|
As if to compensate for his silence on the outbound trip, my father talked incessantly on the way home. It was an endless harangue on the evils of homosexuality and the absolute necessity of avoiding any suggestion of scandal. He never gave me a second to get a word in edgewise, which was just as well as I had resolved never to speak to my father again except when absolutely necessary. Considering my father's flagrant infidelity, his self-righteous self-justifying lecture was a sickening example of hypocrisy. I knew about his present mistress, Camille Bolton, Mrs. Camille Bolton, and had even met her at parties. A very sexy woman, she was the wife of architect Harry Bolton who was said to be insanely jealous. My father's hypocrisy and his self-serving cruelty to me made me hate him venomously, and I began plotting revenge on him. Unfortunately, there's not a hell of a lot that a fifteen-year-old boy can do. Our pear-shaped smooth-faced butler, Jenkins, carried my suitcase up to my bedroom and said quietly "You have my deepest sympathy, Master Gerald." It didn't seem to me that my expulsion from Drexel Academy merited such an expression of sympathy, and I suspected that Jenkins knew that I had been castrated. I had long suspected that Jenkins was a eunuch.His wide hips and the breasts which his frock coat didn't quite conceal strongly suggested it. But, if he knew, how did he find out ? I decided to talk to him about that later. Just then, I needed to go to bed and spend the next week there recovering from my brutal mutilation. During the week that I was bedridden, mother visited me several times. I'm not sure how much she knew about the reason for my sudden return from school or my confinement to bed. Dear mother is a gentle, flighty, feather-brained woman, well-meaning but very vague. If she knew about her husband's infidelities, she never let on. Being bedridden gave me plenty of opportunity to brood over my misfortune and plot revenge. I thought of dozens of ingenious but utterly impractical ways of disgracing and/or castrating my father. This both gratified and frustrated me. I asked the upstairs maid, when she came to pick up my breakfast dishes to ask Jenkins to see me at his convenience. I had decided to hve a frank serious talk with him. After checking that no callers were expected this morning, Jenkins came up to my room. I watched his gait as he walked across the room to my bed. His hips swayed like a woman's. I remembered once seeing him run after a guest who had left his briefcase behind. He ran like a girl, too, with his arms out in front of him.. "Please have a seat, Jenkins." I said. "I want to talk to you at some length." He pulled up a chair and sat down by my bed. "May I ask you some personal questions, Jenkins ?" I asked. "Certainly, Master Gerald." he replied. "Are you a eunuch ?" "Yes, Master Gerald, since I was your age." I thought about this for a moment. "So, in you, I see the shape of things to come, eh ?" "I'm afraid so, Master Gerald." I was sure that my father knew that Jenkins is a eunuch. Therefore, he knew what he was doing to me. My hatred for him rose several notches. "Jenkins, how did you know what has been done to me ? " "One of the housemaids evesdropped on an extension telephone when your father set up the appointment with Dr. Starr's hospital. This is pretty much standard operating procedure. It's impossible to keep any secrets from the servants, Master Gerald." "And she told you ?" "Yes, she didn't understand what she had heard. She told me 'He got Jerry an appointmant to have an operation with a funny name, something about orchids.' 'Orchidectomy ?' I asked. She said 'Yes, that's it.' 'My God !' I exclaimed 'He's going to be gelded.' "Then, may I assume that all the servants know ?" "Yes, Master Gerald. Dawson was especially shocked and dismayed and expressed regret and sympathy for you." "Really ? I wonder why. " "Well, Dawson is queer, like you, sir." "Ye Gods!" I exclaimed. "How did you find that out ?" "About you, you mean ?" "Yes." "Dawson saw you buggering Bobby, the gardener's boy in the potting shed. I'm sure that he told no one except me, knowing that I, though impotent, am also of the persuasion. Now, may I ask you a personal question, Master Gerald ?" "Of course", I replied. "Do you take it up the behind ?" "Yes, I do." "Then let me tell you, from my own experience, that even after castration, that feels as good as it ever did. The only difference is that you won't come. I know that Dawson would be delighted to prove that to you." I laughed and said "As soon as I can get out of this bed, he'll have the chance. You can tell him so." I thanked Jenkins for his frankness and told him that he'd helped me greatly. Before leaving , he asked me, very shyly, if he could kiss me. I said "Sure" and let him. He's a great kisser. Who'd have thought it ? Once I was up and about, I practised swishing my hips and jiggling my ass and did so whenever father was about. This annoyed the hell out of him. "Walk like a man !" he snapped at me. I replied tartly, "After