into the front of the vanity. He waited for a few seconds for it to soak through and then began to wipe the boy's groin and the insides of his thighs. After a minute he was satisfied and he dropped the sodden mass of tissues into the sink. He turned to the woman.

"He's ready," he announced. "Are you sure you want me to do it?"

"Stop wasting time! Just do it!" she replied adamantly. She paused for a second and stepped forward. "Where's it done, any- way?"

"You mean where do I cut him?" the old man asked. "On a dog it's usually an incision across the back of the scrotum. That way you can take both balls at the same time. I could do it that way, if you wanted I guess. However, you'd probably see less of a scar if the incision was on the sides where his ball-sac joins, or right down the middle. If you look carefully you'll see there's a natural line there anyway."

"Hm,..." she said thoughtfully as she leaned closer for a better look.

She could see a thin wrinkled line that led from the tip of the boy's penis, down the center of his scrotum, to disappear between his buttocks.

"It doesn't matter to me," Wayne said distantly. "But if he was mine, I'd want to minimize the scar. That way, if he was ever given replacement balls, it wouldn't be as noticeable."

"What? Replacements? You mean they can transplant them?" she asked with unconcealed surprise. "I never thought!... Damn!"

Wayne shrugged. "I don't know if they could or couldn't. I've never heard of a transplant being done but I'm not a urologist. I guess it's possible. Cutting them off is easy so I imagine putting them back isn't a whole lot harder, even if they aren't his balls."

"Shit!"

"And even if they can't do that, I expect there are silicon ones available for implants."

"You should have told me this earlier."

"I should have? Jesus! Listen, you wanted to know if I would de-sex a person. That's what you said. You didn't tell me anything more than that. You didn't tell me it was a kid. I already told you I'll cut his balls off for the money we agreed on. I can't help what happens afterwards."

"This changes everything! I want him turned into a girl!"

"You're crazy. He'll be a eunuch all right because he won't have balls when I'm finished with him, but he'll never be a girl."

"Couldn't you cut off his penis?" she pleaded.

"I can't do that! Jesus! It's full of blood vessels, not to mention the urethra. You don't just slice it off. You have to make a new opening for him to piss through. He'll have to be catheter- ized, and Jesus, I don't know what else. You need a real surgeon for something like that. It's major surgery. I'd probably kill him."

"It doesn't mean anything if they can just put some balls back in him."

"Look if you're really worried about that, I suppose I could remove most of his scrotum."

"What do you mean?" she demanded swiftly.

"It's not a problem then is it? I mean if there's nowhere to put them?" Wayne explained with a laugh. "If he doesn't have a ball-sac he can't have balls,..."

"You could do that?" she interjected.

"I don't see why not. In a way it's just a longer incision. The scrotum is only a piece of skin after all. He doesn't need it if there are no balls inside it. On a dog it usually shrivels up after a few months. I guess boys are no different. We'd merely be speeding it up for him."

"How would you do it?" she asked with growing interest. "He wouldn't have anything left down there then, would he?"

"Just his dick, of course. Like I told you, there's no way I'd try to cut that off. Without the right instruments, and a sur- geon who knew what he was doing. Hell, the loss of blood would probably kill him."

Wayne reached down to touch Jordan's diminutive genitals. With his fingers he pulled the scrotum on one side until the skin was tight over the thin bundle of urethra and erectile cords.

"See," he said disinterestedly. "It could be done quite tightly so there was no scrotum left at all. I'd leave just enough skin to cover where his balls used to be. It would look like he never had anything there."

"Okay! Do it that way."

"Do you have a pen?"

"A pen? What for? I'm not signing anything!"

"Christ! I need to see where I'm cutting. I don't want to cut too much off. One of those fine-line felt tips would be best."

She walked out of the bathroom. A few moments later she returned and held out a red-tipped marker pen. He took it and leaned closer. Holding the boy's scrotum to the right side, he drew a straight line from the center of the perineum to the begin- ning of the penis. Then he repeated the process by pulling the little scrotum and its precious contents to the other side. The end result was an ogive-oval shape with pointed ends. It enclosed most of the boy's scrotal pouch. He glanced at the boy's mother.

"You couldn't put a couple of peas in what's going to be left of his pod," Wayne said with grim humor. "It'll probably be pretty painful for a while I expect. But at least he won't have to worry about getting kicked in the nuts when he plays soccer," he added with a feeble laugh.

"For Christ's sake! Do it! You're wasting the whole day."

He lifted the knife from the glass and held it lightly between his gnarled dirty fingers. He should have purchased some latex gloves but he had not thought about it at the time. Absently, he put the razor-edged knife in the glass and splashed some of the methyl alcohol over his hands.

It had been many years since he had performed a similar oper- ation. Then the boy's testicles were much larger and bulging with the effect of hormones from the onset of puberty. The vasectomy merely interrupted the flow of sperm into the boy's semen. That boy would have matured normally but had temporarily lost the abil- ity to fertilize a female. Castration was devastating by compari- son. However, what most people did not know was that castration was a relatively simple matter. In ancient times, it was done by men with very little training, even barbers. It involved making an incision, extracting the testicles from either side or the through the rear of the scrotum, using a red-hot iron to cauterize the vessels or tying several small knots to close the vas defer- ens, veins and arteries, before closing the opening in the scro- tum. On a dog, the entire operation could be performed in just a few minutes.

His hand shook slightly as he brought the sharp point of the knife blade closer to Jordan's small pouch. There were goose bumps on his arms. He felt a surge of strength, a willful thrill that came from being able to undo the most important function that nature had provided. It was the same way he felt when he castrated dogs. He started the incision on the perineum, cutting easily though the delicate scrotal skin and membrane tissue in a single pass until he reached the boy's penis. He smiled, revelling in the exercise of ultimate power. He was emasculating a boy. Now that that he thought about it, it was very different to neutering a dog. His heart was pounding with excitement. It was all he could do to resist extracting his own manhood. His penis was bloated and oozing fluid onto his yellow-stained underpants. He started the second incision, following the gracefully curving red line. It was only a bit more than two inches long yet it seemed to take forever before the point of the blade stopped again. He smirked, plucking the tiny piece of skin up with the sharp point of the knife. It hung there, still pink and silky-soft, with only a smear of blood on the edges where the knife had been. Callously, he dropped it into the sink between the boy's legs.

"That was easy," he said aloud. He glanced sideways at the boy's mother. "You wanted a girl. I can't do that, but he'll be the next best thing after I'm finished with him. If you keep him off hormones, he'll always have a pitiful little dick. You know what happens to a dog after he's had his balls removed?"

"No! And I'm not much interested."

"Most of them have got no interest in sex. Nothing! Not even an erection most of the time. Oh they'll get stiff sometimes and they sniff around bitches alright, but mounting? Hell no!"

"So?"

"I wonder whether it's the same for boys."

"It really doesn't interest me," she answered flatly. "No girl would have been interested in him anyway. He's a faggot if ever there was one. And once he's lost his balls, well he might as well be a girl."

She watched from the corner of the bathroom, suddenly a lit- tle squeamish. There was blood trickling from Jordan's crotch. Wayne picked up the right testicle between the fingers of his other hand and pulled it gently so that the tiny tubes that con- nected it to the boy's body were stretched out. One hard pull would have been enough. He had done that on more than one occasion to a dog, just to see how hard it was to tear the testicles off. With a sharp tug, it was possible to tear the vessels away. The bleeding usually stopped within a few minutes. It was tempting. Instead, he picked up the nylon thread and made a small slip-loop underneath the right testicle. He paused for a moment and contem- plated what he was about to do.

"Now what?"

"Now I tie the arteries off," Wayne explained. "It's almost done."

He picked up the tweezers, shaking off the alcohol. It was easy to see which one of the coiling tubes was the artery. With every pump of Jordan's heart, a small quantity of blood pulsed through the grey-blue cord. He looped the nylon around the blood vessel in the classic figure-eight, pushed it down as far as pos- sible with the tweezers and tightened the knot to seal it. A moment later when the vessel had become both noticeably thinner and paler, he expertly sliced through the tiny artery, vein, and spermatic cord with the knife. Tied close to the boy's abdomen, the ends of the severed cords would wither and die by themselves. The bean-sized testicle dropped down, sliding on the white porce- lain bowl for a few inches before it came to stop in the red pool that was forming in the bottom of the vanity. Blood oozed from the ends but it was only some minor bleeding from the vas deferens and vein. The bleeding from those vessels would quickly stop. Some- times, when he castrated dogs he lingered and watched, but the other testicle demanded his attention.

"That's one," he said with no longer concealed glee. A moment later. "And this will be two!"

He was shaking as he did the same on the other side. Within a few seconds he sliced off what remained and wiped away some of the blood with his finger. He breathed out. His penis throbbed. He could not remember being so stiff that it physically hurt. It had been a long time since he had sex with anything besides his right hand.

