Needless to say I never told any about it. There was no need for anyone else to know I was a sick masochist.

Outwardly I was a regular guy and I appealed to regular girls, the ones who dream of walking down the aisle in a white dress, having two point four kids and living in a nice house in the suburbs. I was a big disappointment to several of them.

So there I was at 29, the big three-0 looming, and still unattached. All my friends were getting married and I knew from experience they were apt to drop their mates from their bachelor days as they adapted to husbandhood. I was at the wedding of one of my pals. I wasn’t the most welcome guest either. The bride was only tolerating my presence because Morty didn’t have much in the way of family and needed some weight on his side of the aisle at the service. For the reception I was put on a table of mostly elderly relatives. I was sat next to some game old girl, about fifty and who, I learnt during the polite conversation, lectured in Divinity at a university somewhere. She was the only one who could still hear properly so she was a trifle uninhibited with her conversation.

She grilled me about Morty and because my answers confirmed her worst fears; she was worried about the future of the marriage. I’ll say this much for the old girl, she sure knew human nature and its frailties. In fact she was so knowledgeable on the sinful lusts of the flesh that it even crossed my mind to ask her for a date. She wasn’t bad looking for her age. And she could drink red wine. If she’d been at the wedding at Canaan they may well have run out of water too.

When the dancing started I made my way out of the reception and sat on a bench in the gardens, my back next to a huge rhododendron clump in full flower. I was feeling quite depressed and miserable and more than a bit drunk. I needed some solitude in order to wallow in my misery. A tall slender brunette in a red satin dress came and sat by me. I’d seen her at the service and reception, she must have been a friend or family of the bride. I’d thought her dress looked like it was a petticoat and that she was in her underwear. Except that girls don’t wear petticoats any more.

“Hi. I need someone to talk to. I’m Jennifer.”

“Hello Jennifer. I’m Anderson.”

We shook hands. “Is Anderson your surname?”

“No. Call me Andy if you can’t handle it.”

Normally my odd first name is useful for getting through the first few lines of dialogue. This time I was a bit short with Jennifer who was spoiling my misery.

“So Anderson, are you up for some weird conversation?”

“Take it away,” I said. “What’s the topic?”

“My boyfriend wants me to cut off his testicles. How should I handle it?”

I managed not to react. “Do you have any specialist medical knowledge?”

“Yes. I’m a paramedic. He knows I can do it.”

“Hmm. It isn’t a complicated procedure. With your training you could do it easily. I suppose it’s the psychological aspect you are more concerned with?”

“Not really. I want him to become my husband, not a eunuch.”

“You know Jennifer, I think your knack of coming straight to the point must be unique.”

“Don’t change the subject. Answer the question.”

“Yes ma’am.” This was one odd girl I thought. “Is it the act of being castrated that appeals to him or does he just want to be testosterone free with all the consequences of that?”

“Both. And he realises that his balls only come off once. After that he thinks it won’t matter because he’ll be free of his kinky perversions.”

“What other kinky perversions does he have?”

“He likes to wear panties all the time. He likes to crossdress now and again and he likes me to thrash his bare buttocks with the cane whenever he upsets me.”

“Hmm. What about enforced chastity?”

“Not so far.”

That surprised me. I guessed he enjoyed a quiet solo release now and again. “Have you considered putting him on a chemical castration regime? That can give a good simulation of what it’s like without balls.”

“We’ve talked about it. He’s willing but I’ve resisted it. He is a good lover by the way and I want him to keep up his strength in that area.”

“Yes I understand.” I told her. I was frantically wondering about what advice I should give. “And you really love this guy and can cope with his kinks?”

“Yes. Most of the time he’s a lovely regular guy.”

“Okay. Here’s my advice. Tell him you’ll castrate him but only after you’re married and your youngest child has started school. Then you’ll put him on chemical castration for at least a year. If he still wants it then you’ll cut off his balls but only if he agrees that afterwards it’s okay for you to get into bed with anyone you want.”

She was thinking about my suggestion. I had another thought: “If you both agree to that you should put it in writing as part of the ante nuptial contract. And it wouldn’t hurt to put him into a chastity device in the meantime.”

“You really understand kink, don’t you?” She looked surprised. “I expected you to be shocked and embarrassed. In fact I was rather hoping you would be. It’s the devil in me. He comes out on occasions like this.”

“Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

During the conversation Jennifer had moved closer to me and her dress cum petticoat had move up to provide some intriguing exposure of milky white thigh. I’d noticed it before: the sight of a girl’s milky white thighs has a rather magical effect. I forgot all about being pissed off and miserable. What I wanted was to see more thigh.

