By justoneguy

In a parallel world, so much like our own, but different in a few, small respects. . .

PART 1: Masculine

Brian Milken sat in the office of reassignment waiting for his name to be called. The room was pretty neutral in color, tan with a few paintings of forests and the like. A few out of date magazines were on the tables, but nothing much interested him. He sat alone. There had been another young man in the waiting room when he arrived, but he had been called quickly. Brian had nodded a hello to him as he passed, but they hadn’t spoken.

That other guy was now on the other side of the door to the physiological reassignment area of the center. The physical reassignment area was in another wing of the center, but Brian had never been inside. He knew that Travis Tompson had been inside of it, however. And now he knew that Travis was somewhere in the psychological wing of the center—just as he was.

Brian was nervous, but he was not worried or fearful. He was here to do a job—a duty to the state, just as his upcoming year of military service was a duty to the state. He was one of about 12% of the 18-year-old male population that was required to perform this duty. In many ways, it is an honor. But of his circle of friends, he was the only one that had to perform it. So he knew that he would have to answer a lot of questions tonight about it—what it was like and what exactly happened at the center.

As he sat waiting patiently, Brian’s thoughts turned to the moment three months ago when he became committed to carrying out this duty. Every child learns in school that the state is designed to hone and weed the people into the best and most powerful citizens they can be—in both mind and body. This is done by applying pressure—the pressure to excel, to compete, to emerge victorious. For about 76% of the male population, this process is played out in academics or in athletics. The state carefully watches the population of young people throughout their school years, and the top 76% of young males in either athletics of academics are automatically admitted to one year military service or college and are issued breeding license. For the bottom 34%, the course they must travel is a little different. They must compete in single combat, man to man. Half will succeed. Half will fail. The failures—the 12% of the young male population that has shown no exceptional athletic ability, no exception academic ability, and failed to overcome an evenly matched foe in combat—lose forever their right to be counted as males. They are emasculated in body and mind.

Brian wasn’t a bad kid, but he had made some early mistakes in his life. He had gotten mixed up with drugs—not heavy drugs, just some pot and a few hits of acid. But the distraction and strife amongst his family that his casual drug use caused his family was enough to get him kicked off the wrestling team and lower his grades. He realized too late that he had taken his willful rebellion too far. He received the summons to the competition only a few months after his 18th birthday. He was scared at first—as he freely admitted to his friends. After all, if he lost in the competition, his life would change in ways he could never have imagined. Everyone knew what happened to guys who lost the competition—the became gelded eunuchs, considered even lower than women in the social order—good for nothing but service jobs and casual fucking. God, Brian didn’t want that fate. He was scared shitless for sure. But his friends were supportive and encouraged him to do his best. They were in no danger, having kept up their grades and their sports achievements. But they felt that one of their own was in grave danger, and they closed ranks around him. Several of his friends were on the wrestling team, which was the most popular high school and college sport in the country. While Brian had wrestled in school all his life (until he was kicked off the team because of the pot), he had never been a champion. He had just been OK. Now his friends trained with him every day. By the day of the competition, he felt confident and ready.

He arrived at the school gym a little early so he could watch some of the other combats. Lots of students from the school had come on that Saturday to watch the combats, which only took place two or three times a year. Brian changed into his single and began to wonder the gym floor. The official government refs were there, making decisions and declaring winners. And the fighters were already at it. Most of the guys were either overweight or scrawny guys, and all kinda dumb looking. That was to be expected since they were the individuals with no athletic or academic achievements. It had made Brian feel a new rush of confidence. He started to feel good about the whole thing, confident that he would win. He started to think that, having won his manhood through single combat, he might actually become more attractive and interesting to the girls.

But when his opponent, Travis Tompson, entered the gym, Brian became a little nervous again. Travis was not a fat kid or a scrawny kid. He was a more muscular than Brian, with broader shoulders. The refs try to put two guys together who are the most evenly matched, and it was obvious that Travis and Brian were the best pair for their man-to-man competition.

Brian had heard of this guy Travis. He went to the same school, although Brian didn’t know him personally. But everyone at school had heard that Travis Tompson had been caught in the act of fucking his girlfriend, Shannon. It was revealed that Travis had slept with her three or four times before they were caught. The law required sexual abstinence until a person was awarded a breeding license. Brian himself had a girlfriend, but he was always careful not to take things too far. She had let him finger her pussy, and she had felt his erection through his pants. But neither had caused the other to orgasm or even seen each other nude. It was tough and difficult to keep their hormones in check, but then again, every guy and girl in the school was in the same boat. But Travis and his girlfriend had given in to temptation, and it was only a matter of time before they got caught—in this case by his girlfriend’s dad. Now, Travis had to compete to keep his manhood—even if his test scores were high (which they were) and if he was a star on the school's men’s volleyball team (which he was).

Travis Tompson walked into the gym in his single with an air of confidence. He wasn’t a wrestler by trade, but he was athletic from his years on the volleyball team. And his older brother had trained with him in the last few weeks since his summons arrived in the mail. And now that he saw his opponent, who was slightly smaller in stature and seemed to have slightly less muscle mass, he felt confidence radiate through his body. After all, almost all the guys who had to fight for their manhood were big, skinny, or dumb. He figured his opponent must at least be dumb. And, after all, hadn’t he already proved the potency of his manhood when he pumped his seed into his girlfriend, even as his mighty organ had stretched her pussy to orgasm?

The crowd new that something was up, as they watched the two young strapping males pace around the gym, watching the other contests, waiting for their names to be called. It wasn’t every day that two males of such obvious physical strength and fitness competed for their manhood. Lots of students from the school were at the gym that day to watch—all smart enough to keep their grades up and excel in at least some athletic program. Most of Brian's old wrestling teammates were there, ready to cheer him on from the sidelines. And Travis’s older brother was there, on leave from his one year required military service. He had given his younger brother all the tips and training he could in such a brief time, and looking at his opponent, he started to feel pretty good about his little brother’s chances of keeping the manhood that had gotten him into so much trouble.

At last the time of the bout came. Brian and Travis were the last combatants, and the whole gym was quiet as they took their positions. Both stood on the mat; both looked over their opponent. Travis felt a rush of confidence. He could take this guy. Brian stretched and loosened his muscles. His whole life depended on the outcome of this bout, and his mind cleared of any distraction. It might seem strange that two young strapping males, on the cusp of the prime time of their sex lives, could be so calm and confident. After all, the winner would remain a man, while the loser would not. Shouldn’t they have both run for the door? But no, these young men knew their world and knew their manhood. To run would be a sign of weakness and a sign that they truly were unworthy of their manhood. Travis almost relished the chance to prove his manhood—to have his fucks with his girlfriend and keep his balls. Brian considered the bout a chance to make up for his past mistakes and prove that—even if he had let his grades slip and ruined his wrestling career—he was still worthy of manhood and deserved a life of marriage, fatherhood, and sex. The stood before each other now, in front of the crowd, the ref between them ready to judge, and looked at each other. They both stood in tight singlets, so cups or underwear under them, just jock straps. But after the bout, one of the guys would never need a jock strap again. Their frames were slim, muscular, athletic, strong with the vigor of young masculinity. Their genitals made prominent bulges in their singlets, accenting for both the boys and for the crowd exactly what was at stake.