"All I've got to do now is sew him up," he taunted. "And your little boy is a eunuch. You'll be able to take the stitches out in a week," he added.

She shrugged, peering down between Jordan's bloodied legs. Even if she had not seen the bloodied contents of the basin, there was no doubt what Jordan was missing. Wayne picked up the needle and carefully inserted the mono filament through the eye. He steadied his hand, pricking Jordan's skin less than an eighth of an inch on each side of the incision. The first suture was fin- ished even before she realized what he was doing. Another fol- lowed, and then another until there were a total of ten at intervals of just under a quarter-of-an-inch. By the time he had finished the bleeding from what remained of Jordan's scrotum had stopped entirely. All that was left was a shallow ridge that fol- lowed the underside of the boy's thin urethra. Wayne put the nee- dle and knife back into the alcohol and straightened up.

"Okay," he said simply. "It's done. I hope you're pleased."

"I am. It didn't take very long."

"I used to do a dozen or more of these a day. Dogs and cats mostly, of course, but I got to be pretty good at it after a while."

"Will there be a scar?"

"Of course. What did you expect? If you're asking whether it will it be noticeable the answer is not very. You see how that line on the underside of his cock joins into the incision? Once he heals it'll look like he never had anything there in the first place."

"Hm,.. How long will it take?"

"Like I said, you should give it a week before the stitches come out, assuming there's no infection of course. He'll need to be kept quiet for a few days too. No running around and no rough stuff until the week is up. He'll heal pretty quickly. It's just like doing a puppy. He'll get over it quickly. By this time a month from now, you won't know he ever had balls."

"Good! help me carry him back into the bedroom."

"Let me clean the blood off of him first. There's no point in getting it all over the sheets," Wayne replied.

She moved away and rested her back against the door frame while the old man went to work with one of the bath towels. After a minute he pushed the blood streaked towel to the side and announced he was finished. Together they carried the ten-year-old boy back into the bedroom. They placed him on his back with his legs slightly apart.

"You got something to bandage him with?"

"No! You were s'posed to bring whatever you needed."

"How about some paper towels?" he asked. "There might be some drainage."

"What's it look like? This isn't a kitchen. I don't carry paper towels around with me."

"Pass me one of those napkins then," he instructed.

He pointed to a couple of unused paper napkins that remained from the fast-food dinner of the night before. Wayne placed the napkin underneath Jordan's groin, tucking the sides under the smooth small buttocks.

"Now his brother," she demanded when she had finished remov- ing Joshua's clothes.

He looked up and gave her a withering look. If anything the smaller boy was even more beautiful than his brother.

"Christ, he's still a baby. There's no point."

"He's nearly eight. He's certainly no baby. If you want your money you'll do both of them the way we agreed. It's all or noth- ing."

"Then you carry him in," Wayne said argumentatively. "I've got a bad back."

She glanced at him dismissively. He was a weak man. All the males in her life, her father, her brother, her ex-husband, even her sons were weak. Men had to be forced to do what needed to be done. Instead of saying anything she picked the slim pale body up in her arms. There was no time to waste. She still had a lot of things to do before she could get in the car and drive to her new life. She dropped the slender body heavily onto the vanity counter. The child was so heavily sedated that he did not stir. She left him there and went back into the bedroom. There was no point in watching a second time. She would check to make sure the operation had been performed before she gave Wayne his precious money. She sat at the table in front of the curtained window, using what little light managed to penetrate the thick linen to write her parting letter to her ex-husband. Her hand was steady as years of hatred poured forth onto the writing pad.

"Dearest Jeff,

"I wish I had been able to stay and say good-bye in person. Now you have what I always wanted. Two girls! Call them whatever you want. Jordan and Joshua really are not names for girls. I always liked Julie and Janet. Julie suits Jordan, don't you think? It's your choice. Whatever they are, they certainly aren't boys any longer. It's a pity I couldn't have their cocks cut off as well. Then they would really be girls. I was not planning to, but I have decided to leave their balls here for both them and you. Maybe they will want to see what they've lost when they wake up. I want them to hate you. They'll never know who really did it despite what you tell them. I told Jordan you would cut his balls off if he didn't stop playing with himself. I wonder if it will stop him. I'm laughing now. I keep thinking of his little hand jerking away. It won't be nearly as much fun when he finds out that he doesn't have any balls. I don't expect he'll enjoy it at all. Maybe he won't be interested in playing with himself after this. I can only hope so."

She thought for a moment before she smiled.

"Hey! Tell me what to do to take care of them," she called out.

"Not a lot," Wayne answered. "It'll be just like taking care of a dog! Like I said, they'll be weak for a while and they'll need to stay in bed for a few days. Give them some aspirin if they complain. A sleeping pill might help to get them to sleep at night."

"What if it gets infected?"

"It shouldn't, not if you keep the area clean and dry. I'd wash it every few hours with some hydrogen peroxide to be on the safe side. It's the same thing I used to recommend for dogs if it got infected. There shouldn't be any problems, but if it does get infected that's your problem."

"What else?"

"Hm,... just a moment. Ah, nearly done. This one's got such tiny little nuts they're hard to get hold of. Okay. What else? Of course, the stitches! Take them out in a week or so. All you have to do is snip the knots off on one side and pull it out with twee- zers. It won't be a problem."

She started to write again, now with a smile as she warmed to the thought. He would be too stunned to know what to do. He'd probably call a doctor. Maybe he would even take the boys to a hospital. She glanced at Jordan. Other than his little finger- sized penis there was nothing to see. There would be nothing they could do. They wouldn't even be able to implant artificial testi- cles.

"Care instructions: They'll be weak for a   while. Keep them in bed for a few days. I'm leaving some aspirin and the rest of the sleeping pills. Also, you need to buy some hydrogen peroxide to keep the skin disinfected. If it gets infected, that's your problem. Taking the stitches out is something you should be able to do by yourself. Do it around this time next week. I'm sure you'll manage okay. You'll see that I've left some new clothes for them. I think they are appropriate given they aren't boys now. I hope you continue to dress them like the girls they should have been all along. "You might still have balls, you bastard, but you're just as weak as they are. Whenever you look at them, you'll remember how weak you are. "All my love to you and our two beautiful little girls"

She added her first name and put the pen down. She smirked, imagining her ex-husband's face. She watched Wayne working over the youngest boy in the bathroom. Only a matter of few minutes remained before he was finished. She felt relieved. It had gone much easier than she imagined. The coffee on the table was luke- warm but she drank it anyway, savoring the bitter unsweetened taste.

"I'm done. Damned difficult. The kid's nuts were so puny I had to use the tweezers most of the time."

She looked up quickly. She smiled at Wayne who was standing in the doorway that led to bathroom. He wiped his hands on the blood-smeared towel as if expunging his guilt. She felt nothing but distaste for him, not because of what he had done to the two boys, because she had always wanted them to be girls, but because he was so weak. He had done exactly what she wanted. He was just like every other man in her life.

"Carry him back into the bedroom!" she instructed.

He glared at her and seemed about to speak. Instead, he turned away. She waited impatiently until Joshua was placed beside his brother and then she opened her handbag. For a few sec- onds she hesitated. Her handbag contained a sheaf of bank notes, much more than the four thousand dollars that was due to Wayne.

"Did you clean up in there?" she demanded.

"It'll do." Wayne glared at her angrily. "Give me the money."

She peeled off a handful of notes and held them out. His hand shook when he reached out to take them. He grasped them and hur- riedly stuffed the notes into his pocket. It was more money than he had seen in several years. He did not even bother to count it. He stepped back, picking up his dirt-soiled overcoat and the bot- tle of bourbon.

"I've fixed both of them for you the way you wanted. You shouldn't have any problems with them after this, but if you do, don't call me. It works out at a thousand bucks a ball," he said with a smirk. "That's really pretty cheap when you think about it."

"Ha-ha-ha," she said slowly.

Wayne shrugged. "They won't give you any problem now they're gelded. I hope you're happy," he added sarcastically.

"I am! It's just a pity you couldn't cut their cocks off as well. I really wanted them to be girls."

She followed him to the door, realizing that the stale odor from his unwashed body was even stronger than when he had first come into the room. He had probably urinated while he was working in the bathroom. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, locking the door behind him.

Her next act was to go into the bathroom. She gazed into the vanity and smiled. There were four testicles lying in the blood splattered sink. Deliberately she pushed her fingers into one that seemed slightly larger than the rest, forcing it against the porcelain until it flattened.

She muttered to herself as the others followed in order of proximity. "Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"

From a brown paper grocery bag, she laid out clothes, two new pairs of matching girls' panties, one size seven, the other size ten. They were of a low-cut bikini-fashion, made of silky nylon with a swirling purple and blue floral pattern. She placed two dresses next to them, making sure that she had removed the labels and tags so they would not be uncomfortable. She left the room at two o'clock to drive to the airport. By the time anyone opened the door to room 125, or the boys awoke, she would be in the air and on her way to a new life. The car was not worth selling.