“No. You haven’t disappointed me and thank you for your advice.” She smiled. “In fact you’ve come up with a win - win scenario. It seems so obvious now. Why didn’t I think of that myself?”

“Because you were only looking at it from your point of view. Not from how your boyfriend sees it.”

She thought about that. “Yes. You’re right. I should try to look at things from his point of view too.”

“You can do that quite easily. Your boyfriend seems able to confide his innermost thoughts to you. If you consider them seriously instead of rejecting them as distasteful, you should be able to create an accurate model of his mind inside your own head.”

She looked surprised. “What an awesome idea. Having Edward inside my own head. I love it.”

“If you really understand him, and give him the humiliation that he craves, he’s yours for keeps. Then you can enjoy him as a regular guy the rest of the time. It’ll be a good life for both of you.”

She considered that and nodded. “How come you are so insightful? Are you a psychiatrist or something?”

“No. Really I’m just a weird pervert like your Edward.”

She clapped her hands and laughed delightedly. “I am so glad to have met you Anderson”

“And I you, Jennifer. There is something you could do for me.”

“Yes?” She had a look of being eager to please.

I was still gazing at her lovely milky white thighs. “Show me your knickers.”

She looked distressed and stood facing me. “I can’t,” she said lifting the hem of her dress right up. “I’m not wearing any.”

I was gazing at paradise, smooth and hairless.

* * *

As it turned out that was the highlight of the next three months. I reverted to my normal solitary self. The memory of Jennifer’s thighs and upwards thereof gave the testicles, prostate and right hand some work to do though.

I was beginning to think that I ought to get out more and get a life. To be more accurate, what I really wanted to do was to discharge some sperm into a vagina instead of letting it fly though the air onto my stomach. I was wondering how to set about this when I got the email.

Hi Anderson,

This is Jennifer. Remember at the wedding? I got your email address from Morty’s computer. You may be interested to learn that I applied your insightful advice and now we’re engaged. Isn’t that wonderful? And thanks for your help.

Thing is I could do with some more of your help, if you wouldn’t mind. If you are the right Anderson, and you almost certainly are because there aren’t many of you, please email back and tell me what I was wearing at the wedding. Then we can arrange to meet and I’ll tell you about it.

Warm regards and fond memories,

Jennifer.

Ps If by some mischance you aren’t the real Anderson, please delete this immediately.

I re-read that email until I could have recited it from memory. And spent some time speculating on what she could want my help with. I was intrigued. I assumed it would be something to do with Edward, some new kink he had come up with perhaps. Well if he wanted her to cuckold him I’d be happy to oblige. Heck, Edward was a lucky bastard to find a girl who would indulge him like that.

I was waiting for her outside the Bugle Inn, a nice old pub in the market square. It was once a staging post. She arrived in an old, somewhat battered Toyota and I was disappointed that she had a passenger. I thought at first it was Edward, who I didn’t much want to meet, but it was a girl with her. Dark hair worn short and a lovely slender figure with smallish boobs. Both of them were wearing jeans. Jennifer recognised me instantly. She introduced Matilda.

“Named after Queen Matilda, the wife of William the Conqueror?” I remarked, looking her up and down and deciding she would be very pleasant to get into bed.

“Not many people know that,” Matilda said.

I congratulated Jennifer on her engagement and she was happy for me to admire her ring. We went into the beer garden at the back of the pub, ordered drinks and got settled. I got the feeling there was a vibe between the two girls, that they were close friends.

The beer when it came was good. The girls chose wine. “I should tell you up front,” Jennifer said, “Matilda and I are lovers.”

“That’s nice. So how does Edward fit into this?”

“We’re bi,” Matilda told me. “Jenny likes both me and Edward.”

“Ah.” What else could I have said? I imagined that Edward would be delighted with a set up like that.

Jennifer turned to Matilda “See, I told you he doesn’t phase easily.”

“You were right Jen. So ask him then.”

Jennifer paused, choosing her words. On the basis that she’d had no hesitation coming out with some quite outrageous utterances, I guessed this was going to be something especially outrageous. It was. “We want to do a castration. For real.”

I nodded. “How do I come into this?”

“We want to give him a scene,” Matilda said. “Jenny thinks you understand that sort of thing and could come up with some suggestions.”

“Why not ask Edward then?”

