It was our three month anniversary. We were in bed, about to have sex.

I don’t know how I knew but somehow I did. Perhaps it was the look in Nicole’s eyes. I instinctively tried to cover my balls with my hands, but found I couldn’t move my arms.

Then I realized – as the fear cut through me like a knife – that she had drugged me and I was slowly losing consciousness.

“Relax, baby,” she said, leaning over me. “I’m going to take care of everything.”

------

It had started right after the first time Nicole and I had sex three months earlier. We were lying in bed in the afterglow of our first time discovering each other bodies. I had noticed she had never even once touched my balls, almost like she was avoiding them. I asked her why. I now wish I never had – although it probably would have made no difference in the end.

“They gross me out,” she said, matter-of-factly.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard – not just that she felt that way, but that she had just come right out and said it. For a moment I was speechless. That was just the beginning though. She saw the look on my face, but despite that – or perhaps because of it? - she went on.

“They just kinda hang there,” she said. “It’s nasty.”

I didn’t know how to react, so I tried to brush it off. I started to laugh and told her she was crazy. At that moment a different look suddenly came over her face, one that I had never seen before. She was annoyed I was laughing at her.

“Trust me.” she said, deadly serious. “Girls don't want to see those things. Anyway they’re useless. They just get in the way. I don’t know how you guys even walk around with those things.”

We carried on talking about it for a while after that. She kept referring to them as “those things”, as if even giving them a name would be to attach more importance to them to them than they deserved. She also talked in the first person plural, making it sound as if every female on the planet had as much contempt for guys’ nuts as she did. She made it sound as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I had to admit she had a point when it came to how they looked – not many people, male or female, would claim they are the most aesthetic things in the world. But what really got to me was that she had said they were “useless”. There didn’t seem to be any point in explaining to her that I liked having them fondled. They didn’t help with her pleasure and so as far as she was concerned that made them useless. And as far as for their other purpose, the last thing she wanted was to get pregnant.

She seemed so sure of herself that I started to wonder whether perhaps she was right. Maybe women really did all hated them as much as she did? Maybe it was just that the women I had been with (I hadn’t been with that many, anyway) had just not been as honest with me as she was - to spare my feelings or something. Maybe I should be happy that someone had finally told me the truth?

She thought it was hilarious how attached I was to my “jewels” – that’s what she called them on the few occasions when she gave them a name. It made me feel silly, and I started to feel like maybe I was the one who was weird. She also thought it was amazing that I’d never heard any of this from a woman before. I didn’t want to admit it to her, but I had to admit I could see it from her point of view. After all, it was hard to argue with.

We carried on dating and the more time I spent with her, the more I fell in love with her. The only problem was our sex life, which had never been as good as that first time. I had begun to feel self-conscious about my balls whenever I was naked in front of her. I had never really looked at them much before – I guess I just kind of took them for granted - but now I started to when I was standing alone in the bathroom. She liked me to stay clean-shaven, which only seemed to make them stand out even more. And she was right, they were pretty weird looking. Part of me started to wish they would go away.

After we had been dating for a couple of months, she began to talk seriously about getting my balls removed. I didn’t even know it was possible unless you had prostate cancer or something like that, but apparently lots of guys did it these days. The first time she brought it up, I reacted like I did that first night, and she got the same angry look on her face. I said I wasn’t sure – it seemed like a big, not to mention irreversible, step. “It’s not a big deal at all,” she said, starting to get irritated. “It’s not doing anything for the woman, so who cares? I could understand if you were worried about the other part shrinking, the part that actually matters. It’s not like they actually do anything. It’s just a male ego thing.”

I kept wishing she would just drop the subject, but she kept bringing it up – in bed, over dinner, in the bathroom. She kept pointing out all the other reasons it would be a good idea. I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious about them. I would feel more self-confident, which would make sex better. I would be sterile, of course, but that was a good thing – neither of us wanted to have kids right now anyway and we would no longer need to worry about contraception.

When I tried to explain how I felt about it – it was my body, after all –she always got angry. So after a couple of times I stopped contradicting her and instead I asked her questions about how it work, which she seemed to like. She seemed to be pretty well researched. She explained that after my testes – she had now started using the clinical term for them - had been removed, my body would no longer be producing testosterone, so I would need regular testosterone shots. That was better anyway, she said – it meant you could regulate the amount of testosterone more easily. She said she thought my levels were probably pretty low anyway and I probably needed to have them increased.

She seemed to have it all worked out. I felt like she was bombarding me with reasons to do it. And the worst part was, they all seemed to make sense. I started to imagine in my head what it would be like with them removed. I could no longer even think straight. Maybe she was right. Perhaps I would really feel better?

One evening, we were lying in bed. We hadn’t had sex in a few days. I turned to her.

“Do they really gross you out that much?” I said. It had got to the point where I rarely even called them balls or nuts either. I didn’t need to - she knew exactly what I meant.

She looked at me and smiled but didn’t say anything.

After that we didn’t discuss it again. I thought she had forgotten about it, or at least just accepted that I didn’t want it. A few times I thought about bringing up the subject herself, but I thought it better to just leave it. It was humiliating even talking about it. So I left it. It was never mentioned again - until our anniversary a few weeks later.

------

I woke up feeling groggy. Where was I? I was in bed in a white room – a hospital?

Suddenly I felt a sharp stabbing pain between my legs and I remembered. I knew instinctively what had happened but I didn’t want to believe it. It took me a few minutes before I felt my groin. Beneath my limp dick were bandages but I could tell they was nothing underneath them. The realization hit me: they were gone.

A week later Nicole removed the bandages. We were supposed to leave them for 10 days but she said she couldn’t wait to see how it looked. She peeled them off and felt

“That looks so hot, baby,” she said.

I was scared to touch it, knowing instinctively that feeling it would make the whole thing feel final. That, obviously, was exactly what she wanted. So she took my hand and put it where my balls used to be. It was smooth as silk, all the way to my asshole.

I started crying.

“It’s over, baby,” she said, and took me in her arms.