Chapter 4.

Room 125 was on the ground floor at the rear of the motel. I parked the car and walked towards the steps, checking the time on my watch. It was a minute after four o'clock. The concrete was spalling, leaving a surface of pebbles on the roughened surface and a few potholes of a size that were hazardous. I paused at the door to the room. There was no sign of her car in the parking lot. In fact, other than my Jeep, the only other was a late-model pick- up truck with local plates. I knocked on the door as a matter of habit. There was no answer. AT that moment, I had a strange feel- ing that something was wrong. Instinctively, I turned and looked over my shoulder. There was no one there of course. Instead, I saw the lonely leaf covered parking lot, the rear of a factory, a cou- ple of trees that looked close to death.

I turned back to the door, noticing the "DO NOT DISTURB" sign that had been placed on the handle. I felt a cold chill. As my hand crept towards the door handle, I knew something was wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck felt like prickles. I turned the grimy knob, hoping to find the boys inside watching television or doing their homework. However, as the door swung open there was no sound, just darkness. I stepped inside, my hand automatically feeling for the light switch that had to be there somewhere. I found it and switched it on. No light came on. I swore under my breath, pushing the door all the way open to get some light into the room. I stepped to the side, shoving the thick curtains aside. More light streamed into the room. Then, I saw the boys lying on the bed and relief surged through me. It lasted only a few seconds before I realized that something was very, very wrong. There was no reason why they would be sleeping that early in the afternoon.

"OH GOD!"

The words were barely out of my mouth before I rushed forward towards the bed, kicking a chair out of the way.

As I leaned forward, Joshua stirred slightly. The sound that came from his lips was faint. He was alive. Of course he was alive. There did not seem to be a mark on him, at least as far as I could see. And Jordan? His older brother looked the same. His chest rose and fell with slow regularity. I stopped, staring at them. Again the wave of relief, immediately followed by the sense that something awful had happened to them although they were both asleep. They were both asleep? At four p.m.? They seldom slept in the afternoon, even when they were much younger. It took a ride in the car to get them to sleep during the daytime. I stood there, cautiously curious yet afraid to disturb them, wondering whether they were sick. I swallowed, wanting to say something to wake them but biting my tongue with a strange apprehension that would not leave me alone. I could think of no reason why they would be sleeping in the afternoon. To reassure myself, I touched Joshua's forehead. He stirred again. He was warm, certainly not hot from fever. He was just sleeping I tried to convince myself. I stepped back, wondering whether I should try to wake them. It was a nag- ging fear. It was a fear without reason, except one.

"Joshie? Jordie?" I said aloud.

There was no answer. It was all I could do to resist shaking them awake. Part of me reasoned that if they were so tired that they needed to sleep during the day, then I should let them con- tinue to sleep. They would wake up in their own good time and then they would be able to explain why they were so tired. Perhaps they had a long day at school. I just needed to be patient a while longer. Again, the sense of something wrong. Even the smell. It was all very strange. There were other things that struck me as incongruous. Things that were not there but should have been. If they had been to school that day, as my ex-wife had said on the telephone, then where were their backpacks.

Every time I picked them up from their home, both of them carried a backpack. Jordan, because it contained his weekend homework, and Joshua because at that age he was going through life imitating his older brother. Absently, I wandered into the bath- room, trying to decide on the appropriate course of action. Wake them, or let them sleep? The bathroom was in darkness but I could tell that it was a mess. So unlike the boys. They were usually very tidy. Towels, both damp and sodden were strewn across the tiled floor. I thought that one of the towels was streaked with reddish-brown marks. It was then that I switched on the light.

There was something the same color lying in the vanity basin. Growing up on a farm, I often had to deal with injured ani- mals. I should have recognized the color and smell of fresh blood. For no reason at all I caught myself thinking of an accident I had passed on the freeway a few weeks earlier. The boys were in the car and I had instructed both of them to cover their eyes while we drove passed. Not unlike the other drivers I had a macabre fasci- nation and needless to say, I slowed as I approached. I told myself not to look, but I did. Everyone looks, even the people who claim they don't. The person I saw was covered in blood. His white tee-shirt was the same color as the towel lying on the floor. Dread flooded over me, inundating any hope that I had that some- thing was not terribly wrong.

Two steps brought me from the doorway to stand before the vanity. I looked down, still not comprehending the significance of what I saw. Even growing up on a farm where gelding animals is a fairly regular occurrence, I had never seen an animal's testi- cles out of the scrotum before. Gelding was not something that we did on our farm.

I reached down curiously. Then in a sudden flash of insight, jerked my hand back as soon as I touched a tiny piece of human skin.

"No!" I whispered. "No, it can't be! NO! NO! God damn it! Jesus! She couldn't do this to them!"

Then, I took it all in. It still didn't make any sense, not for several very long seconds. There were two small pieces of skin, one slightly larger than the other. There were four blood- crusted, flattened beans. All four were nearly the same size, and larger than what one might have expected given the boys' ages and sizes. However, there was no question in my mind. There was blood spattered on the cheap porcelain sink.

"GOD!" I shrieked.

I backed away, my hand shaking impotently, gazing at the red tips of my fingers where for a moment I had held a boy's scrotum. One of my sons? Jordan? Joshua? Did it really matter whose? There were two pieces of skin. There were four testicles. She had cas- trated them. I groaned aloud, barely able to stay on my feet as vomit rose into my throat. I swallowed, swaying, backing out of the bathroom. In an instant, I knew that that neither the boys or I would never see her again. This was her farewell present to us. She had done this terrible thing to my sons because she hated me. I turned around and gazed back at the boys. They were peaceful, and innocent, and I hoped unaware of what had been done to them. Hopefully, they had been asleep the entire time. They had been drugged, I realized. There was no way she could have done such a thing without the boys screaming their heads off. Someone would surely have heard them, even in the dilapidated dump of a motel.

Joshua stirred again, moving his legs slightly as if he was already feeling pain. I shuddered, sensing that they would be awake soon, perhaps even in a few minutes. It was then that I saw the half-empty bottle of sleeping tablets next to a similarly sized bottle of aspirin on the dresser. She had drugged them. No wonder they were still asleep. They had probably been asleep for a long time, perhaps since the night before. I was trembling like a leaf. My hands were shaking. I made myself go back into the bath- room. I closed my eyes long and hard before I looked into the van- ity basin again. I guess I hoped it was all part of a nightmare, that I would wake up and the evidence of her madness would be gone and my sons would be whole.

Instead, I stared at my sons' parts forlornly. These bloody things were their testicles. Even their scrotums had been removed. Nothing else could explain the little scraps of skin. How could she do such a thing? They were little boys, incapable of doing anything except love her. With a handful of tissues I scooped up the mess. My hand was shaking so much that I could barely keep my fingers around the paper. Was it possible for a doctor to restore them with microsurgery? I unfolded the tissue, looked closer, and felt sick. Very sick. Each bean had been methodically squashed flat. That was why they appeared larger. She had made certain that it was final. I closed my fist, scrunch- ing the tissues into a ball before ramming it into my jean's pocket. Later, when I was alone, I would bury the gory remains of the boys' manhood where they would never be found.

With both hot and cold taps running I used more tissues to rinse away the blood. I watched it swirl down the sink, remember- ing the premonition I had experienced when I first arrived at the motel. Yet, an inner sense told me that I should be grateful. At least she had not given the boys so many of her sleeping pills that they never woke up. It struck me then, that she never would do that. If they were alive, I would always have to face them and know that their loss had been because of me. Perhaps they would hate me for it as much as they would come to hate her. She did it to them to get at me. I caused it to happen by being their father.

Sadly I went back into the bedroom. The same macabre fasci- nation drew me to the side of the bed, made me lift back the crisp white sheet and yellow fuzz-flecked blanket. They were naked, just as I expected them to be. I sighed, taking in the shared beauty of their slender bodies. Jordan was as much as a full head higher than his brother yet he still looked very small. His legs were apart. Breathing heavily, I sat down on the bed next to him and leaned closer. Perhaps I was expecting to see dried blood, some remnant of what was supposed to be there. Instead I saw noth- ing. There was nothing beneath his little limp penis except a line of silvery knots that ended in spikes about an eighth of an inch long. It had been done with skill and care, certainly not by a crazed woman who was intent on inflicting pain. I staggered back and slumped down into the armchair next to the window to wait for the boys to wake up.

Chapter 5.

"Hi Dadda!"

The soft sleepy voice brought me back into a world of sense- less violence and the terrible thing that had been done to my sons.

"Hi, yourself kiddo," I said hesitantly.

I swallowed hard, tasting bile. It was just a matter of a few seconds before I would to tell him what had been done to him.

"I've been asleep?"

"Yes you have, Jordie. For quite a long time too."

"Oh! God! Dadda, I feel so bad," Jordan groaned miserably.