Then, the bout began. The two young guys grappled and twisted against each other. Their teenage muscles strained and flexed as each tried to gain the advantage. The crowd began to yell and cheer on their favorite wrestler. Both Travis and Brian were pretty popular on campus, and a lot of their friends had come to cheer on their buddy. The two rolled and struggled on the mat. At one point, Travis got Brian into an amateur cradle, but Brian easily broke free. Time after time the lads tried to pin each other. Often, one of the boys would be caught in a bridge, struggling to keep his feet on the ground, his back arched high over the mat as he desperately fault against being flipped. At those times, the crowd could see the soft bulge of his manhood between his straining legs, arched up toward the crowd, his tender balls and the curved outline of his dick clearly visible through the thin fabric of the single and jock. That package of soft fleshy manhood was the most important parts of their body to these young men—what defined their existence as human males. Their bulges were soft and sensitive, so powerful but so vulnerable. Often, the young wrestlers would inadvertently press or cup their opponent’s manhood with their hand or forearm, feeling his tender bits shift against the hard bone of his arm. And often the young combatants would feel their own precious manhood get compressed under the inadvertent contact with his opponent’s arm. But both were careful not to injure his opponent’s manhood with an “accidental” punch or squeeze. Such moves were strictly forbidden in such contests.

And so the match went on. It was clear to anyone in the crowd that Travis what the stronger of the two, his shoulders slightly broader and his trunk slightly thicker. But Brian twisted and spun free from every hold Travis tried. It was clear to Brian, as the rolled on the mat and out of danger of his opponents arms that Travis’s locks and holds were amateur at best. He hadn’t been a wrestler in school, and volleyball wasn’t really the type of sport to train a guy how to gain control on the wrestling mat. To Brian, Travis’s attacks were just attempts at grabbing him and holding him down with superior strength. But Brian had a deeper strategy, and Travis was starting to tire.

Travis’s older brother had been a wrestler, and had learned a lot of hand to hand moves in his military service. He could see that his little brother was not dominating the match. And he could see his brother sweating and panting as the mate when progressed. Of course, his opponent Brian was also tiring, but he could see that his brother was wearing down. “Come on Trav,” his brother cried out. The crowd had gotten loud once the match began, but Travis could hear his brother’s encouragement over the noise. He lunged at Brian again, but the sprang free.

Brian could hear the cheers and yells of his name from his wrestling teammates. His body rushed with the feeling of victory. He lunged at Travis and drove him to the ground. Legs wrapped around legs; arms were pinned behind. Travis’s body strained and pulled, but he could not move. “NNNNuuuughhhhhh, nnnnoooooooooo,” Travis mouth hung open as he strained. Brain could see the veins on Travis’s neck strain, saw his face turn red in fear and as he realized he was losing, that he was helpless, that he couldn’t break free. Then the ref slapped the mat—and he had lost.

Brian released his defeated foe and leapt to the floor, arms up over his head. “Yeeeahhhhhhh!!!!” he cheered. And his wrestling teammates rushed to him. Slaps on the back, slaps on the butt, they almost lifted him on their shoulders, but the refs began to break it up. The direction of Brian’s life was not set. No more pot, no more drugs, a future of sex and fatherhood. And Travis’s life had changed too. His older brother tried to go to him on the mat, where he still lay, unmoving, in shock at what had happened. His entire body felt exhausted, his muscles hot and aching. But as strength and breath returned to him, his mind was overcome with rage. He had lost! To that little asshole! No! Before his brother could get to him, Travis rose from the mat and lunged at Brian. But his wrestling teammates pushed back on the defeated and drained foe. The refs pulled him out of the group and led him forcefully out of the gym (as they had done the other defeated combatants.)

Brian continued to celebrate with his buddies. But most of the students in the gym were already moving outside to the stands where the emasculations would take place. After a few minutes, a ref came in and told Brian that he was needed on the stands. There was still a duty for him to perform.

Brian walked out of the gym and into the sunny afternoon flanked by his wrestling teammates. The stand was a wooden deck about six inches off the ground. It is always hastily constructed on days when contests are to be fault and taken down that night. When Brian walked out, the next to the last loser was being taken down from the restraints. Two tall wooden poles stood in the center of the deck, about three feet apart. And attached to the poles were four metal shackles, two for the arms and two for the legs. The scrawny kid that was being taken down from the shackles was led—perhaps carried was a better word—from the wooden deck and laid on a cot, waiting with the other emasculated losers to be loaded into the vans and taken to the reassignment center. A sea of moans rolled over the grassy lawn from the lines of 18-year-old lads who rocked back and forth on their cots as the cool spring breeze blew against the holes between their legs. Birds chirping and eunuchs moaning—that is what Brian heard when he walked out of the gym.

And that is what Travis heard when he was led around the corner and led toward the wooden deck. The losers are not allowed to watch their fellow losers emasculated. They were kept in a room under the gym and led out one by one as the cuttings were finished. This was done more for crowd control than kindness. Travis was still wearing his single. Behind him stood the largest and most physically strong of the refs. He had one of Travis’s arms pinned behind his back. Travis did not seem to be in any pain, but it was clear that the hold of the ref could force him to go anywhere he wanted without much trouble. And now, the guard was walking him slowly to the wooden deck. Before they got there, however, one of the refs signaled for the large ref to hold Travis back for a moment. They were cleaning up something on the wooden deck, and apparently they didn’t want to loser up on the poles until it was done. The ref stopped and held Travis still. The wind was blowing in his face, his blondish-brown hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. Travis’s older brother was still in the crowd, and he called out to him: “Be strong Trav!”

Travis turned his head to the left, out away from the crowd. His brother’s presence seemed to make it harder for him to control his fear and humiliation. But then, Shannon ran up to him from the crowd. This was highly unusual, since the losers were not supposed to communicate with anyone before they are gelded. But the refs didn’t seem to care. The big ref held Travis steady and didn’t try to pull him away from the young woman, who ran up to her boyfriend with tears in her eyes. She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair and a slim figure. When she reached Travis, she pressed up against him, hugging him close, her arms rapped around his stomach, her hands clasping around his lower back. She squeezed him hard in her embrace, and he returned it with his one free arm. She rubbed the skin of his back through his single. Brian couldn’t make out exactly what she said to him, but there were tears in her eyes. She reached down and cupped Travis’s crotch and squeezed his manhood through his tight single. Then, she whispered to him again, and Brian thought he saw her lips saw: “You’ll always be my man.” Then Travis leaned over as much as he could and kissed her solidly on her mouth, the strong muscles of his neck straining to reach the lips of his girlfriend.