Jennifer hesitated too long before answering. Matilda spoke for her: “He doesn’t know about it. She’s worried he’d get jealous. Edward would really love to be castrated and he’d probably be upset if she did someone else first.”

“Edward has agreed to the terms you suggested when we spoke at the wedding,” Jennifer said. “He was very serious about it. He probably would get jealous. He would think it was a breach of the agreement or something.”

I had to admit to myself that I was now out of my depth. I’d never met anyone like these two girls, certainly never anyone like Edward. And I’d always thought I was weird.

“Okay. Tell me about your patient. What sort of person is he and why does he want his testicles removed?

Matilda did the talking. “Roger’s wife ran off with some other chap and the divorce cost him a packet. He wants nothing to do with women ever again.”

“Won’t he get over it?”

“I don’t think so. Something seems to have snapped in his brain. He’s gynophobic.”

“Scared of women,” Jennifer explained.

“So he wants a woman to castrate him?” This guy was even weirder than me or Edward.

“Yes. It will justify his gynophobia to himself.”

“How did he get on to you two?”

“He works with me,” Matilda said. “We share an office and he told me all about his marriage break up as it happened.. Afterwards, he told me he wanted never to get involved with a woman again. He was so bitter. He said that he’d like to have his testicles off if only he knew someone who’d do it for him. Later, after I’d spoken to Jenny about it, I told him I knew of a medic who would do it for him. He jumped at it.”

“I thought it would be good practice for when I do Edward,” Jennifer put in. She seemed to have accepted the idea of castrating Edward one day.

“So he’s never met Jennifer?”

“No.”

“Then it’s better he doesn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Say he turns around and accuses you of causing him grievous bodily harm or something? We could all end up in gaol. It’s also better too if he doesn’t know where the deed is taking place.” I paused then added: “After all, the guy is nuts.”

“Yeah and it takes one to know one,” was Jennifer’s retort.

I had to laugh. “That makes five of us.”

We threw some ideas and suggestions around. Because it had long been my fantasy I was able to give them the kind of sick ideas they wanted. They loved them.

***

Hence on the Friday of the following week at 11pm I was wearing a dark suit, a chauffeur’s cap and leather driving gloves, waiting in a shopping mall car park. The patient arrived in a Honda. He looked around, saw the white van and parked by it. He got out and handed me an envelope. “I’ve signed the indemnity,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I opened the back of the van and motioned for him to get inside. There were no windows, just a seat facing backwards. He sat on it and buckled up. I closed the van doors and locked it. There were no windows so he wouldn’t know where we were going. In fact it took 30 minutes to get to a place ten minutes away. I drove into a garage and he would have realised we’d stopped. He’d have heard the roll up garage door close.

It was pitch dark. By torchlight I led him along a passage, up some stairs into the operating room. I opened the door and let him through. The room was in darkness.

***

(Change of narrator here. I know that’s illegal in short stories but I wasn’t there so what can I do but hand you over to Matilda? – Anderson)

***

Anderson had delivered our patient exactly as planned. I turned up the lights and let him see me.

“Matilda! What are you doing here?”

“Hello Roger. They thought that under the circumstances you would appreciate some moral support from someone you knew.”

“Yes I do. Especially after that drive here. It was weird.” Roger looked around. “So is this room.” The walls were painted in matt black

“Do you still want to be castrated?” I asked him.

“Oh god yes. More than ever. That bitch has damned near ruined me. Never again.”

“All right. I’m supposed to get you ready. Will you get undressed please?”

It seemed that Roger was more nervous about undressing in front of me than he was about being castrated. He looked scared and he started to tremble slightly. For me Roger was a colleague in a bad marriage. I’d never really thought of him as a man, a sex object. He had always struck me as just a nice, decent person who had a bitch of a wife. I thought it was cute of him to be nervous.

He was hesitating. I decided to help him. I knelt and untied his shoe laces. His shoes came off easily. Then his socks. I made a point of straightening the socks and put them and the shoes in the cupboard. I was making a production of undressing him to take his mind off the impending procedure.

I undid his belt buckle, unzipped his jeans and got them down. He stepped out of them. He had on a nice, fairly new pair of green underpants, the type with no wee hole in front. They reminded me of schoolgirls’ gym knickers. I liked the bulge in them that his package made.

I carefully and slowly folded his jeans, put them on a hanger and into the cupboard.

I got his sweater and shirt off and neatly put them away too. Roger stood there in his underpants, still looking nervous. It looked to me that the bulge in his underpants had grown bigger.

