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You will probably find this a rather unusual contribution to your Archives. You see, I only discovered the Archives some six months ago. I was fasinated, and surprised, to find that there were other people like me out there. Or are their?. You see, I am female. I have "devoured" the contents of your Archives since discovering them, but have no idea as to how many of your contributers are actually women. Maybe I am the first. Now , apart from being a woman, I am a woman of fifty two years. That should be a first for you. ( I can this heading for the waste paper bin already.) But as this is the first time I have ever had the chance to discuss this with anybody, or to admit it to anybody, I will continue. I shall call myself Olivia. I am a fifty two year old woman. Since the age of twenty two, the thought of men being castrated fills me with intense sexual excitment. There, I said it. This is the first time I have ever said or typed those words. Men being castrated, boys being castrated, or even animals being castrated, fills me with the most intense sexual excitment. I do not know why it affects me so much, I have often tried to understand it, but have never come to any logical conclusion. It has affected the course of my life. But I do know roughly when it began. I am a professional photographer, have been all of my working life. I have travelled all over the world, in that capacity. It has brought me into contact with cultures that differ greatly from our own, cultures that we in the West would perhaps consider to be primitive and uncivilised. As we should know from historic experience, sometimes the veneer of civilisation is often very thin.
African and Arab civilisations have always fasinated me, and much of my work reflects this. I have spent a considerable amount of time in some of these countries , and have made many friends there. When I was twenty two, I was sent to North Africa ,to do an article on , would you believe, circumcision. A local woman journalist was to accompany me to the selected village. It was the only way I would have been allowed to use my camera. Even then a substantial amount of money changed hands before I was allowed in. Bribery, you could call it I suppose. The whole thing was a shock to me, it seemed so cruel and barbaric. Fifteen naked young boys being lined up to have their foreskins snipped off, was not something I would come across in an average day. I snapped away as one by one they were held on the ground. as the circumciser cut the skin from their organs. It initally shocked me , but at the same time fasinated me . As the last bleeding boy was led away I turned to leave. We passed a group of about five boys on our way back to our jeep. Like the rest of the village males they were naked. Then I noticed that they looked different. Then I realised why. I stood looking at them, my mouth open. They had no testicles. Now, most of this Tribe had appendages beween their legs that you could not miss, well hung , to put it mildly. So it was not hard to see that these boys had none. Just penises. The woman journalist took my arm and led me to our jeep. As we drove away she turned to me. " I know you are going to ask about those boys " she said. " They, they , they had no testicles" I stuttered. " What happened to their testicles ?. She smiled. "They have been castrated , she said calmly. I stared at her . my mouth open in amazement. " Castrated, " I said, " what do you mean , castrated, who castrated them, why have they been castrated ?. She smiled again. " You people do not understand such things, she said. It is quite common here. They are to be sold , you see, but first they have to be castrated. It makes the boys easier to manage. But some of them will be sold to men who like them like that. You know, without balls. That day was to chart the course of my life. I may have the chance to explain later . ( Hopefully to be continued).
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