After a visit to the consultant, Russell decides that there is only one way to balance the sexual needs of himself and his wife Pamela.
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Angry wives club - From Russell with love.
I recall it was on a sombre blustery afternoon in November that we
returned from visiting the last of a wearisome series of
consultants. We were both dog-tired. As I turned into our driveway
the car crunched on a welcoming carpet of dry russet leaves that
led
right up to the metal up-and-over garage door.
Such was autumn.- I love it's earthy smell. That hint of chill
in the air, the morning mist, and even the ever-earlier encroaching
darkness. I've always delighted in the diversity of the seasons, I
have no favourite. Though some think of autumn as a transitory
season, I see it as distinct from its summer predecessor and its
wintry successor, as day is to night.
The car engine fell silent and the only remaining sound was the
wind
hissing through the surrounding towering chestnut trees. They were
stark against a truculent sky, their branches waving to no one in
particular.
Wordlessly, Pamela swung herself out of the front seat and stepped
onto the driveway. She pulled her sheepskin coat about her and her
pale face looked spectral in the fading light. By the time I
caught up with her at the house, she'd keyed open the front door,
and warm central heated air rushed out to greet us.
"I'll put the kettle on." She said, slipping off her coat and
carefully hanging it on the black oak coat stand just inside the
door. I watched her retreating back, wanting to take her in my
arms, tell her it did not matter, that nothing had changed. But
she would have resented the lie.
"Tea for me." I called out to her over the rattle of the electric
kettle being thrust underneath the tap. The house waited in hushed
anticipation. Entering the large lounge I made for the TV to catch
the news, then changed my mind and slumped into the nearest
armchair. It was already gloomy enough to justify lights but I
wanted to prolong the illusion of day. Pamela came through the
door, her face pinched, rubbing her hands - trying to the remove
the damned spot, I thought - and smiled at my mental reference to
Shakespeare.
"I'm glad you think it amusing." She said tartly.
"I was thinking of something else." I replied, slightly hurt.
"Easy for you to do."
"What?"
"Think of something else. I've thought of nothing else."
I paused. "There are other doctors. Other possibilities." I said
at last.
"Surgery you mean?"
"Not necessarily."
"Well what then?" She sat down and stared at the unlit gas fire,
as
if attempting to light it by power of thought.
"Lovemaking doesn't necessarily mean intercourse, there is also�"
I
started, but she cut me short.
"Oh?" She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You mean oral sex? I
don't think I�.."
"I was going to say affection, just holding each other�." I began.
"Russell," she interrupted again, continuing patiently, "you heard
the consultant, intercourse in my condition is unwise, always will
be. She looked about her in despair. "I've always known there was
a problem, you know that. Ever since Stephanie. It's just got
worse that's all." Her eyes watered and the usual violet tint
looked black in the half-light. I longed to go over, put my arms
about her and kiss the tears away, but we had to talk this through,
get it over with.
She looked down at her hands. "And it's not going to get any
better."
"I know." I said gently.
"But you see Russ the worst of it is, it doesn't really matter to
me. Sex isn't a big issue for me. It's you I'm thinking of. And
the
effect on us."
. "Yes, I understand that." Which was true. There had been a
paucity of lovemaking in our two years of marriage. But I'd
endured
that after the insatiable appetite of my first wife - which I'd
ultimately been unable to satisfy.
"You won't be able to exist without some physical relationship."
She said bitterly. "Men can't. I ought to know." I assumed she
was
referring to her first husband.
"That's not true." I retorted, fingers crossed. She was a very
attractive woman and it wouldn't be easy. In fact it hadn't been
easy, quite the opposite. Even now with her face drawn, lines of
fatigue crowfooting the corners of her eyes, she was lovely. She
had the fragility of a porcelain china doll with smooth skin like
tissue stretched tightly over her delicate features. She'd gone
grey early but had not hidden the fact, preferring instead to wear
her hair as a silver frame to her face. Her smile was sunshine.
"Don't be silly Russ. Don't just say things for my sake."
"It's you I want. Not just your body." I exclaimed, rather
pompously.
"Russell!" She tried to admonish me, but her lips betrayed her
with
the start of a smile.
"Sorry."
Her smile ebbed. "I feel as though I've been castrated." She said
staring into space. "Now I know what it must feel like for you poor
men."
I swallowed at the opening she'd given me. If I was to broach the
subject at all, now was the ideal moment. "Pamela." I started.
"I
was talking to Daphne last week. Do you remember? Daphne
Winterson,
the accountant?"
