I Am Going Nuts! Ch. 1b (the other shoe drops, the last of the setup)

Part I

On the way home from Dr. Freeman’s, I called mine and Deb’s favorite restaurant. I talked to Chuck, the manager. I arranged for us to have the most secluded table in the place, and the dart board area in the bar, to ourselves for the night.

It’s amazing the things you can get, when you go to a place 4-5 times a week, and tip well.

I was home.

Now, the rough part starts.

Dr. Freeman was right. I did have to lay it all on the line with Deb. Woof said as much, too, when he called me on the drive home from the doctor’s office.

I open the door ...

“Dad’s Home!!”

Two little red streaks charged at me from the den, and pounced on me about the time I have door shut.

It’s amazing! I am 6’2” and 190 lbs. These two dogs are no more than 4” at the shoulder, and weigh about 27 lbs., when put on the scale, together. I went down on my back under a flurry of wet noses, furied tongues, and wagging tails.

“Hey, guys!”

Debby walked in from the den, grinning at the sight in front of her.

“Thanks, dear.”

She grinned down at me.

“No problem. Why are you home so late? You didn’t say anything about after school rehearsals.”

“Some stuff came up. ... You want to hit Apache Avenue Pub?”

“Great! Let me go get the darts!”

I played with “the boys” some, and put them in their kennel. The cat strolled by, and looked at me like “whatever”.

Deb and I are “dink’s”. Dual income, no kids. Between what’s left over from my “early out bonus” money from the Army, and what we both make, we live pretty comfortably. The downside is that ... well, she gets home about 6:30 each night, and if I have a late rehearsal, or parent-teacher conference ... we can’t even begin to start cooking dinner until 7. It won’t be ready to eat until about 9. By then we are beyond starved. So, we eat a lot of delivery food, and eat out a lot.

Eating out is the best. Not only can you eat at a reasonable time, someone else gets to deal with the mess.

So, here we went, off to our favorite restaurant. The Apache Avenue Pub. It’s a nice place. Good atmosphere. GREAT food. 12 beers on tap (all of them imports or microbrew), over 70 different brands of beer in a bottle, 20 different selections from the single-malt Scotch bar, a great salad bar, and the best prime rib in town.

Part II

I held the door of the restaurant open for Deb.

“Debby! Jimbo!”

It was Chuck, the manager.

“Marie will take you to ‘your’ table, Deb. Hey, Jim, we have a couple of new beers in that I think you might like ... you want to come behind the bar and check out the selection?”

“Not right now, Chuck, ...”

“A St. Andrew’s Ale for you, and a Guinness for Debby, right?”

“I think I will have the Celis Grand Crue, tonight. Thanks, Chuck.”

I walked to “our” table.

“Our table” is a small table, out of the way, with only two chairs. Marie was sitting opposite Deb, when I walked up. Deb and her were talking about the latest stuff between Marie and her boyfriend, excitedly.

“Marie thinks he might propose soon!”

“That’s great, Marie! We will ..”

“I know, Deb wants the Broil, and you want the ... uh, it's Tuesday,

French Dip, right?”

I nodded.

“You having the salad bar tonight, Jim?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, Chuck should be here in a minute with your beers.”

“Thanks.”

She got up and walked to the kitchen. I took off my jacket, and started to get settled in my chair.

“Debby! ... Jim!”

I looked over and Martin, the cook, had stuck his head out the kitchen door and was waving at us. Deb waved. I waved.

“Hey, Martin.”

“You sure you don’t want the filet mignon tonight, Jim? It is very nice!”

“No thanks, Martin ... just a sandwich.”

I love this place, but ... I feel like “Norm” from “Cheers” when I walk in. Normally that is not a bad thing, but tonight, I just want us to be left alone.

Chuck walked up, and set our beers down.

“Marie got your order, here are your beers, the same beers will keep coming, unless you tell me you want something different, and the back part of the bar is yours all night. If you need anything else, let me know.”

Debby looked at Chuck, and, then, me. This was out of the ordinary.

She shook her head, and went on.

“Thanks, Chuck.”

“Thanks, Chuck.”

He left. We both sipped at our beers. Deb sat back and relaxed.

“What a day!”

“I understand. Tell me about yours.”

So, she did. Normally, I am very attentive during this little nightly ritual, but tonight ... it was mostly, grunts, “yeah” ’s, and “oh really” ‘s, as she told me about her day.

Tonight, my mind was elsewhere, and I did my best to be a good husband, while I contemplated the bombs I was about to drop on her.