"Oh!" I tensed, knowing what was coming. "Are you going to be sick?"

"No! I don't think so. It's not like that.... It hurts, Dadda,... Bad. It hurts down there somethin' awful!"

I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly. "I know it hurts, Josh. I expect it'll feel bad for a while. I think if you take some aspirin the pain might go away in a bit."

"God it hurts so bad."

He struggled to move so that he could look down to find out for himself why it hurt between his legs. The sheet covered him and his hand reached to push it away. I stepped forward quickly, placing my hand over his, wondering if he could feel my trembling. His face contorted, grimacing in pain.

"Dadda, it hurts," Jordan whined piteously.

"I think the aspirin will help." I felt helpless.

"I'm not supposed to take aspirin," he said nervously, nearly crying.

"That's only if you have a fever. And you don't have one. It won't hurt you, I promise."

"Why does my thing hurt?"

I shook my head in despair. "It'll go away in a bit. We'll talk about it later, when your brother wakes up. Right now I want you to take some aspirin and try to go back to sleep."

"I don't feel sleepy," he whimpered.

"I know that."

"Did I have an accident?" he asked. He started to lift his head up again. Gently but firmly, I pushed down on his nearest shoulder.

"An accident?" I asked warily.

"You know, did I wet the bed again?"

"Oh! I don't think so." I felt a momentary relief.

"No! Yes, I remember now. I did!" Jordan groaned.

"It doesn't matter," I said gently.

"She said,..."

`What did she say?" I asked fearfully.

"D-d-dadda,... it hurts there," Jordan whined. "It's b-b- because she,..." he whined.

He tried to sit up again but I kept my hand on his bare shoulder so that he had to lie down.

"Just lie still for a while. What did she say?" I repeated firmly. "Tell me."

"It was right after I peed in the bed. She was really mad but I couldn't help it. I tried to stop it. Really I did. It just kept coming out."

I nodded understandingly. She had made occasional comments to the effect that Jordan was still wetting the bed. I could tell that it made him very ashamed and that he was frightened of doing it when he was staying with me. Whenever he visited the farm, my mother made sure that there was a plastic sheet on the mattress and washed his sheets if there had been an accident during the night. We never mentioned it.

"I was playing w-w-with myself," he admitted nervously.

Despite the situation, I smiled. It was impossible not to.

"W-W-What's so f-f-funny?"

"Nothing. Every boy plays with his dick, Jordie. I'm sur- prised it too you this long to find out that one of the reasons why it's there is to make you feel good."

"Y-y-eah r-r-right."

"You don't believe me? Let me put it this way. A boy's dick is supposed to provide a certain amount of entertainment and relaxation. Grown-ups usually don't tell kids that, but take my word for it, it's true."

Jordan regarded me uncertainly. He was very close to tears. His fingers kept closing and unclosing, leaving no doubt in my mind that he wanted desperately to reach not and ascertain the source of his pain. It had to hurt terribly.

"S-S-She s-s-said you'd c-c-cut it off."

"Cut what off?"

"My thing!"

"You mean your penis?"

"D-D-Did you cut it off? D-d-did you? It hurts so bad. "

Again he tried to raise up, this time struggling when he encountered the resistance of my hand on his shoulder.

"God! Jordie, don't you understand? No, I guess you don't. I would never do anything to hurt you," I said angrily. "How could you think I would do something like that?"

"It h-h-hurts down there," he said simply.

I sighed. "Jordan, Honey, it isn't your penis that hurts."

Jordan swallowed. His facial expression conveyed his worst fears. His eyes blinked, his lips trembling.

"W-W-What then?"

I took a deep breath. Sooner or later he would have to know what had happened to him. Perhaps I could delay a little longer, but he would find out as soon as he sat up and looked at where the pain was coming from.

"She cut your testicles off, Jordie," I said emptily. There was no other way of putting it.

"Huh?"

"Your testicles! Your balls, Jordie. Your mother cut your balls off."

"NO!"

Even at ten years old, a few years before a boy's testicles have any noticeable function at all, a boy has knows exactly how important that part of his body is to his future manhood. Maybe it was the result of animal instinct that resides in all males, per- haps it was the result of a pre-teen playground culture, but Jor- dan knew. He did not know about testosterone or sperm. He just knew that without his `balls' he would never become a man. He could never be a father. His expression fleeted from shock to out- rage, to dismay. I let him sit up, held him tightly as he dared to take his first look, felt the shudder pass through his slender body, felt his sobs begin as he saw where the pain was coming from. There was in reality very little to see beyond the silvery ends of the stitches. Indeed, it was the absence of something familiar that made him distraught.

He cried for a long while before he risked looking up at me. His face was wet with tears. He had always been something of a stoic, accepting what life handed him and making the best of it. Until the divorce, life had handed him mostly good things with very few disappointments. We did not have a lot of money but I made sure that there was always enough for the boys not to want for anything. I wanted to cry with him.

"W-w-why? Because I p

peed in the bed?" he asked tear- fully.

He sniffed loudly, visibly shaking as he tried to under- stand. However, he understood that it was far more than that feeble reason. It was a cruel punishment. There had to be a reason besides sheer cruelty. Few ten-year-old boys understand the con- cept of sadism. Even though they might practice a childish version of it by tormenting an insect, no sane child could inflict such an injury.

"I don't know. I wish to God, it hadn't happened. I don't know why."

He breathed out slowly and glanced at his slumbering younger brother.

"Joshie too?"

I nodded slowly, unable to speak. Both of them had been cas- trated, both cut before their bodies matured enough for them to savor the delights of boyhood.

"Why?" Jordan asked again, more despondently as the full realization continued to sink in.

That the woman who had brought him into this world, who he always loved, had done this to him was impossible to believe. Indeed, I was still unable to fully understand what had happened myself, let alone answer his question in terms that he could grasp. It was an act of such extreme cruelty that it was inhuman, insane. I hesitated to answer with what I thought to be true. She did it to hurt me. It was such a gross simplification that she had to be mad with hatred.

"She's crazy, isn't she?" Jordan said quietly.

I shook my head, nonetheless wondering whether he had found the best answer for himself. Had something broken inside the com- plex neurological paths of the brain, distorting her reality to madness? It was an explanation that he could understand more than inflicting pain on him and his brother merely to cause pain to his father. Joshua stirred. I knew I would have to go through it all again. I placed my arm around his shoulders comfortingly and we waited for his brother to wake up.

Chapter 6.

I pulled up as close as I could to the farmhouse. My hands were shaking with anger and frustration. I had imagined that I would be so happy to have the boys with me for the weekend. Now this! There were no words that could even begin to describe my mood. I was devastated. By contrast, the boys seemed to be taking it much better than I was. At least they had talked a little dur- ing the long drive, albeit glumly and mostly with occasional shared whispers that I could not hear.

I opened the door and got out, walking to the front of the car. I could feel the boys looking at me through the windscreen. I balled my fist, slamming it repeatedly against my thigh, then into the front of the car. Had I hit the headlight I am sure I would have smashed it. Instead, my fist hurt as it struck the grill. After a minute, still shaking with hatred, filled with despair, I looked around. The rambling timber-framed farmhouse was more than a hundred and fifty years old. It had been built by my great grandfather and it had been the only house on the spot. Oak trees as old as the house sheltered it on all sides from the winds that swept down from the hills.

Several hundred feet to the south, were the barns. They were also old, but much newer than the house. I sighed, barely believ- ing that amidst such beauty, my ex-wife could create such horror for me. I leaned in through the open window and in a hushed voice told the boys to wait in the car until I came back. My mother was in the kitchen. She looked up when I let the screen door slam.

"Hello Jeff! I thought you'd be back an hour ago. When you didn't call, I was a bit worried. I thought you might have had an accident."

"Sorry, Mom!" I sighed. I groaned. "She's a fucking bitch!"

"Jeff! Really! Where are the boys? Didn't she let you take them?"

"It's not that! Damn her! Damn! Damn! Damn! She's mad! I wish to God I'd known. I would have killed her."

"What's happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Mom!"

"For God's sake, Jeff. Tell me! Are they not coming this weekend?"

"No! It's not that? They're outside in the car."

"Are the boys hurt?"

Her intuition was always very good. Often when I was growing up, I discovered that she often understood me better than I under- stood myself. She had warned me not to marry several times before I tied the knot. I should have listened to her.

"She,... She,... God! I can't say this. She,..."

"They are hurt! I guess they must be hurt badly from the look on your face. Tell me, for God's sake!"

"Mom,... she,... she,... did,... she hurt them bad, real bad," I finally got out. "They're in the car. I don't know what to do. I should have taken them right to the hospital."

"How are they hurt, Jeff?" she asked nervously. "It's bad. God, it's bad!"

"Then why didn't you take them?"

"Because it's too late! That's why!"

"Jeff, tell me! What happened to them?"