“Don’t be shy, Roger,” I whispered to him. “It’s only me, Matilda. And it’s all right for you to have a hard on.”

He just stood there, trembling. I knelt down in front of him and slid down his underpants. His prick brushed against my face as it popped out. He stepped out of them and I put them away with his other clothes.

Roger had a full bush of pubic hair. That would have to be shaved off before Jennifer could get to work on him.

“On the table with you Roger.” I spoke softly and gently. We had a massage table set up in the room He didn’t move of his own accord but he allowed me to lead him to the table and at least he got on by himself. I was beginning to wonder whether or not his brain was functioning. I got him on his back with his knees over the end of the table. With his legs apart that gave good access to the area to be worked on.

I brushed my fingers through his pubic hair. “This has to come off Roger. It’s a normal routine precaution against infection. Would you prefer to do it yourself or have me do it for you?”

“Better if you do it, Matilda.”

He was right there. His hands were still trembling. Oddly, for a man who seemed scared half to death he did have a splendid erection.

I had a shaving kit ready and got to work on him. I’d shaved my own pube many a time but shaving a man’s pube was kind of strange. And there’s a big difference between keeping a shaved pube smooth and shaving off a full bush. I worked carefully and slowly and all told I spent a good half hour on him. Apart from taking so long I think I made a good job of it. When I’d finished there were no cuts or stubble or razor burns. It felt lovely and smooth as I traced my fingers over the area worked upon. He still had a full erection.

“Okay Roger, swallow this and then go and empty your bladder. Take your time doing that. When you come back we’re going to remove your testicles for you.”

Roger dutifully swallowed the sedative I’d given him then toddled off to the loo, his prick pointing the way. I put away the shaving kit and organised the lights on their stands so that Jenny could see what she would be doing. They would shine in Roger’s eyes and he wouldn’t be able to see her face.

Not that he would have seen much in any case. Jenny was wearing a surgeon’s cap and mask that had been dyed black. She was also wearing a man’s black shirt, the shirt tails acted as a skirt, black tights and flat heeled black shoes. She took her place in the darkness behind the lights.

Roger came back, his erection gone, and got on the table. I applied the leather restraining straps around his hips, thighs and ankles, explaining that they were to prevent him from twitching at a critical moment. I took his hand and held it to reassure him. He gasped as Jenny emerged from the darkness. She looked like an old fashioned executioner.

We’d arranged beforehand that I would do all the talking and explaining. Jenny would be silent. “Now Roger this is your last chance,” I said. “Do you really want your testicles removed? You need to be quite sure about this. Once they are gone they are gone for ever.” As I spoke Jenny was rolling up the long sleeves of her black shirt.

Roger was so uptight he could barely speak. He just made a gurgling sound to answer me. He coughed, took a deep breath: “Yes it is what I really want.”

It struck me as interesting that for all its owner’s emotional state, his penis had recovered its erection as Jenny had rolled her sleeves up. Presumably, at some level, Roger was enjoying himself.

Jenny put on the latex gloves. I painted antiseptic onto the area where she was going to cut. Roger’s penis twitched as he felt the brush on his scrotum. Next was anaesthetic.

At the same time as Jenny injected the anaesthetic I took hold of his prick and gently squeezed it. He didn’t seem to mind. And it stopped him from noticing the needle going in. “Now we wait for the anaesthetic to take effect.” I idly ran a finger lightly along Roger’s cock as we waited the two minute or so.

Each incision of the scrotum took several cuts from the scalpel. There was some blood but not as much as I would have expected. Jenny, cool and competent, was concentrating on her task. I held Roger’s still erect penis out of her way and watched with fascination as she worked. There was something about removing a man’s testicles that was getting to me.

Why should that be? What was it about it? We weren’t just cutting off his balls. We were taking away his machismo, that smug arrogant male superiority that they assume: those bastards that put their hands up your skirt, the patronising smirk that tradesmen have when you’re trying to tell them what you want done. And any man who’s ever told me “don’t bother your pretty little head about that.”

This was a kind of vengeance on all of them. And it was too sexy for words. Pity it had to be Roger making this sacrifice on behalf of all men. I’d have been happier if it was some bastard who really deserved to have his- . Oh shit! The obvious parallel with Christianity suddenly struck me like a blow. I had a moment of epiphany. My heart skipped a beat and I felt myself short of breath until I realised I’d stopped breathing.

At that point Roger ejaculated and made a sticky mess over himself and my hand. In my moment of revelation I’d gone from a light hold to a tight grasp and that had made him shoot his last round.