When it was my turn, I told her about my day at school. ... and never addressed why I was late.

That got us through dinner.

I stood up, picked up my beer, and my jacket.

“Let’s go throw some darts.

Part III

The electronic dart boards are in the back end of the bar area at Apache Avenue. Normally, that part of the bar has few people in it.

Tonight, Chuck had made sure that there was no one, but Deb, and I. Occasionally, Craig, his other bartender, would poke his head in to make sure that our beers were not empty.

Debby and I had just finished our “warm-up” game.

“We need to talk.”

“What is it, honey?”

She caressed my cheek. She could tell by the tone of my voice, the words I chose, and the look on my face that this was important.

I looked into her eyes. I saw the concern.

The dam broke, and “my confession”, as I was beginning to think of it, came pouring out.

When she tried to interrupt me about the lack of sex between us, I shut her down, and let her know that that was just a small part of the problem.

It just kept flowing out of me: the internet porn, the masturbation, the incredible amounts of KY I have gone through, the “Kindy Burdett” episode, the video of the Mikel lookalike, and, finally, the almost constant ache in my balls, which, even at that moment, was beginning to get unbearable.

I told her of the nights that we have made love. Yet, that wasn’t enough for me. As soon as she dropped off to sleep, I got up and masturbated to another orgasm, even as she lay in bed with my last orgasm still oozing from her.

She started crying. Chanting through the tears, “I’ll change, Ill change” over and over again. She went on to tell me, through tears, how I was her soul mate, and how sorry she was that I was not happy, and she felt like a terrible wife.

I held her.

I hushed her.

We stood, arms around each other, as she cried on my shoulder. I alternated between kissing her hair, her forehead (when I could get to it), and saying “It’s okay. ... It will be all right.” In the deepest tones I had, I let it rumble through my chest. So, she not only heard it, but felt me say it against her face.

As we rocked back and forth, holding each other, I waved Craig off. I mouthed.

“Later, we are fine.”

When she, finally, regained some semblance of calm, I sat her down.

“Our relationship is not the problem, here. You are not the problem, here. I am the problem.”

She looked up, startled. We had been through the “lack of sex” conversation many times in the past. In the past, it was always me telling her that it was her lack of sex drive that was the problem.

“What?”

“I am the problem, or, rather, my body is.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. I looked her dead in the eye for a long moment.

I told how my need to orgasm had started to run my life. Then how my balls started aching, first it was about 12 hours after I ejaculated, then 12 hours became 6, 4, 2 .. I now had almost constant “blue balls”, no matter how often I ejaculated. I told her about going to see Woof, professionally.

“And what did Dave suggest?”

“He referred me to a doctor.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes, dear, a doctor. He came to the conclusion that the root of the problem is physical, not psychological. The porn, the masturbation, all of the things that have upset you in the past, are just symptoms of the problem, not the problem, itself.”

“And you are going to see this doctor?”

“I saw him today. That’s why I was late getting home.”

“Oh.”

The silence was deafening for a moment.

“What happened when you saw this doctor?”

“We talked. He had me recount everything that I told Dave. He asked me some questions about my ... ache, down there, and some other stuff. While this was going on, a nurse had taken some blood, and some tests were run.”

“And ...?”

I almost coughed out a laugh.

“I may make the Guinness Book of Records.”

“For what?”

“The highest testosterone level ever recorded for a man my age!”

“What?”

“He said my sex drive was a consequence of an incredibly high level of testosterone in my system. My levels were higher than any of his charts went for a man my age. But, that’s not all ...”

“What?

“He told me that, with these testosterone levels, I was a prime candidate for the same kinds of problems that killed ...”

I started listing on my fingers.

“... great-grandpa Herman, great-grandpa Thompson, great-grandpa Lewis, great-grandpa McLaughlin, grandpa Lewis, and McLaughlin. The same kind of health problems that are putting uncle Bob, and uncle James, in bad shape.”

“What can be done about it?”

“Well ...”

“Tell me, Jim.”

“The doctor seems to think that my case is too far gone for medication to help, but there is a ... uh ... surgical procedure that will fix things, completely.”

“Then you have to have it. I love you. You are my soul mate. I don’t want to imagine living without you. You are my 42.”

Both of us had read “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” a few times. “42” is part of that “code” I talked about earlier. In the book, a super computer arrived at the conclusion that the answer to the question of “life, the universe, everything” was 42. After we had both read that, “42” had become “code” for what we were to each other.

