For as long as I can remember I wanted to be castrated. I spent many hours online in the mirc castration chatroom and eventually made contact with Dave, a cutter in London. We arranged to meet, exchanged mobile phone numbers, and so on this incredibly hot day in June 2008 I was travelling towards my castration. As the train pulled in to Waterloo I called Dave on his mobile to confirm I was on the way as planned, and that I was still “up for it“. I got the Tube from Waterloo to Mile End, then walked up the steps (no escalators here!) towards the exit and daylight.

I looked around the station entrance but couldn’t see anyone that answered Dave’s description of himself. I was about to call again on my mobile when a guy with cropped hair and wearing a white singlet and faded Levi’s strode towards me and asked if I was Steve. “Yes”, I replied, “ and you must be Dave”. Dave looked as though he was in his early fifties, half my age, and very trim. He was clearly no stranger to the gym, and had some nice tribal tattoos on his arms. We walked a short way along Mile End Road, turned left down a side road, then entered a modern apartment building. Up two flights of stairs, and we were in Dave’s flat. He made two mugs of tea and as we drank it we discussed the details of my castration.

It was so hot that I was relieved to strip off my jeans and T-shirt, and I stood naked before Dave so he could inspect my scrotum and bollocks prior to castration. He cupped my balls in his hand and felt my cords. In one of our internet chats I had offered to soak in a hot bath for a while before castration to ensure my balls hung low enough to give him space to work on my cords, but the weather was so hot that my balls were already swinging low. We had planned that I would lie on a bed for the castration procedure, but when I stood in front of Dave to be inspected he thought it would be better if I were to be standing for the procedure. He wiped my scrotum with an antiseptic wet-wipe, then injected my cords and scrotum with Xylocaine. Having my cords injected hurt a bit and made me wince. Dave said that it was nothing compared to the pain that I was being spared; he said it would take between five and ten minutes for the Xylocaine to take effect.

He took out his Burdizzo clamp from its cloth wrapping, and I was surprised by the size of it. I had only seen them in pictures on websites, and to see the clamp in reality was awesome. It looked like a two foot long pair of pincers. Dave said it was a 19 inch Burdizzo clamp, the ideal size for humans, and that it had to be treated with respect. Apparently some cutters weakened their Burdizzo s by storing them fully closed and locked at full tension. He wiped its jaws with a fresh antiseptic wipe, and talked again about castrating me. There was not going to be a countdown to clamping, nor was there to be a “point of no return”. The stop-word was “mercy”; If I said “mercy” at any time he would stop the procedure immediately. Apparently he’d had experiences with guys who seemed really keen on castration but who’d changed their minds at the last minute. I’d wanted to be castrated for so long that I was sure I wouldn’t be calling for mercy, but I was grateful that there was an escape route in case I did chicken out at the last minute.

Dave pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. He started gently pulling at my scrotum and balls; I stood up straight with my hands behind my back and looked directly ahead. I didn’t want to look down to see what he was doing for fear I might flinch and appear cowardly. “Your dick is getting in my way, can you hold it up” he said, so I held up my dick with my right hand and kept my left hand behind my back. Despite the numbing effect of the Xylocaine I was aware that Dave was handling my balls and scrotum. “Are you still up for it?” he asked. “God, yes!” I answered, and before I had finished speaking I heard the click of the Burdizzo clamp closing, but I didn‘t feel any pain. “That was sneaky!” I gasped. He’d already had my right cord in the jaw of the Burdizzo ready for clamping “We agreed there wouldn’t be any countdown. Now the clamp has to be locked shut for at least thirty seconds” Dave said calmly, as he tugged at my cord to ensure castration. After the thirty seconds he opened the clamp, moved it down my scrotum a short distance then closed the clamp again. Until then I had forgotten that he had recommended clamping each side twice to be absolutely certain of effective castration.

I looked down to watch him clamp my left bollock. He took great care to ensure the cord was in the jaw of the clamp before the Burdizzo was closed. He tugged on the cord to ensure it had been properly damaged by the clamp, then moved the Burdizzo down about a half-inch and repeated the procedure. After releasing the clamp Dave disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two bags of ice cubes; he put them around my scrotum and balls and held them in place for a few minutes. “Sorry if it’s uncomfortable” he said “ but it’ll reduce bruising and swelling”.

After the ice treatment I was able to inspect my modification. There were four neat indentations in my scrotum, two each side, where the clamp had bitten, but the skin was unbroken and there was no bleeding. Dave explained that there might be a little bruising and swelling, but it should disappear within a week. He also reminded me that I would not notice the benefits of castration for three or even four weeks; then I would start to experience a reduction in sexual appetite and my balls would begin to shrink. After six to eight weeks my balls should be the size of raisins, and soon after that they would disappear altogether. Dave made some more tea and insisted that I lay on his sofa for an hour to recuperate. He explained that castration is a big shock to the system, even with anaesthetic, and that I should rest for a while before returning home.

Well, it’s a week since I was castrated with a Burdizzo clamp. I experienced no pain at all when the effects of the Xylocaine wore off. There was no bruising or swelling, probably thanks to the ice-packs, and I’m really looking forward to seeing my bollocks shrink. I was so excited by the castration that had a wank when I got home and there was blood in my cum-juice, possibly due to the damage done to my cords. I had another wank the next morning and there was no blood.

I believe I’m now a castrated man. Dave certainly seemed to know what he was doing, but the proof for me will be when I see my bollocks start to shrink. Even if the procedure turns out to have been a failure, it was a wonderful experience.