I Am Going Nuts! Ch. 1a (a little more setup)

Part I

It’s second period. My “conference” period. I, generally, spend it in the teacher’s lounge. I have smoked about six cigarettes, and the cooling cup of coffee on the table in front of me could only be worse if it was instant.

I’m lost in thought. Yesterday keeps replaying in my head.

First, the episode with Kindy Burdett. I ALMOST RAVAGED A STUDENT OF MINE! She is not that attractive. I’ve had much prettier girls throw themselves at me since I started teaching. Not too mention the fact that I prefer women my own age, or slightly older. (Is it just me, or is Christie Brinkley even hotter now than she was 10 years ago?)

Second, the conversation with Woof. I can’t believe I told him all that stuff! I have never talked with anyone that frankly about my sex life. Not even Debby! I go to church with this guy! My wife and I babysit his kids on a regular basis!

Last, but not least, that video clip last night. I don’t know if it’s possible for a person to die of shame, but I came pretty close last night.

Let me explain.

I don’t remember where I found it. I was just surfing the various sites that I have bookmarked, and found a link to this clip. It said something about DP, and I thought I would take a look.

The clip opens on a shot of a guy’s ass, pumping. All you can tell is that he is giving it to someone pretty hard, doggie style. Lots of moans, no dialogue. The camera slowly pans around to the left of the guys ass, and you get a shot that starts with him pummeling a ... there it is, pussy! Then it slowly pans up the woman’s body. A rather good looking body, probably in her early-to-mid 20’s, moderately tanned. Brunette, cool, I prefer brunettes ... redheads are even better. She is gobbling a guy’s cock, with gusto. Occasionally, taking it all the way down. Can’t tell much about her face, between the monster cock in her mouth distorting it, and the way her hair keeps falling in her face.

“Henry” is loving this! I am getting harder, and harder. I can tell an orgasm is close, but not inevitable.

She pulls the cock out of her mouth, and looks right into the camera.

“Don’t you wish this was your cock, honey?”

She says to the camera.

I explode. It feels like my brain is melting and pouring out through my dick. I watch as my cum shoots out of my dick, and shoots up into the air above my eye-level, as I sit in my desk chair, and lands in the floor with a “plop”. Then another jet, then another. I slowly stroke myself through the end. Milking the last out. I wipe my hands on the towel I keep handy.

Then, I double over, and try to keep from retching.

That face! I know it wasn’t her! I mean she is only 12! This woman is, obviously, in her 20’s! SHIT! I would have PREFERRED her to look like Kindy Burdett.

The woman in the video clip had a body that screamed early-to-mid 20’s. A woman, not a girl. Her hair was longer, but ... The same color ...

That face!

She could have been Mikel’s twin ... WOOF’S DAUGHTER!!!!!

I hear a clanging.

“Yo! Jimbo, it’s time for 3rd period!”

It’s Allen. The football coach. We have the same “conference” period. He folds his paper. We both get up, and walk to the door.

My mind returns to the present.

Oh, shit! Third period, general music, Kindy!

Part II

I walk through the door to my classroom, and look around, as if I had never seen it before.

48 hours ago, this had been my “domain”. I was a benevolent dictator, with adoring subjects. I gave them knowledge, and skills, and they gave me respect, and devotion. Life was good, in these 4 walls.

Now, I was prey ... and Kindy Burdett was playing with me the way my cat played with mice after he caught them. She could destroy my life in a heartbeat. Would I be charged with actual sexual assault, statutory rape, or would it just be sexual harassment? It didn’t matter. I know the law, and the way it is interpreted, now. The moment she opened her mouth to anyone that would listen, my career, my marriage, ... hell, my life, was over.

To her, it was an adolescent game. I knew that.

I sat down on the stool at my podium, and surveyed my class. The eager faces of my “prodigy”. The students who wanted to study music further after high school. The faces of those who just wanted to get through their fine arts credit. The look of boredom and tedium on their faces. And, finally, center of the third tier of the room, popping her gum, with a grin on her face, Kindy Burdett.