I groaned and slowly shook my head. I took a deep breath and prepared to tell the worst.

"She cut their balls off, Mom!"

My hands shook impotently. During the drive I had tried to accept the fact of it. It still seemed like a nightmare that I would wake up from. It would all go away. The boys were okay, sit- ting outside in the warm afternoon sun, talking in the car.

"No! You're joking!"

"I'm not!"

"NO! Oh God! No! You're not joking are you? Why? No I can't believe it! Why? Why would she do something like that to them? It can't be true! No!"

"It's true. Both of them, Mom. She cut their balls off!"

"When?"

"Sometime earlier today, I guess. I don't know. When I got there they were still asleep." I closed my eyes, feeling the groan building within my chest until I could no longer hold it back. "Their balls were in the bathroom sink."

"God! NO! Why on earth would she do something like that? She must be mad!"

"Of course she's crazy! You and I always said she was nutty! If I,... God, I don't know what to do! I want to kill her."

"How would she know,... I mean to do that,... she wouldn't know what to do."

"I don't think she did it, Mom. I think she found someone else to do her dirty work. You know what's she's like. She found someone who knew how to do it," I answered as I remembered the lines of carefully tied stitches on the underside of the boys' penises.

"They're outside?"

"Of course. I was supposed to have them for the weekend. If there's anything good in this, I guess she won't come back to get them now," I added miserably. "I told them to wait in the car. I had to tell you first."

"How,... are they?"

"Jordan's still pretty upset. He was bawling for a long while. Poor little guy. He knows what it means, I guess. He's old enough to know what they're there for. But Joshie, I don't know. I don't think he really understands yet. He just sits there really quiet. He keep saying that his thing hurts, that's all."

"God. The poor boys! I can't believe it."

I shook my head in despair. I couldn't believe it either, yet the evidence was wrapped in my handkerchief. Had I been blind for the last year and a half? The signs were there if I had been alert to them. She smothered the boys, not with affection but in a way that stifled them. She took great delight in their appearance, grooming them for long periods until their long hair glistened. There had been indications all along that something was wrong. The way she treated them, insisted on them not doing the things that most boys did. Their mother had systematically eliminated their masculinity step by step. This was the final act. This was an act of a woman who hated males. Only a woman who was out of her mind would do such a terrible thing. I knew then, that like my sons, I would never be the same after that day. In her own way, she had also emasculated me. It was part of her plan, and it was intended to cause me grief for the rest of my life, whenever I looked at the boys and remembered what they had lost.

"Well," my mother sniffed. "I,... I knew something was wrong when I woke up. When she called this morning to tell you where to pick them up. I knew something was wrong right then. I could hear it in her voice. What are we going to do, Jeff?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you think they should go to the hospital?" I shrugged. "It's not going to do any good, Mom. I think whoever did it obvi- ously knew what he or she was doing. It's not like they could sew their balls back on. They're ruined. There's nothing left. They were mashed to pulp. She even had their ball-sacs cut off!"

"What?"

"God! I can't believe I'm saying this, Mom. Their ball-sacs, both of them are gone. It's like there was never anything there expect their weenies. It's all gone. I don't know what a doctor could do. There's nothing left underneath."

"I think we should call Doctor Bransfield, Jeff. He'll come here right away if I ask him. At least he should take a look at the boys even if there is nothing he can do."

"Boys?" I said sarcastically. "Or do you mean girls, Mom? That's what she wanted to do to them. She wanted girls all along. Ever since they were born, she was never happy, not with them and certainly not with me. It was my fault they were boys. That was the reason she did this. I know it was. When she had their balls cut off she was trying to turn them into girls, or ruin them as boys. I guess they're lucky they still have penises. Okay," I breathed out with resignation, "I'll carry them in if you call the Doc. I don't think I could explain what happened right now."

I went outside again. I had been gone for enough time to make them very nervous. I bundled the blankets closely around them. They were still naked. The only clothes I could find to put on them were the girls' clothes that she had laid out for them. There was no way I was going to put those clothes on them, although I had thrown the clothes into the car along with the boys' teddy bears and the few other toys that they had been allowed to bring from the house.

I carried Joshua in first, taking him upstairs to my bed- room. It was the only sensible choice because they would have to be confined to bed for at least a couple of days and perhaps longer. The bed in the boys' room was a two-level bunk and they did not have their own bathroom. When I needed to, when the night- mares allowed me to forget, I could always sleep in their room. By the time I came downstairs again, my mother was off the telephone. She gave me a grim look.

"He's coming right over. I didn't tell him what the problem was, just that the boys were sick. I don't know what else to do, Jeff."

I smiled and slowly shook my head.

"Neither do I. I have to get Jordan, Mom. Maybe you should go up and make sure Joshua's comfortable."

I hurried outside, easily lifting Jordan in my arms for the second time that day. He was light compared to lifting bales of hay. I carried him into the house and climbed the stairs again, meeting my mother on the way back down. Jordan turned his head away shamefully, ignoring her when she tried to comfort him with a loving touch and some tender words. She shook her head sadly. "

He showed me, Jeff. I can't believe,... God, I'm so, so,... I don't know what to say. It's terrible."

I nodded awkwardly, knowing all too well what she had seen, or more accurately, what she had not seen. Other than the line of tiny accurate stitches there was nothing else to see. Nothing! There was nothing where there should have been a small silky-soft scrotum revealing the shape of two tiny testicles. I held Jordan tightly, barely aware of his weight in my arms as I leaned against the wall behind me.

"How could she do something like this?" she asked awkwardly.

I glanced at her, painfully aware that the boys would eventu- ally ask the same question and want the answer I was unwillingly to share. I reduced my thoughts to four words.

"Because she hates me," I answered simply.

She half-closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, slowly shaking her head.

"They're both such beautiful little boys. I know they're both a bit girlish, but this? I mean to cut off their balls,.... It's just terrible."

"I'm going to take Jordie upstairs, Mom. He doesn't need to hear he's a 'bit girlish' right now," I said impatiently. "I need some time alone with the boys. Then I need to be by myself for a while before the doctor arrives."

"Joshua wants some milk. I'd better go it," my mother said awkwardly.

Clearly she had not missed my tone of rebuke. I was terribly angry and there was little I could do about it. How could she say that they were 'a bit girlish'? But they were, and I knew the truth of it even before the words were out of her mouth. I hugged Jordan even tighter, nearly squeezing the life out of him as tears formed in my eyes.

"Why did she have to go and ruin their lives?" I demanded. "I wish she'd killed me instead. It would have been better than this."

Jordan's face crumbled and as he looked up at me he started to cry.

"It's okay, Jordie," I sobbed. "It's okay. Everything will be okay. I promise!"

However, everything would not be 'okay'. The doctor arrived less than thirty minutes later. My mother led him to my bedroom and then disappeared. I sat in the seat by the window while the doctor made his examination. I heard his muted voice during the few times that he talked to the boys, asked them questions, or gave a few simple instructions to them about taking it easy for a few days, about keeping the area clean, about making sure to wipe their bottoms from front to back. Finally, he stood up and walked across the room until he stood before me. I looked up, meeting his eyes. He was in his mid sixties, nearly ready to retire. Doctor Bransfield had been my doctor when I was a boy. He had been a friend of the family for as long I could remember. He smiled weakly and slowly shook his head, then gestured that we should go downstairs.

Outside the bedroom, the door closed behind us, Doctor Bransfield stopped. His face was red, his hands shaking with anger and frustration like mine had been since I found the boys.

"Jesus! Your ex-wife did that to them? How could she?"

"She's crazy," I answered simply. "I think she was mad even before we were married, only I didn't know it. She hid it very well. For years she was building up to this. Now, well,... I think it got worse after we split up. She hates me!"

"I gave the boys something for the pain. Not that it'll be all that bad. Of course, they'll feel some discomfort for a few days," Bransfield said bleakly. "It shouldn't be too bad though. I have to say that it looks like she knew what she was doing. It's remarkably well done. In fact, the stitches are quite profes- sional."

I nodded vaguely. "I don't think she did it herself," I said sadly. "She's always been able to find someone else to do her dirty work for her."

"It took someone who was experienced that's for certain. Of course, without opening the incision again, I can't tell what was done inside, but I think it was done properly. If that's any con- solation."

"Properly?"

"For one thing, I'd normally be worried about the way the blood vessels were closed. How the scrotal skin was closed up is a very good sign of what was done inside. Like I said, the stitches are very well done. I'm quite sure that care was taken before and afterwards so I don't think the boys will get infections."

"That's good?" I said sarcastically.

Bransfield returned a cold look. "As a father myself, I know how you feel, Jeff. I know you think that this is about the worst thing that could possibly happen to them. I suppose in a way it is, but they're in otherwise excellent health. If you think what has happened is hard on you, just try to imagine how your boys feel. The good news, if there is any good news, the fact is that at their age it isn't all that difficult an operation. In a few more years, it would be much worse for Jordan. Don't get me wrong, you don't cut off a boy's balls and not have some adverse effects. It's just as serious in its consequences for when they are older, but the actual operation is not all that hard to perform and the immediate results will be barely noticeable. If there are no com- plications, they'll recover very quickly. I'd be surprised if they weren't up and about in a few days. Try to keep them in bed for as long as possible."

