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That Saturday morning we drove to Dr. Dunn office. Justin sat next me and my wife sat in the back seat. Because we had not spiked Justin’s ice tea or orange juice with alcohol since Thursday morning, our son was feeling like his old self. Other than being a little apprehensive about seeing an out-of-town “specialist” for his strange symptoms, Justin was in fine spirits. Our boy had no idea that he was only hours away from being castrated.
As I drove, I keep looking over at Justin. He was dressed neatly in chinos that nicely showed off his slim, narrow hips and rippled stomach. His oxford blue shirt turned his eyes turquoise, which drew attention to his high cheek bones and square chin. I remember thinking how handsome he looked; almost like a teen idol. Justin lazily draped his muscular left arm over the back of the front seat and made small talk with us. I found the thought that he was unknowingly spending his last hours as a complete young man a turn on. Right now, I thought, testosterone was being pumped through his system for the last time. By this afternoon he would be a eunuch. We arrived shortly after 11 at the medical building where Dr. Dunn had his office. Located in an expensive suburb of the city, the building was only a few years old and hidden behind a cluster of trees. The doctor told me that since it was Saturday the building would be deserted and he was right—the parking lot was empty. We drove around back, and used the rear entrance. As we waited for the elevator in the lobby, I read the building’s directory. Most of the physicians who had offices there seemed to be either plastic surgeons or psychiatrists, but some, like Dr. Dunn, omitted listing their specialty. We took the elevator to the third floor, and as I looked over at my son, I suddenly felt very pleased with myself. I think I realized that I had Justin trapped and there was no way for him to escape from being castrated at the hands of Dr. Dunn. We walked into Dr. Dunn’s office, and after standing for a few moments in the plush waiting area, the doctor suddenly appeared. He was a small man, a little more than five feet tall, but heavy of chest and thick of neck. He was well over sixty years old and he was bald except for the white hair on the side and back of his head. The surgeon scrubs he wore were too big for him, and, unfortunately for Justin, made the doctor look disarming. Introductions were made and Dr. Dunn flashed a smile to Justin to put him at ease, and asked our son to follow him into an examination room. My wife took a seat in the waiting area, but at the last moment, I asked if I too could be present for the exam, and the doctor said I could come in for a few minutes. Justin’s brows arched in puzzlement that I would asked such a thing, but didn’t try to stop me from coming into the exam room. In one corner of the room was the exam table, and directly in front of us was a small desk with two chairs facing each other. Dr. Dunn weighed and measured my son and then asked him to sit on the exam table so he could take Justin’s blood pressure, temperature and pulse. Dr. Dunn was making notations on a clipboard and not really paying attention to Justin who was describing his symptoms during the last few days. I just stood by without saying a word and watch the doctor give Justin his pre-surgical physical without my son having the slightest idea that he was just a few minutes away from loosing those two precious orbs that were the essences of his young manhood. Dr. Dunn finished his exam and a smirk sweep across his lips. He looked my son directly in the eyes and told him that he knew what was wrong him, and that he needed to give him a shot. The shot of course, would be the narcotic that would let the doctor hypnotize Justin. Then, without looking away from my son, Dr. Dunn asked me to step outside. About 45 minutes later the door to the exam door opened and Dr. Dunn ask my wife and I to step in. There sitting in one of the chairs was Justin. He was obvious in some sort of trance. His was looking straight ahead, and his eyes showed no expression whatsoever and there was a blank look on his face. Dr. Dunn sat down across from our son. “Your parents just walked in Justin. Tell them what we’ve been talking about,” said the doctor, his eyes dancing maliciously with deception. Automatically, our son answered. “The poison in my body that’s making me sick.” “And where is the poison coming from, Justin,” asked the doctor. “From my testicles,” said my son in a monotone voice. “And what needs to be done to make you feel better? I know you want to feel better, Justin,” said the doctor with a dishonest look in his eyes. “My testicles must be removed,” said Justin. “You’re right, Justin, they need to be removed.” Dr. Dunn opened a folder that was on the desk that contained the voluntary castration form. “Justin, I need you to sign something. Can you do that for me?” “Yes, I can,” said our son. Dr. Dunn handed Justin a pen, and with that, Justin dropped his eyes to the form and automatically signed his sexual death warrant. Dr. Dunn looked at us, smiled, and put the document back in the folder. Then he told Justin that he was going to wake him, that he would remember nothing of this past conversation, and that our son would do exactly as ordered by the surgeon and not question what was about to happen to him or the results of his surgery. With that, the doctor snapped his fingers three times, and Justin shook his head slightly, blinked his eyes a few times and came back to reality. He looked at us for a moment, then looked at Dr. Dunn. Justin seemed a little dazed, and the old doctor asked my wife and I to step outside. I followed her out of the examination room and closed the door behind me. I hesitated for a minute in the hallway, and pressed my ear against the door to listen for what I knew would happen next. After a moment of silence, I clearly heard the doctor firmly speak to my son, the tone of his voice strong and commanding. “Justin, I want you to remove you clothes, underwear too, please, and lay down on my exam table.” I turned and walked into the waiting room to join Justin’s mother. My heart racing in excitement to what was happening to my son in the next room. I smiled as I picked up a magazine and begin flipping the pages for something to read. There’s no turning back now I thought. End of part V
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