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TOMMY REVISITED By Dr Kristin Geller, M.D. Some years ago, the monthly medical journal I subscribe to, advertised an overseas practice for sale. The income wasn’t great but the work sounded interesting. As well as general practice there were duties at the local hospital and also the responsibility for managing an orphanage. With a wonderful new partner, Martin, to help put up the purchase money, I went ahead and bought it. “Where?” you ask. Sorry and all that, but “overseas” is all you are going to get. It was a territory that for a long time had had a shifting population of foreign aid workers from the West, with the inevitable result that there were large numbers of children of mixed race, whom no one wanted. While some were more obviously “ethnic”, a large number might have passed for full Caucasian. A proportion of these ended up in my orphanage where I had about 130 boys at any one time. (There was an equivalent number of girls but that’s another story entirely). Few of these children had more than one or two words of English and none had attended school. So many unwanted children attracted so-called “sex tourists”. There were some ugly incidents, especially on bathing beaches where children congregated. Now I knew that some men always had – always would – want sex with young boys. I’ve very strong feelings about child abusers. I’d like to see all child-rapists sent to gaol for life. But I knew perfectly well that on my own there was no way I was ever going to stamp them out. I’m still in two minds about what I did next. It seemed the right way to go at the time. To make the best of a bad situation I figured that if the sex acts took place in safe, clean surroundings, controlled by me - and if I charged very high fees to keep out the riff-raff, more importantly if the boys were willing, and trained to do what the clients wanted, then there need be no more rapes or violence ever – not on my patch. I had an extension built on the orphanage, with rooms for the prospective clients – and some other rooms too, which I’ll tell you about in a minute. Quite early on I found out that some of my clients (the numbers grew quite quickly once word got round) not only wanted sex with young boys, but preferred neutered boys. Boys who had been made incapable of an active sex-life were more ready to become passive sex-partners. So, where to obtain neutered boys, you might wonder. Strange to relate, this was no problem. Not long after I qualified as a doctor, changes in Federal law, arising from concerns about over-population, introduced compulsory sterilisation for all male children over and above the third son in every family (you should read my story “Making a Cherub” if this interests you). Then something hit the headlines: in a state-run orphanage in the Middle West there was a particularly brutal rape, by a 12-year old boy, of another inmate who was no more than six. There followed a recommendation that all boys in orphanages should be neutered routinely. With their testosterone source gone, the boys would not be tempted into inappropriate sexual behaviour and they would also be more amenable to institutional life. From then on, boys admitted to state-run orphanages could look forward – if that’s the word – to being neutered on admission. Clearly, castrating boys was one of the skills that any medical practitioner was expected to offer. I went on a course to learn the various techniques. It was about this time that the pharmaceutical industry perfected a drug which, if injected into a boy’s testicles, destroyed them, causing them to wither and disappear in a matter of weeks. However, I preferred to cut the testicles right out. It seemed cleaner and safer. With young boys, castration is minor surgery, no more serious than tonsillectomy – and testicles are a lot more accessible than tonsils! The first few times it seemed very strange to remove a healthy young boy’s testicles, putting paid to all future pursuits as a man. But I soon found I loved doing this operation. I began to fantasise about being called into do castrations in a school house, turning young boys into angels: beautiful features, heavenly voices, and tiny penises that would never go stiff, would never, ever, feel the bliss of thrusting into a girl’s vagina. My knickers used to get quite wet at the thought of it. But to return to my overseas practice, and my by-line, which thrived! Initially I kept the inmates of the orphanage intact, but by the time this story took place, I had re-homed twenty little boys, from six to fourteen years old, passing them on to clients after first surgically removing their balls at the clients’ specific requests. Therefore the sale of a youngster I shall refer to as “Tommy” was not my first experience selling a “slave” (not that they were slaves in any sense), nor of castrating a boy. The night before this story opens, Martin and I had had a mad passionate sex session. We’d spent hour upon hour with my long legs wound round Martin’s muscular body, while his eight inches of rampant flesh thrust up into my pussy, where he spent in me, again and again. By morning, when I had to get ready for another day, I was still tingling “down there” and