"Daphne? Oh. Hmmm. Quite a striking woman". Her voice adopted a
note of disapproval. "Certainly knows her own mind that one." She
played with her wedding ring.
"She suggested something. I've been thinking about it since."
"I didn't know she was a gynaecologist as well?" Pamela snapped
coldly.
"She isn't."
"Then it's none of her business."
"We weren't talking about you." I said a little testily.
"Oh?"
"It's me. This new Act. The freedom of personal
surgery.
What if�" I hesitated, trying to choose my words with care. "What
if I had the surgery. If I were�" I swallowed hard. "Well, what I
mean is, if I were to be emasculated?"
She looked at me questioningly. "What?"
She wasn't intentionally making this difficult, but that was the
effect. "You know - like you said, castrated?" There, it was
out.
Pamela's eyes widened. "Castrated?" She searched my face for
signs
it was some sort of joke. "You?"
"Yes.'
"You can't be serious?"
"Perfectly."
"Don't be ridiculous." She leaned forward, seeking something to
occupy herself with, and reached for the gas fire. There was a
click as the electric switch fired, a slight hump, and infant
flames
gently started to play around the imitation coals. They glowed,
yellow and orange. Against the darkening background her face
acquired a sort of reverent silhouette that is reminiscent of old
renaissance paintings.
"What's so ridiculous about it?" I argued. "You said yourself
that's
how you felt, virtually castrated. Sex irrelevant. And there are
distinct pluses, on average, castrated males live longer." I
said,
adding thoughtfully, "I suppose it's the relief from all that
sexual
tension?"
"What about other side effects?" She spluttered, straining to
think
of some. "Osteoporosis for example?"
"Oh, I'd need tests first, and we'd have to monitor the situation.
But on balance, it's a gain."
"You've really thought this out?" She said, soft surprise in her
voice.
I left my chair and knelt before her, placing my hand over hers.
"Yes. Carefully. Today just confirmed it as a worthwhile option."
"Well, I think you're talking nonsense." But her words lacked the
conviction of a few moments ago.
"At least, think about it. Castration isn't the taboo it was a few
years ago."
"It's horrible."
"It's an option." I pressed.
"What if we were to� I mean, what if anything happened to me?" She
bit her lip.
"Firstly, that's not likely. On average, women outlive men.
Secondly, if I remarry it's not likely that sex will be top of the
agenda. I'm hardly in a position to run off with a dolly bird. In
fact, as a eunuch I could be quite an attractive prospect to some
women!"
"Eunuch." She shivered. "It's an awful word."
"That's the connotations." I said. "Don't worry, I wouldn't
suddenly start speaking soprano, or go bald. In fact, castration
is
supposed to reduce the possibility of hair loss. And it's a
blessing
as far as the old prostate goes."
"Bit drastic though isn't it?" She said, shaking her head. "What
about drugs?"
"Expensive, tedious and anyway, you can only get them on
prescription. And what about when I'm away? Would you trust me to
take them then? No, I don't want to be chained to tablets or
whatever, for the rest of my life." I'd already mentally argued
the
case with myself thoroughly. "This is a sign of commitment." I
finished.
"You'd really do that, for me?"
"No." I said firmly. "For us. You and me."
As Pamela opened her mouth to speak, the door clattered open and we
quickly drew apart. I stood up awkwardly. Pamela's twenty
one-year-old daughter burst into the room.
"Oh." She said stopping in surprise. "What are you two doing in the
dark?"
"It's not really dark yet." Pamela said, slightly irritable at the
untimely interruption.
Stephanie groped for the wall-lights switch and a mellow tawny
radiance filled the room. "Well, I think it's dark." She shrugged
off her bright red fleece jacket onto the sofa and perched herself
on the arm. Her long black hair flopped around her neck and she
repeatedly tossed it back, just as she'd seen the catwalk models do.
Her skirt was a little too short for fashion but she had a trim
figure with good legs and that deterred sartorial criticism,
especially from men. She wore a small diamond stud on the side of
her nose. She looked from one to the other of us, suddenly aware
that she'd arrived at an inopportune time. Apprehension clouded her
face. "You've been to the consultant?" She guessed.
"Yes." Pamela replied.
"And?" The question was not impertinent as they shared most
secrets. They had been living almost as sisters for nearly five
years.
"It's not good." Pamela said quietly.
Stephanie's colour drained but Pamela immediately went on. "Oh,
nothing like that. Just that I have to be careful that's all, with�
well, you know.."
"Oh." Stephanie said in hesitant relief, looking from her to me.
"We were just discussing the implications." I added.