“It’s not quite that simple. The procedure is called a ‘bilateral orchiectomy’.”

“What is that?”

“Castration.”

“WHAT?!?!?!”

Debby has some “country” roots, like I do.

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out Dr. Freeman’s brochures, and laid them on the table.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. We can still have a normal sex life after the procedure, we can still have kids, ... I won’t get effeminate, my voice won’t change, or anything like that. I think we ought to investigate this stuff. ... Read this material,...”

I saw Craig out of the corner of my eye. The beers in front of us were empty. I waved him over. He took the empty glasses, and came back with full ones.

“... and go home and research what is available on the subject on the internet.”

We read through Dr. Freeman’s stuff. Each of us reading one brochure, and then passing it to the other.

I put the last brochure down. She was still reading.

“What do you think?”

She looked up, finally.

“Let’s look into it.”

“Craig! Check, please!”

Part IV

We got home, let the dogs out, and got online. We started with the links in the back of Dr. Freeman’s material. The first place we went was the Eunuch Archive. We read through a lot of the informational material. Then hit the message boards. We registered, and started reading. Reading had both of us coming up questions, so we posted them.

After that, we went to Sherry Joanne’s Castration page on GeoCities. Her page was a wealth of information, and provided answers to almost all of the questions that reading the Eunuch Archives generated.

During all of this, I told Deb of Dr. Freeman’s “deal”. How he would do the procedure for free, if I would consent to a thorough case study of my “situation”.

We did a search on Google for "castration", and found a lot of stuff about sex offenders and child molesters. There were a few articles about John Lindh Walker, and the stuff he had seen in Afghanistan. Nothing of much use to us, really. None of the other major search engines gave us anything that helped any more than Google had.

We went back to the EA message board, and was overwhelmed by the response! Paolo, thefraj, Andrew, and JeffEunuch had all answered, and confirmed what Sherry’s site said. In some cases, they illustrated how Sherry had said that certain aspects of castration were different for different people, by telling us about their own personal experiences! Not to mention that Sherry had written us several times, as well! They were all very polite, and kind, especially, when we asked a question that betrayed some really gross ignorance about the matter at hand. We were both floored!

Both of us are internet junkies, to one extent or another. Usenet, a few email lists, and the web for me; email, several instant message services (family and friends) and the web for Deb. Every forum for discussion that we had ever found on the net eventually degenerated into, at least momentarily, a “flame-fest”. We didn't find that on any discussion board that we browsed on EA. It was quite refreshing.

I was beginning to get tired. Yeah, my balls ached. But, my balls ached almost all the time, anymore. A lot of information had been thrown at me today. My day had been an emotional roller coaster. I had been through a real wringer since I left work. First, the visit with Dr. Freeman, and then the talk with Deb.

Debby, on the other hand, well, she was “on a mission.”

We both tend to get that way, at times. When we find a subject that grabs our interest, we tend to get a bit obsessive about it, and try to get all of the information about that we can, as quickly as we can.

I let the dogs in. They, both, scrambled into our bed, and dived under the covers. I yawned real big, rubbed my eyes.

“I am beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am going to bed.”

“I’ll be in in a while. I’m going to do some reading here.”

Just before I turned to go to bed, I noticed that she had just pulled up the story archive on EA.

Part V

The next night, I was sitting at the computer desk at the den with my back to the TV, when Deb walked in from work.

“Go take a shower.”

“What?”

“I know you still probably have KY still smeared all over you cock and balls from what you were just doing, and I don’t want to deal with that, right now.”

“Uh ... okay.”

I went and showered. I couldn’t help but wonder where in the hell was this coming from? And what the hell is going on?

After my shower, I pulled on some underwear, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans, as I walked through the master bedroom to the den.

“Take off your pants.”

“Huh?”

“I said take off your pants!”

“Okay.”

I started to take off my pants.

“Underwear, too.”

So, I took them off, too.

“Come here.”

I walked over to where Deb was sitting at the desk chair. My cock and balls were just below eye level on her. She put her hand just under my scrotum, and gave just the slightest pressure towards her. I moved in close.

Her hand fondled my balls, and sack, very gently. Not so much fondle, as just she lightly put her hand under my sack, and lifted my balls just enough that there was some slack in my scrotum. She looked up into my eyes

“You’ve always been too sensitive to let me suck these.”