But by then the big ref had had enough, and he started to force Travis up on the wooden deck. Shannon ran off crying, and some of her high school girlfriends raced off after her. Travis was led to the center of the deck and was made to face the audience. Everyone could now see that Travis now sported a straining erection in his single. It was pointed up toward his stomach—a firm rode of manhood held tight in his thin wrestling suit. But it wasn’t held there for long. One of the refs cut the single up the back, and literally tore it from the 18-year-old loser. Then, two snips of scissors cut the two cord of his jock strap, and he stood totally naked and exposed. His straining erection popped free even as the remains of his single and jock were thrown onto the pile of discarded rags in the corner of the deck. Travis was now shaking with fear and humiliation. He was forced to the poles, offering weak resistance. Travis was like a deer in the headlights—knowing his peril but with no idea how to escape it. Brian saw the refs working on him, securing him to the poles, and using various devices on his crotch. “No please, god, no, please don’t,” Brian heard Travis say. And then; “Oh god, no, no, aaarruuughhhhhhhh.” And then, a large ref asked Brain to join them on the deck.

Brian walked up to the wooden platform to the cheers of the audience. He got a good look at Travis’s nude form. Travis was shackled to the poles, his arms high up over his head exposing the thick tufts of brown hair under his pale arms. His muscles strained against the bonds. His eyes were closed tight as he struggled. Brian saw that the refs had banded him. There were two thick black bands around the neck of the lad’s doomed male-bag. Travis was sweating like an animal, and struggling and grunting like a wild beast. The pain radiating from between his legs consumed his soul. When he opened his eyes, they burned with the fire of rage, pain, and fear.

The large ref that had forced Travis to the platform now handed Brian a knife. It was a simple knife, silver, about the size of a steak knife. And it was sharp. “You defeated him. You now own his manhood. Take it from him,” said the man, his voice rough and gruff.

Brian stepped forward, in front of Travis, and held up the knife. Travis’s chest was smooth and hairless, and sweat beaded on his skin even though the breeze was cool. Brian thought how strange the young man’s skin looked, stretched and tight, his muscles straining underneath, veins popping out as he twisted to and fro against his bonds. Then, Brian looked down and began to think about what he now had to do. He saw everything that made Travis Tompson a man. His organ was still erect and stood out from his compact but full and thick patch of sex hair. Brian had never seen another male with an erection before. Sure, he had been in the locker room plenty of times with his nude teammates, and had even seen this Travis kid in there showering off after sports practices a few times. He had even in his mind compared what he had between his legs to what his peers had hanging from their bodies. But that was just soft dangling. Travis’s tool was stiff and rigid as the day he got his first boner. The rigid pecker bounced a little as it’s owner struggled, but the bonds were so tight that Travis couldn’t move very much. Brian thought that his organ looked to be about the same size as his own—6 inches long and 5 around. And it was circumcised. A light tan scar ringed his organ about an inch behind the plump red mushroom head. The head was about the same size as Brian’s, but it was shaped a little differently. To Brian’s eyes, Travis’s penis head looked more tapered, like the tip of a spear; whereas he had always thought of his own dick head as a large helmet. But Brian recognized the rigid lust that radiated from Travis’s erection. He had looked down at his own organ like that several times later in the evening after his dates with his girlfriend. It was the erection of a young man who wanted sex so badly, and he wouldn’t loose it for anything until it was fulfilled with an orgasm.

Brian reached under the defeated foe and cupped the testicles of the loser. He felt with his fingers the two bands, and knew he must slice the blade between them. Travis’s testicles were warm to his hand and still had the faint dampness of sweat from their bout only a few minutes ago. The neck of his sac was crowned with brown hairs that ringed his bag before disappearing underneath his body toward his butt. Travis jerked as he felt another male touch his balls for the first time in his life. His eyes stared at Brain, burning and pleading. Brian felt the little bit of skin that was trapped between the two bands. It was the most important bit of skin on Travis’s body right now, connecting him to his precious balls and his precious manhood. Brian positioned the knife.

“God man, don’t, oh god, don’t do it,” Travis said. His voice was strained, almost a whisper. But the other refs heard him and shuffled their feet in disapproval. “Please man, don’t do it. God, it hurts so bad; god, not my balls. Please, I gotta be a man. I’m a man!”

Brian didn’t much care one way or another about this kid Travis’s nuts or his manhood. He was up there because he was supposed to be. But he thought to himself, what if he had lost the bout? Would this Travis kid let his nuts go? Knowing that it would most likely mean they would both be nutted? No way. He’d have his nuts in his hand just he same and slice them off because he was supposed to—because he had won the bout fair and square and deserved to keep his manhood.

“Please,” Travis said, tears streaming down his masculine chiseled face.

Brian jerked his hand and Tavis’s nuts came free in his hand, sac and all.

“AAAArruruuuuugghhhhhhhhhh!” Travis’s body began to convulse as he hung limply from his bonds. Sweat soaked the tufts of hair in his armpits and beaded on this chest and stomach; every muscle in his body spasmed and tensed as his body responded to the violent removal of his manhood. His rigid organ deflated in a second, unfulfilled. The gelding’s eyes rolled back in his head and everything went black. He didn’t remember being led from the platform to lay with the other gelded lads. He didn’t hear his own voice moan in the utter agony of his emasculation. But Brian heard it. And he handed the severed sac to the big ref.

Within ten minutes, the crowd had dispersed and the winners where down in the locker room removing their singlets and jock straps and showering off. Each one of them could expect a big party that night with his friends and family. After all, they had each proved their manhood verses an opponent of equal quality. They had either proven themselves smart enough or tough enough to breed during the combat—just as many other males at their school had proven themselves with grades and sports achievement.

But Brian stood under the shower water a little overwhelmed by what had happened. He didn’t know many of the other winners, who were mostly the fat kids or scrawny kids that didn’t mingle with the wrestling team or advanced classes he had taken before pot had thrown him off course and forced him into the combat. They all laughed together and talk about what it felt like to win and take another dude’s manhood. But Brian didn’t. He stood under the shower, water running over his naked male form. Absentmindedly, he washed the sweat from his body. With ha handful of suds in his left hand, he soaped up his cock and balls, scratching the bubbles into his thick patch of pubic hair. And his left hand lingered on his low hanging pair of dangling orbs. He cupped them for a moment, and as he felt his own precious male jewels, it seemed to him that he could still feel Travis’s doomed manhood in his right hand. He could still feel the softness of Travis’s hanging male sack and the firmness of his virile oval fruit within it against the palm of his hand. And, as he held his own sensitive organs in his hand, he felt again the sensation of slicing Travis’s manhood from his body and feeling them come free in his hand, a bag of rip fruit picked from the tree of his masculinity. That kid Travis had been just like him, had stood in this same common shower many times and soaped up his dangling manhood without a second thought. But now he was a neutered, gelded, his manhood ruined forever, laying on a cot, a hole between his legs where his balls had hung all his life, feverish and moaning. Brian turned and let the warm water wash over his crotch and rinse the suds from his pubic hair and dangling bits. He allowed relief to wash over him. He was a man and he had stayed a man. God, he was so glad he still had his nuts.

