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Terri Lynn's Story
Part 1 of 2
Email Farrell
Terri Lynn's Story
Part 2 of 2
Terri Lynn's Story - as told to Farrell Squire This story is more than just a castration story (although it is very much that!). It's a story about Terri Lynn and her best friend growing up in a remote Ozark farming community in the 1960s. In recounting this story I have changed the names of the characters so they can't be recognized, but the general setting and events of this story are just as Terri Lynn described them to me. No, her name is not really Terri Lynn, but it is one of those double names that used to be so popular among Southern girls. Her real name has that same ring to it (sounds rather sexy, I think). Well, enough of the introduction. I'll get on with telling the story; Terri Lynn's story. It was 1965, the year that everything changed for me. It was the year that we lost Stanley, my brother, to the war in Vietnam. He was just nineteen; I was fourteen. We all took it hard. Stan was Mom and Pop's only son. He was going to take over the farm when Pop got too old. It was real important in the rural Ozarks to have a son to carry on the family name and business. Women were just for keeping house, cooking, and having babies; maybe not in that order. No matter how good or loving a husband was, it didn't change a woman's role in life. Nobody questioned it or thought that it wasn't fair. They just accepted it as a natural thing. Women just had their place and that was the way things were. Now Pop was left with just Mom and two girls; me and my kid sister Penny. She was eleven. I had never felt like I had much control over my life or what would happen to me. I was just a girl, after all, and I would end up doing whatever girls did. The best I could hope for was to someday find a real nice boy and get married. I knew of women whose husbands were drunkards, spent what little money they made on booze, and would beat their wives up whenever they got drunk. I wanted to avoid that fate if at all possible. Looking back now, I think I actually dreaded growing up. It was more fun to be a kid. You could dream and fantasize about being a person who was important in her own right; not just a housekeeper and baby maker. But this was just silly kid stuff. All too soon we would grow up and have to accept reality. We were just women and would have to accept out rightful place in life, even if that place wasn't particularly fun or fulfilling. I also counted myself lucky. Pop was a real good father. He didn't make much money; not many men did in that part of the country. But he took good care of Mom and us kids and I felt safe and protected. As a girl I had always felt vulnerable and powerless and it meant a lot to have a man in the family who could protect me. When Stanley got older I realized that I now had another protector and my sense of security just doubled. I thought the world of Stanley and he became kind of a role model for the kind of young man I would someday marry. When he graduated from Pea Branch High School the year before, he became the first member of our family, on either Pop's side or Mom's side to earn a high school diploma. Stanley went off and joined the Army. I missed him, but I was also very proud of him. He was our link to the big outside world. I remember how excited I was when Stanley came back on leave. Of course I missed him and wanted to see him, but I also wanted to hear all the stories he brought back. The world was changing, faster than I could possibly know then, and listening to the stories from the outside kind of reinforced my fantasies about living in a world much different from this one. I was young and the thought of growing up and becoming something other than a housekeeper and baby maker sent a little tingle through me. Maybe there was just a chance, after all, that I could become an interesting person in my own right and live an exciting and fulfilling life. Just maybe! Stanley had been in the Army less than two years when we got the word. A couple of officers drove out to the house. I'll never forget that day. It still hurts to think about it, even thirty years later. I was crushed. It seemed like my whole world had crumbled around me. I had lost my brother, my role model, and my protector and I felt, more than ever before, stuck on that little dusty road so far from the exotic places of my dreams. I felt very inadequate and vulnerable at that time and I was actually mad at myself for being a girl. The feeling is hard to describe, but I felt that if I was a boy I could take up where Stanley left off, Pop would have someone to leave the farm to, and I could be the other protector of our family. I don't think I've ever felt so helpless in my life. Nearly three months had passed now since the funeral and it was a bright Saturday morning in late spring. School had just turned out for the summer and I had finished my morning chores, feeding the stock and shoveling out the stalls. I would have to help Mom and Penny in the garden this afternoon, but right now I had a few hours of time to myself just to loaf around and play. Once again, I knew I was lucky, because Pop said that when he was a kid I would have been working in the fields, planting in the spring, chopping cotton in the summer, and picking cotton into late fall. Our generation didn't know what work was, Pop always said. Pop was never mean-spirited or resentful; he just sort of said it matter-of-factly. I really think he was rather proud of the fact that he was a good enough provider that we didn't have to work like that. Actually, they didn't grow much cotton around here anymore; fewer and fewer fields every year. The ground was far too hilly and rocky for it to be very profitable. We had a farm that was about three hundred acres. It wasn't really enough to make a living on by itself. We raised cattle and hogs, and always made a big garden, but except for about forty acres of corn for livestock feed, we didn't raise row crops. Pop worked at the creosote plant about ten miles away, where they treated utility poles so they wouldn't rot. As soon as Penny was old enough to start school Mom got a job working at the school cafeteria in Pea Branch. Looking back, I realize we were pretty poor, but we lived better than many of our neighbors. I climbed up into the hay loft which was pretty much empty now, ready to be filled again by this year's harvest. Last year was the first summer we didn't have Stanley to help with the hay, since he had gone off to the Army. Me and Pop, and Mr. Taylor put up all the hay by ourselves. They commented on how strong I was and how, even though I was just a girl, I made a better hand than most boys my age. Actually, I always preferred the heavy chores to traditional "women's" work. I was big for my age, even then about 5' 8". I was the tallest girl on the junior girls basketball team at school. (I kept growing until I was 5'10 at eighteen.) I went over and started chinning myself on a bar I had rigged up. I had built a makeshift gym in the barn from rope, pipe, and pieces of junk. I worked out whenever I could, at home or at school. I always admired female athletes. Watching them gave me that little tingle I felt when I thought of growing up to be something besides a homemaker. I guess they were my role models, even though they got very little exposure in the media in those days. We had bought an old used black and white TV about three years ago (our first TV). There was some kind of sports show (I can't even remember the name) that I used to watch on Sunday afternoons that occasionally showed female sports, usually gymnastics, track and field, and basketball. I continued my workout that morning, doing loops on the rings, hanging by my knees and doing crunches on the bar, letting my long black hair dangle in the straw below; all the while dreaming that I was one of those gymnasts on the TV. Never mind that I was probably already too big to be a competitive gymnast. I didn't know that, and it was all just a fantasy anyway. I used to want to take off my clothes and go through my workout wearing nothing but my panties and bra, but I always felt too vulnerable and inhibited to do it. I usually wore a blouse and jeans, or sometimes modest shorts cut off half way to the knees. I never wore anything people today would consider sexy. At the time I don't think I even thought of being sexy. That word was hardly in my vocabulary. The nearest I could come to "sexy" in those days was feeling "naughty". I had been taught to equate the two. Anyway, I enjoyed the "naughty" feeling I got from fantasizing about doing my workout in the barn loft wearing only my panties and bra. I was distracted from my homespun workout by the ruckus that was going on in the pig lot adjacent to the barn. They had been making a racket all morning and I knew that one of the gilts was coming into season; this stuff happens all the time on the farm and you just get used to it and don't think much about it. Now there was such a din coming from the pig pen that I couldn't ignore it. I walked over and opened the loft door and looked down. Apparently not only one but two of the young sows had come into season and the young half-grown boar was indulging himself voraciously. Having two sows in season at the same time had excited the young boar and he was literally in a sexual frenzy. He would mount a sow and plunge his huge cock into her and proceed with that rhythmic, screwing motion so characteristic of hogs. His monstrous member seemed to be rotating inside the sow's cunt as he would drive it home, jamming his huge ball sack with its enormous, orange-sized balls against her. Occasionally the boar would try to mount one of the other females that wasn't in season. These attempts would be met with angry squealing and nipping as the unreceptive sows struggled to escape the boar's advances. This was what was causing the unusual commotion in the hog lot. I just stood there and watched for a while. Growing up on the farm, I can't remember the first time I saw animals do it. It was just a commonplace thing that was fun to watch once in a while, but no big deal. I had certainly never been really turned on by watching it. Once again, I didn't quite know what "turned on" meant. I could only equate it with feeling extremely naughty. But as I stood there watching the spectacle that hyper-excited boar and those sows were putting on, I began to feel a little tingle of "naughtiness". Also I was just getting to the age where sexual feelings were no doubt forcing their way to the forefront of my consciousness, penetrating the repressive crust of my Victorian upbringing. As I watched, I began to visualize the boar in comic caricature. His enormous genitalia seemed to occupy about a third of his body mass. It seemed that the rest of the boar's body was just a life support system for his huge cock and balls. Most of all, however, I was captivated by the boar's total obsession with copulation. What little mental faculties the crazed creature might have possessed were totally subordinated to his overwhelming need to copulate. This was definitely making me feel "naughty", but I was also overwhelmed with a feeling disappointment. The boar was dominating the whole scene. The sows were essentially just passive recipients of his aggressive advances. That was the female's lot in life, I thought. We had to be content to sneak in a few naughty thoughts during the male's frenzied assault. I had heard at school that boys were the same way. They would just go crazy to get in your pants, then as soon as they came, they would just roll over and go to sleep, or want to go home, or something like that. We were here to provide their pleasure and not the other way around. I thought it was such a shame it had to be that way. Sometimes at night, when I would be laying in bed, and allowing myself to think naughty thoughts, I would dream of being naked and having a cute boy rub my whole body with lotion. Then I would roll onto my stomach and he would give me a long, soothing massage. Finally, I would roll onto my back and he would very tenderly and softly begin caressing my body, gradually working his way to my more private and sensitive areas. I knew it wasn't that way in real life, but it made good naughty dreaming. My naughty day dreams were interrupted by the sound Mr. Taylor's old pickup truck rumbling over the dirt road, rattling as it