Matjaz tells us about his life, his feelings, his dreams and his hopes.
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Matjaz
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by Il Musico
Hello everyone! Be welcome to this story about me and my life! First
of all things, my name is Matjaz. Yes, it's not Matthias, not
Matias, nothing like that, but simply and plainly Matjaz. Is that so
hard to grasp? Be careful, because I'm totally convinced that all
those who cannot spell Matjaz aren't worth a thing!
I'm 17 years old, almost 18. And I'm nearly finished with that
antiquated torture institution they call "school". So, I'm really
looking forward to a free life, outside of those gray walls, away
from those teachers who stubbornly fail to realize that at least
half of their students are more intelligent than they are! And
speaking of intelligence, well, I think I have got a generous amount
of it, more than you probably, and this sentence proves that I'm not
shy about admitting it!
I'm so sorry that I can't tell you much about my parents. The only
thing I know about them is that they dumped me in a trashcan when I
was a few days old. So, to be honest, I have to tell you that I
really don't care who they were. Trash, me! What an idea! I would
prefer to mention the trash recollectors who were bright enough to
recognize that jewel in the trashcan, and went the extra mile to the
hospital, delivering me there instead of bringing me to the city
incinerator together with the potato peels and old papers. Thanks,
guys!
I lived the shitty and criey first years of my life in the foundling
home. I don't remember anything of my first years, but from the
earliest time I can remember onwards, I have that mental image of
silence, peace, thick walls, small windows, and several nuns swiftly
running around, keeping everything in shape. Oh yes, these nuns
could become dangeorus too, specially when one of us boys did any of
the many deeds that were forbidden: Using "street" words, fighting,
throwing water bombs out of the window onto well-dressed gentlemen,
and many other things we did just in order to assure everyone that
we definitely were no angels! But we weren't lost sheep either; the
nuns really teached us what's good and what isn't, and even if we
didn't always do what we should, at least we KNEW what we should do.
So, it was like bargaining: Do something forbidden, and you would
get the proper punishment. Never too much, bet never too little
either. These nuns knew how to punish little boys, I can tell you!
But they did it only when we gave them good reason. I have no
regrets against them, they were my only mothers.
When I started attending school, I was moved over to another home
for orphans. This one was run by priests, to make a difference...
Everything was less regulated here. The rules were fewer,
enforcement not as strict, but when one of those priests decided
that a boy had been naughty, it was really hard for the poor victim
to get off the black list ever again. So "I tried to be good", as
that song says, even if at times it was haaaard!
Living together with a lot of other boys from earliest infancy on
had several advantages: For one, I learned to play soccer almost
before I learned to walk! When I entered school, we from the
orphanage were the cracks in the class! Most of the other kids did
barely know that a ball was round, and it was too hard for them to
remember towards which side they had to kick it! So we had command
over the games, and a preferential position in class.
The school was connected to the church that ran our home, and the
connection was very direct: Everyone who had a decent voice had to
sing in the school choir, which was called upon to sing in services.
Specially us orphans couldn't escape choir service, for the priests
thought that having us closeby in the home was a guarantee that we
would never be late. And right they were! Sometimes there were
masses in the very early morning, and we home kids sung them alone,
since our choirmates from all across the city did never wake up at
that time! As for us, we didn't wake up on our own, of course...
Father Theo was in charge of getting us up, using a bucket of cold
water if necessary! But even that was fun...No regrets!
I started to like singing a lot, and that caught the attention of
Miro. Of course, back than he wasn't Miro for me, I didn't even know
his first name! For me he was Mr.Gryck, the music teacher. I liked
him from the start. A man in his late fifties back then, with a
graying beard that gave him a Santa Claus look, gentle and direct,
and taking us kids as seriously as he took any adult, he was the
kind of teacher a kid just must love! So I started to trust him,
ask him when I had little and larger troubles, and he always tried
to help me as best he could. In reward, I gave it all when singing,
in fact, I was singing for him more than for the churchgoers, or the
public in the concerts we gave now and then. He again rewarded me
for this effort by inviting me to his home, and giving me private
singing lessons there. Imagine my surprise, shock, fear and delight,
when one day he told me that I had to sing solo in the next concert!