PART 2: Feminine

That was three months ago, and now Brian sat in the waiting room of the reassignment center. A lot had happened to him in three months. He had graduated high school, gotten his enlistment card to join the military for one year, and had gotten his mating license. On the day it arrived in the mail, he and his new girlfriend had gone to dinner—and then back to his room to experience their first sexual encounter. Brian’s parents had been home, done stairs watching, when they heard their son and his girl come home and head upstairs. They looked at each other and smiled. It was only 21 years ago since the day Brian’s dad had gotten his mating license. They both remembered the night of pleasure they had shared that evening. Brian’s dad tried to give his son and his woman the privacy they deserved at such a moment, but on the way to the bathroom, he caught the sound of the action taking place in his son’s bedroom. He head the rhythmic squeaking of the bed, the wild passionate sounds of his son’s girlfriend being speechless with pleasure, and the deep masculine moans and grunts of his son’s first orgasm and ejaculation inside a woman. He smiled to himself. It sounded like his son’s young organ had pleasured his girl very well, especially for his “maiden voyage.” And he thought to himself how close his son had come to losing his family jewels—how close this moment had come to never happening. At that moment, he was so proud of his son. He totally deserved the moment in his bedroom he had won at the gym.

Of course, a lot had happened to Travis in the last three months as well. Brian had gotten a pamphlet in the mail explaining what had happened to the losers of the combat and what duty he was now required to perform. The details of the duty were spelled out in detail, and Brian had been instructed not to reveal the duty to anyone. But dark rumors of what went on at the reassignment centers were always whispered about among the high school and college guys. So Brian knew he probably wouldn’t be able to keep secret what he had to do that day. He thought back to the night before when he had fucked his girlfriend doggy style for the first time. She had reached under herself and him and cupped his tight balls as he had cum inside of her. Brian wondered if Travis had ever fucked his girlfriend from behind before he had emasculated him.

At that moment, the door swung open and a green clad doctor motioned for Brian. “Brian Milken, I’m Doctor Lewis. Please come with me.”

Brian stood up, still nervous, but also glad the wait was now over. Dr. Lewis led him down a long, brightly-lit hallway, talking to him as he went. The doctor was a short man. He was balding, with straggly thin hairs sticking out from the bald spots at the front and back of his head. He tugged at his hair in an absentminded way. Brian got the impression that the doctor didn’t get out much.

He started speaking as soon as they turned the corner in the hallway that lead to the treatment rooms. His voice was all business. “You read all the information in the pamphlet about the duty you must perform today?”

“Yes sir,” Brian said.

“Good, then I won’t rehash what you already know. But I think that I should give you a little more information about what happens at the reassignment center and why this duty is so important.” The doctor took a small vile from his pocket and handed it to Brian. It contained a tan liquid. “This is Neurtone. All persons castrated after combats are given this substance. It in effect completes the emasculation process. Neurtone eradicates all remaining testosterone from the gelding’s system. And it makes the body permanently allergic to testosterone, so that the subject can never again be re-masculinized through medical treatments or testosterone shots. But Neurtone does something more. It alters the body of a gelded male in the same way testosterone alters a young boy at puberty or estrogen alters a young girl. These individuals, neuters, as we call them, become what amounts to a third sex. Their body mass dwindles to that of a boy, their muscles disappearing. But they do not generally experience the weight gain that a eunuch would. Hair generally stops growing on the face and under the arms, but sex hair around the genitals remains (although it does not spread over the legs and abdomen as it down on a male in his 20s). The neuter’s voice remains deep, but generally loses its authoritative tone. That last comment gets at the heart of what Neutrone does. It forever strips the subject of his maleness and leaves him half-sexual, if that is the best way to put it. I’m sure you have seen individuals that fit the description I have just given.”

Brian nodded. “Sure, at the mall or at the movies. But I just assumed that they were gay guys.”

Dr. Lewis smiled. “No, not necessarily. Neutrone does not change an individual’s sexual orientation, although it does dampen the sexual appetite of the subject without completely removing it. A neuter will still desire sex with women, and even the companionship of women. He might even long to the competitive friendships with other men that he once enjoyed when he was male. But those days are behind a neuter, and he must come to deal with his new reality. Many neuters do accept their new condition and become contributing members of society. Others have a much harder time giving up the male persona that had been so much a part of their being. This brings us to the young man you defeated and castrated, Travis Tompson. He is having a difficult time coming to terms with his new sexual status. He is on Neutrone, and there is no longer any testosterone in his system, but he still clings to the idea that he is male. He talks often of his ex-girlfriend, Shannon I believe her name is, and about how they will be together when he leaves the center. He knows that Shannon would not want a neuter as a lover, but he believes that the changes that have been done to him can be reversed and that he is still really a man. The Neutrone has had some impact on his mind. He is more docile than he was when he was a young man. While his muscles have only now started to decline and he still has most of his physical strength, his mind lacks the masculine ability to assert himself and fight with his strength. But this connection to his old girlfriend and the fixation he has with still being male and having sexual intercourse with her had prevented his mind from coming to terms with his new status as a neuter.

“I believe that this has happened for two reasons. The first is that Travis had a more completely developed masculine persona when he was castrated. Let’s be honest, most of the males that have to compete in the combats are not the prime specimens of maleness in the population. But Travis was different. He was a physically fit male, prideful in his body, strength, appearance, and in his attractiveness to the opposite sex. Because he more of his sense of self was intermixed with his sense of his own masculinity, it has been much harder to let go of his male self-view. The second reason is that Travis was sexually active with his girlfriend prior to his castration. This is very rare, since most males are too afraid of the contests to risk being caught having sexual relations without a breeding license. But Travis did risk sexual activity—and it cost him the very manhood he was driven to fulfill. Because he has such vivid memories fulfilling his masculinity through sexual intercourse with a girl he loved and who loved him, his mind will not release the idea that he is male and will some day be able to fulfill himself and Shannon as he once did.”

Dr. Lewis stopped walking, and Brian saw that they were at a wooden door labeled “psychological adjustment room.” Dr. Lewis opened the door and the two walked inside. It was a relatively sterile room, with light tan carpet and cream colored walls. There was a table and a lamp, a TV set, and a bed. Brian thought that it looked rather like a hotel room. Dr. Lewis walked inside and closed the door. “Because of all these factors, I decided that it would be best if Travis had a more severe example of how his life had changed. That was when I sent you the pamphlet and the summons to come here today. You have to be the one to force Travis to see himself as the neuter that he is—not the male that he was. Do you have any questions about the instructions that were provided in the pamphlet?”

