My receptionist's note listed his complaint as satyriasis, but, just to make sure, when he entered my office I asked him "Well, what seems to be the trouble, Mr. Jeffreys ?" He replied "I can't go on like this, Doctor. I'm oversexed.  I spend every penny I can spare on whores."

   I felt that this might be an exaggeration, so I asked him to elaborate. "How often do you have sex with a prostitute, Mr. Jeffreys ?" I asked. His reply astonished me. " "Eight to nine times a night, every night. That's over a five-hour period from 6:00 to 11:00. It costs me almost every cent I earn. I have no home. I sleep in a flophouse and eat in a soup kitchen. Once a week, I use the public bath house. I shave in the washroom at work. In addition to the clothes on by back, everything I own is in this shopping bag.Yet, I earn a decent wage as an accountant."

   If he was telling me the truth, and I had no reason to doubt his word, he was pitiful indeed, the slave of his passions . I brought him into my surgery and had him undress so that I could examine him. Though muscular, he appeared somewhat undernourished.His penis, which was erect, was unexceptional, about five inches long and 3/4 inch thick. His testicles were very large, but not abnormally so.Palpation revealed them to be of normal consistency and unusually sensitive. The ampulla of the vas was engorged with sperm.

   I had him bend over and spread his buttocks so that I could examine his prostate gland. It was enlarged and felt tense and was so sensitive that even gentle palpation caused copious ejaculation accompanied by orgasm. His semen was discharged in a string of gelatinous lumps. He was embarrassed by the mess he had made, but I assured him that this sort of thing was not unusual. 

   I asked him to explain his daily routine so that I could get a better idea of the place that sexual activity occupied in his life.

"I sleep in my clothes because who knows who has slept in that ten-cent bed before me ? My rod is always very stiff until I piss."

 "Do you masturbate" I asked. "No, I don't dare to. I'm sure I couldn't control myself and I'd be exhausted all the time, if I did.  I start thinking of women as soon as I'm awake and, pretty soon, I'm burning with lust. It's like that until I get into a whore in the evening.I grab a bowl of chili at the soup kitcken and walk to work. I shave in the washroom, as I mentioned before and try to concentrate on those columns of figures while I daydream about

women's figures. I get out of work at 5:00 and go to the soup kitchen for a bowl of stew and then walk across town to the whorehouse. I hire a girl for the night and try hard to hold my load in until I get into her. I flood her insides with the stuff and, after a few minutes rest, I'm ready to start screwing in earnest. I never stop pumping for more than five minutes and I go off about once every half hour until Mrs. LaTour knocks on the door and says 'Hank, it's 11:00 o'clock and you have to work tomorrow.' except on Saturday night, of course. Then I walk back to the flophouse and pay a dime for a smelly bed that has stiff spots on the sheets. And that's my life. Sordid, isn't it ?" 

   "Do you go to church on Sunday ?" I asked . "I used to, and I prayed and prayed to God to help me, to give me strength to overcome my weakness of will and my lust. I wore out the knees of the other pair of pants of this 2-pants suit I'm wearing, kneeling and praying. And it did NO GOOD ! No good at all. I decided that God just wasn't listening and I haven't wasted time going to church since. God won't help me, and I can't help myself. That's why I need you to help me, Dr. Nelson. I don't want to live like this. I want a decent life. I don't care what I have to give up. Put out the fire of my lust. If you have to castrate me, OK."

   "If you were a manual laborer," I replied, "there are drugs that would diminish your sex urge, such as bromide of potash, but they would also stupefy you, and, in your line of work, you can't have that. If you would be willing to forego sex entirely for the rest of your life, your problem could be solved by castration, but you're only 26 years old and you might want to marry and have children." 

   Hank sighed. "I gave up those hopes long ago, Dr. Nelson." he answered. I need more sex than I have any right to ask of any decent womsn. And she'd be menstruating sometimes, or pregnant, and what would I do then ? Visit a whore and cheat on her ? No, it would never work. If castration is what it takes, then, for God's sake, DO IT !"

   "Are you sure ?" I asked. "YES !" shouted Hank in an anguished tone."I'm ready. Do it." At this point, I felt it necessary to introduce a practical consideration. "Hank, poor as you are, how do you plan to pay for it ?" "How much is it ?" "$10.00" "I can give you a deposit." he said, removing a silver dollar from his pocket. "I'm a man of my word, Dr. Nelson, if I tell you that I'll pay you $1.00 every week until it's all paid, I will ." I pride myself on being a good judge of character. We sealed the bargain with handshake.

   I had Hank lie on the operating table and strapped him down, his ankles to the corners, his wrists to the sides, and a broad leather band across his chest. I then clipped off his pubic hair with scissors, lathered his pubes and thighs, and shaved the area clean. I then disinfected the scrotum, thighs, and pubes with an alcoholic solution of carbolic acid. I injected cocaine into the scrotum in four places and, after a few minutes, through the scrotum into the spermatic cords, with a hypodermic syringe.

   Once the testes were insensitive, I laid open the scrotum on both sides with a scalpel, still hot from the autoclave,and exposed Hank's very large testicles. I grasped them firmly and pulled gently but steadily for several minutes until I had exposed nearly six inches of the spermatic cords. I clamped the cords with haemostats and applied gut ligatures to the cords at intervals of about 1/2" so that each cord was ligated twice. With the surgical scissors, I snipped midway between the ligatures, thus severing Hank Jeffreys' testes from his body. "It's done now, Hank," I said. "All I have to do is sew up the incisions." Hank exclaimed "FREE, free to live a decent life ! Thank you, Dr. Nelson." Suiting the action to my words, I sutured both of the incisions and applied a court-plaster dressing to each. I gave Hank the usual warnings about strenuous exercise and heavy lifting and sent him on his way.

    Hank returned after a week and paid me a dollar per our agreement. A week later he returned to have the stitches removed. He was wearing a new suit and, to my surprise, paid me in full: a $5.00 gold piece and three silver dollars. "I've never been back to 'Madame LaTour's House of Pleasure for Gentlemen'  " he said proudly. "I don't need to."