I was nine years old at that time, which is quite young to be a
soloist, as you may agree!
The music I had to sing turned out to be the same things he had been
teaching me at his home. That was a relief! He had planned it all
since months! By that time I still had quite some trouble reading
music fast enough, so I had to rely on memory when singing, and
that's not a very good idea with music you don't know very well!
The time flew by, the concert came, and I had my debut as treble
soloist. The people applauded like crazy, starting to make me into
the selfish brat I am now :-), but the best reward came after the
concert: Mr.Gryck, as I still called him then, asked me if I would
like to move over to his house, and be his son for all practical
matters, leaving back my times as an orphan in the care of the
church! I wasn't silly, and it was clear to me that this would mean
ten hours of singing a day, with lots of work, but also lots of
reward. Then, comparing the priests at the home with this man I
liked so much, there was no doubt left. He did all legal things that
were needed, and a few weeks later I moved. I had sort of a father,
at last!
I never learned to call him father, or dad, or anything in that
line. I guess I was too old for that. But calling him Mr.Gryck
wasn't really right either... So he proposed to simply call him by
his first name, and Miroslav being too long, from then on he was
Miro for me.
Miro was a widower, his wife had died only two years ago. He had a
son and a daughter, who were both adults now and starting to live
their own lifes, even if they often came visiting him. But mostly he
had been alone, and he didn't spare any way to show me how happy he
was to have someone around again. For me, on the other hand, it was
quite a change to live with just one old man instead of several
dozen kids about my age! So I started hanging around in the
schoolyard, playing soccer with my friends, and often I went to the
orphanage to visit the priests and spend some more time with my
friends. But the time at my new home was good too. Miro was a great
cook, and a gourmet, so we spent lots of time in the kitchen, he
showing me the fine art of making food that not only keeps one
alive, but also looks nice and tastes great! And of course we spent
lots of time in his music room. He went on teaching me music,
driving me through all kinds of vocal exercises, and on many
evenings we made music just for the fun of it. Sometimes he invited
friends, and we gave little private concerts. He sometimes sang in
his deep bass, sometimes played piano, often both, and on special
occasions he pedalled away on his harmonium, a funny mini-organ with
foot pump that at first made me laugh so hard that I couldn't sing!
Yes, I sang, always, I had no instrument playing skills good enough
for a concert. Everyone assured me that I sang well, so I believed
them! Even if I always had trouble with the highest soprano notes,
being more of a mezzo-soprano, I must have sounded quite good even
then.
When I was 11 years old, the most important change in my life
happened. Miro had brought me to see a doctor, for a physical
checkup that should in fact be done every year, but I had never been
at one. I didn't even know my blood type! The doctor drew a blood
sample (ouch!), they photographed my most intimate inside with a
huge monster of an X-ray machine, and then he pressed and pulled
everywhere from my head to my feet, and yes, even there. The next
day we returned to his office, and he had all the blood tests ready,
the photos developed, and so on. I was pronounced healthy and
normal, except for a little thing: The doctor said that my dick (oh
well, he said "penis") had its cover grown in place, and that this
had to be fixed. So what, I asked, I can pee very well even through
the narrow hose the cover formed at the tip. But the doctor insisted
that it required fixing, or I would have trouble later on, and did
not tell me what kind of trouble that would be! In any case, seeing
that I had no way out, I agreed to have it fixed. Then he told me
that fixing that meant... cutting the entire cover off! And I had
almost chickened out of the blood-drawing! I felt like running
away, but there was no way. They scheduled me for the next week, the
day after I would have to sing solo in an evening service, and
enough time before the next concert, so I would have ample time to
heal up. The only good thing was that the doctor promised that I
would know nothing of the whole procedure, as they would put me to
sleep for it. Now that sounded somewhat like an adventure...
Being anesthesized was a very quick experience. They injected some
doctor's poison into my arm and told me to count from 1 to 100. I
was barely at 7 when I started having trouble moving my lips! I
counted up to 15 at least, but the last few numbers did not make it
out of my mouth, I'm sure. That stuff acts fast!