Brian shook his head no. And he really didn’t have any questions. But he was still a little nervous. “Dr. Lewis, I’m not sure I can do this. I mean, I did castrate the guy. I feel kinda bad. . . rubbing it in, I guess.”

“Nonsense. Travis castrated himself. He lost his manhood because he couldn’t control himself and restrain his sexual urges. And, after that, he was defeated in a contest of strength and skill. You did not take his manhood, he showed himself to be unworthy of his manhood. You were just the instrument of state that collected it from him.”

Brian had never really looked at the combat and the castration that followed it in that light. But he was still a little uneasy. “Look doc. It’s like this. I’ve got a girlfriend now and my breeding license. And since I got my license, we have been going at it pretty hot and heavy. I’m not sure I can perform this task you want me to do. Besides, I’m not gay.”

Dr. Lewis laughed. “Of course you’re not gay. But you have to remember, my boy, that Travis is not a male. He is a neuter in mind and body. He is more a woman now than a man, you might say—but he is not totally either. You’d be surprised how many neuters end up being the mistresses of married men. You will find that it isn’t so much different being with a neuter as it is being with a woman that you find physically unappealing but nevertheless sexually willing. But, I have found that most young men who are called to this duty are a little nervous and confused about what they must do. So, I have devised this pill.” He held up a blue tablet. “It is a natural testosterone enhancer. Within minutes of taking the pill, you will be pumped up and mentally aggressive. This is also an added bonus for Travis. Because you will be at the height of you male desire and aggression, it will provide a striking contrast to his current state as a neuter. Thus, the psychological meaning of this moment will be driven home in his own mind.”

Brian took the pill and swallowed it. Anything to help him get through this duty and back to his girlfriend.

“Now, don’t worry about Travis attacking you or refusing to obey. You will find that his mind is already much less aggressive then when you two were both male combatants. He will most likely do whatever you tell him to do. He has been told to obey whatever you say or he will face punishment. Believe me, all the subjects in the reassignment center know that they do not want to be singled out for punishment. Be gentle with him at first. But when the time comes, make sure he knows that you are what a male is—and he never can be again.”

Brian nodded. The pill was already taking affect, and his mind was strangely angry that the doctor was telling him what to do as if he were a child—over explaining things to him that he already knew. His natural male aggression and desire to control was already rising in his mind.

Dr. Lewis turned to leave. But then stopped short and scratched his head in an absentminded way. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled a black box—like a large jewelry box—from his pocket and tossed it to Brian. “These are yours now. They have been soaked in a special preserving fluid and will never go bad. You can do what you want with them. Some guys give them back to the neuter that lost them. But since Travis is having such a hard time adjusting, I would ask on his behalf for you to keep them for you own. Good luck.”

The Dr. left the room and closed the door hard behind him. Brian sat at the small desk in the corner of the room and considered the box for a moment. Then he opened it. The box flipped up like a jewelry box, and inside, resting on the purple velvet sides of the box, were the testicles that had once hung between Travis Tompson’s legs. They were still in their sac. Little scraggly hairs dotted the soft skin of the scrotum. The top of the sack was closed with a metal ring, the brown hairs that had once ringed the neck of the scrotum hanging out from under the shinny metal strip. The metal ring was attached to a string, and Brian lifted the set of male gonads from the box like a necklace. The twin orbs hung loosely in the sack, the outline of each testicle clearly visible in the soft flesh. The preserved fruit looked like his own balls looked when he got out of a hot bath, low and loose. He reached up and touched the dangling fruit and cupped it like it was a pear hanging from a tree. The skin was soft and supple, the testicles within moved fluidly like his own that even then were between his legs did. But the hanging balls were cool to the touch—not cold, but room temperature. They were just like they had been when he had reached down and felt them when they hung between Travis’s legs and had felt then come free as he cut them from his body—only now they were not alive. They were an artifact of the manhood he had stolen from a fellow young male.

Brian heard a knock at the door, and he dropped the ball necklace to the table with a THUD. He chucked to himself. Damn, that would have hurt. “Come in,” he said. And Travis entered the room. He walked in shyly, wearing the white clothes of the hospital. He seemed a little thinner, but otherwise was unchanged from the day they paced the gym and stood before each other as combatants.

“Hey man,” Brian said. And then he laughed to himself. “Oh, sorry about that.” He laughed a little more. Travis did not laugh. Brian could tell the pill was having an effect on him. He didn’t care if he accidentally hurt another person’s feelings. “Close the door. Lets get started,” he said.

Travis closed the door and stood in the middle of the room looking a little lost. His hair had been cut shorter than it was at school. It kinda made him look like he was about to enter the military for his year of service—just as Brian was about to—but obviously his was not fit to serve. “Um, so, what am I suppose to do,” he asked nervously, his still deep like an 18-year-old guy’s, but not forceful or assertive.

“Well, I was curious about what you looked like now. Why don’t you take your clothes off.”

Travis’s face flushed red. He shuffled his feet and looked to the floor. “Do I have to. I don’t want to do that.”

“You don’t want to get punished either do you,” Brian said. He felt impatient to begin what he had to do.

Travis’s eyes shot up, and Brian could see the fear in them. “No, I don’t,” he said. And slowly, reluctantly, he started to disrobe. He removed the white hospital shirt and shucked the white pants. And there he stood, wearing nothing but a pair of white panties.

Brian laughed to himself. “They make you wear panties?” he asked, not believing his eyes.

Travis’s face flushed a deeper crimson and he looked to the ceiling. His fingers twitched at his side. Brian stood up and took off his shirt. “Well, this is what I wear,” he said. He unbuckled his pants and let the drop to the floor. He was wearing gray boxer briefs, and obvious package bulging between his legs, a love trail of hairs rising up from the waistband to his belly button. Brian stood there proud, his gray-cotton-covered manhood bulging out right where it should be. Travis looked at Brian and then looked away, shifting his legs to cover his flat, panty clad crotch. Brian stood with his legs apart, giving his manhood room to breathe.

“Go on over to the bed. I want to look at what you have now,” Brian said, casually adjusting his bulge with his hand.