ready for more. Then came a call from the reception desk. The man waiting to see me was about 40 years old. He had been a bit embarrassed, first at having to deal with a woman (me) and have to spell out exactly what he wanted. But Martin, my partner, assured him that I was 'safe' and the man visibly relaxed. He wanted sex, okay, but not with a boy with a virgin ass. He wanted a youngster who was an experienced bum-boy, though not yet old enough to have reached puberty or to have an active sex-life of his own. Martin suggested I waited in our room while he explored this enquiry and of course I agreed. (Our room was a bedroom next to the one where we allowed the buyers to explore their purchases, for they were usually too excited to wait for that pleasure till they got the boy home. Our room had a huge bed, and was linked by CCTV to the room next door, where there was a camera disguised as a lamp. We were able to watch on a big plasma screen. Sometimes we watched alone, sometimes we brought one of the other trained boys to bring us wine, as we watched.This was not, repeat not, voyeurism but a safety precaution. At the slightest hint of violence the client would be put out into the street. Martin’s choice of Tommy, as we called him, was obvious. Tommy was aged 12, a good looking boy with blonde hair, brown eyes, a slim body. In short he was at the age when boys are at their most attractive to men who want that kind of love. They are brimming over with sexual curiosity although their sex organs are barely awake yet. This phase lasts, at most, only a few months. Then testosterone kicks in and it’s all lost. The client allowed Tommy to enter first, then turned and locked the door. Almost at that instant, Martin appeared in our room and turned the set on. Our boys were trained to satisfy all requirements. More often than not, the boy would first kneel on the floor to take the man’s penis in his mouth. Sometimes the client preferred first to suck the boy’s penis to get him in the mood, then when he was hard (intact boys only, of course), would motion the boy to get down on all fours to take his erection up his bottom. Martin used to make certain that every boy on the “active” list – there were about twenty of these - got a powerful soap-and-water enema at least once a day to wash his bowels out, to make sure his rectum was clean and free from the previous client’s ejaculations. Tommy performed well, to the client’s obvious delight. After he had enjoyed himself, the client left the room and waited for us in the reception area, asking how much to take Tommy away with him? I named a stiff price in four figures, to which he at once agreed, and paid in travellers’ checks. Then he made another request. He was obviously besotted with Tommy. That much was obvious. He had heard – so he said - we did "special surgery" and inquired if what he had heard was true. I asked him what it was he meant and he asked, straight out “Can you do a castration? The boy is well developed and I’m thinking about the safety of my family. If he’s castrated, can I be sure that he won’t be able to “do it” with a girl?”. I smiled. “Of course! I said, leaning up against the hallway wall. “I’m quite capable of removing a young boy’s balls” I said. “Everyone knows” I went on “that boys who have had their balls taken out are much quieter and better behaved, and of course, sex and girls are right off the agenda. If the operation is done right, it’s impossible for the boy to raise an erection however great the temptation”. The client nodded and asked how much it would cost to have Tommy castrated? I said “Another $500”. He nodded again and asked "How soon can it be done?" “Today, if you want” I said. He smiled and said, "Do him as soon as possible". I smiled and said "Of course. You needn’t wait, I’ll give you a call as soon as he’s done". As I’ve explained, I had the necessary training to do the operation, and preparing the boy for the operation presented no problem. I infused a strong barbiturate in some hot chocolate and carried it into the next room, where Tommy was resting. He sat up. I smiled. “I’ve brought you a nice hot drink, Tommy” I said, and sat on the side of the bed holding the cup. He immediately smelled the hot chocolate and drank it down completely. He soon became very woozy and I held his head as the sedative took effect. Soon he was out completely, and I spoke into the intercomm, asking my assistants Jenny and Mary to come into the room. While I waited, I pulled back the covers on the bed and looked at Tommy. His body was about ready to start "muscling-up", though for the moment his limbs were still rounded and boyish. He had put his little shorts back on, so I gently took hold of the elastic waistband, pulling them down over his hips. There sitting between his legs was the prettiest young cock, slender, tapering to a point – and not a hair in sight. It was all I could do not to bend down and kiss it. I gently moved his legs apart and looked at what I had to remove! With some 12-year-olds the testicles are not much bigger than large peas, but Tommy’s were big for a boy his age, although he showed no trace of pubic hair. His scrotum was filling out fast. I gently massaged his balls and was surprised