When I awoke, I was totally disoriented at first. I was in a white
bed in a white room, wearing a white gown... Fortunately it was
spring, and a tree in front of the window was green, or I would have
thought that I was crazy! Then I remembered where I was, and why. I
was still too much asleep to move, but I could feel a dull pressure
at my dick. As I slowly got more awake, that pressure actually grew
into quite some pain! Sure, it had to ache, if they cut off a part
of it... I practiced mind control, and tried to concentrate on the
birds singing in the tree outside, not on my mangled dick.
A while later a nurse saw me awake, and called the doctor. He asked
me how I felt, and I told him about the slight pain. He told the
nurse to give me a pill, and that one indeed killed most of the pain
rather quickly. It's amazing what modern chemistry can do! The
doctor also told me that if I had to pee, I should call the nurse
for help. Oh well. I would have preferred doing it without help, but
when the doctor left me alone, and I started exploring his work
under the bedsheet, it became clear that I would need the nurse:
They had bandaged all my lower body! There was white cloth around my
dick, over my belly, between my legs, around the hips, in short I
was packed up like a baby! I could probably have pissed without
wetting the bed! And the cloth was wrapped in such an artful way
that I would have had trouble opening the package, let alone redo
it...
I got a quite good meal, and then the time came when I could not
postpone peeing any longer. So I asked the nurse to help me, when
she came to take away the empty dishes. To my surprise, they would
not allow me to get up, but rather the nurse brought a funny glass
vessel designed to allow people to pee while in bed... Oh well, I
had some things to learn here. Then she asked me to look away and
started to unwrap the bandages. Well, I was too curious to obey, and
risked a look when I felt my poor dick in free air! Oh shit! I
shouldn't have looked, really! It was much shorter than before, and
half of it was a bloody mess! No wonder that it hurt.
The nurse helped me to turn on my side, connected the glass
container and told me to let it loose. Hey, have you ever tried to
pee with a nurse holding your dick and watching? I couldn't! It
simply didn't come out! But the nurse was understanding and
experienced. She smiled, and told me that many people had this
problem, so I should not be embarrassed. She pulled the bedsheet
over me, glass duck and all, and told me to take it easy and call
her when I was done. But I first peeked under the bedsheet, to get
accustomed to how my dick looked now. It was no more than the sorry
remains of what it had been. Not only the little tube at the end was
gone, as I had expected, but also the skin over all of the tip. The
bloody flesh was exposed, and the white skin started way back! Some
stitches held it all together.
Anyway, finally I managed to pee. It hurt a lot when my poor exposed
tip got wet with spray. So I quickly called the nurse, who took away
the duck, then applied some cream to my dick and rewrapped it in
white cloth, fixing my wrapped dick back to the rest of the
bandaging. I then rested from this difficult procedure...
Halfways through the afternoon, between cartoons and a book about
Schubert's life, my dick again was hurting quite a lot, and in
addition I felt my balls aching! I supposed that it was because of
that bandaging compressing them too much, and tried to work the
cloth a little looser, so I could pull my balls to another position.
And then I got the shock of my life when I didn't find them! They
ached, but they were not where they should be! I felt around,
peeked, poked, finally undid the entire wrapping, and found that my
balls were gone! Both of them! It was so confusing! I could feel
them aching, but they were simply not there! A glimmer of hope of
them simply being pushed up into my belly was quickly destroyed when
I discovered two little wounds, one of each side of my dick. This
doctor had castrated me, without even letting me know in advance!!!
How's that for amiable conduct, huh?
My heart thumped loud while all kinds of theories raced through my
mind. Had it been an error? Should they have castrated someone else?
