Anthea is tired of her husband, David's tomcatting around. She contacts Daphne, who has the ideal solution. One that the Angry wives club is very adept at implementing.
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Angry Wives club - David The window of Doctor Sophie Wallace's office overlooked what real estate agents would describe as a spectacular view of Hampstead Heath, the metropolitan's largest rural enclave. In summer months it was a pastoral haven for city dwellers from all walks of life. But in the fading light of that morose November afternoon the black outline of skeletal trees bracing themselves against the buffeting teasing wind were the only signs of movement. With his eyes adjusted to the neon brightness of the clinic, David found the stygian gloom outside depressing. But then, winter always depressed him and he resolved to find an excuse to spend future inclement English months abroad in one of their more exotic overseas branches. The Bahamas, or maybe even Sydney he thought. That is if he could endure the Australians. Still, he needn't mix with them, he demurred. "Now, Mr Bannister�." David snapped back to the present and looked across at Doctor Wallace, sitting opposite behind her desk. She was shuffling papers, hesitating now and again to study a particular page. Not bad looking, was David's opinion. Her auburn hair was tied back in an austere matronly bun and she was wearing silver metallic rimmed glasses that had a safety chord looped around the back of her neck. Neither of these detracted from her other more admirable features. A strong jaw-line, Romanesque nose, slim neck and pine green eyes that twinkled with levity. About thirty he guessed, though she had one of those Mediterranean olive complexions that maintained a pact of secrecy with age. She could even be forty. "We will need you to sign the consent forms." She smiled at him. "Consent forms? For a minor operation?" He frowned. "Policy.' She shook her head slightly. "The operation may well be minor and we could of course have operated with only your wife's permission but where it is possible to gain the consent of the spouse for any surgery whatsoever, then we do so." She pursed her lips, leaning forward reassuringly. "It's routine and I assure you in this case almost an irrelevance, but�." She added slightly apologetically. "Since you're here�." She pushed the form across to him and David casually signed at the two spots she'd indicated with her pen. She pulled the papers back to herself and pressed a button on the edge of her desk. "It was good of you to accompany your wife. Most comforting for her." David inclined his head but remained silent. His wife, Anthea was a large woman and he'd often wondered how such a stimulating and adventurous start to their sex life could have declined to such a mundane level. She kept herself fit enough and, despite her forty eight years, filled out a leotard in a way that would have most men drooling. Yet the continued enthusiasm for physical exertion had not extended to the bedroom. At least not lately. He wondered if she'd got wind of his latest extramarital escapade. "Would you like another coffee?" The doctor asked. "No thanks." The last one had tasted sour. His eyes played over the swell of the doctor's ample bosom and David wondered if he could tease her private telephone number from her. He detected from her an air of interest in him that seemed to exceed mere professional obligation. His thoughts were interrupted as the door behind him opened and a nurse entered. She was petite with a thin pinched face that would look pretty with skilfully applied make up. But at the moment David would have described her as gaunt. "Mr Bannister has signed the forms." Sophie Wallace handed them to the nurse. "Is the anaesthetist ready?" The Nurse replied that everything was in order, and the doctor beamed back at her. "Oh, and Mrs Bannister?" The nurse glanced sideways at David and he thought he caught an odd coldness in her tone as she said. "Looking forward to it." The door clicked shut as she left. "Now David, how are you feeling?" He considered the remark slightly out of place. After all, it was his wife who was about to have a small tumour removed from her breast. He had little empathy with other people's ailments. His definition of minor surgery was an operation on someone else. Major surgery was an operation on him. "I'm fine." He said and, injecting just the right note of concern into his voice, went on, "but� Anthea? Do I take it you're going to operate immediately? Today?" He paused, and when the doctor didn't respond he continued. "I mean, I thought you were going to schedule her in for next week." "Ah." She hesitated, steepling her fingers. David waited, slightly puzzled at her apparent reticence to explain the change of plan. The reason soon became clear when, behind him he heard the door again open, but this time his wife appeared in company with another woman. The newcomer was tall, self assured with dark hair and the iciest blue eyes he'd ever seen. The expression, 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear', sprang into his mind. "Hello David." His wife said. "This is Daphne, Daphne Winterson." David started to rise but to his consternation his legs wouldn't seem to support him. He sank back into the armchair panting slightly at the effort, blinking in astonishment. "It's all right David." The doctor smiled and rose from behind her desk to stand in front of him. "I think we need to come clean with you." She eyeballed the other two women and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Anthea nodded. "Anthea?" David looked from the doctor to his wife in confusion. He leaned forward to try to rise again but weakness prevailed once more. The doctor laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Nothing to worry about David. I administered a drugs mix in your coffee. Rohypnol, Phencyclidine, Valium and one cerebrotropic substance I still have difficulty in pronouncing." "What?" He looked from one to the other. His wife knelt patiently by his side, her head slightly tilted to one side, eyes rounded in exaggerated commiseration. She patted his hand. "David, I'm afraid your affair with Melissa couldn't continue. I decided to do something about it." She paused, savouring her moment of revelation. "You've just signed a consent form for castration. You see, it wasn't a consent form for me to undergo surgery, it was for you." She paused to allow her message to fully sink in. David wondered at first if it were some sort of joke, a candid-camera prank? But castration is a subject one rarely jokes about. "Castration?" He squeaked. "Yes, you are aware that under the new Personal Surgery Act, any surgical operation is now legal provided - where it is not life threatening - you relay three months notice and sign the appropriate documentation. In your case this includes an agreement from myself. And of course, I have given my consent." Dr Sophie Wallace spoke up, slowly as