"You make it sound like that won't be too easy."

Bransfield smiled. "I think you'll be surprised how quickly they get over it, Jeff. They're young. They'll get over it very quickly, at least the physical part. I'd recommend that you keep them nude too. It's important that air gets to the injury. No pajamas, and definitely no underpants. They should not have any clothing against the area. Once they are out of bed, have them wear loose shorts or better yet, just a tee-shirt, or let them go nude until they heal up. No one will see them. I'm sure your mother has seen her share of naked boys raising you and your brother."

I smiled weakly. "And Jordie and Josh too. She's not a prude, Doc."

"She's a good woman, and very sensible. She did an excellent job raising you after your dad died. Listen to her advice, Jeff. Remember that I said that when times get difficult. I want to make sure that you understand about having them take it easy. They don't have to stay in bed all the time. They should go outside as often as possible. Fresh air is about the best thing for them tight now. Ideally, no clothing at all until the stitches are taken out."

I nodded again, trying without a lot of success to keep my anger under control.

"If there's any redness, more than a little swelling along the incision, or any drainage, I want you to give me a call right away."

"What happens now?" I asked with dismay. "Can't you do trans- plants or something?"

The doctor regarded me for a few seconds. "That's not advis- able, at least not for a while. And a transplant, well it's not a good idea."

"Then what?"

"Well, as you probably know, whoever castrated them,... they also removed most of their scrotums in the process. That compli- cates the matter quite a bit. If that hadn't happened, we could use silicone implants. They could be implanted as soon as the boys were feeling better. Aesthetically, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. The good news is that they weren't circumcised."

"Good news?"

Bransfield nodded. "In a way it's the best decision you could have made. You see, the foreskin could easily be used to form the basis of a new scrotum. It would not be all that big, but it would provide something. In a few years, if you want, it'll also be pos- sible to harvest some strips of skin from their thighs. It won't look the same, but with reconstructive surgery, it should possi- ble to create more or less the same condition."

"Jesus!"

"The boys are lucky that everything else is undamaged. If she had tried to remove their penises, it's very likely they wouldn't be alive right now. The bleeding would probably have killed them."

Bransfield shook his head still in disbelief at what he had seen. "I can't believe a sane person would do this. She has to be mad, Jeff."

"Man, this is so fucking unbelievable," I said hotly.

"I'll have to report this to the police."

"Police? Why? She's long gone, believe me Doc. I know her all too well. She's cunning, just like a fox. They won't catch her, not in a thousand years. Besides what good would it do even if they did catch her? They'll put her in an asylum. That's not much consolation for my sons. They've lost their balls and from the sounds of it, when you get right down to it, there's not much any- one can fucking do about it. I don't want them talking to some dumb-assed cop who tells his friends about the two kids who were gelded by their mother."

Bransfield started to interject. He hesitated, deciding to change the subject to something that was less likely to agitate me.

"Okay. Maybe you're right. I'll leave calling the police up to you. Do you understand the long term consequences of what was done?" he asked seriously.

"Consequences? They've been disfigured and they don't have balls. They can't have children. What else is there to under- stand?"

"For one thing, there's more than that to losing your balls. Having children is only part of the story. They'll need hormone injections so that they can mature. I've not had to deal with a situation where hormones were needed at least for several years now. However, I can tell you it's an injection that's done twice a week from about twelve until,... well until they no longer need testosterone."

"It's expensive?"

"Very expensive. However, your health insurance should pay for it."

"Damn!" I said angrily.

"What's wrong?"

"Well everything. Think about it? The boys aren't on my insurance. Their mother had them on hers. It was one of the few breaks I got from the divorce. If I know her,..."

"What?"

"She would have let the insurance lapse." I breathed out. "She's like that. She cuts her losses whenever she can. It doesn't matter. I'm sure I can find whatever it takes to pay for it. What about,... well you know, the rest?"

"Oh! Sex? You mean will they want to have sex when they're older? To be perfectly honest, I can't be sure. The sex urge will be less, there's no doubt about it. Even with the hormones, they will be less active. I've seen that happen with men who have had prostate problems. But it varies. Sometimes,..." Bransfield sighed. "There's no way of knowing whether the boys will have sex- ual drives because they're still so young. However, some kids are sexually active years before they start to mature. I do know that if the boys were active already, it would be more likely to con- tinue. However, they are both so young.... A couple of years and it'd likely be a different story."

"So what you're saying is that more than likely they won't be able to have sex?"

"No, not exactly. I don't know. They'll be capable of getting erections. They'll even able to reach orgasm in a way. Even a boy as young as Joshua can achieve climax. Just nothing comes out. More than likely they just won't be very interested in the oppo- site sex. That's fairly normal by the way, Jeff. I was reading an article on Klinefelter's Syndrome, which has very some similar effects to emasculation in some ways, and there is a strong ten- dency for,..."

"Then they'll be gay?" I asked awkwardly. Memories flooded back and I half-closed my eyes.

"I'm not saying that will happen either. No one can be cer- tain, however it's not unlikely. A lot of boys go through a stage just before they start puberty. They're interested in sex, but not in girls. I expect you had your share of circle jerks with your friends. Most boys do. Things begin to change when hormones take over. However, it's a possibility, so you probably need to be ready for it," Bransfield confirmed. He thought for a moment. "With hormone injections, the interest should be there. Of course, they won't be able to,... I don't know how to put this,... to ejaculate. Being gay may be the best course considering the other alternative is not to have sex at all."

"She really knew what she was doing, didn't she?" My throat was dry.

Bransfield nodded slightly. "There is another option, Jeff. As their father you need to consider all the options."

"Yes?"

He hesitated, stalling for time and obviously trying to think of a way to avoid explaining what the other option was. I glared at him with silent insistence.

"The way they are," he began awkwardly. He paused again. "Well, they're already a bit effeminate. Maybe the boys would be happier."

"Happier? How?"

"If their penises had been removed it would be a real consid- eration," he continued, thinking aloud.

"What are you talking about?"

Bransfield glanced at his withered old hands guiltily. "Fin- ish what she started, Jeff," he said simply.

"You mean,..."

My mouth was parched. I felt the heat of anger rising through me. Did he mean what I thought?

"A sex change is not out of the question nowadays. It wouldn't be done until the boys were well into their teens, and then, only if they really wanted to."

"They aren't girls," I retorted adamantly.

The doctor nodded in agreement. "You need to do what is best for them. I know of a clinic in San Francisco that can help if you decide to go that way. I understand the operation is done in Mex- ico but the doctors are American. And there a lot of clinics in Europe that do it too."

"Not that!" I shouted. "Never! They're my sons. They're boys. She can't take that away from them."

He nodded again, respectful of my outburst. "I understand how you feel, Jeff. I really do. You've been through a lot today. However, you do need to think about what is best for your kids. Yes, they're boys, but an important part of their maleness has been taken from them. You don't have to decide about a penectomy today. In fact, the only medical decision that's needed will be in a few years if Jordan is to start getting hormone injections."

"What you suggested, well it isn't an option!"

"Jeff, it's important that you consider all the options so you can do what's in their best interests. It isn't like they're all-American boys."

"Maybe. They're still a long way from being girls," I replied confidently.

"Are they? Have you looked at them lately? When you go back in there, take a look at Jordan. Have a good long look at him and ask yourself what he's thinking. He's a very pretty boy. Some peo- ple might even say he's too pretty for a boy. You have to do what is in his best long term interest, whether you like it or not."

"No!"

"Maybe a sex change is not the right thing for him. I don't know him well enough. But the fact is that he's already struggling with his feelings. Maybe your ex-wife saw something in him that you couldn't see."

"She did him a favor? Is that what you're saying?" I sug- gested sarcastically. "She had his balls cut off to help him real- ize a secret dream of his to be a girl? For Christ's sake!"

"No. I don't think Jordan knows what he wants yet. However, I do think that the decision that has been made for him may not be as bad as you think. The only decision you need to start thinking about is what happens in a few years from now."

Bransfield started down the stairs. I followed him. At the bottom he turned to face me again. "I'll have my nurse call around in a day or two. I don't think the boys will need to see me again until the stitches are ready to come out."

I watched him walk to his car. I blinked, feeling tears in my eyes. My anger receded. I tried to reject what he had said, tried to find the flaw that made his statements ridiculous, all the time thinking of the two boys upstairs. They would never be girls if I had anything to do with it. It was hard to breath, hard to think, impossible to reason. My hand shook uncontrollably and I clenched my fist to stop it, finally hitting against the door frame in frustration. When I turned around, my mother was quietly watch- ing.