Travis looked at the floor, but he shuffled to the bed without complaint. He knew that he had to obey Brian. He didn’t like it, but he had to do it. Besides, even if he disliked and detested what was happening to him, for some reason he really couldn’t focus his thoughts on a way to fight back. He sat on the bed and swung his legs up onto the soft mattress. He lay there, in his panties, looking up at the ceiling. Brian walked toward him and sat next to him on the bed. He looked at his former foe, laying on the bed, unmoving, arms at his side, legs close together, and thought how far they had both come since the combat. Travis hadn’t changed much at all. His shoulders were still broad and strong, his stomach still flat and ripped with muscles. But his eyes were colder, more remote, no longer challenging. Brian reached over and felt Travis’s stomach, running his hand across his abs, feeling the muscles under his skin tense. He looked down at Travis’s panty clad crotch. He wasn’t attracted to Travis—after all, he still seemed like a fellow guy, even though Brian knew he was not. But he was curious to see what had happened to Travis’s crotch since the day on the wooden platform. And, truth be told, he wanted to dominate this guy, dominate him in the same way he had dominated him in the wrestling match that had cost Travis his manhood. The blue pill was doing its work well.

Brian ran his hand down Travis’s stomach, across his navel, and stuck his finger inside Travis’s panties. He felt warmth there, and wetness. It reminded him of his first encounters with his girlfriend before he got his breeding license, pushing his finger in her panties and feeling her delights for the first time. But it was different, and Brian couldn’t imagine what was under the panties. He leaned over and took a side of the panties in each hand. “Lift up,” he told Travis, and he did. Brian slipped the white cotton panties off of him in one swift motion and pulled them from his legs, tossing them over to the floor. Travis looked away from Brian, over toward the wall. His mind screamed for him to stand up and punch the guy for this violation, but he could bring himself to do it. It wasn’t just the fear of punishment. He couldn’t concentrate his mind to plan out an aggressive action and follow through on it. His mind was no longer truly male.

And neither was his body. Brian leaned over Travis and looked at the new crotch that was spread out before him. It was so different from the straining young erection he had seen on the wooden platform. Travis’s pubic hair was trimmed neatly, with no hairs on his thighs and no hairs rising up to his navel. And nestled within that trimmed and compact patch of pubes was the nub that was once his proud manhood. It was not a penis of any sort, not flaccid or shriveled. It was a new thing, a new structure. It was Travis’s clit. Brian reached out and felt it with his finger, and Travis’s body shuttered at his touch. The nub was firm under his finger. It felt spongy. And it seemed to swell as he fingered it. And as it grew and swelled, Brian began to recognize what it was. The thin slit that was once at the end of Travis’s hanging penis was at the end of his little nub. The cone of Travis’s glans penis could still be seen as the sloping sides of this new clit-like structure. And at the bottom of the nub, starting at the still-masculine looking piss slit, ran the two flared edges of the “V” structure Brian recognized from the underside of his own penis head. What was once the most sensitive skin of Travis’s masculine penis—the underside of his pecker head with it’s flared “V” and frenulum—was now the bottom of his clit-nub. As Brian flicked the nub with is finger, he slipped his finger lower along the “V” underside of the nub, and found that Travis’s “V” and frenulum led straight into a warm, wet slit—his pussy.

“Holy shit,” Brian said, astonished. Travis’s body shuttered as Brian’s finger penetrated into the warm innards of his neutered body. “Hheehh, hhuuhhh,” his still deep voice squealed at the first penetration of anything into his pussy.

Brian spread Travis’s pussy lips with his fingers and flicked his middle finger over the sensitive skin that had once been the underside of Travis’s mighty penis, but was now lining front entrance of the top of his pussy. “Holy shit, man, you’re pussy feels so good.” Travis just continued to look away, and shutter slightly as his new sex organs were stimulated for the first time.

Brian slipped his gray boxer briefs off his hips and pulled them over his feet. He realized for the first time that his dick was erect and straining. He wanted pussy so bad at that moment. It didn’t matter that the body that pussy was a part of was more or less still masculine looking. It was so warm and wet. “Hey man, look at this,” he said. “Remember when you had one of these?” Travis turned to see, and for the first time since his own castration and emasculation, he saw a penis. Brian gripped his 6-inch erection at the base and tapped the plump helmet head of his stiff rod against Travis’s thigh. “You remember having one of these, and jacking it at night when you thought everybody was asleep? You remember sliding the thing you had like this one,” tapping his dick against his leg, “into your girlfriend. Damn, bet you never thought you would have a pussy one day instead of a dick.” He pulled his finger from Travis’s pussy and began to roll his finger around the remains of Travis’s remade penis head, covering in it in his own pussy juices. Travis shuttered under the sensation, so powerful, so primal. His back arched slightly, like a woman’s when her pussy is over stimulated. “Damn man,” Brian continued. “You have to sit to take a piss now too. Damn, bet you never thought you’d miss being able to stand at a urinal like the other guys and piss at the wall.” Brian chuckled as he talked and rubbed. “With no fire hose, guess you’ll have to give up that future as a fireman.”

Travis looked away. But Brian wasn’t finished. His blood was up; he was horny, and in his testosterone-drenched mind, Travis was now as much of a girl as his girlfriend. He stood up and walked to the table, his thick, hard dick bobbing with each step. Brian grabbed the plump hanging testicle necklace and sat back down on the bed. He put his hand gently on Travis’s shoulder and shook him as if to wake him up. Travis turned his head and saw his own testicles pushed into his face. “Remember these?” Brian said.

Travis’s eyes bulged, and the dying embers of his spirit took fire for a moment. “My balls!” Travis said, and he reached up to touch them.

But Brian pulled them out of reach. “You want ‘em back, huh?” Brian said, smiling—as if playing with a child that couldn’t understand the game they were playing. “I bet you do. Bet you’d like to have your dick back too.” Brian stood up on his knees, which pressed the mattress down and caused Travis’s body to shift on the bed towards him, and displayed his own tanned and dangling sac of balls that hung under his erect dick. “See these,” Brian said, taking his own testicles in his hand and swinging them gently. “You used to have a set of these. We were equals then, young guys, men, chasing pussy and dreaming of penetrating a hot wet woman. What’s it like to lose all that?”

Travis raised up on his elbows, his eyes ablaze with the remembered authority of his lost masculinity. “Fuck you!” he said, his voice rising above a thin whisper for the first time. “I’m a man. I fucked my girlfriend while you were still jackin’ off to nudie books. And when I get out of her, I’m going to fuck her again, and we’re going to be happy together—man and wife.”

But now Brian’s eyes blazed as well, the way a cat becomes angered when a mouse unexpectedly swats his nose. Travis’s defiant words awaked the male aggression in Brian’s over-stimulated brain. “You’re gonna fuck your girlfriend, huh. With what? I’ll show you how to fuck.” Brain took the necklace of Travis’s lost testicles and put it around his neck. And then he grabbed Travis’s legs and swung himself on top of his defeated foe. Travis at first struggled under him, but Brian’s weight prevented him from squirming away. And for all Travis’s renewed pride and strong challenges, he was no match for Brain’s forceful male aggression. Brain rested his weight on Travis’s midsection. He felt Travis’s legs around his hips, trying to force him off. Brian rapped his hands around Travis’s forearms and held him steady. “Remember what the doctors said. You have to do what I saw or face punishment.”