Unlikely. Did Miro know of this? Was he involved? I wanted to
believe that he wasn't part of this plot, but some little voice deep
in me told me that he had a lot to do with it. Other theories were
discarded, one after another. I knew well enough that boys had been
castrated in the distant past, simply for preserving their soprano
voices. Only that I had read that this was not done anymore! Oh,
these book writers! They have no idea! I had a good voice, after
all, and loved singing, and was about the age when such a thing is
most likely to be done, and I had been pretty much been adopted by a
music teacher, and and and... I told you at the start that I'm
pretty intelligent, so it didn't take me long to put two and two
together, even under the aftereffects of the anesthesia. They had
castrated me to keep my voice from breaking!
When I had calmed down enough, I again called the nurse, and asked
her to get me the doctor, as soon as possible. She must have known
what was up, because she didn't question me at all, and soon the
doctor came in and asked if I had any problem. "Any problem", how's
that?! It's pretty much like that famous understatement of
"Houston, we have a problem", when half of Apollo 13 had blown up
somewhere between earth and moon! I kept my wits and asked him,
straight out and very calmed, why he had castrated me. He didn't
deny it, but told me a well prepared fairy tale which in short was
that while circumcising me, the medical team had noticed strange
lumps at my testicles, so they had taken advantage of the fact that
I was already anesthesized, and done an exploratory surgery. They
had seen that the lumps actually were cancer, and had castrated me
on the spot, to keep it from spreading.
I had trouble keeping my mouth from dropping open during this story.
I didn't believe a word of it, but what could I do? I commented that
it was very strange that I had never felt any such lumps myself, but
the doctor answered in his medical non-involved style that patients
usually don't notice such things until it is too late, because they
get accustomed to the lumps as they grow. Nice story, but I just
know that it's bullshit!
I asked if Miro knew of this turn of things. The doctor told me that
"my dad" had been informed, and would be here visiting me a little
later. Well, at least I wouldn't have to tell him myself. I just
asked one more question to the doctor: Why the heck he had
circumsized me, if not as a cover-up for the castration. But I could
not throw him off his socket. He stuck to his story, and left me
alone.
The last question was a very real one to me. The phantom ache in my
removed balls was rather small, just a nuisance rather than a
problem, while my dick really hurt a lot. I spent much of the
afternoon laying on my back, not moving, trying to control the pain
by concentration, and thinking about my future life as an eunuch.
This was such a new, unexpected situation. I would have no puberty,
no voice change, no marriage, no family. The fact of skipping
puberty and voice change actually delighted me! It was always so sad
to see the best singers in the choir leave because they no longer
could sing high. Then they became silly, stupid, full of pimples,
and running after girls, who didn't care for them. It was so
disheartening to see that happen, time after time, with not one
escaping that fate! Well, I would escape it! That was a good thing.
But then, I couldn't picture myself as a 20 or 30 year old guy,
singing soprano together with little kids! That was absurd... But as
a soloist, in a baroque opera, it looked better! It's a good thing
that I'm not shy, though. And if anything became clear to me at this
very moment, it was this: I would have to fight against any trace of
shyness that may show up, or I had no chance to make my way through
life!
Not being able to have a family when adult was a different thing.
Hey, when you grow up as an orphan, then you miss having a real
family. So many times I had been dreaming about myself in the role
of a loving father, NOT throwing his newborn sons into trashcans,
but raising them in love and warmth. I had even spent lots of time
thinking about the names I would give my children! Names that had to
be spelled right, just like Matjaz. But now, this would never come
to be. That was a bitter pill.
I was still rolling around in these mixed feelings when Miro came. I
almost couldn't look in his face, but when he asked how I felt, and
expressed how much he felt with me about what happened, and kept
strictly to the same story the doctor had told, I suddenly made up
my mind: I would accept the official story, for all official
purposes, and keep the truth to myself. After all, there was no use
in rebelling against what had been done to me. I would not get my
balls back. If I rebelled, I could probably get Miro and the doctor
in jail, but what good was that? I would still be an eunuch. Or a
castrato... That word somehow sounded better! But there would be
one quirk to my acceptance of it: I couldn't bear the idea that they
might have castrated me with the intention of making money through
my singing. I decided that if ever anyone actually paid for hearing
me sing, that money would end up in my own pocket, not in anyone
else's! If things didn't turn out that way I would refuse to sing.
