The trip back home was torture. Over the counter pain pills and first aid supplies helped me maintain some degree of cleanliness pain control to my sutured up scrotum. When I got back home it was my intention to drive directly to the hospital emergency room. But I changed my mind. I didn't even call my Doctor. I don't know why I was experiencing shame and embarassment, but the thought of other people seeing my condition was too grim to bear. And if I did seek medical help there would be questions, they would make a police report, more questions would be asked, and I would have to re-live the entire scenario over and over and over again. No. I could not subject myself to that. It appeared as though the wound was not infected. The pain was subsiding. When the time came I could probably remove the stitches myself. What was done could not be undone. Thus I resolved to show no one, tell no one, do nothing about my horrific ordeal.

I felt a duty and obligation to warn other single male travelers from visiting the motel. But how would I do that? Post myself as a sentry at S15 ? Unrealistic. Others may have been surgically castrated in the past, and more may be castrated in the future. If I go public and give the name of the cafe and motel, what proof do I have? If the owners ever found out what I was doing they could sue me for damaging their reputation and harming their business. And my identity would be revealed and I would be forced to re-live the ordeal all over again. If others had experienced the same as I, had they reported it? Perhaps not. Perhaps they too had the same misgivings about reporting it as did I. .

All I can say is that if you don't want to be castrated, look for a cafe that serves pizza that has a motel nearby and there is a stream flowing next to the last motel room. Do not eat there, do not stay there. I have never been able to eat pizza again, with or without toppings.

Later that year I changed jobs and moved to a new community. My scrotum had fully healed and my libido was completely gone. After moving I decided to get a new physician. I was never able to bring myself to see my regular physican in my old home town. I told my new physician that I had sustained a major groin injury in a sporting accident last year and that was the reason my scrotum and testicles were gone. He probably didn't believe me, but was more than willing to provide me with a prescription for testosterone. Although I had not been taking any testosterone prior to this, I told him that I had been taking it but after moving I had run out and I needed to start up a new local prescription. Thankfully my health plan pays for it. I have been taking the treatment for over six months now. My concentration and strength have returned. I am again interested in, and can engage in sex.

It was not easy at first trying to develop a new relationship with a woman. What woman would want to have sex with a man who had no balls? Well was I mistaken. Lots of women want to have sex with a ballless man. While a few are grossed out, most find it fascinating and they really get turned on. While there can be no children born by accident I still use a condom and hopefully there are no diseases contracted by accident. Without any balls to get in the way I have discovered new and more energetic ways to please myself and my partners. Sometimes I fantasize that I still have my balls, but most of the time I find it even more erotic knowing, and feeling, that I do not having them. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have imagined that my sex life would be so active, and so fulfilling, castrated or not. Not that I am recommending castration, but, well, I can now recommend it. Unfortunatley it is not one of those things where one can say "try it, you'll like it". You might like it, but if not it is a river of no return. There are certainly worse things in life than castration.

So, that's my story. I have not taken any more road trips. Such a trip would only remind me of my traumatic ordeal, and I would be fearful of what might next be taken from me. I don't want my last remaining part winding up as sausage slices on the top of a pizza somewhere.