ran over the washboard ruts the rain made when it washed across the road. In those days there were so few vehicles on the road that I had no trouble at all learning to recognize them by their sound. I could tell if there was a strange car in the country too. Looking toward the south, I saw a swirling cloud of brown dust rising from behind the low hill about a half-mile from our house. I watched the dust cloud become gradually larger as Mr. Taylor approached. Pop and Mr. Taylor were always trading off work and I never paid much attention when Pop said Mr. Taylor would be coming over. Mr. Taylor had helped us wire our house when we first got electricity in this part of the state. I was just nine years old then. Pop had paid him back by helping him build a barn. Also, Pop could usually get flawed light poles from the creosote mill real cheap or sometimes free. They had been trading off farm work ever since. I remembered now hearing Pop say at breakfast that Mr. Taylor would be coming over today to help him cut a hog. Suddenly it dawned on me what was about to happen. This sex-crazed, animated phallus in the lot below was about to become a barrow, a sexual zero! Nobody in our part of the country raised purebred hogs in those days. Hogs were just hogs. We raised them to eat. We didn't keep old purebred boars with registration papers or anything like that. When a young boar had done his job getting the sows pregnant, he was only good for meat. He had to be castrated several months before hog killing time so the meat would be sweet and tender. The sooner you castrated them the better. Up until today it was just another farm chore that Pop and Mr. Taylor always took care of, and I never thought much about it. I was still standing in the loft when Pop and Mr. Taylor came up to the pen and climbed in. I was standing there in plain view, but they didn't see me because, intent on their work, they never looked up. Pop and Mr. Taylor's presence in the pen hardly even distracted the boar from his obsession until they started putting nooses and ropes on his snout and back feet. There was a post set about twenty feet inside the pen just for the purpose of tying off hogs. By the time the boar realized he was about to become a captive it was too late, they already had the nooses on him. Pop and Mr. Taylor pulled on the ropes and the boar was quickly rendered helpless, stretched between two posts. They pulled one hind leg in the opposite direction, fully exposing the boar's genitals and making him so helpless he could hardly squirm. Mr. Taylor reached into his pocket and pulled out a special pocket knife he used for castrations. He whetted it a few strokes on a very fine whetstone then proceeded with the operation. As he made his incision into the boar's scrotum, the animal squealed and tugged frantically at his restraints. Soon Mr. Taylor popped out one of the boar's big orange-sized testicles, pulled hard on the cord, extending it over a foot out of the hog's body, then he cut it loose. He pitched it into lot near the sows who greedily devoured it, squealing and fighting over the morsel. He quickly repeated the operation with the hog�s second testicle, folded his knife and put it back into his pocket. Pop dabbed some black, gooey pitch stuff on the hogs bleeding scrotum, then they released him. The whole scene probably didn't take five minutes. The hog made a bee line for a big mud wallow in one corner of the lot, drug his ruined anatomy in the mud and just wallowed on his back and stomach alternately. Meanwhile, the sows, oblivious to the plight of their former suitor and lover, just looked at Pop and Mr. Taylor expecting more food. Even the boar's huge balls didn't go very far toward satisfying the appetite of five or six hungry sows. I had fed them earlier that morning, but they always wanted more food. (After all, they are pigs!) Pop opened up the corn crib and added some corn to the trough, then he and Mr. Taylor went back toward the house. After a few minutes of wallowing in the mud the young boar (actually, former boar) came back up to the front of the lot and attempted to continue with his sexual aggression. He even mounted the sows a couple of times but was unable to produce the huge erection he had only minutes before. From his actions I could tell he was obviously frustrated by his sudden loss of sexual prowess. He ran back to the mud wallow and rolled in the mud some more, as though he was hoping to retrieve his lost boarhood somewhere in that mud. He repeated this process about three times, each time becoming a little less aggressive and showing less interest in the sows. Finally he settled down and contented himself with rooting around in the corn cobs, interested only in food; any thoughts of sex now removed from his mind forever. His enormous balls, the source of the very essence of his being and behavior only minutes ago, were now being quietly digested in the stomachs of his former mates. As I stood there a queasy, flushed feeling came over me. My breathing became fast and irregular. I felt dizzy and backed away from the door so as not to fall. I succumbed to the overwhelming urge to slip out of my jeans, and I just laid in the straw, rubbing myself between my legs through the soft, slick material of my panties. I didn't know what was happening to me, but I had never felt so naughty in my life! My body quivered and shook, and I involuntarily emitted little moans and soft yells. All the while, I arched my back so only my heels and shoulders touched the straw-covered floor and I rubbed myself harder and harder between my legs. I had no idea what to call the experience at that time. In my mind I just called it a naughty convulsion, but that was my first orgasm! I just laid there in the straw for several minutes, recovering from my unexpected experience. I remember thinking that I should be worried that something was wrong with me, the crotch of my panties was soaked with strange, gooey secretions, but it just felt so right, so wonderful! As my strength returned my spirits mysteriously soared to new heights; I suddenly felt a new sense of pride and contentment with being a girl. I removed my blouse, which I hadn't taken time to remove during my orgasm, and began working out on my homemade gym equipment, wearing just my panties and bra. It was just like I had fantasized so many times. Watching that boar lose his maleness was a revelation to me. I realized the whole mystique surrounding masculinity was a big masquerade. A few nights ago I had watched a show on television, The Wizard of Oz. I remembered how silly and harmless the wizard looked when he came out from behind that big mask. You couldn't believe anyone was ever afraid of him. That was the whole point; his power was all fake. As long as he stayed behind that mask and people obeyed him, he was powerful and dangerous. But unmask him and expose him for what he really was, and he became an impotent humbug. Masculinity was just like that. It was something so fragile, so easily lost, that a subliminal fear of castration must lie at root of every man's soul. A simple operation that could be performed outside a clinical setting by people who were not even well trained, could alter the very essence of his being and personality. Such a simple act could change his very identity and personality forever. I felt a surge of power and excitement welling within me. I felt the onset of another naughty convulsion as I hung from the bar by my knees. I pulled myself up and straddled the bar so the smooth iron pipe pressed into my crotch. I held the supports just tightly enough for balance and rocked back and forth, allowing my full weight to press the pipe into the moist slit of my womanhood. The gooey liquid was flowing profusely from my crotch and running down my inner thighs. It felt so wonderfully naughty! That wonderfully naughty convulsion settled down to a plateau. I continued my workout still feeling quite naughty (highly aroused). I remember thinking I must tell Sharon about this. Sharon Watkins was my best friend. She lived on the farm next to ours. We had been friends since the first grade and we never had any secrets from each other. I couldn't wait to tell her about this experience, but I was also afraid she would think I was weird or crazy. It was exciting just thinking about how I would tell her. Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone coming up the ladder into the loft. "Terri Lynn!" Penny's familiar young voice called. "Mom says it's time to come and help with dinner. Mr. Taylor will be eating with us and... Terri Lynn! You... You're almost naked!" "I've just been working out," I answered. I was hanging from the bar by my knees again and I just hung there, upside down, smiling at Penny as she came into the loft. "But, ah, you could get in trouble for taking your clothes off, couldn't you? I mean, what would Mom say?" I did a backward summersault as I came down from the bar and just laughed at Penny. "Why? We take our clothes off at school to work out. It's no different here." "Yeah, but this is different. You have special shorts and things to put on at school. You're not supposed to go around like this in the barn." "Who's going to see you? It's no different than when you take a bath, Penny" "Maybe so, but I think it's naughty." "I never said it wasn't naughty," I said, laughing as I slipped back into my jeans. "I just said it was okay to do it." "Terri Lynn, something's come over you. You're not acting like yourself." "Oh, I guess you could say I just learned to appreciate who I am. I'm just so glad I'm a girl and not a boy, that's all." "Terri Lynn, you used to always say you hated being a girl and wished you were a boy." "That was a very silly thing for me to say, wasn't it? I guess I've grown up a little since then." I had finished dressing and we were coming down the ladder. "It was just last week that you said it, Terri Lynn." "I know, but sometimes something happens that causes you to grow up a lot, real quick. Penny, I'm proud to be a girl, and you should be too. You'll see." "I think you're just crazy, Terri Lynn," she giggled. "But can I come out here and do a workout with you next time?" "Sure, Penny. I'll even show you how to set everything up." "Terri Lynn?" "Yes?" "I think I would like to be like you when I grow up." We walked back from the barn arm and arm. CHAPTER 2 I couldn't tell Sharon what had happened on the phone. We shared a party line with seven other families and you never knew when somebody might be listening in. I told her that there was something I wanted to tell her, private girl stuff, and we agreed it would be best if I went to church with her in the morning and we could spend the afternoon together. I knew Mom and Pop wouldn't mind. We did that a lot. Sharon's father was a Methodist minister and we were Baptists, but me and Sharon went to each other's churches several times a year. Our folks didn't care. One of the things I used to hate about going to visit Sharon on Sunday afternoons was that we would be dressed in our finest Sunday dresses and couldn't go out and do fun stuff around the farm. Sharon's little brother, Melvin, who was just a year older than Penny, used to put on his blue jeans and tennis shoes and go out and ride his bicycle or his horse, and romp around in the fields and woods, and stuff like that. Sharon and I had to stay dressed up, sit around the house, and conduct ourselves in a ladylike manner. There would always be an hour or more of Bible study and prayer on Sunday afternoons and even Melvin couldn't get out of attending these. Even so, I considered it worth the sacrifice since Sharon and I were such good friends. But we usually had more fun when she came to our house. Actually, Sharon's parents had relaxed the rules a little since we both became older and we were both on the junior girls basketball team. We both had basketball goals set up in our yards and we practiced whenever we got together. Now when I visited Sharon on Sunday, Rev. Watkins even allowed us to put on shorts and go out and practice basketball. Of course the shorts had to be tastefully conservative, usually much more conservative than the uniforms we played in at school. Lots of times we would have a foursome, usually me and Melvin against Sharon and Penny. Sometimes we got enough kids together to have a regular game. Playing at sports seemed to be one way a girl could break away from the