It’s true. Even in our first attempts at oral, 16 years ago, I was too sensitive to take anything Deb did to my balls or scrotum. It hurt. And Deb LOVES giving oral anywhere, cock, balls, perineum, nipples, deep kisses that make you wonder if she has ripped your tongue out ... it’s like her mouth is more of an erogenous zone than her pussy, when the “switch” is on.

“You wouldn’t even let me lick them.”

“It hurt.”

“I know, now.”

Deb gently let my balls lower to their normal resting place, and leaned back in the desk chair. She stared at “the package” for a moment.

“You know, it’s rather unattractive.”

“What?!?!”

“Your balls, and your scrotum.”

“Huh?”

“It’s like ‘Henry’ is resting on a wrinkled old pillow that doesn’t have as many feathers in it as it should. Not too mention, the hair on your scrotum. ... It looks like the pillow is made from Angora wool.”

“What are you saying?”

“Imagine ‘Henry’ swinging free and easy with none of that in ‘his’ way. It would look much nicer.”

“What?!”

“I think Dr. Freeman should remove the scrotum, as well.”

“WHAT?!”

With that, Deb put her hand under my balls, again, and guided my cock into her mouth. In one gulp, she took me as deep as she ever had.

“NNNUUuuuhhh! .... Oh, God!”

With that noise, she used gentle pressure on my scrotum to move me back and forth in her marvelous mouth. I was, almost instantly, as hard as I have ever been. Which meant the strokes became shorter, but the sensations were more intense, as she began to use every “trick” she had ever learned on me.

Deb had never learned how to swallow my cock, and, when I was fully hard, could only take half of me, at best in her mouth.

But OH, GOD!, what she was doing with that half! On the upstroke, she would pull me all the way out of her mouth, and bathe my glans and corona with her tongue. When I was as deep in her mouth as she could take, she stuck her tongue out of her mouth, bathed as much of the underside of my cock as she could reach, and sucked as hard as she could!

Oh, my God. Oh, My God. OH, My God. OH, My GOD. OH, MY GOD. OH, MY GOD!

She didn’t pull me out, she didn’t push me away, she didn’t just open her mouth and let it run out, .... OH, MY GOD! SHE WAS PULLING ME IN DEEPER, AND SUCKING HARDER!!!!! SHE WAS SWALLOWING IT!!!!! OH GOD! I THINK THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE IS BEING SIPHONED THROUGH MY HEAD, AND OUT AGAIN THROUGH MY DICK, BY THAT, OH SO, WONDERFUL MOUTH!!!!!!!!!! OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!!!!

AAAAAAHHHH!!!!

She swallowed what was in her mouth, and released her grip on my balls.

I collapsed to the floor, in a heap. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.

She walked over me into the master bedroom. She came back, with a warm wash cloth, and bathed my cock and balls. She washed up what little she had left.

When she was finished, I, finally, had pulled myself together again enough to speak, between panting.

“What brought that on? ... Not that I am complaining.”

As she was getting up, she said:

“I have never given myself a chance to grow to like the taste. ... Last night was the first time I thought I might only have a few chances to taste it again.”

At this point, nothing was sinking in the way it should.

“Oh.”

I crawled to the couch, and flopped on it.

She returned from taking the washcloth back to the master bath.

“So, when does Dr. Freeman expect you to call him back to set all of this up?”

I was still trying to catch my breath.

“He says ... if we decide soon ... with the offer he has given me ... we could do it ... over Christmas break.”

“That sounds good to me. I think you should call him, tomorrow.”

My mind was too clouded to function.

“Okay.”

I, only vaguely, remember Debby trying to rouse me, and, eventually, walk me to our bed, that night.

Part VI

The alarm shattered my sleep.

I rolled out of bed, and staggered into the master bath. I started the shower, and waited for it to heat up.

As I stood, and took stock of myself in the mirror, I realized something: my balls still ached, but nothing like they had ached in a looooong time. It was a dull ache, as opposed to the urgent, throbbing ache that I had grown accustomed to.

I did masturbate in the shower, but ... it wasn’t as strong a release as normal.

When I was through, the ache in my balls was gone. They actually felt ... good, for the first time in a long time.

As I was dressing in the dark, I just happened to turn and see Deb’s face.

Her eyes were wide open, with no hint of sleep in them, for a change.

“Are you calling Dr. Freeman to tell him ‘yes”, today?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“I think you should.”

“Okay.”

With that, I bent down and kissed her, as her eyes closed. She murmured:

“42”

As I withdrew from the kiss, and stroked her hair, I said, softly:

“42”