|
Drexel Academy is one of those very old, very posh, very conservative (or should I say "bluenosed" ?) New England preparatory schools. It's not hard to believe that it was founded by Puritans and not surprising to learn that they're still there. The doors of the dorm rooms have no locks and hall monitors ("called "proctors" at Drexel) prowl the halls seeking evidence of smoking, drinking, or "unnatural" sexual activity. They have the right to barge in anywhere any time that they feel that something immoral, indecent, or illegal may be going on. I had fallen madly in love with a classmate named Jules Leverrier and we sought opportunities to give physical expression to "the love that dare not speak its name." My Roommate, Tom, was hospitalized with a strep throat and there would, therefore, be a vacancy in my room for at least a couple of weeks, if he survived. It was the ideal opportunity for Jules and me. Unfortunately, Simon Sligh, the proctor, knew that I was supposed to be alone in my room for the next couple of weeks and when, his ear at the crack between the door and the frame, he heard heavy breathing and moaning from my room, of course, he looked in. Of course, I might have been masturbating and that, though frowned upon, was not specifically forbidden, but I wasn't. Jules and I were indulging in soixante neuf. He immediately called Security and the Superintendent's office and we were unceremoniously hauled off buck nekkid to solitary confinement, a couple of unused rooms in the basemenet of Blakesley Hall which had locks on the doors. We were provided with buckets to piss into. After parading us across campus in our birthday suits, Simon kindly brought us our undershorts, and it was thus attired that we appeared before the Superintendent the next morning. Simon, rather gleefully, I thought, described to the Super the "schocking scene" which he beheld when he opened my door. We got short shrift from the Superintendent who informed us that such grossly indecent behaviour was inexcusable and grounds for expulsion. He then formally expelled us and telegraphed our fathers that we would be arriving by the earliest trains. I was going to Ohio and Jules to Louisiana . We did not get to see each other again before we left. The railroad trip was tedious and boring, and I was sick with worry. I was sure that "furious" would be too mild a word to describe my father's state of mind when I arrived. I thought of getting off at some intermediate stop and running away. All-in-all, it might not have been a bad idea. However, I toughed it out and got off at the nearest railroad station to home. At first, I didn't recognize our car. I wasn't looking for the big Packard Twin-Six. When I saw it, I ran up to it and, to my amazement, saw my father at the wheel. Now, of course, father knows how to drive, but he has said more often than I want to remember, "I don't pay Dawson $15 a week to do my own driving." This was not a Thursday and, therefore, not Dawson's day off, which made finding father at the wheel even more surprising "Put your bag in the back and get in." he said in a flat toneless voice. He said nothing more and I didn't dare to. To my surprise, he turned left out of the station rather than right into town as he would to go home. Soon, we were out in the suburbs. I was afraid to ask where we were going. At length, we turned off the paved state road onto a dirt county road which ended at a wrought-iron gate, over which was a sign reading "Dr. Starr's Hospital." A gate-keeper came out and father gave him our name and he opened the gate. We drove up a gravel driveway to a large low building with a porte-cochere. Here father stopped the car and said "Get out." I did and we entered the building. Father spoke to a receptionist at a desk in the lobby telling him "This is Gerald Saunderson. He has an appointment for a bilateral orchidectomy." I wasn't sure what that was, but, before I could ask, two white-coated attendants who looked more like saloon bouncers or wrestlers than hospital orderlies took me by the arms and propelled me along a corridor. "Hey, what the hell's going on here ? Where are we going ?" I shouted. They ignored me and pushed me into a small room. The larger of the two men said "Take your clothes off." I answered him "Screw you !" To my utter surprise, horror, and dismay, he reached down, grabbed my balls, and squeezed them. I screamed, doubled over, and almost puked. "Now ya gonna do what we tell ya? " he asked. "You.....sonnofa...... bitch" I gasped. As he started to reach for my balls again, I started pulling my clothes off as fast as I could. Once I was naked, I asked "What the hell is a bilateral orchidectomy ?" The shorter of the two men replied "Doctor's gonna cut your balls off." "The fuck he is !" I said. That just earned me an uppercut to the nuts which laid me out on the floor.I rolled up in a ball and rolled around on the floor holding my balls with both hands and screaming. The two attendants put their hands under my armpits, lifted me and dragged me through a second door into an operating room. By this time, they'd taken all of the fight out of me. I just moaned as they lifted me onto the operating table and strapped me down. Then they left and another man came in who said nothing but clipped and shaved off my pubic hair and the hair on my thighs and then washed my bag with tincture of green soap and warm water, and finally applied a stinging disinfectant solution to my bag, prick, and thighs. Several minutes later, another man entered the room, a tall man with short blond hair and a moustache. He introduced himself in a thick German accent. "I am Doktor Heinrich Schneider. I vill be your surcheon, Ze operation vill be done under cheneral anaest'esia." I almost expected him to click his heels, damn' kraut ! Anyhow, he put an ether cone over my mouth and nose and dripped ether into it while telling me to count from 10 "beckvards." I think I got to six before falling into a roaring darkness. When I awoke, my bag stung and burned and my groins were somewhat sore. I reached down to verify that my balls were gone. They were. My God, I'm a eunuch ! I can't BELIEVE that my father would to this to me. I vowed then and there to get some kind of revenge for what he had had done to me. End of Part One |