ultraconservative, Victorian lifestyle we would otherwise be doomed to lead. If you were good at sports, the coaches at school would put pressure on your parents to let you play. The activity being sanctioned by the school and community made it a lot easier. This Sunday Sharon and I shot hoops for about an hour then went for a walk in the pasture to look at the new calves. When I was sure we were alone, I told her about watching Pop and Mr. Taylor castrate the boar, and the naughty convulsions it caused me to have. Sharon admitted that it made her feel naughty too. She said she had never had a naughty convulsion, but she had heard about them. Really naughty girls who actually enjoyed having sex with boys said they had feelings a lot like that when they were doing it. I explained to her how it came like a revelation that men's manliness was mostly a show and very fragile. They were so much like the wizard in The Wizard of Oz. The source of their dominion and aggressive behavior could be so easily removed with a simple operation. Examples of that were all over the farm. We knew that most male farm animals were castrated to control their behavior rather than because of concerns about breeding stock. I told Sharon that I was going to see if Pop would let me help castrate the baby pigs and calves. For some reason I didn't fully understand, I wanted to learn how and become good at it. Sharon listened intently and was captivated by the idea. She wanted to learn too. Then maybe she and I could do it without help from the grownups and we could be like a team, taking care of the castrations on both farms. At first this just seemed like a dirty little fantasy, then I promised to talk to Pop and see what I could do. We snickered and giggled as we talked about it. The idea was pure naughtiness! I didn't have long to wait. This was the season that most of the new calves were being born, and I knew Pop always slipped Elastrator bands on their nut sacks before they were two months old. The next day we were walking back from the barn after doing the morning chores and I asked Pop if I could help slip the bands on the calves when it was time. He looked at me kind of funny. "I don't know, Terri Lynn. I'm not sure it's really proper for a girl to do stuff like that." "But Pop, I know Mom has helped you do it before, and she's a girl." "Your mom is not a girl, Terri Lynn, she's a grown woman. There's a big difference. Besides, why would you be interested in doing something like that." "Well, I figure I need to know as much as I can about taking care of the farm. You know, with Stanley gone now and all. I already know how to do the vaccinations and give boluses; I even help kill hogs in the fall. This is just something else I need know how to do, that's all." Pop took out his tobacco tin and some cigarette paper and started rolling a cigarette. He was slow and deliberate, taking more time than usual. I could tell he was thinking hard. "Oh, there's another thing, Pop. I've been seriously thinking about trying to get into veterinarian school someday. You know I'd be taking Vo-Ag in school next year except they don't let girls take it." "Veterinarian school, eh," Pop said, finally striking a match and lighting his cigarette. "That's a might ambitious for a young lady, but I guess it don't do no harm dream a little. Besides, knowing how to run a farm might help you land a good fellow someday. "I'll tell you what, Terri Lynn, slippin' bands on bull calves ain't really a big deal, but cuttin' livestock ain't for the squeamish. I got a litter of pigs needs cuttin' and you can help do that this afternoon. But if you get chickenhearted and can't do it, you gotta promise you won't bother me about this no more, you hear." "Sure, Pop, you know I can handle it. I'll just have to learn what to do, that's all." I was trying hard to conceal my excitement, trying to make the whole thing seem like it was all in a day's work. I didn't really understand, myself, why this thing had suddenly become such an obsession. I think maybe I should say right here that I never did, and don't now, enjoy hurting animals. This is just something that had to be done on a farm and somebody was going to do it anyway whether I got involved in it or not. It wasn't fascination with the infliction of pain that attracted me to this unorthodox obsession. It was my infatuation with relieving a male of his maleness. I was obsessed with removing that property that caused an animal to be aggressive, dominant, and belligerent, and turning them into something docile and tractable. I always tried to make the operation as painless as possible. After dinner me and Pop headed out to one of the farrowing pens that were built next to the pig lot. The pigs were less than a month old and didn't weigh ten pounds each. "We got to cut all the boar shoats in this litter," Pop said. "I'll show you how to do the first one, then the rest are yours." Pop took a special little knife out of a kit box. It had replaceable razor blades that could just be thrown away when they got dull. Picking up a squealing pig, Pop made a small slit in its scrotum and popped out two small white balls. Then he just pulled them out from the pigs body until the tiny cords broke. He could see I looked surprised that he snapped them like that instead of just cutting them off. "There's less blood that way," he explained, "and they heal lots faster. When they're this young you just snap em', don't cut em'." Pop then dabbed some of that black pitch stuff on the pig's scrotum and set it down next to where he had pitched the testicles. The pig sniffed, and then quickly ate his own nuts. Watching this caused that naughty, flushed feeling to come over me again. Pop grinned and handed me the knife. "Your turn, Terri Lynn. Here, I'll hold the legs, but you gotta do the cuttin' and the snappin'." I was awkward at first, and very concerned about causing the pig more pain than was absolutely necessary, but by the time I got to my third pig I was really getting the hang of it. Watching each pig eat its own nuts was really a trip, but it also assured me that the little creature was not too traumatized and had no mental perception of what had happened to him. Pop seemed a little surprised, but pleased, that I had learned so quickly and hadn't chickened out. Later that week we put Elastrator bands on the calves. The Elastrator was a device with little prongs that stretched a fat little donut-shaped rubber band wide enough to fit over a calf's testicles when you squeezed the handles. There was a trip lever that released the band when it was in position. We ran the calves into a squeeze chute and they struggled a lot more than the pigs. They would draw their little balls up into their bodies and I had to work them down. The trick was to get them relaxed enough that their balls would be descended then snap the Elastrator band on them. After that, they didn't seem to realize that anything was wrong. When we turned them loose they would just go back to grazing and act like nothing had happened. In about four to six weeks their little scrotums would just dry up and drop off. They never seemed to feel a thing. Pop said this was probably the most painless method of castration. You couldn't use it on pigs because a pig's scrotum held his balls too close to his body. Pigs always had to be cut with a knife. Naturally I shared every detail of this with Sharon. She wanted to try it but was ashamed to ask her folks. I told her I would try to get her in on it the next time we had to do castrations. I was also careful to volunteer to do a wide variety of farm chores so as not to draw undue attention to my obsession with castration. But one day I was in the equipment room at the barn with Pop and noticed a funny looking device stored next to the Elastrator. It looked like a giant pair of pliers with big fat stainless steel rods where the jaws would have been. "What's that thing?" I asked. "That's a Burdizzo clamping tool," Pop answered. "I use it on the bigger calves. Sometimes I buy one at the sale that's six months old and hasn't been cut yet. I use the clamp on them. I could use the bands, but when their things are that big it takes longer for them to shrivel up and dry. If you're not careful the flies can get to them. That's why I like to use the Burdizzo on the bigger ones." "How does it work?" "Well, you see those big smooth jaws? You place those over his sack above his things and clamp down. It crushes the cords and all the blood vessels connecting the testicles. Then they just dry up and disappear; just like the with the bands except everything stays inside his sack. There's no blood and no infection. The vet says they don't bleed inside because of the way it crushes the blood vessels. It's probably the safest method of castration; less to go wrong. "Here, let me show you somethin'." Pop pulled out a couple of pieces of cigarette paper and two big wooden matches. Placing the matches about an inch apart between the two pieces of cigarette paper, he handed them to me. "Here, hold that." Pop placed the jaws of the Burdizzo over the fragile cigarette paper with the two big matches inside then clamped down quickly. "The trick is not to hesitate when you get things in place. Now look at the match sticks and the paper." Both match sticks were cleanly broken into two pieces, and the delicate cigarette paper was not damaged. "You see. Just think of the matches as the cords and blood vessels and the cigarette paper as the scrotum. It does its job without ever breaking the skin. �Course now the big n's you got to mash one side at a time, but the little en's you can just mash �em both at once, just like them match sticks." "Does it hurt them?" I asked. "Well, I think they really feel it when you first clamp down, its probably like a good solid kick down there. They always bow up and bawl a little. But after that, they forget about it. It's just like with the bands, they act like nothin' ever happened." In about two weeks Pop bought a couple of half-grown bull calves that hadn't been cut. I think the main reason he bought them was to give me practice, but maybe that was just my imagination. He did make a little money on them when he sold them that fall. We had one hell of a time restraining them, even with the squeeze chute, but once we got them into position, Pop let me do the honors. Just like before, I passed this test with flying colors. Pop just chuckled and looked at me kind of funny. I hadn't done a very good job hiding my unnatural obsession with this thing. I believe at the time, he knew better than I that I was just practicing for the "real thing", and I think that sort of turned him on. Of course that could just be my imagination too. CHAPTER 3 Except for my added volunteer farm chores, it was turning out to be another typical summer. Me and Mom and Penny stayed busy with the garden and canning and putting up food for the winter. I think I hauled more hay that year than ever before. I was learning to drive the tractor and Pop let me operate the mower and bailer. We really missed Stanley though; our family would never be the same without him. I found a box of his stuff I hadn't gone through yet. I guess I had just overlooked it in all the confusion. It mostly contained stuff that he had brought home with him on leave and didn't want to take back. Mostly it was just "stuff", but I also found a couple of paper back books, The Kinsey Reports, and a sexy novel about some poor guy who fell in love with a prostitute (everybody could get into her pants except him). As I started reading these books that naughty, flushed feeling came back over me. This was the first real literature I had ever read on anything sexual and I digested the information hungrily. Up until now my sexual education consisted of rumors, dirty jokes, and making analogies to farm animals. I knew that people were supposed to do it face to face and that was about it. If it weren't for growing up around animals I would probably have been susceptible to stories about storks and cabbage patches. That's how sexually repressed our world was then. Needless to say, I wasted no time in telling Sharon about the new books I discovered. We didn't dare take them to her house, because we didn't want to get caught with them. Rev. Watkins would surely have been outraged, and I didn't think my folks would approve of me having them either. We made a secret hiding place in our barn to keep the