"Fuck!" I said aloud.

"Yes, something like that."

God, I don't know how he could seriously suggest something like that."

"Dr. Bransfield's has been a friend of the family for nearly forty years. Maybe he's seeing something in Jordie and Joshua that you're missing."

I shook my head in futile denial.

"You know he's partly right, don't you?" she persisted. "Joshie is so pretty now his hair is longer. And Jordie, well, it's obvious he's not like other boys."

I tried to reject the truth of it. Instead I groaned. "You overheard, Mom?"

"Some of it. I'm as worried about those two boys upstairs as you are."

"Yeah, I know that, Mom. I want to kill her!" I said angrily. "She may be their mother but she had no right. She had no right to do this to them."

"You're absolutely correct. But now it's done, you have to deal with it in the best possible way. I have no doubts that what she did to them this morning she did because she hated you. I'm not talking about what's been done them as much as what the future holds for them."

"What are you talking about?" I asked bitterly.

My mother regarded me patiently. "I'm talking about the way she raised them after you left, she may have understood more than you realize."

I wanted to curse her. Instead I clenched my fists, barely able to resist slamming them into the door frame again. "Okay. So I agree she tried to raise them like girls. From their haircuts right down to teaching them how to cook and take care of the house. I tried to stop it."

"And the singing and dancing? What about that?"

"So they're good at it? In fact, I happen to know that they're very good. That's why they won the competition earlier in the year. I'm very proud of them, but it doesn't change that she was trying to live her life through them," I answered in disgust. "She even made them sing like girls. You've heard them."

"They have fabulous voices, and the way they sing together, they could go a long way,..." she answered gently.

"But not as girls."

My mother raised an eyebrow, challenging me with a silent rebuke. I glared at her with seething anger. She had not been there when I discovered the horror she had inflicted on my sons. The blood in the basin, their bloodied things, the tiny useless things that were still wrapped up in my handkerchief, the anguish of the trip back to the farm, the older boy crying endlessly, lit- tle Joshie sitting in mute frightened silence while his groin ached.

"We have to make the best of it for them, Jeff," she went on patiently. "There's no point in making it worse than it already is."

"Jesus! They're eunuchs, Mom. She cut their fucking balls off. It can't get any worse."

I pushed passed her, blindly charging from the verandah towards the barn. I needed to be by myself. There was a creek sev- eral hundred yards from the barn. I had often skinny-dipped there as a boy, and even took my sons there during hot summer after- noons. Like me, they had also skinny dipped, performing a ritual that was at least two generations old. I often wondered whether my grandfather had done the same thing. I knew very little about when he was a boy. With pride and joy I had watched my sons slender pale bodies splashing, shamelessly free and unencumbered by soci- ety. I remembered how I had enjoyed the same freedom at their age. When I thought about it later, I realized how much I had been awed by their naked beauty. I often went to the creek when I needed to be by myself. It was a calming place, a place that offered peace and secure privacy. It was the place where I discovered what all boys discovered sooner or later. It was the place where my younger brother and I had discovered our penises had other functions besides urinating. It was only a matter of weeks before we found that there was more to sex than mutual masturbation.

That afternoon, the willows again trailed their long strands of leaves in the water. My memories offered no solace. Each time I gazed at the creek I thought of Jordan and Joshua, splashing, gig- gling, exploring. Their slim naked bodies, sleek with a sheen of glistening clean water, still haunted me. They were boys, but they were also sexless from behind. Even side-on they were children without gender. They were also intensely erotic in their innocent and sometimes not-so-innocent play.

I forced myself to pull the handkerchief-wrapped bundle from my jeans pocket. I could barely look at the four puny eggs as I cradled them in my hand. I wanted to fling them away, out of my life, out of my mind so i could forget. It was difficult to tell whose was whose, so close were they in size. My eyes filled with tears. This was all that was left of my boys. The realization made me shudder. Joshua and Jordan were no longer boys. This was what Dr. Bransfield and my mother had been trying to tell me. In truth, they had not been 'boys' for a long while. Despite my ongoing efforts to induce a semblance of masculinity into their lives, the gradual change has been both profound and irreversible. On the other hand, neither were they girls. Even though they both exhib- ited feminine tendencies, I rejected that other option as having a remote likelihood. Boys would be always boys. But then, without testicles, what were they?

Chapter 7.

I left my sons' severed parts beside the creek, in the place where they had played naked and beautiful and full of the inno- cence of childhood. I placed them in a shallow hand-dug hole, cov- ered it with a rock, cried alone and angry for what the boys had lost. I cried as I wondered in brutal self-recrimination whether they had ever had it, that intrinsic quality that is male and defines manliness. I washed my hands, not once, but again and again, until my hands were cold and the skin became wrinkled and pale. I tried to wash away my disgust and guilt and the hatred I had for her. However, there was no getting rid of it. I knew that the horror of that day would stay with me forever. When I finally clambered up the stony bank the sun was low in the sky, red-gold rays breaking through the leaves and leaving long dark shadows. I walked slowly back towards the house, skirting the barn where Pete was working. Pete was the hired help, a wizened man of fifty-five, who was stronger than he looked and fiercely loyal to my mother. He waved, and I absently waved back. I guessed he knew what had happened otherwise he would have come out of the barn to talk with me.

I stopped on the verandah, and turned and looked back at the western sky, now filled with a brilliant red glow that heralded a rainy day tomorrow. I sighed. Through the screen door I heard my mother bustling in the kitchen, her voice raised in song yet not loud enough for me to distinguish the words. I had grown up find- ing happiness in song. Until now, my sons had been the same way, always finding song to express their feelings. Their voices were superb and I had often found myself thinking that they were good enough to perform on stage. Until NOW! I went inside, oblivious to the loud slam of the door behind me.

"That you, Jeff?" my mother called through the open doorway.

"Yeah! Hi Mom."

I started towards the stairs, reluctantly, because I knew that if I went upstairs I would have to talk to the boys. She appeared in the doorway, brushing her flour-covered hands against a red-checked apron.

"Jordie's down here," she said quietly.

"He's up already? I thought he was supposed to take it easy for a few days."

"He is. He's sitting down."

I breathed out, knowing what she wanted was for me to go into the kitchen and talk with him about IT! I shook my head in bitter yet futile denial. And then, I relented. Her expression told me I was being selfish. If ever Jordan needed me, it was now. Slowly I went forward, trying to think what I would say to him. He was sit- ting in a chair next to the window, holding his chin in one hand, his elbow on the small table where my mother peeled potatoes and stripped corn.

"Hi, Jordie," I muttered.

He looked up quickly, then away, just as quickly. His shoul- ders hunched over, trying to leave as little as possible of him- self exposed.

"Jordie," I began weakly.

His sharp intake of breath was audible. He was ready to cry. I walked forward, holding my arms out to embrace him. At first he cowered, sinking even lower in his seat, and then he looked up slowly. Both cheeks were wet with tears, leaving streaks from his moist eyes almost to his chin. His bottom lip trembled and a frightened quiver passed through him.

"She,..." he sobbed. "Why? W-w-why d-d-did she d-d-d,..."

"Why did she do it?" I interrupted gently. "I don't know. All I know it that it's done. It really doesn't matter why she did it."

Jordan regarded me, his eyes filled with shame and anxiety. I knew what he was thinking. He was trying to decide not only whether his mother loved him, but whether I still loved him.

"It's too late to change what happened," I added awkwardly. My hand flopped and then shook nervously. "The doctors are really good at fixing things like this."

"I don't want that," Jordan said.

I looked at him quizzically. "What don't you want?"

"What you and that doctor talked about in the hall after he had finished looking at us. I don't want him to cut my penis off too."

"That's not going to happen, Jordan," I said firmly. "No one is going to cut your penis off. But they can surgically recon- struct your,..."

"She cut my balls off, the skin and everything. It's all gone."

"I know. But the Doc said they can rebuild your ball sack so it looks normal. "

"I don't want that. I heard him. He said he has to cut my penis off to do it."

"No he won't. You don't understand. They only use the skin from the very end. Your foreskin. You know what I'm talking about, I know you do. It's the piece of skin that pulls back over the tip. You really don't need it. They might have to use more skin from your legs. I don't know how it's done, but they join it together and then put some pieces of plastic stuff inside so it will look pretty much the same down there."

Jordan gave me a grim look, his face revealing more than words ever could. I sighed, thinking how I would be devastated in his position, and want to do anything I could to restore what had been taken from me.

"Your testicles play an important role as you grow up, Jor- dan," I added.

"You think I don't know that!"

I breathed out and shook my head, wondering how much he really understood. "How much do you know?"

Jordan glared at me hatefully. "I can't be a man and I can't get married," he said angrily.

"You can always get married, Jordan," I said consolingly. "You don't need balls for that. You just won't be able to have babies."

My ex-wife used to say that I didn't have 'balls', but I was not going to admit that to my son.