what you had Dr. Schneider do to me, you can hardly expect me to be a man or to act like one." I thought that he was going to have a stroke, but recognizing the truth in what I'd said, he walked away muttering. My opportunity really to embarrass him came at the family reunion two weeks later. I swished about among the guests, outrageously limp-wristed and effeminate. My well-hung 17-year-old cousin, Herman, seemed interested and motioned with his head for me to follow him. He went out to the little-used pergola in the garden, overgrown by untended vines. As soon as we were inside he hugged, kissed, and groped me. Of course, he immediately discovered my secret. He was shocked when I told him how I'd lost my balls. Herman had a fine boner tenting his pants out and I swiftly unbuttend his fly and exposed it. I squatted and went down on it and soon, Herman was moaning and sighing in delight. He came like a fire hose. God ! What a load ! I managed to swallow every drop of it, though, being well practised in that sort of thing. After all, who wants to waste the nectar of the gods ? I heard giggling and saw that a couple of young male cousins of mine were peeking into the pergola. In short order, I blew both of them, too and found that I enjoyed sucking cock just as much as I had when I had balls. I knew, of course, that the word would get around among all the boys in the family that Jerry is a cocksucker. After the guests had left, I went down to the garage and, not finding Dawson working on any of the cars, climbed the outside staircase to his rooms above the garage. The door was unlocked, and I went in. Dawson was lying on his bed naked. I was instantly aroused by the sight of his handsome muscular body. Who says you need balls to get horny ? He was stroking his long thick cock but , when he saw me, he stopped. "Master Gerald" he stammered "What can I do for you ?" I came to the point immediately. "Fuck me." I replied. He laughed and said "willingly." Even though it was only May and not yet hot, I had worn no underwear. So, I had only a shirt and trousers to remove. Dawson had me lie on the bed and while he anointed his prick with vaseline I put my knees up on my chest. He mounted me, bent down and kissed me, and pressed against my sphincter with the head of his prick. He pressed, gently but insistently for several minutes until the sphincter muscle grew tired and relaxed, then he slid his mighty shaft into my rectum. Finding my shrunken prostate gland, he began rubbing it with the head of his penis. Even though atrophied, my prostate gland was still sensitive and soon I was thrashing about in his bed in ecstasy. I wrapped my calves about his slim waist to pull him yet further into me. Dawson, however, was in no hurry. He made the fuck last as long as possible until he finally spurted into my guts. I had a dry climax at that pooint which, though inferior to the orgasms I had when I had balls was still very satisfying. After wiping the vaseline and some of hs jism which had oozed out of my ass, Dawson invited me to visit him any time he was up in his rooms. Thus ended the best family reunion I had ever attended. Though I had mortified father with my effeminacy, I could hardly feel that that was adequate revenge for castrating me. I continued to plot vengeance. Hwever, fate took the matter out of my hands. The cuckolded hustand is always the last to know, but finally, Frank Bolton learned that his wife was having an affair with my father. Ever the man of action, Mr. Bolton took the matter into his own hands. One evening, about a week after the reunion, when father got out of his car (the Overland, the Packard was used only for special occasions.), he was confronted by Frank Bolton, 12-gauge shotgun in hand. Before my father could react, the muzzle of the shotgun was pressed against his crotch and a single shot blasted his balls to shreds. Father had a very small prick. I had seen it once when we were removing our swim suits at the beach, though, of course, I wasn't supposed to look. The buckshot missed his prick entirely but utterly destroyed his balls. Well, if father wanted to avoid even a breath of scandal, he was sorely disappointed. Frank Bolton's trial for attempted murder was as spectacular and scandalous as Harry K. Thaw's trial for murdering Stanford White, though, in this case, the architect was the defendant and the victim survived (and regretted for another 40 years that he had.) Mother divorced the nutless former philanderer and was awarded the house and cars and custody of me. Though discraced, father kept his business and lived alone to the ending of his days. So, what happened to Jules Leverrier ? I got a letter from him a few days before the family reunion. His father decided that his affair with me was just a phase that he was going through and that he would develop an interest in women later. And so, he didn't make an issue of it. He was right about Jules, and , the last I heard, he was married.I found another lover in college and we've been together ever since, but that's another story. |