"Why, you say?"  he asked retorically.  "Well, Patrick, I'm obviously a bit of a pervert, and I've always toyed with the idea of using my surgical skills to make some of my fantasies a reality.  I've always fantasized about turning a genuine top, someone like yourself, into a total bottom.  Sure, I've tried taking so-called tops up the ass over the years, and many of them really got into it.  But I've always wanted to take it to the extreme.  What if the top was forced into bottoming for the rest of his life?  What if he no longer had a dick and balls?  What if his only sexual instruments were his ass and his mouth?  Then he'd have no choice, but for the rest of his life to be a total bottom-- a total, complete irrevocable change.  And I'd know that I'd been the one who changed him.  That thought, Patrick, made my dick strain in  my pants until I couldn't stand it anymore."

"Then I saw your ad.    And I just had a feeling about you.  So I gave a couple of friends some cash, had them call you.  Sure enough.  They raved, and said you were quite a good fuck, and seemed to be the real thing."

During his little speech, I was just sobbing and nodding my head no, no as he talked.  It didn't matter what this sick fucker said, what his reasons were.  My fucking dick was gone.  Then I looked up and saw him coming at me with a needle.  I tried to squirm away and pleaded with him, but before I knew it, it was in my hip and the plunger depressed. 

"Patrick, this will help you calm down quite a bit.  You're going to be here with me for several weeks.  I don't want you depressed and sobbing the entire time.  You'll spoil all my fun.  Tomorrow, I'll start you on some mood elevators, and of course some testosterone.  But for tonight, you sleep."  I fell into a deep slumber as he stroked my hair.

When I eventually woke up, I was in a bed with a sheet over me.  My arms were strapped to something below the bed, but with enough room for me to move them.  I cautiously lifted the sheet.   I was naked except for a bandage on my groin, the catheter was still in, and it was hooked to a bag on the side of the bed.  As I came into full consciousness, I realized how odd I felt.  I wasn't really upset about my circumstances.  I just felt hungry.  "Hey Mr?"  I called him a few times, before he appeared at the doorway.  "Could I get something to eat man?  I'm starved". 

"Well, that's more like it-- for the record, you can call me Dr. Speakman.  And be generous with your use of the word, Sir.  It will make life easier for you.  Understood?  "Yes sir", I responded, surprised at my own compliance.  "Oh, a fast learner.   We'll get along fine, boy".  By the way, I've sent emails to your friends and family from your email address, and let them know you're on fully paid "work vacation" in the Bahamas, having the time of your life.  It was rather unexpected, but the money was too good for you to pass up.  Don't worry, I didnt' specify what the money was for, for those who don't know you hustle.  ...This guy thought of everything. 

He brought me food, let me watch television.  That went on for a few days.  He must have been giving me something, a lot of shit probably.  I felt good, happy-- and stupidly, oddly indulgent of him and of my circumstances.  I also slept-- a lot, awake only 3 or 4 hours a day, I'd guess.  On the 4th day, he let me get up, and I walked some.  Sore, but not to bad, I guess. 

One day he came in, walked me down the hall to the room and to the table I'd woke up on after the procedure, and proceeded to strap me down.  Resistence seemed silly to me.  He began taking out my stitches, and the catheter, explaining it all to me in some detail as he went.  "You're healing up so nicely Patrick.  You won't even have much of a scar, and the hair is growing back quickly too."  "Now I'm not one of those men who enjoys shaving a nullo".  I think a nice thick, black bush of hair looks sexy over a pee hole".  I like my nullos muscular, masculine, blue collar-- all man in every way but one... he laughed a bit to himself. 

"What's a nullo?"  I asked.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  A nullo is a term for a man who no longer has his dick and balls-- like yourself.  You could also be called a eunuch, but eunuchs generally have their dicks, so thats not as descriptive, is it?"  "I guess not".  "Nullo", I said to myself a few times.  "I'm a nullo", trying to get used to sound of it. 

Gradually the routine changed to include workouts in his gym.  He had everything I could ask for-- except pants.  I was kept naked, allowed only workout shoes for the gym and wrist straps.  Fuck, it was odd, working out naked, watching myself in the mirrors.  I'd squat and was unable to keep myself from staring at my naked, empty crotch.   It seemed odd to me, and I was facincated by it.   He must have been giving me some good roids, because in a couple of weeks I showed progress, and looked better than I did before coming here-- well my muscles did anyway.

To be continued.   In part III, Patrick leans what being a total bottom means.