She winked at me when our eyes met, leaned back in her chair, and slowly spread her legs. She was wearing another short skirt. I’m just glad she was wearing panties, or I would have lost it, right then and there. I would have ran yelling, screaming, and laughing from the classroom.

That’s where I was.

I cleared my throat. Picked up a manila folder full of papers, and started pacing back and forth, in the confines of the first tier of my rehearsal hall.

“Miss Burdett”

I pointed at Kindy with the folder.

“talked to me yesterday after class.”

I have to tell you that sometimes I get a real arrogant thrill over the way my baritone voice echoes back to me off of the concrete walls of my classroom.

“She reminded me that I had promised the possibility of doing ‘extra credit’ work at the beginning of the year. But, I had never, actually, gotten around to telling you what you could do for extra credit.”

I met each student’s eye, as I walked back and forth across the classroom. Except for Kindy. Everyone else was on the first two tiers, and I knew better than to look up there.

“I have decided that extra credit will be in the form of special projects. They can be papers, performances, class presentations, ... whatever.”

I handed the folder to a person in the lowest tier.

“This handout contains a list of ideas for projects that I would find acceptable. You don’t have to select one from the list. The list is merely a guideline. Come up with an idea for a project, and talk to me about it. If it is acceptable, the grade for that project will replace your lowest test grade.”

I felt a vibrating sensation fairly high on my left thigh.

Shit!

I took the cell phone out of my pocket, and without even checking to see who is calling,

“What?”

“WOOF!”

“This isn’t a good time, Dave. I am in the middle of a class.”

“Uh-huh, you’ve got ‘Little Miss Hormones’ in your room, now, dontcha?”

“Right, and you aren’t helping.”

Wicked laughter on the other end of the phone.

“I WAS in the middle of a class, Dave. What is it?”

The laughter ended.

“I think I might have a line on someone that can help with your situation. He says he has dealt with this before, and can help you.”

“Okay?”

“You have a consultation with a Dr. Freeman at four PM, today. Drop by my office, after work. I’ll give you a card with his address.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

“WOOF!”

I turned back to my class. Things were looking up. Maybe this was still “my domain”.

“Now, back to where we were yesterday, ‘Ostinatto’ is a musical device that was used often in the Baroque era.”

I grabbed another manila folder off of my desk and began handing out sheet music.

“One of the best modern examples of ‘ostinato’, is in Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” ... follow along in the sheet music, as we listen ...”

I hit the play button on the CD player.

Part III

Here I stood. Outside of some nondescript office building.

How did I get here? What was going to happen? Even better, yet,...

Would it, REALLY, help the mess I was in?

I didn’t know. I did know one thing, however, standing out front, staring at the building, wouldn’t change anything.

So, I went in and found the office.

I signed in with the receptionist. She started to hand me a clipboard of forms, as she was looking at her schedule, and then took it back.

She gave me an odd look.

“Have a seat, Mr. Lewis, Dr. Freeman will see you in a moment”

She picked up the phone and started talking in a hushed manner.

I started walking to an empty seat in the waiting room.

I was listening to her. Not to what she said. She was too quiet for that. But how she was saying it. It was obvious that my appointment was out of the ordinary, but not something that had never happened before.

I sat down and leafed through some incredibly out of date magazines. It was interesting to read how that the Republican Party was confident that the Democrats had no one that could beat George Bush (the first one) in an election.

“Mr. Lewis?”

I looked up.

“Dr. Freeman will see you, now”

Here we go, I thought.

Part IV

I was directed to an office, not an examining room.

The office reminded me of scenes from “Frasier”, in particular, Niles’ office. The person behind the desk, however, was the spitting image of “Dr. Eldon Tyrell” from “Blade Runner”.

“Ahhh, yes, Mr. Lewis. You were referred to me by Dr. Jameson!”

He said, not looking up from a file, as I entered the room.

“Yeah, Woof, ... Dr. Jameson said that you could help with my problem.”

“Indeed, I think I might.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the way he smiled when he said that.

So, it began. He questioned me, and I answered. I told him everything I had told “Woof”, and more. In the middle of all of this, he had a nurse come in and take a blood sample.