"Ah." Stephanie looked down, unsure where to take the conversation.
I decided to take the bull by the horns, cleared my throat and said
abruptly. "I've decided the solution lies with me."
"How's that?" Stephanie asked suspiciously.
"It's a matter of balancing our relationship."
"In what way?"
"Putting our physical needs on the same plane." I struggled.
"I'm sorry, is this some sort of guessing game?" She folded her
arms.
I felt a tightening in my chest and breathing became hurried. "I've
decided to be castrated." I revealed at last, tired of euphemisms.
Stephanie blinked.
"Russell!" Pamela exclaimed.
I looked quickly at Pamela and, taking her hand, continued. "I
mean, we've, that is your mother and I, have decided that
castration for me is the most appropriate step forward." Damn, I'd
sounded pompous again.
"You're kidding right?" She said with a humourless smile, her gaze
repeatedly flicking from me to Pamela and back, in bewilderment.
"No." Pamela said. "I'm afraid he's not. I'm still trying to get
used to the idea, and Russell is not quite correct. At the moment
it's only one option." Her brow furrowed. "But well, I suppose it's
not out of the question."
"It's not as drastic as some people think." I said encouragingly.
"I'm told it's becoming almost fashionable with men of my age."
Stephanie's eyebrows remained glued in the up position.
"You disapprove obviously?" Pamela concluded, with what sounded
like some disappointment.
Stephanie jumped up and walked around the room. "Disapprove? It's
not for me to approve or disapprove, it's your decision. But if you
want to know�. then actually, no. I don't disapprove. One of the
guys in the office was done. We all teased him at first but heck,
he seems happy enough with it and quite honestly you can't tell.
Naturally, I suppose if a girl were to sleep with him then�" She
broke off, aware that she was being flippant. "Sorry. I didn't mean
to be�." She said.
"That's ok." I quickly intervened. "In fact, you're right.
Superficially, you can't tell." I chuckled. "Though I may have to
cut down on the pop a bit."
At my reference to the amount of wine I drank Pamela nodded curtly.
"And that will save us a few bob." She said pointedly.
We all smiled and the tension eased by a few notches.
I interpreted Pamela's remark as a form of concurrence, which seemed
to settle the matter, at least for the present. I couldn't see any
reason to prolong the debate so I released her hand and went over to
the phone. "The Act depicts that we have three months thinking time
in case we change our minds. We might as well use that period for
what it is intended. In the meantime I'll book an appointment." I
said as I punched in the memorised digits that Daphne had given me.
She answered almost immediately. "Daphne?" I asked, my chest
tightening. "It's Russell, we met last week." There was a pause.
"About er, what we talked about, I've discussed it with Pamela and
I'd like to go ahead." Congratulations emitted from the other end,
and Daphne carefully outlined the next steps. "No problem." I
concluded. "I'll bring them with me when you do the preliminary
tests." After a few pleasantries I replaced the receiver, and turned
to the two women. "Daphne will arrange a tentative reservation at
the clinic, for about three months time. As soon as I return the
initial consent forms. She sees no reason to think the tests would
provide a problem."
Pamela and Stephanie exchanged glances.
Pamela stood up and said she'd make us that drink, while Stephanie
just shook her head in amazement. "Wow, you'd do that for mom?"
"From Russell with love," I said, in exaggerated seriousness.
From that moment the time flashed by. Pamela gained enthusiasm as
she avidly read everything to hand on the subject. We scoured the
Internet - on which we found an archive location where advice poured
out.
Stephanie became a mischievous minx. Whereas I confess I had told
her it was to be no secret, she did delight in specifically
mentioning to visiting friends that I was soon to be doctored as a
love pact with her mother. Their reactions were varied and,
invariably provided Stephanie with much amusement. One or two of
her boyfriends tiptoed around Pamela as though she was some sort of
man hating castratrix.
The girl friends generally thought it a wonderful gesture. There's
no doubt that my decision enhanced my relationship with Stephanie.
Maybe without the sexual imperative I was no longer seen as an
advantaged competitor for her mother's affections.
I never did meet Daphne again in person but the clinic was efficient
and Doctor Wallace was kindness herself. Like an uncomplicated
pregnancy, I was out within forty-eight hours sans testicles.
A week or so later, Pamela organised a small gathering of friends
for a dinner party in my honour. They had obviously been carefully
chosen as there were only two other men present, one like me had
been castrated, the other scheduled. The women were enthusiastic
about the whole process and saw it as a great leap forward for the
relationship between the sexes.
On that score, I remained strictly neutral. Or should I say,
neutered.
End