books and we made a special little hideout from bales of hay where we could sneak off and read the books and discuss what it all meant. We learned that my naughty convulsions were called "orgasms" and that there was nothing wrong or abnormal about having them. When looking through that box of Stanley's stuff, I discovered something else; two small cardboard packages each containing three condoms sealed in foil. I showed these new treasures to Sharon the next time we met in our little hay-loft hideout. We had heard about "rubbers", but neither of us had ever seen one. We decided to open one of the foil packs and look at one. I tore the pack open and removed the rubber. It was rolled up into a little ring and was all wet and slippery with some kind of lubricant. I stuck my finger into it and rolled it down my finger, it was much too large. Giggling, I passed it to Sharon. I could see her gasping with naughty excitement as she fondled the slippery latex and placed it over her own fingers. She unrolled it to its full length and stared at it with naughty enthusiasm in her green eyes. "Are they really that long, Terri Lynn?" "I don't know. I've never seen one, at least not a hard one." We both giggled and Sharon handed the rubber back to me. "I hear a normal one is six inches long, that's even what the book says. Maybe some guys are a lot bigger." "What's this little bulb thing on the end?" Sharon asked. "I guess that's to hold the boy's sperm," I said, still giggling. "I would have thought that part would have been bigger though. Surely they cum more than that." We both sat there and giggled as we gingerly fondled the rubber and tried to imagine what it would be like to have one of those things inside us filled with hot, throbbing man meat, frantic to eject its load of sperm. Also, we realized we only had five left now. We had destroyed one in order to look at it. We knew neither of us would have the nerve to go into a drug store and ask to buy any, so between the two of us, we could only have sex five times before we ran out of rubbers. We felt a little like the guy in the fairy tale who was given three wishes and then wasted his first wish. I secretly wondered why Stanley hadn't taken these with him when he left. He certainly didn't leave them for me on purpose, because he fully intended to get his box of stuff when he came back. I wondered if he had died a virgin. That would have been such a shame, I thought. I was almost sure he was a virgin until he left. My first chance to initiate Sharon to the craft of castration came that September after school had started. I was staying at her house one weekend when Rev. Watkins suddenly had to be out of town several days to speak at a seminar. He had just purchased about two dozen late summer calves he was going to feed out on grain. Most of the lot were bulls and it was time to castrate them. Since Rev. Watkins would be out of town, he made arrangements with a neighbor, Charlie Braddock, to do it this weekend. Charlie Braddock helped Rev. Watkins do his farm work just like Mr. Taylor helped Pop. That Saturday morning Mrs. Watkins broke the news that Charlie had fallen off a ladder and broken his arm. It wasn't life threatening, but he was certainly in no shape to come over and wrestle a bunch of bull calves. She asked me if maybe Pop and Mr. Taylor would be willing to come over and help. I told her that I was sure they would, but Pop and Mr. Taylor were over in Short's Junction today cutting hay. "We finally got all those calves rounded up and caught and put in the lot yesterday afternoon," she said. "Well, I guess I'll just have to open up the gate and let those calves back out in the pasture. We can catch them again later when Harold gets back form his seminar. "You don't have to do that, Mrs. Watkins," I replied. "Deballing calves is really no big deal. I've done it several times. Sharon could help me and we could knock it out in no time." "Really?" Mrs. Watkins exclaimed, with surprise, "it seems like a rather strange chore to put off on a girl." "No, I think it's kind of simple, not nearly as hard a pitching hay into the loft, or killing hogs. How do y'all do your calves? Do you use a knife, bands, clamps, or what?" I tried hard to sound nonchalant. "Yea Mom," Sharon added, doing a poor job of concealing her eagerness, "me and Terri Lynn can take care of it with no problem." "Well, if you're sure you know what you're doing. I would say �get Melvin to help you,' but he can't stand no part of neutering. Harold tried get him to help one day and Mel got all nervous and started puking and crying. It just unnerved him I guess. I can't say as I blame him though. If I were a boy it would make me nervous too." Then Mrs. Watkins laughed uneasily. "Bless his heart," I said, with genuine sympathy. But I also felt a surge of elation being able to do something that completely grossed a boy out, even if I was a couple of years older. "Terri Lynn and me can handle it fine, Mom," Sharon said. "Well, okay. Oh, you'll need these," Mrs Watkins said, reaching into a cabinet. These are the rubber bands. Harold picked them up at the Farmers' Coop a couple of days ago. "Sharon, do you know where your father keeps that thingumajig that he puts these on with?" "I think so, Mom," Sharon replied, "I'm sure we can find it." "Now if this thing starts giving you more trouble than you thought, just turn those calves out and we can catch them again when Harold gets back, y'all hear. "I don't think it will be a problem, Mrs Watkins," I said confidently. The process actually went more smoothly than I had expected, even when you consider that I had to train Sharon. In less than three hours we had finished the job and turned the calves out into the pasture. Two dozen bull calves with their testicles trussed up neatly behind those little rubber donuts were grazing peacefully, feeling nothing, and oblivious to their fate. Left to develop naturally, these animals would have grown up to be bellowing monarchs, inspiring fear and respect in all who came into their presence. Now they would grow up to be docile steers whose only purpose and desire in life would be to convert grass into beef. As Pop would say, we had turned their minds from ass to grass. Mission accomplished! Sharon and I just looked at each other and smiled. We were communicating many things that we had not yet learned to put into words, but we both felt an immense sense of accomplishment and empowerment. Our little fantasy of becoming a team of castrators was becoming a reality! We didn't have any more castrations to do until next spring, but when the time came Sharon became my regular partner. It wasn't long until Pop just turned that chore over to us. Whenever he would bring in some new calves, he would just say something like: "Terri Lynn, I got another job for you and Sharon; out there in the truck." I would smile, and from the way Pop grinned I know it must have turned him on thinking about a couple of girls doing a thing like that. I think he suspected, more than I, that it was just a matter of time before some boy's fate would be forever altered at mine and Sharon's hands. At the time I hadn't really thought this thing through to consider where it might be leading. That summer Penny joined our little team and began learning the craft of castration. We soon began doing all the castrations at the Watkins' farm as well. It was always Mrs. Watkins who would ask us, usually by just telling Sharon. Rev. Watkins never mentioned it or said anything about it at all after we did it. I don't think he believed it was a fitting topic to be discussing with girls. Mrs. Watkins always said her husband was glad we were doing this chore for them though. It saved him having to worry about it. CHAPTER 4 For the next three years we practiced our craft and became more and more proficient. Although girls were not allowed to take vocational agriculture at our school, we still learned as much, and probably more, than the boys. We read every book in the school library on selective breeding, genetics, etc. We learned that all the national livestock breeding associations would give you free literature for the asking. Also, feed companies, fence wire companies, veterinary drug companies, and just about any company that sold products related to agriculture was a source of free information. We even learned how to tie fancy new knots and we practiced on the hogs and calves so we could do it smoothly and deftly when the time came to get down to business. Additionally, we began accumulating a nice little library of paperback books and romance novels. We mostly got these books from girls who had older sisters or brothers in college and would pass the books on to them. One day our class took a field trip on the school bus to West Central College. We visited the bookstore and couldn't believe the kinds of books that were on the shelf for sale. (That's where I picked up a copy of Masters and Johnson.) Finally, we were learning what it meant to be sexy, and learning that it really wasn't so bad to be naughty. We moved our stash of books from our hideout in the barn into my room at home. We decided they would be safer there. I don't think my folks would really have cared for me having them, but they wouldn't want other people to know that they let me read stuff like that. The sexual revolution was going on in the outside world, and there was a fashion revolution going on as well. Of course mini skirts were banned a Pea Branch High School. Down in Paxton, the county seat, they had a few stores that carried nice clothes, but they mostly cost more than we could afford. It was during that time that I began to take up sewing in earnest. I learned to sew reasonably well, but Penny actually had a better knack for it than I did. Sharon, however, became an expert seamstress. Between the three of us we could make about any kind of clothing we could see in magazine pictures (Sharon didn't even need a pattern). The trouble was; where would we wear them? We couldn't wear them to school, certainly not to church, and our folks wouldn't even let us wear those kind of clothes into town. It was very frustrating. Sharon and I both decided we would go to college (we had a good chance at some scholarship money). We couldn't wait to get out into the real world and start living like real girls, or so we thought. In the meantime we had to content ourselves with the outlets available to us. I got with Sharon and Penny, and together we made and assortment of short little hot pants with the sides split about halfway to the waist. Worn without panties they would reveal the smooth cheeks of our buttocks as we walked or bent over. They were almost obscene! We could get by with wearing these at our house if we didn't have company, and especially at the barn. Sharon was very clever in designing a conservative-looking, wrap-around denim skirt that could be quickly and effortlessly removed, revealing whatever clothing we chose to wear, or not to wear, underneath. The skirts could be put back on just a quickly if you heard someone coming. It soon got to where it was important for us to dress sexy, or be scantily clad when performing castrations. We rarely had an audience when we worked and we could dress as we pleased. We often would strip to our panties and bras when doing castrations, and a few times we did it in the nude. We talked about how silly this was because the animals didn't know the difference. They didn't care if we were sexy or not, or even if we were boys or girls. People were probably just people to them. But for some reason it was important to us. There was something both naughty and sexy about it. More than anything, though, I think it gave us a sense of empowerment as girls and as females. The very fragility of masculinity was a most erotic thing for us to contemplate. As we matured into our late teens and assumed more responsibilities and understanding of how a livestock farm operated, one thing became singularly apparent to us. The control, tranquility, and smooth operation of a livestock farm literally pivoted on the practice of castration. Masculinity was just a necessary evil, tolerated only for the purpose of reproduction. Male animals needed heavier fences to contain them (often requiring holding pens of welded steel pipe if they were to be safely restrained). The individual males had to be separated to prevent fighting, and the male animals always presented a greater danger to their human caretakers, visitors, and passers by. The number of mature, fully developed male animals had to be kept to an absolute minimum. That's why breeding males were often used while they were still young (like the boar), then castrated before they reached full maturity. Only farms that specialized in raising registered, pure bred breeding stock could afford the expensive confinement facilities necessary for holding fully mature bulls, boars, or stallions. Sharon and Penny, and I would often talk about the news events of the day (this was the sixties and we were the politically aware generation) and laugh about how much better the world would be if it were ran by good farmers who castrated all the unnecessary males. Of course it didn't take us long to decide that women should run the world. We didn't feel like there was a realistic chance of that ever happening, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what was wrong with the world - too many balls and too much testosterone! [CONTINUED IN PART 2]