I was glad that he kept me talking to him through all of this. I can’t stand the sight of a needle entering my body.

Don’t get me wrong! I give blood as often as I am able. I can sit and watch my blood go through the tube to the bag with no problem. I can watch them prepare my arm for the insertion of the needle. Taking the needle out is no problem, either.

The one time I watched them insert the needle, I almost passed out.

I have been giving blood since I first had the option, when I was 17! No problems ever, except that one time that I tried to watch them insert the needle.

Okay, there are some things that I am a major wuss about. I accept that.

Anyway, the masturbation, the obsession, the “Kindy” episode, the ache in my balls, Deb’s lack of sex drive, and ... last night, with the Mikel lookalike, all came out.

The nurse who took my blood came back, and handed him some papers. He read over them, as I wound down the end of my ... confession?

“Mr. Lewis ..”

“Dr. Freeman?”

“When Dr. Jameson ... “Woof”, as you say, called, I had a hunch about your situation.”

“Yes?”

“Let me ask you about some things.”

“Okay”

“Your body hair ... chest, legs, ears, nose, .... it has gotten significantly thicker and darker over the time since your “need” became greater?”

“Yes.”

“The same for the hair on your legs, and in your genital area?”

“Yes.”

“How about on your back?”

“Well, yes, there too.”

“Has your voice seemed to get deeper?”

“Some. ... I can hit some notes now that were only a dream a few years ago.”

“How about your upper body strength?”

“Never better. I wish I could have done this many push ups when I was in the army.”

“Ah, yes .... just as I suspected.”

“Huh?”

“Mr. Lewis, your hormone levels, according to this chart, are perfectly normal ...”

“What?”

“... for an 18 year old with hyper-active glands. For a man of your age, however, .... well, I am afraid the chart just doesn’t go that high.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell by looking you in the face that you still have almost all of the acne problems you had as a kid, am I right?”

I nod.

“There is a simple reason for that, and everything you have described.”

Silence.

“Mr. Lewis, your body is producing enough testosterone for 10 men your age. There is your problem.”

“Huh?”

“Everything you have described to me, every question you have answered of mine, SCREAMS that there is probably too much testosterone in your system. ... Tell me, Mr. Lewis, do you now, or have you ever taken steroids?”

“No.”

“Now I have proof positive! Nothing in your blood work points to steroid use! Your testosterone is off of the charts for your age! Not to mention all the symptoms that you have mentioned!”

The doctor pauses for a moment, and regains his detached, professional demeanor.

“Normally, in cases of this nature, medication is prescribed to either reduce the hormone level in the system, or counteract. Like I said, this is what is normally done. Those medications have side effects. In the other cases of this nature I have dealt with, the dosages were low enough that the side effects were never really a consideration.”

He paused and looked me in the eyes.

“With the dosages that would have to be given to you to alleviate, not remedy, your problem, those side effects could be devastating.”

He paused again, as if not sure how to go on.

“Okay, Dr. Freeman, the medications are out. What are the other alternatives?”

“Well, Mr. Lewis, there really is only one other alternative ...”

“Yes?”

“A surgical procedure known as a bilateral orchiectomy.”

“Okay, when can I have it done, and how much time will I need to take off from work?”

“Mr. Lewis, do you understand what a bilateral orchiectomy is?

“No, but if it will fix my problem, then I am all for it!”

“Mr. Lewis, a bilateral orchiectomy is the surgical removal of your testes. It’s castration, Mr. Lewis.”

“WHAT?!?!?!”

“It’s a simple procedure ...”

“I know it’s a simple procedure! I USED TO HELP MY GRANDFATHER CASTRATE BULLS!”

I get up and start pacing in the office.

“Mr. Lewis ...”

“Damn! You’re telling me the only way to fix my problem is to become a male soprano!”

“Mr. Lewis ....”

“I want to decrease my libido, not DESTROY IT! I’d like to have kids some day!

“Mr. Lewis ...”

“I want to have kids ... I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH MY WIFE! ... on the few occasions she feels like it.”

“Mr. Lewis ...”

The nurse sticks her head in the door.

“Is everything all right, doctor?”