Travis stopped squirming at once, going limp under the young man who had emasculated him. The bag of his testicles hung from Brian’s neck and dangled right in front of his face. For 18 years those twin orbs had hung between his legs, powering his manhood. Now they hung from another man’s neck. The fire died in his eyes and he looked to the wall once more. “No matter what you say or what they do, I’m a man. I was born a man. I’ve fucked my girlfriend, and I am her man.”

“Maybe you were,” Brian said. “But now you are my woman.” He shifted his hips, and Travis could feel the hardness of Brian’s erection against his stomach. He could feel the soft dangling bag of Brian’s warm and living balls against his flat groin. Travis closed his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking,” Brian said, starting to breathe heavily into Travis’s ear. “You’re thinking the same thing your girlfriend Shannon thought the first time you were on top of her like this. You’re thinking, ‘can something that big go inside of me.’ Let’s find out.”

Brian released his grip on Travis’s arms and reached down. He rubbed his throbbing mushroom head against Travis’s pink nub. In a few moments, Brian’s penis head was wet with the juices of Travis’s pussy, and he began to let his massive helmet press inside of his body. “Huuuhhhhhh,” Travis exhaled as he felt Brian’s flared male helmet pop past the outer lips of his pussy. My god, it was so thick. Travis felt like he was being stretched in two. But the stretching made his clit nub tingle.

Brian leaned in and slid the mighty shaft of his manhood into Travis’s sloppy tight woman-hole. “Oh god,” he breathed into Travis’s ear. “Oh god, you’re pussy feels so good.” And it did feel good. It was tight, even tighter than his girlfriend had been when he penetrated her for the first time. He rested for a moment, he cock buried balls-deep into the sweet wetness of Travis’s body, his tangled coarse pubic hairs mingled with Travis’s cropped patch—and they became one, man and “wife.” And then he started to rock, rock back and forth, sliding his manhood in and out of Travis’s tight womanhood. “Oh yeah, oh god, dammnnnnn,” Brian moaned breathlessly and the tightness of Travis’s body massaged his throbbing male member. His mind was awash in testosterone, his body awash in pleasure.

And Travis, despite himself, felt pleasure too. He could feel Brian’s soft hanging balls flopping against his taint with each thrust, and he thought of Shannon and how his own balls had bounced against her panting body. Those balls where now hanging down into his face, hanging from Brian’s neck. And he could feel Brian’s hard penis inside of him, like an invading force, undeniable, unstoppable, a mighty pressure inside of his body, filling him up. He could feel the flared ridge of Brian’s throbbing male helmet as it raked over the smooth sensitive interior walls of his pussy. He felt the thickness of Brian’s member spread his lips tightly apart, and with each in and out stroke of the young male on top of him, he felt the lips of his pussy tug and stimulate the nub of his clit. And more than that—as Brian’s excitement grew and his thrusting took on more urgency, Travis began to feel Brian’s pubic bone bounce and grind against his tingling clit. It had been so long, 3 long months, since Travis had felt any kind of sexual feeling of response. Only three months ago, he had been a young man jacking his dick every night and fucking his girlfriend every chance he could. Not, he was feeling the pleasure he only half remembered. And from that moment on, Travis’s body no longer fought against Brian’s trusting and domination. His legs rapped around Brian’s hips and his back arched to assist his thrusts. Brian felt Travis’s hands on his back as he clung to him in the passion of the moment. Brian felt Travis’s hands on his shoulder blades and on his back. Travis clung to Brian’s powerful muscular back as he had when they had wrestled for their manhood—and in the very act, he certified the winner of that bout. And in that moment, he thought of Shannon. He thought of the times he had pushed himself inside of her with the urgency that Brian now fucked his newly minted pussy. He thought of her moans and of her legs rapped around him and of her hands clinging to his masculine body. Travis felt Brian’s muscles strain and stretch as he struggled to hold his weight up while feeling the amazing pleasures of sexual intercourse wash though all his muscles. Travis remembered the urgent male hunger, the need to penetrate deep into your partner, to feel her depths, the hear her breathy moans of thanks, to hump faster and faster, each thrust bringing a slightly more intense wave of pleasure than the last. He remembered the hunger he felt radiating from Brian’s masculine body, but he didn’t feel it himself. For the first time in his life, Travis felt a new hunger, a foreign hunger, the hunger for the hollow part of his body to be filled up, for his body to be completed by the addition of a partner’s hard pole. God, had Shannon felt this? Had she felt this need? But she was a woman, born with a pussy. He was a man, a man. Travis’s hands naturally slid down the straining muscles of Brian’s back as it became coated with sweat. He slid his hands down to Brian’s lower back and felt the muscles of his tight butt tense and contract as his hips trusted in over and over. My god, he was getting fucked; he was getting fucked like a girl. Travis body was responding to the feelings of pleasure, but his mind exploded in denial. “No, no, no,” his deep voice whispered though moans of feminine pleasure. “No, I’m a man, I’m a man.” I penetrate; I am not penetrated, his mind screamed.

But Brian was over him, his weight bearing down on him, his body all over him, all inside of him. “You’re not a man, Trav,” Brian said, remembering the name his older brother had called to him from the crowd in the gym. “You’re not a man, Trav. You’re pussy feels so good. A man doesn’t have a pussy, he has a dick.” Brian rambled as he groaned and humped. Each thing he said seemed to send another wave of pleasure to his testosterone drowned brain. “You used to have a dick man, you used to be a man. I wrestled you when you were a man. Then, we could have both been doing this, with a girl under each of us, pounded our powerful dicks inside of them and listening to them squeal. But now I’m listening to you squeal. Does your pussy feel good, Trav? Does my dick feel good in your pussy?”

Tears of defiance streamed down Travis’s still-masculine face. His mind screamed for him to resist, that a man should not be penetrated by another man. But his mind was wash in pleasure, the pleasure of feminine fulfillment, the pleasure of the penetrated.

“Your dick was so much like mine man, so much like the one that is inside of you now. It was so hard when I nutted you, when I took your balls from you. Now all you got is a nub, a clit, a girl’s pussy.” And it was true—their dicks had been so much alike, both with circumcised flared heads, both about 6” x 5”, both manly and stiff and proud. But Travis’s penis was no more, and his pussy felt so good with Brian’s cock buried deep inside of it, penetrating his soul.

Brian suddenly propped himself up on one arm, and used his right hand to grasp Travis’s right peck, massaging and kneading his chest as if it were a woman’s. Brian felt the still strong muscle of Travis’s chest and the dim sized brown nipple that was on it under his hand—and he longed to cup a round plump tit. “God, if only you had tits,” he said. “If only you had tits, then you would be just like my girlfriend. You’d be just like Shannon.”

