18th Birthday Present, Part III: The Plan

That day in my home office, I slowly formulated a plan, and discussed it with my wife when she returned home from work. We wouldn’t confront Justin that night about his masturbating or how serious he was becoming with that girl we saw him kissing in the car. Instead, we would ask him what he felt his plans were for after high school. If he told us that he was still planning to pursue a life with our church, then we would overlook his masturbation, and know that his heart was still pure. But, if he showed any signs of yielding to temptation, we would have no choice but to turn to Dr. Dunn for help.

At 6 that evening the three of us sat down in the upstairs den. I started the conversation about our plans for Justin and his life in the church, but the moment I stopped talking to take a breath, Justin interrupted me to announce that he had decided not become a priest, but just attend the University in Salt Lake City, or, as my son put it, “to see what happens once I get there.” With that statement my wife became visually upset, but I raised a hand to signal her not to say anything.

Well, I thought, it’s time for plan “B”.

What about, I suggested to my son, that I make a deal with him?

He looked at me and smiled. I had Justin’s attention. He was all ears, and very surprised his mother and I were taking his news so well and not becoming emotional.

I continued my ploy: “Justin, I could arranged a one year internship for you with Brother Jim at the parish house,” I said.

I reminded Justin that it was common knowledge that old, lovable Bother Jim was becoming forgetful and a little frail. There was already talk in the parish of finding him an assistant.

“Justin, if you work with Brother Jim for a year, I’ll talk with the church elders, and make sure that you’re paid a generous stipend,” I said. “If at the end of the year you still feel that the church isn’t your life, then your mother and I will accept your decision without an argument. In fact, we’ll let you to attend another college out-of-state if you want.

I looked at my son, and by the way he was sitting I could tell he was thinking over what I had just proposed. He settled back in his chair, sprawling his long legs comfortably and crossing them at the ankles. As he always does when he’s thinking, he folded his arms across his broad chest. Justin’s shirt was tucked tightly into his pants, and my eyes locked-in on his small waist that clearly showed off his hard, flat muscular stomach.

“I can go to any college I want next year,” he asked? “Even a college not of our faith?”

I knew I had him just where I wanted him. “Yes, Justin, you can attend whatever college you want. Just give it a year. That’s all you mother and I ask.”

Justin took me up on my offer the next morning. He would work at the parish house for a year helping Brother Jim, and get a taste of what his life would be like in the church. If at the end of the year he wanted to no part of becoming a priest, so be it. As a major contributor to the parish, I had no trouble arranging the internship for Justin with the church elders, and Brother Jim was pleased to have the help.

I called Dr. Dunn and brought him up-to-date and told him that I now had Justin under my roof for the next year, and my son was basically in my control without realizing it. I reminded the doctor my son would graduate from high school next month and turn 18 a few days later. In August, Justin’s friends would leave their homes to attend college in other cities, and my son would have no one to help save him from the scalpel.

I could hear Dr. Dunn began to laugh at the other end of the line. “I’m impressed,” said the surgeon, “I’m very impressed. You’ve done a good job painting your son into a corner.”

We both consulted our calendars and picked a Saturday in late Summer for Justin’s castration. But I expressed my concern that I had no idea how to lure Justin into a car for a three hour drive to Dr. Dunn’s office.

“What do I tell him, Dr. Dunn? He going to want to know where we’re going and why we’re seeing you. And once we’re at your office, then what do we do,” I asked?

“Simple,” said the doctor, “a few days before Justin’s scheduled castration, you and your wife will secretly medicate him to make him think he’s ill and needs to see a specialist. Once you get him to my office, I’ll inject Justin with a narcotic that will let me easily put him to hypnotic trance. From there it will be easy to convince him sign the voluntary castration form so I can remove his testicles.”

“It sounds like you’ve been down this road before, Dr. Dunn,” I said as I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, you’d be surprise how many calls I’ve received throughout the years from desperate parents, like yourself, who felt that their only recourse was to arrange to have their sons castrated,” said the doctor. “And after hearing their stories, I always agreed that these boys had lost their way and needed to be saved from themselves. Like in your case, removing the young man’s testicles was the best solution.”

It was now a waiting game.

End of part III