No one could cut off my balls and then make money with that!!!
So, I played the little boy who accepts his fate and believes what
adults tell him. I have played that part all the time since then,
and this is in fact the first time I write down what I think is the
truth... But then, sometimes I'm not that sure what the real truth
is! Maybe after all I really had that cancer? There is simply no way
to know. Even if all logic tells me that I was castrated for the
sake of my singing, I simply have no proof.
My depressed state didn't last long, fortunately. I had learned very
early to cheer up myself, after all during the first years of my
life I hadn't anyone who would do that for me! So, I started to
laugh about my little crippled dick, which was so alone in the world
now that his companions were gone. Almost as alone as I had been,
with no family!
The little wounds on the sides healed up in just a few days, and
after that first day with some phantom pain in my vanished balls,
that ache subsided too. A week after the surgery I was back in my
normal life, attending school, singing in the choir for the old
ladies at church, and getting solo singing lessons with Miro. He
cared a lot for me now, even more than before, so that I quickly
forgave him what he had done to me. And after all, the castration
did not cause me any problems! The circumcision was worse, my dick
was very sensitive, and even rubbing against my undies hurt. When I
told Miro about it, he bought some new undies for me, that had a
silky smooth feel, and indeed my dick felt better in them. I had no
more problems peeing, in fact my circumsized dick allowed me to aim
much better! That silly situation of aiming straight into the
toilet, but peeing a full stream sidewards, missing the target and
making a mess, did never again happen! So, at least even the
circumcision brought some advantage!
Over time I discovered the good sides of being an eunuch, too. I had
a big advantage when playing soccer! When playing that game it's
unavoidable that sometimes the ball goes where it isn't supposed to
go, like into someone's crotch. I still remember that pain, all up
my guts, when that had happened earlier to me. When it happens now,
it doesn't hurt any more than getting the ball against a leg! That's
really great, I can tell you!
When we were about 12 years old, one of my classmates developed the
bad habit of kicking the ball intentionally into other boy's
crotches. He did so with great aim and even more force, often making
his victims crumble down in pain, or even vomiting! One day, in the
midst of a great game, he suddenly kicked the ball into my crotch.
It was so obviously intentional that I felt really abused! But of
course it didn't hurt nearly as bad as he had intended. I remember
that instant like if it had been just now: The culprit standing at
short distance, legs wide apart, waiting for me to roll on the grass
in pain, and the ball resting just one step in front of me... A
devilish thought came, and as fast as it showed up, I made it
reality: I swang my left leg, which is my more powerful and better
aiming one, and drove the ball with all my force into HIS crotch! He
screamed, fell back, pulled his legs up, gasped for breath, threw
up, and put up such a show that I was concerned I might just have
created me a competitor in the eunuch club! But later I learned that
his balls survived the attack, as his voice started to change
shortly later. In any case, he learned the lesson, and never again
tried to assault anyone's delicate parts.
The unavoidable result of my action that day was that a bunch of
classmates, who had seen it all, asked me how I could have done
that, just after receiving the blow to my balls myself. So, I had to
remember the promise I made to myself about never being shy, and
told them the entire story. The official story, I mean. I had to
give them a sightseeing tour in the locker room before they would
believe me. The funny thing is that no one had noticed, regardless
of my not being secretive at all when changing into sports clothes
or showering! I guess that they always looked so much at my mangled
dick that they lost no sight at my missing balls!
My dear classmates showed so much compassion that I feared getting
diabetes from their excessive sweetness towards me. I had to make
clear to them that pitying me was nearly as bad an offense as
misspelling my name! That got them back on track, and I was
re-accepted in the group, with no major difficulties.
Then things started to change. My classmates started entering
puberty, one after another, and before long the classroom was so
full of pimples and curly dark hairs at impossible locations, that
the air got thick from it. With the pimples came scratchy voices,
and dismissal from choir singing. And they started looking after
girls, in a way I would never have believed, had I not seen it. They
could talk for hours about girls they knew only from TV or
magazines, and totally forget about soccer! When I tried to take
part in those sessions, they pushed me out of the circle, saying
that I had no idea about that. But sometimes they were more
compassive, and instructed me about all those things that happened
to them. I learned to jack off, at least in theory, since in
practice it didn't work for me... I learned what sexual intercourse
was all about, and I couldn't really imagine that such an activity
may be fun... To me, it sounds gross, even now when writing this.