“No! This lunatic wants to cut my nuts off!!”

The nurse disappears, leaving the doctor to deal with me. I turn to face the doctor, panting. Yelling at the nurse had taken some of the wind out of my sails.

“Do you feel better, now, Mr. Lewis?”

“Not really.”

“Will you have a seat, and let me explain some things?”

I sit down. Defeated. Woof is good, he knows his stuff. He wouldn’t have referred me to this guy if Dr. Freeman wasn’t the best person to deal with my problem. Now, the expert his telling me that my only choices are a) live with my current situation (unacceptable), or b) have him cut my balls off, like that is acceptable.

“First, your voice will not change. You will not become a male soprano. That only happens when castration takes place before puberty. Okay?”

I nod.

“Secondly, we can take numerous samples before the procedure, enabling you to father an entire army of children, if you wish.”

“Yeah.”

“Many people who have this procedure still are able to attain erections, orgasm, and ejaculate. Most of the fluid in ejaculate is produced by the prostate, not the testicles.”

“Huh.”

“With hormone replacement therapy, you can retain all of your current muscle mass, no feminization due to the estrogen your body normally produces. Increase the dosage from a minimal level, and you will be fully functional, on a sexual basis, if you were not before.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“In fact, you will have complete control over your libido. You can turn it on and off at will. The testosterone can be administered through injection, pill, or patches, much like the nicotine patches that are so popular.”

“Really?”

He was getting my interest, now.

“Further more, with what your testicles are doing to you now, you are a prime candidate for blood pressure, and heart problems, not to mention prostate cancer. This procedure will almost eliminate the risk for all of those.”

“You don’t say?”

I thought for a second.

“Let me see if I have this right? If you take my testicles, I reduce the chances of almost every disease that has killed men in my family for the last three generations, I can still have kids, my voice won’t change, and you can fix me up where I won’t get flabby and fat ... and I still get to have sex whenever I want, with no chance of getting my wife pregnant. Plus, this takes care of my current problem.”

“Well, yes.”

“Huh! Imagine that!”

He reached into his desk and pulled out a hand full of brochures.

“Look, Mr. Lewis, here is some information that will answer all of the questions that I think you will have. I have done several of these procedures, for various reasons. I think what you need to do now, is go home, read this material ... go online, and investigate some of the resources that are there. There are several good sites listed in the brochures. And most importantly, talk with your wife. This is a big decision to make, and she is part of it. Not only that, but from what you have told me, there is a serious rift in your relationship. You need to fix that, because if you don’t ... well, you don’t want to have this procedure done to fix things with your wife, only to lose her, do you?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I start to get up to leave.

“Say, how much does this cost, and how much time do I have to take off from work?”

“Mr. Lewis, let me propose something to you. Your case is unique, not in the problem you have, but in the extent that you have it. Well, actually, it is not so unique, as it is ....”

He smiled at me, then.

“Completely undocumented. No one has done a serious study of a case like yours. I would like to do one. In cooperation with Dr. Jameson ... I have not spoke to him about this, yet, but if you give me permission, I will ... I would like to study both the physiological, and psychological changes you go through during this process.”

“Meaning?”

“If you decide that you want the procedure, and agree for me and Dr. Jameson to document the process from where you are now, to ... oh let’s say 2 years after the procedure, I will do the procedure, AND provide the hormone replacement therapy for free.”

“Okay, I’ll think about that? What about the time off?”

“You are a school teacher, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you agree to the study, we can start the research immediately on your current state. Let’s see ... it’s early October ... I could have all of that done, and be ready to do the procedure at the beginning of your Christmas break, and you would be fully recovered in time to return to school, requiring no time off. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like I have a lot to think about. Let me take this material home, and talk to my wife. I’ll get back to you.”

“Sounds like a good answer to me, Mr. Lewis.”

The doctor rises and shakes my hand.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Lewis. I believe that what I have suggested is really the answer to your dilemma. Please, get back in touch with me as soon as you have reached a decision.”

“Yeah.”

I shake his hand, and leave.

How do I begin to explain this to Deb?

END OF CHAPTER 1a