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