Concentrate girl, I told myself. Jenny had both testicles hanging outside the sack and was closing off the cords. She was making tiny sutures with finest of threads. Snip. A testicle fell into the bowl. Cauterise. Repeat with the second one. Roger was a fully qualified eunuch. I looked at his face for a reaction. He was asleep! I cleaned up the come that he’d spilled on his stomach.

Jenny took her time sewing up the empty scrotum. She applied dressings to the wounds she’d made. She looked up and made a gesture with her hands: that’s it.

I got Anderson who’d been waiting downstairs. He and I managed to get Rupert into the double bed we had ready without waking him. He was only asleep. He hadn’t been drugged. Well, not counting that sedative.

Between us we took the lights and Jenny’s equipment down to the van. I collected the sheets and towels from the massage table and put them into a black dustbin bag. Once all the evidence was gone Jenny and Anderson drove off with it. I was alone with our sleeping eunuch.

As there was nothing left to do I undressed and got into bed beside Roger. That was a first. I’d never slept with a eunuch before.

It was funny to wake up in the dark. Anderson had cut some blackouts from hardboard to fit over the windows. He’d sealed them up with duct tape and it was effective. Not a chink of light came through. I found the switch for the bedside lamp and turned it on.

Roger woke up. Seeing me naked in the bed with him threw him for a moment. For a

gynophobic eunuch he was particularly interested in my boobs. “Matilda?” He seemed desperately unsure.

“How are you feeling, Roger?” He’d heard my voice plenty times before, even if he didn’t recognise me from my boobs.

“Well. Just a bit sore from the cuts down there.”

“This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay here all day and if you are well enough you get a ride back to your car tonight. The driver will follow you home to make sure you get there okay.”

He nodded.

“First thing is to have a shower and then we’ll have breakfast.”

“Okay.”

“Put these on. They’re to keep your dressings dry.” I handed him some plastic pants.

Roger put on the pants. He seemed to be all right. He was able to stand on one leg to get the pants on. I liked his shaved pube. Much cleaner and smarter than his full bush had been. It looked nicer too with his empty scrotum. A full sac is very functional but beautiful it isn’t. I wanted to see it without the dressings.

I led him to the shower and joined him in it. We both dried. Then I got his plastic pants off and carefully washed his penis and perineum. He had to bend over so I could wash his bottom. Yeah, I know perfectly well he could have done that for himself. Just that this was more fun. And he was being so obedient. He had a full erection when he stood up again.

I gave it a squeeze and left him to shave himself. I dressed, got breakfast and had it ready when he came out. “Why the black outs?” he wanted to know.

“The guy that lives here normally is a vampire.”

It took Roger a moment to analyse my answer. “You’re kidding.”

I smiled. “He has a rare disease. He can’t take sunlight. He’s ultra sensitive to it. Just a few seconds of exposure gives him a painful sunburn.” That was a complete lie. We didn’t want Roger to be able to identify the house by the view from the windows. “There’s no cure for it either.”

That was a lie too. We’d borrowed this house from my mother. The part we were in had been my self contained flat in my teens and early 20s. I’d painted the walls black during my Goth period and mom had never bothered to redecorate. I admired Anderson’s blackout on all the windows. I’d have loved that when I actually lived here.

I entertained Roger all day. I kept him nude on the pretext that I needed to observe his surgery: no bleeding or complications. Really I just got a kick out of him being nude. I suspect he enjoyed it too. He seemed to enjoy the novelty of having no balls in his sac.

Shortly before eleven that evening I told him that I just wanted to check on him before he left. I fluffed up his prick and brought him off. The semen was clear. I wiped the mess off him and got him dressed. Anderson came with the van at eleven sharp and I handed Roger over to him.

Anderson came back about an hour later to give me and Jennifer a lift home. I invited him in to meet my mom. She lived in the rest of the house. He was astonished that he’d already met her. “You’re the lecturer in divinity,” he gasped.

Mom told me later about their conversation at the wedding. “Nice young man. I thought at one stage he was going to ask me out.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said. “I want him.”

***

Anderson here. I thought I ought to round off this narration seeing as I started it.

***

Thank you Matilda for filling in the parts I didn’t know about.

Matilda for me was too good to pass up. We are currently going steady. I haven’t told her about my castration fetish yet. That’s because I’m too shy. I think she’ll take it in her stride when I do. I’m hoping for a deal like Jenny and Edward have.

End