Terri Lynn: Part 2 of 2 CHAPTER 5 Although I had given up on becoming as good a seamstress as Sharon or Penny, I discovered I had another talent. One Saturday when we drove into Paxton to get some feed, we got to do a little shopping while we were there. I was in one of the variety stores and saw a leather kit where I could make a purse. I really liked the purse and thought making it would be fun, so I counted out my money and bought it. That seemed innocent enough. Purses were girl things and lacing up the edges was a little like sewing. However, I discovered I really liked leatherworking. I bought several other pre-cut kits, as soon as I could save the money, and made things like knife scabbards, tool holders, and even a pistol holster. I sold some of these things to boys at school and got more than my money back on them. Then I got innovative, making things from uncut pieces of leather I would buy at the saddle shop or the shoe repair shop. I made saddle scabbards for Pop's and Mr. Taylor's deer rifles, and I even made Pop a special scabbard and mount to go on his tractor so he could carry his shotgun when he was in the field. He really liked that. Finally, my imagination turned naughty and I made myself some belt holsters for the Elastrator and the Burdizzo. It took a few tries to get my design perfected, but when I was satisfied with the results, I made Sharon a set also. I can only imagine how we must have looked in our little hot pants and boots, wearing a holster with a castrator tool slung on our hip, swaggering and strutting, like some Old West gunfighter wearing a six gun. (Pop even told me once not to dress like that and wear that thing in front of people.) By the time Sharon and I entered the eleventh grade we considered ourselves quite accomplished in our craft. Word had gotten around to some of the other local farms and we actually made some money castrating animals on neighboring farms. Our services would have been in even greater demand, but this was a subject that people tended not to talk too much about. Sharon and I actually had a few dates with boys, but they acted to much like animals in rut to be fun. They were in such a rush to get into our pants they couldn't think or talk about anything else. Their shallow attempts to make conversation were sometimes amusing, but in general, they weren't very good company. None of them ever asked us about our little avocation, but I think the word had gotten around enough that some of them were afraid of us. This always gave me a naughty, sexy feeling when I thought about it. CHAPTER 6 That fall the livestock gelding season was essentially over and I was turning my thoughts to academic pursuits (I really wanted one of those scholarships). Then something happened that I will never forget. I was setting in class one afternoon and some student came around with one of those little routine message drops to give something to the teacher. The teacher announced it and posted it on the bulletin board (something about the basketball schedule I think). The messenger whispered something to a couple of students in the front row before she left. Soon I heard an excited whisper circulating around the room. From the tone of it I knew in could only be juicy gossip. It seems that some boy had climbed up into the ceiling joists above the girl's dressing room in the gym to spy on them while they dressed and undressed. They spotted him and screamed, and the coach caught the boy. No one knew who the boy was yet though. I knew what that meant (we all knew the drill). This would be considered a very serious offence. The coach would give him a severe paddling before sending him to the Principal's office where he would receive another severe paddling. And if his parents were like most, they would insure that he received even more severe punishment at home than the school had dealt out. The wrath of the righteous rod hung like a heavy pall over kids in that part of the country in those days. The paddles used by the school were made in the shop by the Vo-Ag boys. They were generally made from three-quarter inch thick lumber, four inches wide. They were usually about two feet long with about half of the length being the handle. Some were planed down thinner and had little holes drilled in them to make them sting worse. Others had clever little slogans painted on them like, "Board of Education," etc. The bell rang and we all ran out into the hall to go to our next class. I glanced down the hall and saw three silhouetted figures entering the door at the opposite end. There were two big figures on either side of a small one. They were half dragging him along as though he was reluctant to come or he wasn't walking too well. (Whippings in those days often made a kid walk funny for a few days.) I instinctively knew it was the head coach and his assistant bringing in the little peeping-tom for further discipline from the Principal. Once they were inside, and no longer just silhouettes, I could see who the boy was. It was Melvin Watkins, Sharon's little brother! My next class was library period. The library was close by the office and I could hear angry adult voices and an occasional wimpy reply that sounded like "yes sir" or "no sir," but I couldn't make out the details of the conversation. Suddenly there was dead silence. I knew what that meant. We all knew what that meant. Every kid in the library was staring blankly at a book, their ears attuned to the drama that was unfolding down the hall. The first lick echoed down the hall like a shot form a squirrel rifle. You could hear the students in the library sigh uneasily as they pretended to be engrossed in their reading material. I heard a second lick, then a third. Melvin cried out in pain. He should have known better than that, I thought. Everyone knew that when you cried out you got an extra lick. That rule was supposed to keep boys from making a mockery of a paddling by crying out with fake pain. But I knew poor Melvin was hurting because I saw the way he was walking when they brought him in. I had no idea how many licks the coach had given him. When I heard the sixth lick I breathed a little sigh of relief. I thought surely they were through. He was probably given five licks and a sixth for crying out. When the seventh lick landed I jerked my head up in disbelief. All the kids in the library were looking around just like I was. Then our gaze was met by the librarian and we quickly feigned interest in our books again. The licks didn't stop until number eleven. Ten for discipline, one for crying out. There was only one more period before the busses ran, but Melvin wouldn't be riding the bus that afternoon. I heard the stern, somber voice of Rev. Watkins in the office. They must have called him. The bell rang and I had to go to my last class, but out the window I saw Rev. Watkins escorting Melvin out to his big maroon, four door Buick. Melvin couldn't really walk; Rev. Watkins was holding him under the armpits and dragging him. His expression seemed to exude no sympathy for the boy whatsoever. The next day Sharon told me what had happened to Melvin that night. "Dad was furious with Mel and said he had brought disgrace on the family. Dad being a preacher, just made it all the worse. Mel should have been the last boy you would think of that would do a thing like that. Dad was going to give Mel another whipping on the butt, but when he saw how bruised and swollen it already was, he decided he might permanently injure him that way. Instead, he made Melvin strip to his briefs and hold to the back of a chair �cause Melvin couldn't stand on his own. Then Dad took off his belt and strapped Melvin's thighs until they bled. Even though Dad stood behind him the belt wrapped around his legs, leaving ugly red welts that went almost around his legs. When some of the welts began to bleed Dad decided Mel had had enough. Mom just put an old sheet on the bed so Mel wouldn't bleed on the good one, and he just laid there and choked and sniffled. I think he was actually afraid to cry." "That's awful," I said. "What Melvin did was naughty, but he shouldn't be beaten to death for it." "I know. Mom and me felt sorry for him too, but we didn't dare show sympathy while Dad was dishing out punishment. He would see that as us crossing him, and you don't do that." "Well, I guess when he comes back to school he'll stay out of the girl's dressing room," I said, preparing to wind this up and change the subject. "Oh Terri Lynn, you don't know the half of it yet. All the time Dad was whipping Mel with his belt he was threatening to take Mel to the doctor and have him neutered, and you know how nervous Mel gets just thinking about animals being neutered. Poor Melvin was just shaking and trembling, afraid to cry. Dad kept saying the he didn't want to ever hear of him peeping at a girl again and there was only one sure way to prevent that." "They can't really do that though, can they? I mean someone's parents just can't take their boy to the doctor and have him neutered simply because he did something naughty." "I don't think so either, Terri Lynn. I don't think a doctor would do it. But it's worse than that. Dad is going to take him to a home for wayward boys, down in Freeport. He's taking him today. We won't be seeing Melvin again for months. Dad says it will teach him a lesson. They might do something like that there." I just looked at Sharon with a knowing, sympathetic expression. Freeport was an old river town about a hundred and fifty miles away, and I had heard of the boys school there. I had only been to Freeport a couple of times; I was a little kid then and Stanley was with us. I remember Pop pointing to a sign and telling Stanley that was where boys ended up when they were really bad. You couldn't see the boys school from the road, just a gate and a sign, with a long driveway disappearing into some trees. It was a religious school, but I don't think it was any particular denomination. . But somehow the thought of Melvin being sent there made a chill come over me. Something about that school seemed spooky and medieval. "Terri Lynn, I feel sorry for Melvin, I truly do," Sharon continued, " but there's something I've got to tell you." "Yes?" "Well, when Dad was strapping Melvin with the belt and threatening to have him neutered, and Mel was so terrified at the thought of being neutered, I watched that belt putting those big red welts on his legs, some of them real close to the crotch of his briefs. I wondered what would happen if one of the blows went high and hit Melvin in his things, and I knew he must be wondering that too. I actually started getting turned on thinking about it. I know it's awful Terri Lynn, but the thought of Mel getting whipped on his things, then taken to the doctor to be neutered made me have an orgasm. Since all the attention was on Melvin nobody noticed me, but I had an orgasm watching that belt come so close to poor Mel's crotch, and imagining that he was being whipped in the crotch and then taken away to be neutered. I feel ashamed, Terri Lynn, but I couldn't help it!" What Sharon was telling me was getting me turned on also. More than just the story and the situation, it was the way she told it and the look she had on her face, and the tone of her voice. She was really into it, and that, as much as anything, was turning me on. I tried to laugh it off. I told Sharon that she knew how neutering