Operation Sugar Plum - Part 2

That night, after locking-up, I went the rounds of the building to ensure all was in order. From one of the staff bedrooms - small cubicles in a separate wing - I noticed a curious rhythmic whimpering. Very, very cautiously I looked through the mosquito-curtaining. On the bed lay a boy and a girl, both stark naked. The girl was the bold-eyed kitchen assistant that I'd noticed earlier and the whimpering came from her. The boy had his head cradled between the girl's thighs, tonguing her off. From a tattoo-mark on his bottom I recognised Rafael. What he could never do with his penis, he had learned to do with his mouth.

Next afternoon I knew what it was to kill time. I mooched round the place, on edge with apprehension. Then at three-thirty I heard the sound of the bus labouring up the dirt track, obviously well laden. I retreated to my office to watch. The bus stopped. I saw the whites of thirty pairs of eyes in brown faces, thirty noses pressed against the windows. Lopez got down and opened the door and shouted something.

Thirty urchins tumbled out on to the roadway. All were universally filthy. Into this melée came Batista and Rafael. Their high voices rang out as they divided the new arrivals into two equal groups and somehow got them marshalled into two ranks. Military-style orders followed in clear, high treble, and they all filed into the building.

In the next half hour, miracles took place. Cautiously venturing into the "blue" dormitory I found that Rafael had allocated each boy to a bed-space. He himself had a cubicle at one end. All the boys were naked; the rags they had arrived in would be taken by Lena, the laundress, and boiled; any boy who dropped out would be returned to the city with the clothes he arrived in - no less and no more, but clean. At the far end of the room Cardozo and a mate of his, armed with clippers, were shearing off the matted hair. Through a doorway at the end, barely visible for steam, Lena assisted by Cardozo's wife, a big motherly woman, were shepherding the boys into the shower, where grime was coming off them in layers.

The picture was replicated in the "red" dormitory. The first to emerge from the shower - relatively clean - were cautiously fingering their "practice" strips. Batista was in control here, going from bed to bed, getting them all properly dressed. I returned to the "blue" dormitory where the first few were emerging from the shower. I eyed the sturdy penises, the well-filled but tight scrotums. A week from now and the lives of those thirty urchins would be changed forever by two pricks of a needle, those plump pink organs pumped full of a zinc-based compound that would shrivel them to the size of raisins.

Half an hour later the mood had changed. It might have been a prep school at teatime. The long dining room echoed and re-echoed as thirty small boys chattered at the tops of their lungs whilst tucking into huge platefuls of enchiladas and chilli, with Coca-Cola to wash it all down with. At the head of the two long tables Rafael and Batista presided, parrying a barrage of questions. Batista had a particularly clear voice and I caught references to the Senor Capitan - how generous he was to provide all this, and how noble. I turned away, conscious I might be caught blushing.

Afterwards, Rafael and Batista gave the new arrivals a conducted tour. They gazed wide-eyed at the games room and television lounge. By now it was getting dusk, the flying foxes had started to come out and the air was full of insect noises. Once again the boys were separated into "red" and "blue" and shepherded to their respective dormitories. I left it to Santiago Lopez and his team to get them into bed, then sought the refuge of my room. I thought about the maid Dolores, how she would look in a white lacy thong - but I was altogether too tired and poured myself a whicky instead. One week to begin feeding the boys up- to counter twelve years of undernourishment in seven days; to smarten-up the crudely chopped-off hair, the stained teeth, the ragged nails, the dirt-ingrained feet. Only a week. Could it be done?

Next morning set the pattern for the following week. The dormitory captains roused the boys at eight, getting them through the shower in relays, beds made and tidied up. The noise from the refectory at breakfast time matched that at tea the previous day. Then out on to the newly-made fotball pitch while it was reasonably cool, followed by light lunch, then siesta through the heat of the day. More football till five. The newcomers made up in enthusiasm for what they lacked in skill. Then the tea meal - the menu never varied but nothing was ever left. At tea, also, the staff attended at a separate table with myself presiding. After tea, TV and indoor games till bed time, with a hot drink, at 9.

In this way seven days went by. On the last evening of that week, Ledoux beckoned me over. "Time to make a start. I'll get something put in their hot milk. See me about an hour after lights-out, say ten.. They will be drowsy then and easy to handle. I've got my eye on the first one I want to do. One of the Reds- his name's Carlos. Nice body, cheeky face. Look for yourself".

At ten, very quietly, I fetched the boy Carlos from his bed and led him to Ledoux's "surgery". The kid leant against my knees, blinking groggily. "Right" said Ledoux "Let's make a start". With a quick deft movement he pulled the boy's cotton shorts down. The genitals were relaxed and limp. "Ideal" murmured Ledoux, reaching for his tray of hypodermics. With finger and thumb he took the boy's right testicle, like a grape. "No blood vessels just here" he showed me "and no nerve endings either. Tell him to look at the picture of the Grand Prix races, on the wall - ask him some questions".