if to a minor. "David, this afternoon I am going to surgically remove your testicles." He opened his mouth but no sound emerged, for his brain had difficulty in digesting the meaning. He looked from one to the other, but no subsequent burst of laughter declared the doctor's statement a feminine jape at his expense. His contracting stomach was the first part of his anatomy to decide that he had just heard a cold, hard, fact. A slight film of perspiration sheened on his forehead. Fear gripped his vocal chords. "Don't worry, it will be relatively painless." The doctor continued. "Relatively?" He finally croaked. "Some subsequent discomfort, particularly when you walk. But that will soon ease." He felt a cocktail of anger and sheer terror consuming him. "This is bloody ridiculous!" He cried, but the high pitch of his voice undermined any menace he may have tried to project. "No David." Anthea said coolly, she swished over to an accompanying armchair and slumped down. He had a generous glimpse of her well muscled thigh as she crossed her legs. "The medical records are all arranged. They show that six months ago you were diagnosed prostate problems. A petty ailment was found, which unfortunately failed to respond to drugs. For some time you have also experienced erectile dysfunction and, as a result, our physical relationship is now non existent." David started to splutter but Anthea went on quickly. "Three months ago you and I concluded that you should undergo castration, as a precautionary measure. The three month thinking time as demanded by the Act terminates today. Dr Wallace will carry out the operation on you this afternoon." She looked over at the doctor who gave a reassuring smile. The prospect thundered within his head. He struggled to catch his breath. "Anthea, I�. Now, let's discuss this�. Please, Anthea. Anything�. I'll agree, anything but this�." David babbled, panic snatching away any semblance of eloquence. "Don't be such a baby. You're not the first nor will you be the last man to be castrated. Anyway, it's all arranged. I spoke to your secretary this morning and explained that you would be away from work for a few days. She's rearranging your diary." David looked at her questioningly. "Oh yes, I was very explicit about your operation. When you get back to the office all the girls will all know that the once upon a time randy David Bannister has been fixed - neutered." David could imagine the comments and titters. He shrank back in horror. The doctor clapped her hands together and straightened up. "Now David, in this sort of situation speed is of the essence. The less time you have to dwell on the operation the less will be the psychological impact. Let's call a couple of nurses, a wheel chair and pop you directly off to the preparation room." He was helpless as the two Amazons who arrived lifted him out of the armchair, bundled him into a wheelchair, and pushed him down the corridor. He wondered if he had the strength to shout but knew his voice wouldn't have attracted a waiter at his club, let alone raise any alarm here. At the preparation room, the attendant nurses stripped him naked with frightening ease. One, an overweight dour faced individual, shaved him and taped his penis out of the way, onto his stomach. He caught a whiff of her perfume - appropriately Christian Dior's 'Poison'. It fitted her demure, he thought bitterly. He was then laid on a gurney and wheeled to the compact brightly lit operating theatre. "Please Anthea." He hissed, begging, pleading and cajoling all the way there, but to no avail. As they came to the doors he gave up, overwhelmed by the horror of his predicament. Anthea looked down at him, "oh don't stop now David, your words really are music to my ears." She sighed. She was exuding almost as much delight at what they were about to do to him, as she had on the day she married him. But then she seemed to consider this was merely another watershed in their relationship. On the operating table they parted his legs, fitted his feet into stirrups and strapped his arms and lower torso down. He felt the prick of an injection into his groin. To Anthea, her face half hidden behind a surgical mask, Sophia Wallace explained the procedure, ending with, "the scrotum will ultimately shrink, as will his penis." She selected the scalpel and held it up to the light. David whimpered. "Silly boy." Daphne, who had arranged the whole event, stood at his head. "The worst part is the sting of the injection. And that's over." She glanced across at the anaesthetist who's eyes crinkled in amusement. He did not feel the cut. He deadened out his thoughts by staring at the theatre lights hovering above him like a huge alien spaceship. He finally thought of the sniggers at work. Especially Janice. He had groped her at last years Christmas party and made sure she knew it would not be in her interests to complain. The cow would positively gloat, hoot with glee. His groin began to ache and the occasional faint stab of pain indicated progress. The women chatted absently above him, shopping, clothes, tittle tattle about the rich and famous. Until, Anthea patted his cheek. "That's it." She declared, her voice sugared with artificial sweetener. "All over, next time you ride the hunt my dear boy, it will be a gelding upon a gelding." He stared back in forlorn despair. Daphne spoke. "I'll take them." She said. "I'll get them shrunk dried and set into a glass paperweight statuette. Of the Greek poet Sappho." The irony was not lost on him. "It'll take about a week, but you'll have it for Christmas." "There's no shame in being a eunuch." Daphne said, as she clutched the jar containing his testicles. "In fact, since the Act it is estimate that 600 men a week are now castrated in the UK alone. For many it is a welcome release, both for them and their wives, from the dictates of their testosterone." "I'll sue you." David snivelled. "No David." Anthea spoke up sharply. "It's all been carried out legally. At least, to all appearances it has been legal." She sniffed. "Anyway, it's not in your interest to make a fuss. At the moment you'll mostly arouse sympathy. If people know I've had you castrated because of you tomcatting around then you'll merely become a running joke in society. Especially with the women. And you know how cruel men can be." David knew what she said was true. His only card was now sympathy; to play along with the prostate story. God, what was he going to say to Melissa? "Don't worry David. Being a castrato has it's positives." The doctor peeled away her mask, skinned off her surgical gloves and inclined her head to the nurses who then started to unstrap David. "You will almost immediately experience less of a sexual urge. Your erections will certainly decrease, ultimately to total impotence." As they raised him to transfer him to the gurney he glanced down at the gap between his legs. It appeared his penis had already started its decline into sexual obscurity�.. A new life was about to begin�. End.