turned me on and she had been hanging out with me too long. I had been a bad influence on her. It wasn't her fault. We both laughed and lightened up a little after that. I didn't spend anymore nights at Sharon's house that fall. She came to our place and spent the night a couple of times. I know she felt more comfortable with us than at home. Rev. Watkins brought Melvin back from the boys school just before Christmas. He was very subdued, obedient and eager to please. At first we speculated that they might have carried out Rev. Watkins' threat and had him neutered, but Sharon overheard her father threatening Melvin with it if he was ever involved in future transgressions of a sexual nature. He wouldn't be given another chance. CHAPTER 7 With the coming of spring things seemed to be returning to normal. Sharon and I were performing the livestock castrations on both our farms and several neighboring farms again with Penny helping most of the time. Rev. Watkins seemed to be over his fit of rage involving Melvin, and was his normal calm, reverent self again. I started spending an occasional night at Sharon's house now, just like old times. Toward the end of spring, we began to speculate about whether Melvin had a crush on Penny. We could tell by the way he acted around her, getting tongue tied and nervous when he spoke to her, and going out of his way to do little things he thought would please her. We also watched his reaction when anyone spoke of Penny in his presence. I know it was cruel, but Sharon and I used to purposely talk about Penny having a crush on some boy at school in front of Melvin. In spite of his efforts to look disinterested and aloof, we could tell that our conversation was making him uncomfortable and he even looked a little dejected. Penny had really filled out nicely in the last three years. She was fourteen now and Melvin was sixteen. I think Penny was a much prettier girl than I was, at least she was more traditionally feminine. Penny had reached her full height at 5'6, although we didn't know it at the time, and she was really cute. I was more the Amazon type, and proud of it. That summer was enjoyable if uneventful. The three of us continued working as a team castrating farm animals in addition to all our other chores. Of course we did all the normal things teenage girls did too. We just hung out and had fun together, made nifty clothes on our moms' sewing machines, and I kept working on my leather craft. If it weren't for our prurient obsession with that one peculiar farm chore, we would have been considered pretty normal girls. When school started that fall Sharon and I were seniors. We were probably the most valuable players on the Pea Branch High School basketball team (not meaning to brag), but this would be our last year. We had both earned scholarships (academic, not basketball - girls couldn't get those) to West Central College and were looking forward to starting there the next year. We would be roommates of course. Penny was just starting ninth grade and Melvin was starting tenth. One afternoon after basketball practice Sharon approached me with a concerned look on her face. "Terri Lynn, there's something I need to talk to you about. It may be bad news; I don't know, but I just have to talk to someone who will understand. Maybe you can help me decide what to do." "Bad news? Sharon, you're not pregnant are you?" "Oh no, it's nothing like that," she said, chuckling "it's not about me, it's about Melvin. I think he's playing peeping tom again and I'm afraid it's going to get him into big trouble." "Who's he been spying on this time?" "Me" "Oh no, you don't mean it!" "Uh huh, he's been looking through the keyhole in the door when I undress." The houses we lived in that part of the country in those days were nothing like modern homes. It was common for two bedrooms to be connected by a door and most of those old homes didn't even have closets designed into them when they were built. Closets (and bathrooms) were something that were added in the last few years. An old bedroom between Sharon's and Melvin's bedrooms had been cut up into a bathroom and two closets - one for Sharon and one for Melvin. An old door connected Melvin's closet to Sharon's bedroom. It had an old fashioned knob with a keyhole you could actually see through if you put you eye up to it and peeped. The door had one of those little cheap dead bolt latches on both sides so that the occupant of each room would have to unlatch their dead bolt before the door could be opened. "I got suspicious when I heard noises coming from his closet, you know, heavy breathing and a rhythmic noise like he was jerking his thing back and forth. At first I thought about yelling out and asking him what the hell he was doing and making a big scene. Then I realized that Dad would be so furious that he would beat Mel half to death and probably send him to that boys school in Freeport until he was eighteen. Mel can be a naughty little twerp sometimes, but he doesn't deserve the kind of punishment that Dad would dish out. So I just went over and hung my blouse over the keyhole real casually like I didn't know anything was going on. I needed to figure out what to do. I also had to make sure this wasn't just my imagination. "After that, I started paying real close attention to the noises I heard coming from Mel's closet. I think he masturbates in there a lot. He doesn't have to be looking through the keyhole at me, but when I leave it uncovered and start undressing I almost always hear him masturbating. Those sounds couldn't be coming from anything else. I know that's what he's doing. "I still thought I might just be imagining things, so I purposely put on a little show just to be sure. I undressed real slowly and laid on the bed in my underwear and rubbed lotion all over my body. I could hear the noises coming from his closet. He was jacking off. I pulled off my bra and rubbed lotion onto my tits. I could hear his breathing getting heavy. I got up and raised my arms like I was stretching, then I turned around with my back to the keyhole bent over and touched my toes several times, just doing stretching exercises. I could hear the door pop just a little; I knew he was pressing against it. Finally, with my butt toward the keyhole, I peeled off my panties, letting them slide down my legs to the floor. I bent over and picked them up, then casually reached back hung them over the door knob, just blocking the view through the keyhole. That must have really frustrated the little twerp, but I was too late. I heard him cum; he even cried out. He couldn't help it. Then I heard him cleaning himself up with toilet paper. That's what he always uses; I can hear the sound of it rattling. "I've got to make him stop this before Dad finds out. Dad would beat the hell out of him and send him back to that boys school even if he just caught him jacking off, much less peeping at me." "Yeah, they might even neuter him this time." "Probably," Sharon agreed, "but that would solve his little problem. His hormones are going to get him into big trouble sooner or later. I just hate to see him get the beatings and be sent away to that school. Mel's not really a bad boy, it's just that his hormones are causing him to do things that are going to get him into big trouble. I can't just stand by and watch that happen. "Terri Lynn, I think I have a plan that will solve his problem and keep him out of trouble. It's for his own good, really. But I'll need your help, and Penny's too." As Sharon described her plan I began to feel flushed and giddy and my crotch started getting damp. We rationalized that what we were planning would be for Melvin's own good and in his best interest, and this was partially true. Looking back, however, I realize that we just needed an excuse to pull off the ultimate scene. CHAPTER 8 About three weeks later Rev. and Mrs. Watkins planned a three-day weekend trip to a seminar. Sharon was mature enough now that they thought nothing of leaving her in charge of the house while they were gone and they knew that Penny and I would be spending the weekend with her. It was just past noon on Saturday when Melvin came in from squirrel hunting (empty handed). We joked about not being able to depend on him for putting food on the table and we cooked up a good dinner of fried chicken and country vegetables. We talked about maybe going into Paxton that evening and watching a movie. Rev. and Mrs. Watkins were in the Buick and left their pickup truck. They didn't care if Sharon drove it. We were joking about how all four of us would fit into the cab and finally decided that Melvin would have to ride in the middle and let Penny sit in his lap. Melvin's crush on Penny was stronger than ever and the thought of her riding in his lap going to and from town was making him dizzy. He was practically jabbering and slobbering as he tried to talk. Penny suggested that Melvin wash the dishes and she would dry them and keep him company while he did it. I have never seen a boy jump into that job with more enthusiasm, and Penny was certainly enjoying the power she had over Melvin. "If we're going into town tonight we'd better start getting cleaned up," Sharon announced. "Melvin, you go first, and don't leave a ring around the tub. We don't want to take a bath in your gunk." "Oh he wouldn't do that," Penny said, in a really sweet voice. "I think Mel is a really neat boy. I can tell by the way he washed the dishes." Needless to say, when Melvin finished his bath the tub was spotless. (I don't know why, but in those days nobody installed shower heads in their bathrooms, just tubs. I took my first shower when I moved into the college dorm, and loved it.) It was kind of a dirty trick, but while Melvin was in the tub Sharon slipped into his closet and unlatched the dead bolt on his side of the door connecting it to her bedroom. If her plan worked, he would never notice. We three girls went into the bathroom together (it was a rather large room, being made from half a bedroom), taking turns with the tub, and fixing our hair, and just talking girl talk. When we were finished we donned our bath robes and went into Sharon's bedroom. We had about three hours to kill before we were supposed to leave for town. Of course going into town wasn't really in our plans, we just came up with that to help rook Melvin into our scheme. If events unfolded as we expected, we wouldn't be going to the movies tonight at all. Once in the bedroom, we put on our panties and nothing else, no bras. We laughed and giggled about us all three having to sleep in one bed tonight and decided we needed to move it away from the wall so it would be easy to get in and out from either side. Actually we were making sure the bed was at center stage in front of the keyhole. We sat on the bed and started brushing and combing each other's hair while discussing the pros and cons of various body lotions. Finally we decided on a lotion and each one of us took turns laying on the bed and letting the other two girls apply the lotion. The recipient would sigh and squirm with pleasure and giggle with happy, spontaneous delight. Suddenly Sharon stuck her finger in her ear and winked at us - the prearranged signal. We continued on as though nothing had happened, but our ears were acutely attuned to any sounds coming from the closet. Sure enough, we heard the subtle, but telltale sounds of a boy masturbating. The sounds were barely perceptible and could have been easily ignored if we weren't specifically listening for them. "I've got something else we've got to try," Sharon exclaimed, walking over to her dresser, out of the keyhole's range of view. Penny was laying on the bed with her feet toward the closet door and the keyhole. I would grab first one of her ankles, then the other, stretching it up until her toes almost touched her forehead. With the other hand I would apply lotion to the backs of her thighs, running my fingers under the hem of her panties to rub lotion onto her buttocks. "Ooh, that tickles!" she cried. "No, don't tell me it tickles," I said, facetiously. "You're just being silly!" Then we both started giggling. We were having fun, but most of all we were putting on a show and providing a diversion for Sharon who was stealthily inching her way toward the closet door, out of sight of the keyhole. Above our own giggling and clowning I could hear breathing and a soft, subtle, rhythmic "pat-pat-pat" coming from