While Carlos studied the picture. Ledoux emptied half the hypodermic into the boy's right testicle, then repeated the process on the left. "One down, 29 to go" he muttered. I patted Carlos on the bottom and pulled his shorts up. "All done" I told him. "Buenas noches, Señor Capitan" the boy piped, and returned to his bed.

The next boy, Manuel, had a large, lax scrotum. Ledoux injected the drug in the same way. "That one will be interesting" he commented as the boy trotted off. "I would expect his pouch to start shrinking in the next 24 hours. The cock is the best indicator - when it retracts into the boy's body the neutering process is active. Alright, let's have another".

By one-thirty we'd "done" the lot. The first to have their balls pricked were fast asleep. Half a dozen or so latecomers were sitting on the ends of their beds, fingering their genitals with curiosity. For the rest of their lives they would have permanently high voices, and would never be able to have sex with a girl. First phase completed. I felt limp from nervous exhaustion, and I'd not even done anything - Ledoux had done all the work.

Next morning I was aware of a change in the pattern. From a distance I heard Batista's voice - Rafael's dormitory was out of earshot - shrill with exasperation, trying to urge his charges out of bed. Pulling on my shirt and breeches, and cursing, I hurried along to stop the rot. Batista was amazed to see me at that hour, dishevelled and unshaven. I told him to leave the boys alone; they had all had an inoculation and would feel unwell till the side-effects wore off. The boy saluted and withdrew.

The two dormitories came to life by slow degrees. It turned out to be a quiet day. The football pitch was deserted. A few boys played a little desultory ping-pong or pool. Some huddled round the TV. Most lay on their beds. By teatime they had recovered sufficiently to demolish the usual vast quantity of chilli con carne and tortillas. I invited Batista and Rafael to have their meal at the staff table, taking the places to my left and right. They displayed beautiful table manners and spoke very little, the perfect advertisement for boy-eunuchs.

Ledoux spoke to me after tea. "You need to get them moving around again, pretty soon. To be effective, the stuff needs to circulate round all of the genital area". I spoke to Rafael and Batista again, telling them to get the boys out of bed half an hour earlier and give them a run round the perimeter before breakfast.

After this, things settled down. The evenings were particularly lively, the boys rushing around, full of beans after their evening meal. The only difference was that Ledoux haunted the shower rooms, watching for signs that he alone would recognise. Three days after the "operations" he drew me aside barely able to conceal his excitement. The boy Luis, whom he was using as a control, was showing all the right symptoms: his penis which formerly had been long and rather thin, tapering to a point, was now drawn up into his body like that of a gelded pony or donkey. Already his balls had almost disappeared.

Other boys began to show much the same indications. I was able to see three or four standing together at the urinal, pulling up the leg of their shorts as far as possible, to reach penises that were growing shorter by the day. In the showers, the difference was striking. It was time to arrange for their departure.

The rest is quickly told. I sent cables and received replies. Officer Barrillas was as good as his word. A date was set. Soon after midnight the boys would be shipped on to a charter flight from Asuncion to Rio. Here they would transfer to an eastbound Varig flight to Frankfurt, and from there by Gulf Air. For the whole journey they were referred to only by a consignment number. The day came - or rather, the night. Rubbing sleep from their eyes the boys boarded the bus, clutching their few belongings in cotton tote-bags. In a few hours their new lives would begin, some to be the gelded slaves of the spoiled teenage daughters of oil millionaires, for whom eunuchs were just another novelty, , some to be the pampered darlings of rich Eastern pederasts, some, who could say?

As the bus drew away some of the boys saluted. I raised my hand gravely in reply.

On the evening of the following day a cable arrived saying "Consignment safely arrived in excellent condition". Next day the bank manager telephoned. A credit had been placed to my account. It was a very large credit indeed.

Six months later.

We've "processed" five consignments now. The sixth moves in tomorrow. It's evening, and the air is full of insect and bird noises and strange smells - a typical tropical night. Inside the building there are few people. A short while ago I found Rafael and Batista watching a blue video. Into a garden there came a very good-looking young boy of Oriental appearance, and a teenage youth of about 18, both without any clothes on. The boy had been castrated but had kept his penis. The teenager was showed exceptional muscular development and had an enormous erection. They fondled one another for a time, till the young boy crouched down on all fours for the teenager to rub the knob of his penis between his buttocks.

The two viewers ignored me completely, intent on watching. Both had slipped their shorts off. Rafael felt for Batista's penis, Batista for Rafael's. On screen, the young neutered boy's face showed nothing but enjoyment as the youth's enormous erection entered his bottom.

Quietly I left them to their video.The staff had all gone to their quarters. All except one. Dolores was lolling on my bed, sulky-lipped, big-breasted. Through the lacy thong - the only garment she was wearing - her pubic hair showed as a dark shadow.

I poured myself another glass of champagne. Tomorrow there would be another intake of unsuspecting little eunuchs-to-be. Meanwhile life was very good.

THE END