"I know that. What I mean is if I can't make babies why would I want to get married. Uncle Joel isn't married!"

"That's a very different matter," I said quickly. "He doesn't want to get married." I glanced at my mother and willed her to stay out of it.

"Because he's gay? Is that what you don't want me know? Are you afraid to say it? It doesn't bother me," Jordan said flatly. "I still like him."

"Being gay has nothing to do with it."

I glanced at my mother again, wondering how much Jordan had figured out for himself, and how much she had told him.

"It isn't that," I added awkwardly. "Joel,..."

Jordan interrupted what I was going to say. "Dad, I know what my nuts were there for,... I can't be a man now."

"You can be a man," I said slowly. "You will be a man, Jordie. Only you'll need injections."

I did not add for most of his life. The thought of him having to start getting regular injections almost terrified me. But why? Why would that be any worse than a boy who had diabetes and needed insulin?

"I don't want any injections. I don't want to be like that, with skin taken from my legs and all. I'd rather be a,... I,... I, I, I don't know." He sobbed quietly. "I'm going to turn into a girl, aren't I?"

I groaned, wondering how much the boys had overheard, how much my mother had said to them while I was outside feeling sorry for myself.

"Of course not. You're a boy," I replied firmly.

"Am I?" Jordan said softly. "Are you sure I was ever a real boy? I'm not like the boys at school. I'm not blind, you know."

"I don't care about them. The boys at school aren't my sons."

"Anyway I know I'm not what you wanted me to be?"

"What do you think I want you to be?"

"Like you!" Jordan replied adamantly. "Mom was right about one thing!"

"Huh? She was right about what?" I demanded viciously.

His face crumpled at my tone of voice. "What she said about you. You don't like me and Joshua because of the way we are."

"I don't understand."

"I do, Jeff," my mother interjected. "I know exactly what he's talking about. Only you can't see it. His mother could see it but you can't because you're too busy trying to hide what you really are. At least Jordan's happy the way he is, Jeff."

"What way?" I asked uncertainly.

"Despite what he thinks, he's very much like you, Jeff,... and Josh's very much like his brother as well. In fact, every time I look at the boys I always think of you and Joel."

"What's Joel got to do with this?" I asked impatiently.

"For Heaven's sake. Can't you figure that out for yourself, Jeff? Look at Jordan and tell me you don't see the same thing in him that you saw in Joel."

My mouth dropped open guiltily. "What is that supposed to mean?" I managed to say after what seemed a long while.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm neither deaf nor blind, Jeff. I chose to ignore it. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time. There wasn't a lot I could have done to change things. It would only have made it worse. And after your father died, well,... I had to make what I thought was the right decision. I think I did the right thing by continuing to ignore it."

I tried to close my mind to the panicked thoughts that sud- denly rose up. Could she have known all those years? I had been Joel's lover for nearly six years, six wonderful years until I left for college. Only then had I begun dating. Joel never started dating, at least not with the opposite sex.

"Is being gay that bad, Dadda?" Jordan asked softly.

I glanced at him. He understood, yet he really didn't under- stand. However, his eyes blinked rapidly. He was afraid of what I would say.

"No! It isn't bad," I answered simply, guiltily.

I caught my mother's eye and she smiled slightly, giving the answer that I could not.

"You might even say that it's right for some people, Jordan. Despite what some people might say or think," she said pointedly, then to make certain that I fully understood, she nodded. "Like your dad and,..." she added with a meaningful look at me.

"Mom!" I interjected heatedly. "He doesn't need to know everything."

"Look at him, Jeff. For God's sake. Can't you see that he needs to know. If not now, then eventually? Maybe it's time you admitted to yourself what should be perfectly obvious. It's noth- ing to be ashamed of, especially now, with,... with what has hap- pened."

Jordan's face was a picture of confusion. Quickly he looked from me to his grandmother, and back again to me. It was no secret that he wanted to know what we were talking about. Strangely, it seemed to me that after all that had happened to him earlier that day, he had a right to know.

"When I was a kid,... I used to,... with him,.... with your Uncle Joel," I muttered.

"Used to what?" Jordan asked curiously.

I glared at my mother. How was I supposed to answer that question? "We used to,... um,.. do it, okay?"

"Do what?"

"You know,... Jordan," I answered awkwardly. "We did it."

"No, I don't know, Dadda. What did you do with him?"

My mother chuckled, clucking in her motherly way as she crossed the kitchen.

"You're still so ashamed about something that brought both of you so much happiness. You used to be so innocent. They used to sleep in the same room, Jordie," she said over her shoulder.

"So?"

"You have the bunk bed now, but back then there was only the one bed, Jordan. It was a big one to be sure, but,... they were no different to you and Joshie."

"Oh!" Jordan gulped, blushing swiftly from his neck to his forehead.

"Mom!" I said with exasperation. 'What on earth are you talk- ing about?"

"Stone the crows, Jeff. I didn't think I raised an idiot. Or are you just blind to what's been happening upstairs every weekend since the boys have been coming here. Heaven only knows it's not hard to hear them through the walls upstairs. Even if you were deaf, it's easy to see what makes them happy. It's as plain as the nose on your face. How many times have you gone in to wake the boys up and found them in the same bed?"

I shrugged, still not understanding. "Most mornings I sup- pose. So?"

"And were they asleep?"

"Not usually."

"Why do you think they are in the same bed?"

"Cold, I guess. "Maybe they get lonely," I suggested.

My mother clucked again and slowly turned away again, busy- ing herself at the kitchen sink. "Cold,... in the middle of sum- mer, Jeff?" She hummed a few bars of a tune I did not recognize for a few seconds. "Jordie, why don't you tell your dad why you and Joshua sleep in the same bed? It's not because you're cold, is it?"

"No!" Jordan said awkwardly. "No Gramma, it's not."

"Is it because you and Joshua get,... lonely at night?" I suggested.

Jordan did not answer.

"Well?" I prompted. It was impossible to stop my surge of excitement, despite my that I still believed he was very different to me. "Well why?" I queried. I could not understand why I was so surly.

"No!" he retorted. "Its not that,..."

There should have been no way of mistaking his guilt or a nervousness born of shame, yet I was blind to it. I had been exactly the same way. As the older brother I had been ashamed, carefully concealing the intense love I had for my younger sib- ling. Brothers were not supposed to love brothers. Even my mother's emphasis on 'lonely' failed to raise my instinctive sense that more was afoot than two brothers sleeping in the same bed because they enjoyed each other's company during the long hours of darkness.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Jordie," she added in a con- ciliatory tone. She glanced at me momentarily, meeting my eyes as if to deny me any chance of escape. "I'd say it's God's mysterious way, just as much as any other. I see nothing wrong with it!" She gave me a cold stare. I had let her down. "Maybe when the two of you are alone some time, your father will be able tell you what he did when he was your age. He used to sleep with his brother too, and in the same bed," she added with emphasis.

I glared at her as panic seared my mind and left me wordless. Jordan regarded me with an innocence that was depressing. After what had been done to him, it seemed impossible that he was still innocent. However, my mother's expression was anything but inno- cent. She appeared to know exactly what happened in the bed I had shared for six years with Joel. At least, until now I had presumed that she accepted it as being innocent. She had known about it for a long time and had never mentioned it or uttered a single word! The only question was how much she knew? Did she know that I had taken my brother's virginity when he was not much older than Joshua. He was older than Joshua by a few weeks at most. My penis went into him easily, much easier than either of us expected, and it felt better than seemed humanly possible. Did she know about that? And afterwards, when every night for the next six years we repeated the act and coupled furiously in the darkness, or out in the woods, or lying in the hay in the barn loft, did she know about that too? Did she know that my sperm used to dribble down his legs when we came back from our chores in the barn?

"Nothing happened!" I said flatly.

It was a bald-faced lie and at least two of us knew it. For some unknown reason I did not want Jordan to know about my sex life with his uncle.

"Anyway, it's none of his business, or anyone else's for that matter."

She shrugged. "You're wrong, Jeff! It is his business. It wasn't yesterday but it is now. His mother saw what you're still blind too. She understood. Maybe she did it for the wrong reasons, but it's done now and nothing can change it." She glared at me.

"I hate her. I'm beginning to think she did it to make me hate myself as well."

"You can't put their balls back. You can't change what's happened. Maybe they can have injections when they're older, so they'll grow up to look like men, but that really won't change anything. You and Joel were the same in many ways, but for Jordan and Joshua, well, I won't say it, not in front of them, but it's obvious if you opened your eyes."

"Mom, I'm trying to deal with what is a very difficult situ- ation and you're not making it any easier," I grumped.

"Be that as it may. I know this isn't easy for you or Jordan or Joshie. However, you can help them. And they can help you. It isn't the end of the world. Life for them will go with or without you. I kept quiet before. Jeff, I can do it again, if that's what you want."

THE END, OR MAYBE NOT