behind the closet door. I was shaking like a leaf with nervous excitement and I was also turned on. If things went as planned, what was about to happen was unbelievably erotic. I noticed that Penny had a small spot about the size of a quarter in the crotch of her panties that was damp with secretions. This told me she was turned on too. Hugging the wall, Sharon placed both hands on the dead bolt to dampen any sound, and silently slipped it open. Careful not to cast a shadow in front of the keyhole, she quietly grasped the knob. She had practiced this many times. The fact the door opened out into the bedroom rather than back into the closet was very fortunate for our plans. "What's that noise?" she exclaimed loudly, jerking the closet door open with one quick motion. "Melvin! Wh... wh... what are you doing?" Sharon appeared to be startled and transfixed with disbelief. Penny and I jumped up from the bed and screamed, feigning fright and astonishment, playing out our roles to the hilt. Melvin was kneeling on the closet floor where he had been peeping through the keyhole. He was still holding his diminutive little member in his hand. I'm sure he was just about to cum, and we watched his expression quickly change from erotic anticipation to surprise, then to horror at his discovery. Unlike Sharon's, Melvin's emotions were genuine. He was naked except for a pair of girl's panties. He had pulled the waistband down enough gain access to his member for masturbating. "You've been watching us through the keyhole, haven't you?" Sharon demanded. " We've caught you red handed you perverted little twerp! You were watching us and... and performing that disgusting, sinful act. You put your little pee pee worm back in your... What is that you're wearing? Those are panties; girl's panties. Where did you get them?" "I'm... I'm sorry," Melvin whimpered weakly, his initial expression of surprise now giving way to an expression of shame and embarrassment. "Melvin, I asked you where you got those panties! They're mine aren't they?" "Y... Ye... Yes." "You sneaked into my room and stole them, didn't you?" "N... No, I... I got them off the clothesline." At this point I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Poor Melvin was completely mortified now. He was shaking and starting to cry. "I've heard these noises in the closet for weeks," Sharon continued. "I suspected, but I didn't want to believe it. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but I see my suspicions were right. This is disgusting, Melvin. "And what's this?" Sharon asked, adamantly, as she picked up roll of toilet paper from the floor beside Melvin. "Is this what you clean up with? I've heard toilet paper rattling in here. That's what it was, wasn't it? You were trying to clean up your disgusting, sinful little mess. You've been peeping on me for weeks and doing that unspeakable, sinful thing while you watched me, haven't you Melvin? "Answer me! Haven't you? "Y... Yes, b... but..." "This is awful," Penny said, with exaggerated dismay and disappointment in her voice. "Melvin, I thought you were such a nice boy, and now you're acting like a nasty-minded pervert!" I could see that Penny's comment cut him to the bone. His jaw was trembling and he was about ready to bawl. "Maybe we shouldn't go too hard on him," I said. "After all, it's his hormones that are causing him to behave like this. He can't help it. I believe Melvin really is a nice boy at heart. He's just out of control." "Well, he's not going to have to worry about his little hormones after Dad finds out about this. Dad will have Melvin neutered. Had you forgotten about Dad's promise, Melvin?" "Pl... pl... please, Sharon. Don't tell Dad." "Melvin, we just can't let this pass. If you're allowed to get away with it this time you'll just do it again. Now get up off the floor and get out of my panties! After Dad has you neutered you won't be interested in girls and slick nylon panties or anything like that. You know what it does to the calves and pigs; well, you're going to be the same way. Melvin looked up at Sharon with stark terror in his eyes as he gingerly stood up, holding to the door facing for support. He put his hands on the waistband of his panties, then looked out at us and hesitated. "Go ahead. Get out of them! They're not yours. They're mine!" Without waiting for Melvin to act, Sharon reached over pulled his panties down around his ankles and jerked him to one side, forcing him to step out of them. Then she stepped back and laughed. "See there, you don't have anything a girl would get excited about. Besides, as soon as Dad gets home you won't be a boy much longer anyway. You know it's really for your own good, Melvin. Your perverted mind would get you into really big trouble someday, even worse than this. I do feel sorry for you though, Melvin. I hate to see the beating you're going to get. It will be horrible; you know that, don't you? Then you will be sent to the boys school, probably until you're twenty one. I hate to think about what it will be like for a neutered, sissified, little boy in there with all those big rough mean boys - and they aren't neutered!" Melvin was starting to cry and big tears were rolling down his cheeks. He looked so helpless and vulnerable standing there naked. His little scrotum was about the size of a golf ball and his little penis, now flaccid, was about half the length of a cigarette and no bigger around. "What do we have here?" Sharon inquired, spotting something on the closet floor and picking it up. It was a copy of the Sears catalog, opened to a page in the girls' underwear and lingerie section. There were stains on the pages and we knew where they came from. Sharon turned to the girls' swim wear section and found the pages similarly stained with semen. "Melvin, this is worse than I thought! You're a real pervert! You're going to be in so much trouble when Dad gets home. I would hate to be you, Melvin. Your life is going to be hell from now on. Dad will see to that!" "This is so awful," I said. "I wish there were something we could do. I know it's not really your fault, Melvin. Your hormones have just caused you to go out of control." "We're not really mad at you, Melvin," Sharon said, softening her tone a little bit. "We just don't like what you did. I actually feel sorry for you." "I don't want him to have to go off to that old boys school," Penny said. "Melvin, I really do like you. I like you a lot. But this is perverted! I wish it didn't have to be this way. I'm going to miss you so much when they take you away to that place." That did it for Melvin, and he started crying like a baby. He had such a crush on Penny and just as she seemed to be reciprocating his affection he was faced with being sent away to the boys school for the rest of his youthful years. The thought of it was just crushing his soul. "Bless his heart," I said, going up to him and cradling him in my arms. I held him to me and snuggled his face against my chest. The feel of his tears running down my bare breasts as he sniveled and choked was turning me on. I had an overwhelming urge to offer him a breast to suckle, like a pacifier, but I knew I shouldn't. I was actually a little surprised that he didn't try something like that himself, but he was so emotionally devastated that he was beyond thinking of my attention in a sexual way. He desperately needed affection and consolation. He was in total submission now, knowing that his life and future were in our hands. "I have an idea," Sharon said, thoughtfully, "but you'll have to agree to it, Melvin. Your perverted behavior and this whole horrible thing was caused by that little wad between your legs. Dad will have that taken care of when he gets back, but I don't think you deserve the beating he'll give you, and I really don't want to see you sent away to the boys school again. "Melvin, if you'll let us neuter you we won't have to tell Dad, because after that we can be sure you'll never do a thing like this again." I felt Melvin's body become tense, then limp, as Sharon's words hit him. He looked up at me with wide, pleading eyes to see if I would concur with Sharon's decision. Melvin clung to me tightly as his body began to thimble, his head still nestled between my breasts. I was larger than he, and the feel of his helpless, naked body clinging to me in desperate supplication caused a surge of ecstasy to race through my body. I felt the raw, awesome power of the female over the male. It was a lot like the rush I got when we castrated calves or pigs, but much stronger. "What Sharon says is right, Melvin," I said, as I looked down at his pleading face. "It would be much better than turning you over to your father and those people at the boys school." "W... Will it hurt?" he sniveled. "Not too much, Mel; not much at all," I said, in a very consoling and condescending tone as I ran my fingers through his hair. I knew that in his mind he was preparing to voluntarily surrender his manhood to us. I found that idea to be more erotic than any other fantasy I ever had involving boys. "It won't hurt nearly as badly as that beating Dad will give you if we have to tell him about this," Sharon said. "And don't forget, we're experts at this. We're the best castrators in the county, even better than the vet." "I think this would really be best for you, Melvin," Penny said. "We can even make it fun for you!" "That's right," I concurred. "We'll even let you cum one last time. You'll be enjoying yourself so much you won't even know when we do it. They wouldn't be that nice at the boys school; you know that. They would probably just strap you to a table and cut them out." "H... How are you going to do it?" "You just leave that to us," Sharon said. "Now what will it be, Mel, our way, or Dad's way?" Melvin looked at each of us with disbelief in his pleading eyes. I could tell he was desperately wishing we would offer him another way out. "What will it be, Melvin?" Sharon prodded. A look of pitiful resignation came across his face. He hesitated before he finally spoke. "O... k... k... Okay, I'll do it your way," he sobbed. CHAPTER 9 I led Melvin out into the bedroom and Sharon told him to stand with his legs apart. Sharon and I then squatted on the floor on either side of him and began examining his testicles with our fingers. Melvin's body was tense and I almost expected him to bolt and run any second. I felt a rush of naughty excitement surge through me. We had done this so many times with calves it felt almost routine, yet I knew that this time we were about to castrate Sharon's brother! The feeling was truly weird. Although it had been a year since Melvin had received his severe strapping, I could still see the telltale marks on his thighs, made by the belt. They were light pink and ever so faint. You might easily ignore them if you didn't know about the strapping. I played my fingers over them and it helped reinforce my rationalization that what we were doing was really for Melvin's own good. His testosterone had caused him to go out of control and that's what caused him to get in trouble and receive beatings and strappings. If we didn't do this to him it would only get worse. "If he were a calf, I'd say use the Elastrator," I said, feeling of his testicles; they were about the size of small pecans. "Yeah, the little goat bands," Sharon giggled. "Oh, don't make fun of him," Penny protested. "I think his little things are cute. It's really a shame we have to do this to him." "I know," I said. "He would have been such a nice boy if he could only have controlled his naughty urges." "Well, he's about to become a very nice little boy, " Sharon said, rising to her feet. "Before long, he just won't have any naughty thoughts. I think we'll use the Burdizzo, though. We don't really want him to have to watch his little things to dry up and drop off. That would be harder for a boy than for a calf." Sharon giggled and walked over to the dresser, behind and out of sight of Melvin. Of course we had planned to use the Burdizzo all along. We just talked about the Elastrator to tease Melvin a little. We didn't want him to have any obvious external signs that anything had happened to him. Although Melvin still had an expression of fear and distress in his face, the fondling his testicles had been receiving was causing him to become erect again. I took his little penis between my fingers and rolled it around and played with it. I realized that