And at that moment, it happened. Travis felt the rush build in his body and break like a dam. He arched his back and threw his head back, his eyes staring up at Brian’s sweaty face that was creased and straining under the power of his own pleasure. He looked up and stared at the dangle sack of balls that were hanging in front his face from Brian’s neck—the balls that had once hung from underneath his own body, that had been his manhood, his balls, his nuts, his pride and power. And as he looked up and saw and felt these things, he came. “Ooohhhhhhhh ooohhhhhhhhhhh, goooooodddddddddd,” he cried in feminine pleasure—his first post-gelding, post-masculine orgasm. It was so unlike the orgasms he remembered from his manhood. It didn’t spike and then ebb, but it continued in one dull but continuous feeling of pleasure—and every second the rocking and humping of Brian’s hips against his clit drove a spike of pleasure threw his body and into his soul. Then, Travis felt the long dormant muscles in his groin contract, and he felt himself pump a slick wetness from his clit-nub. The clear fluid dribbled from the slit from which Travis once pumped mighty seed, a mockery of the manhood he once possessed. And the clear liquid matted and mixed with Brian’s thick coarse pubic hair, and dripped down to the mighty rod of his manhood that he pumped again and again into Travis’s quivering pussy. “Nnuuhhhhhhhh, don’t stop, don’t stop,” he cried as the last visages of his manhood fell away from his mind. He was a woman now, panting for her male lover to hump her harder and longer and faster. The manhood of Travis Tompson was finally destroyed.

And that was when Brian came. He arched his own muscled back and felt Travis dig his fingernails into his shoulder blades as the pleasure overwhelmed him. “I’m cummin baby,” he strained through a masculine groan. And he pounded his throbbing hard manhood as deep into his pussy as he could. Travis felt the amazing tenseness of Brian’s muscles and knew he was cumming before he said it. But in the throes of his own orgasm, he hardly cared. All the wanted was for Brian to keep humping, keep grinding against his clit, keep filling his body with his pleasure bringing cock. And then he felt the rush, the rush of warm fluid up into his body. Brian began to pump his virile seed into Travis’s barren pussy. Travis felt his body become awash with the masculine fluid, and he felt Brian’s satisfied but still throbbing erection slosh around inside of his newly drenched womanhood. He felt Brian’s masculine body stiffen like wood and then relax into sweaty, fulfilled bliss. And then Brian, too exhausted to hold himself up any longer, lowered his weigh onto Travis and lay on top of him, breathing in deep heavy breaths over his shoulder. Travis felt his own orgasm fade as Brian’s ravenous humping and grinding slowed to a stop, and he lay with his legs rapped around Brian’s strong but unmoving hips and his hands still clinging to Brian’s sweaty back. He could feel his own lost set of balls on his chest, pressed there by Brian’s exhausted weight. His lost orbs were between them, compressed by Brian’s body and by his chest. He felt them there, his lost masculinity that was cut from his body. And he knew, finally and forever, that he was no longer male.

PART 3: Neuter

Travis left the reassignment center six months later. By that time, his body had changed drastically. His muscles had deteriorated to those of a pre-pubescent boy, and most of his body hair—under his arms and on his legs and arms—had fallen out and not re-grown. He no longer had to shave, of course. But he tended to keep the small patch of pubic hair that remained over his pussy trimmed and neat.

He went back home for a time and lived with his family, who tiptoed around him until he reassured them that he was all right. But his older brother took seeing him hard. He remembered the weekends he had spent training his little brother for the combat, going over all the wrestling moves and tricks he had picked up in the military. But he had failed his little bro and had been forced to stand by helpless as his younger brother was emasculated in front of him. How could he look him in the face, knowing that under his brother’s jeans there was a pussy covered by a thin pair of panties. He had once had a might dick and balls, like he had between his own legs. Now he was a neuter, not male or female. And he knew that his little brother had probably been fucked like a girl.

But Travis comforted him and told him it was all right. He missed his manhood, more than anyone could ever know. He missed his masculinity like a person misses the love of their life when the time comes to bury them. But it was gone now, those days, that body, and that person. The young man that had wrestled for his manhood was gone forever, and he had to live now as best he could. And he would need his older brother’s help to do it. They both cried on each other’s shoulders then, embracing as brothers. But Travis shook and sobbed like a woman, while his older brother cried with the deep but controlled pain of a man.

Being a neuter, Travis could not serve in the military. He took odd jobs in fast food restaurants and eventually became a waitress. He remained straight (meaning attracted to women), his experience in the reassignment center not withstanding. But few women were attracted to him, since he looked like an overgrown 12-year-old boy. Sometimes a desperate woman would let him eat her pussy, and at times like that, Travis tried to imagine he was still a man, still able to penetrate her warm wet pleasure. But he couldn’t. And often he would ask for the woman to eat his pussy as he had just done for her. But sometimes they refused and he would ask them to fuck him with a strap on. Travis still didn’t like the idea of being penetrated, but the pleasure of it was undeniable. And since he could no longer give or receive pleasure in the masculine way—although she longed to do so every day—he took the pleasure he could get.

The obvious choice for him was to find a lesbian to fall in love with. But he didn’t like lesbians—they were too masculine for him in mind and deed. But very few straight women would give him the time of day. As time went on, he would often satisfy his desires, which still raged with a man’s passion, by seeking out young men who needed release badly, but could not find a girlfriend. They fulfilled his sexual urges, but while the fucked him with their amateur and fumbling way, he sometimes cried despite the pleasure for the manhood that was lost to him.

Brian had entered the military on schedule and served his maditory year. Then he had gotten out and married his girlfriend—the first and last girl he ever fucked. He still had Travis’s preserved testicle necklace, and he would often wear it around his neck when fucking his wife. At first she thought this was strange and refused to go along with it. But when Brian explained to her how he had prevailed over another young man’s masculine strength and personally removed his manhood from between his legs (he left out the part about fucking him), she kind of found it sexy.

“It’s like, every time you fuck me with those balls hanging around your neck, I think about how much of a man you are, how masculine you are,” she admitted once.

And Brian knew that what she described is exactly how it made him feel. Every time he fucked his wife with Travis’s balls hanging around his neck, he thought about the life of manhood he had won for himself at another young male’s expense—and then he would shoot his cream into his wife’s fertile pussy.

He had been wearing Travis’s balls around his neck when his wife conceived their first son. And from an early age, Brian taught him to be tough and smart, to make good grades and how to wrestle—especially how to wrestle. In the back yard, with his boy falling all over him in playful contests, Brian taught him how to control an opponent and force him to the ground. He was determined that his boy would make good grades, work hard at sports, and never screw around with drugs so that he and any of his future brothers wouldn’t have to take part in the combats. But if, for any reason, he did have to compete, Brian was determined that his son would win. And, in years to come, when his boy grew to manhood like his old man, he knew that his son would mount his women and pump virile seed from his set of balls into her pussy. And he would make sure that some other kid never his son’s balls around his neck like a piece of well-won jewelry.

THE END

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