Testosterone must be a wild stuff if it makes men enjoy THAT!
While my classmates spent their time catching girls, and being
rejected by them time and again, I invested MY time in singing. And
guess what? Girls started looking after me, despite my boyish look
and soprano voice! They actually seemed to like me more than my ever
more manly classmates! Honest! It's crazy, but true. The only
problem is that I have no great desire for romance. A good
friendship is welcome, anytime, with boys or with girls, but what
else could I do? I don't feel anything special with girls, and I
think that a special "something" is needed to form a couple...
You may be interested in how I look now, that I'm close to 18 years
in age. Well, I'm rather tall, measuring 182 cm, and apparently I'm
still growing a little. But I have longer legs and a shorter trunk
than any of my classmates! Standing side to side with the tallest of
them, our heads are roughly at the same height, but my ass is way
higher up then theirs! The same goes for arms: Mine are longer,
which gives me an advantage for boxing!
I don't have the kind of bulged muscles my classmates have, but I do
have well formed ones with enough strength to do everything I need
and want. My rib cage is not as broad as that of my classmates, but
longer towards the front! Seems that my ribs grew as much as my legs
and arms... It may also be due to the constant singing, which
involves lots of deep breathing exercises. My face looks younger
than I am, I look perhaps like 14. Of course I have no beard, and no
other thick curly body hair, but on my head the hair grows as much
as a girl's. I could pass for a girl if I wanted.
You ask, what happens down there? Oh, nothing much. My dick is as
large as my little finger, or slightly less. It pees very well,
though... And it is much less sensitive than it was right after the
circumcision. My ballsack has atrophied almost totally, only a zone
of slightly loose and wrinkly skin is left. The scars, both the one
around my dick and those at its sides, have almost vanished. Only
slight pink marks are left. And if you want to know if I can jack
off, or even "get it up" as they say... No, I can't. Those who say
that eunuchs can get it up, haven't tried themselves... If I rub it,
it's just as if I rubbed my ear: It gets red, and after a while it
hurts, but nothing else happens.
You also may want to know how I feel. Some people have told me that
I should be gay, being as I am. NO WAY! Thinking so is even worse
than spelling my name like "Maddyass", or so!!! You don't exist for
me if you think that! But, well, it would also be wrong to say that
I'm a hetero. I'm rather a "non", if you can understand that. Sex is
not what occupies me mostly, and I'm writing so much about that
aspect only because I know that you won't read my story otherwise!
In fact, what still occupies me most, are the two great "S": Soccer
and Singing. I play soccer almost daily, and what I lack in brute
force I make up for in agility, which most guys my age seem to be
lacking, maybe because of the extra weight... :-) And in singing,
I'm making continuous progress. I have already sung my first
castrato roles, like in "Xerxes". Do you know the "Ombra mai fu"? I
had to repeat it thrice! Those who say that castrati have no place
in today's opera performances, are wrong! I don't think my voice is
anywhere near the quality level of Farinelli or Tenducci, but I'm
accepted and applauded! Money is starting to come in, and keep in
mind that I'm not yet a full 18 years old! And here I can also tell
you that to my great delight, Miro did never try to grab any of my
money for himself. He houses me, teaches me, treats me like a father
would treat his son, and whatever money is paid for my performances,
is mine! It's not that much yet, but I'm saving for a Honda Enduro
motorbike anyway, and I almost have it all together! So, when I turn
18, I will get a driver's license, buy my Honda, and finally be
mobile on roads and away from them!
In short, life has been good to me, and from the perspective of an
old (almost 18, I told you!) and wise eunuch (for we are supposed to
be wise!), I would say that I'm as happy as anyone could hope to be.
----OOOOO----- The End -----OOOOO-----