this was the first time I had ever had my hands on a boy's penis. It felt very erotic. A part of me wished very sincerely that we wouldn't do this to him, yet another part of me was being driven wild with ecstasy at the very thought of it. Sharon returned from the dresser with the Burdizzo. Melvin never questioned why the Burdizzo tool was conveniently located in Sharon's dresser drawer this afternoon. Never mind that the Watkins' didn't own a Burdizzo and that it was usually kept in our barn. This whole scene was planned and poor Melvin never caught on. He thought is was just a spontaneous reaction to his naughty behavior. "Here," Sharon said, handing me a condom in a foil wrapper. "This will keep him from making such a mess." The condom was one of those I had found in the box of Stanley's things. We would have only four left now. Neither of us had yet worked up the nerve to go into a drug store in Paxton and buy a pack. Sharon carefully pressed the closed jaws of the Burdizzo between Melvin's legs and into his crotch as though she was measuring or checking the size. (Burdizzos come in different sizes, but we only had the one.) Melvin jerked a gasped a when he felt the cold metal against his crotch. "Spread you legs a little more," Sharon ordered. "and don't worry," she giggled, "I'm not going to do it to you right now. I'll wait �til you cum. You're small enough we can get �em both with one pinch. That'll be better for you." I stood up and locked my left leg around Melvin's right from behind, pulling it from beneath him a forcing him to lean on me for balance. I nodded to Penny and she locked his left leg in a similar hold. He had to place an arm around each of our necks to keep from falling. Melvin's penis was fully erect now, in spite of his obvious distress. I tore open the foil pack and removed the condom, then rolled it onto Melvin's diminutive little organ. The condom was wet and slick with lubricant and he gasped with pleasure at the sensation. Melvin's penis was no bigger around than one of those big fat pencils they give you in first grade, but much shorter. He couldn't have had much more than three inches. However, the little thing was hard as a rock. I had never masturbated a boy before and I was rather awkward until I got the hang of it. However, my fumbling just served to tease him. He began involuntarily thrusting his pelvis back and forth as I slowly pumped his little member. I realized from his thrusting that he wanted me to go faster and the slow pace of my masturbation was frustrating him. I liked that. The realization that I was holding pleasure just beyond his reach was very satisfying. The squirming of his legs and body against mine was turning me on and I had to fight my desire to take him down on the bed and give him a real fuck. But we had made a pact when we planned this. We wouldn't allow Melvin to have real sex, not even for his last time. We would just masturbate him into a condom. "It's okay to touch me you know, Mel. You can touch my titties and feel my panties. You won't be able to think naughty thoughts much longer so you had better enjoy it while you can." Melvin fumbled and pawed me gingerly and clumsily. "That's a boy. This is lots better than looking a pictures in a catalog, isn't it Mel?" "Y... Yeah," he squeaked, frantically. I was supporting his weight with my left hand in his crotch while I masturbated him with my right. "You can touch me too," Penny whined, admonishingly. "I was hoping you might think I was kind of special. I've always thought you were special, Melvin. I'm really sorry we have to do this to you; I really am. But if you love me, and it comes from your heart and not your balls, it won't matter. Do you love me, Melvin." "Oh yes, yes, Penny. I do love you," he gasped, diverting his attention from me to Penny. "Don't you want to kiss me?", she asked. "I've never been kissed by a boy before, Melvin, and you'd better hurry up because you're not going to be a boy much longer." Melvin began frantically kissing Penny on the face and mouth. I could tell he was very unpracticed and inexperienced because he was just smacking her with his lips and not using his tongue at all. (Of course I wasn't experienced either, but I had read lots of books.) Penny diverted Melvin's frantic mouth down to her pointed, pear-shaped breasts and it required no coaxing to get him to take one into his mouth. He began jabbering nonsense sounds as he alternated between her breasts and I instinctively knew he would not last much longer before he came. "Y'all, do we have to do this to him?" Penny pleaded. "Yes!" Sharon barked, assertively. "If we don't, he'll get himself in big trouble later on. It's really in Mel's best interest that we do this. Look at him. He's completely out of control. Now spread his legs a little more; it's almost time." It was as though Melvin's whole body had become a phallus. He was jerking and quivering as he rushed toward release. With my leg still locked around his I pulled it further out. Penny swung around until she was mostly in front of him and he was supporting his weight with his arms around Penny's neck. I was kneading his little balls with my left hand and I saw Sharon open the jaws of the Burdizzo. "Sharon, this is so cruel," I whispered softly to her. "I know," she replied in the same soft whisper. "Just choke �em off and pull �em down." "Mel, don't go so fast!" Penny admonished. "Don't you want to make it last? You know that as soon as you cum you won't be a boy anymore, so slow down and enjoy it." Melvin was jabbering incoherently, on and off, as he alternated between Penny's breasts and face, kissing her with his lips. I saw Penny pull his face to hers and force her tongue into his mouth. Melvin opened his eyes in joyous astonishment at the unexpected pleasure (Penny, though inexperienced, had read romance novels too). I felt a pulsation in his penis, like holding a garden hose when the water was turned on. I nodded to Sharon who was squatting on the floor behind Melvin. Suddenly, Sharon brought the handles of the Burdizzo together in a quick deliberate snap - very professional. Melvin shrieked like a rabbit caught in a trap as the big metal jaws of the Burdizzo disconnected his little balls from their cords and blood supply. It happened, as we had planned, at the peak of his ejaculation. Sharon held the handles together and slowly counted to ten in a whisper before releasing him. She had followed that procedure so many times with calves it was like a reflex. I continued pumping Melvin's penis until I was sure his orgasm was spent, then Penny and I pulled him down onto the bed and cuddled him between us. He was sobbing and gasping, and as he looked into our eyes his expression was one of total surrender. The whole scene had lasted no more than five minutes and Melvin's life was now changed forever. I guessed he had fantasized many times about being in bed between me and Penny, but I doubt that in his wildest dreams he would thought it could really come true. Now here he was, sandwiched between two beautiful female bodies, being smothered with kisses and caresses, his legs entwined with ours, and our firm, naked breasts pressing against his chest. It was his fantasy come true, except now he was castrated! Sharon returned from the bathroom with a warm, damp washcloth and a towel and began cleaning him up. She felt of his scrotum to check her handiwork. "It feels like everything is disconnected," she said with professional detachment in her voice. "Does it hurt?" "No, not anymore." "Did it hurt when we did it?" "Y... yeah," he sobbed, "it hurt real bad, but it was a good hurt, like... like... I don't know. Nothing ever hurt so much before, and nothing ever felt that good before. There's nothing else like it." We made Melvin cum three more times that evening. We told him we had to pump all of his hormones out so he would become a total eunuch much more quickly. Of course we knew it didn't really work that way, but each time Melvin came he tried to hold back as long as possible, thinking he could retain his masculinity just a little longer if he didn't cum. It was both comical and heart rendering to watch him struggle with it. Above all, however, we found it highly erotic. CHAPTER 10 When Melvin's parents returned, two days later, they had no idea anything had happened to him. He had been acting very subdued and cowed ever since the incident at the school a year ago. He acted no differently now. For a few days his scrotum was a little pink and sore where the Burdizzo had clamped him, but otherwise he recovered beautifully. About a week later Sharon told me she heard him crying in his bedroom and she went in to see what was the matter. He was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and he pulled them up to cover himself when she entered. A girls' swimsuit catalog was open on the bed beside him. "Sharon, I can't feel it anymore," he sobbed. "I just can't feel it anymore!" "You mean your little pee pee is numb?" she inquired. "No," he croaked, "I mean inside; inside my mind. I can't make myself feel about girls the way I used to." "Well, what do you expect, Melvin? That's the whole idea; you're castrated!" He looked up at her with desperation in his eyes. Tears were rolling down his face. "Actually, Mel, you can still feel it, and that's what's wrong. You feel it just a little and it makes you wish you could still feel it a lot. Once you can't feel it at all, you won't miss it anymore. Before long, naughty thoughts will just quit entering your mind. Just give it time." "Oh Sharon," he bawled. "I don't want to be this way. I don't want to be this way!" "It's all for the best, Melvin. Just think of the trouble you would be in right now if we hadn't done this. Besides, now that you're harmless, me and Terri Lynn, and Penny can take you into our little group. It's like you're our mascot now. I love you, Melvin, and Terri Lynn loves you, and Penny loves you. We love you in a way that we could never love a regular boy. You're very special now, and you'll always be a part of our little group." Melvin collapsed in Sharon's arms and cried for several minutes while she comforted him. About a month later Rev. and Mrs. Watkins had occasion to be out of town again for the weekend, and Penny and I spent two nights with Sharon and Melvin. Determined to check the results of our little caper, we took Melvin to bed with us. It was really no surprise, but we were delighted to confirm that he was as harmless as a stuffed teddy bear. He did cry a little that night, though; especially when Penny talked about how she wished he could have grown up to be a man and they could have gotten married and had children. As the months passed, Melvin became more and more content with his new condition. His face still brightened up whenever Penny was around and he became her willing and eager little flunky. She commanded his complete loyalty and she never had to worry about another girl stealing his affections. Penny had just been playing our little game and pretending to reciprocate Melvin's crush at his castration scene. That had made Melvin easier to manipulate. However, Penny gradually became attached to Melvin the same way you would become attached to a pet. Melvin was certainly the mascot of our little group. When Melvin became eighteen he registered for the draft and a few months later he received his notice. Of course without balls he flunked his physical and was rejected. He told his father that one winter he had caught something like the flu and it made his balls swell up. He was embarrassed about it, so he said nothing. When the swelling went down his balls just kept getting smaller and smaller and finally went away. Rev. Watkins declared that this was a gift from God and that it was His will to save Melvin from military service and combat. It would also take his mind off unclean thoughts and allow him to more easily live his life for the Lord. Sharon heard their family doctor say that Melvin may have contracted some unusual variety of mumps that would have caused this, but he seemed very skeptical. This little story might have been nothing more than an isolated incident had it not been for what Sharon and I did in college, and beyond. But those are other stories. _____________________________________________________________________________ Special thanks to Terri Lynn, Penny, Sharon, and Melvin for allowing me to print this story. Farrell Squire