how heavy they were, for such a young boy. I gently lifted them in my hand, rolling them in my fingers and locating the cords. If my client was worried about the females in his family, Tommy ought to be castrated right away, to keep that pretty little cock nice and limp! Just then the door opened and Jenny and Mary walked over to the bed and I got up and nodded. They lifted Tommy from the bed and took him down the hall to the room which young boys enter intact, but leave with their voices permanently in the soprano register. I left the two of them carrying him down the hall. I scrubbed-up for the surgery but my knickers were dripping wet at the thought. As I arrived I saw Jenny carrying in a tray of sterilized towels and Mary came in carrying the soap, water and disinfectant. I was shaking all over, I was so eager to geld the sleeping boy. Mary was ready to start washing Tommy’s pelvic area and she opened Tommy’s legs at a 90 degree angle to each other, to expose his genital area fully. Placing the washbasin between his legs she started soaping a wash cloth. After the soap lathered she smiled as she gently rolled back Tommy’s foreskin exposing the head. She washed that too. Tommy’s penis twitched, but she took no notice. I told her to pay particular attention to the boy's behind. I knew that our client had got his cock between Tommy’s bum-cheeks but I was not sure if he had actually penetrated Tommy’s anus and climaxed into his rectum. This would be relatively harmless: the sperm would wash out when Tommy had his next enema. But if the client had ejaculated outside, I wanted to make sure there was no left -over semen – possibly infected - round Tommy’s pubic area where there would soon be an open wound. Mary took her time, enjoying the task , making circles around Tommy’s anus and scrotum. She gently wiped and rinsed Tommy’s pelvic area drying him and pulling on his scrotal sac as she finished. She then smiled and said, "almost ready". She took off a towel from the tray and soaked it in a bath of alcohol and a disinfectant. She then put on the surgical rubber gloves and taking Tommy’s scrotum between her thumb and forefinger begin the final disinfectant treatment. She did a very thorough job and finished by wiping away the excess disinfectant. She put on her surgical mask and nodded. I had already put on the surgical gloves and Jenny bought the covered tray to me removing the towel to display a skin knife, hemostats, surgical scissors, clamps and spreaders. I took the skin knife and taking the scrotum in between thumb and forefinger and I pressed the knife to it, making two careful incisions, one on each side. Tommy moaned softly but did not move. I slowly squeezed his plump little scrotum to make the balls pop out. First the left-hand testicle appeared, and then the right one. So easy! The secret of castrating a boy effectively is to remove as much of the cord as possible. The lower portion, nearest the testicle, is hormone-bearing tissue. Here, my assistant had to help. I moved my hand away and Jenny quickly reached in to pinch the young boy's testicle between her gloved fingers, pulling on it and stretching the cord. Tommy moaned again. I looked at her, I could see her smiling behind her surgical mask as she commented, "I just love to castrate young boys before they have had a chance to “do it” with a girl". I smiled and told her she just loved castrating young boys, full stop! Jenny laughed. She couldn’t help but agree. She loved it as much as I did. Jenny continued pulling on the left testicle while she attached two clamps, one above, high on the cord and one a short way below, while I prepared the sutures that would tie off the blood supplies. When I was ready, I gave Jenny a nod and she moved out of my way, while continuing to gently pull on the young boy's other testicle, bringing it further out while pressing the open scrotum against Tommy’s pelvis with her other hand, to expose the cord as far up as possible. (We didn’t want any “rogue” male hormones being secreted, that might have made it possible for him to get erections afterwards.) I attached the ties, and took the surgical scissors, Jenny lifted Tommy’s left testicle. I sliced through the membrane enclosing the testicle, and then the cord. The plump organ fell into Jenny's hand. "That's one" she giggled, dropping it into a kidney-tray. Jenny gently pulled the other testicle right out, again pressing the open scrotum against Tommy’s pelvis. A second time I prepared to snip through the membrane and cord. The scissors closed shut, and Tommy was a boy-eunuch. His voice would never change; he would never need to shave, he would never feel the joys of sex. Jenny of course said, "That's two" as always, and giggled again. She placed Tommy’s testicles in a jar of preservative beside the operating table, and handed them to me. I looked at her and took the jar. Jenny started stitching up Tommy’s empty scrotum. Within a few weeks it would wither away, leaving Tommy with only his neat little cock that would never go stiff. As promised, I phoned the client at his hotel. “It’s all done” I said. “The operation went very well. He will be a little sore down there but will be ready to travel in about three days. I want to keep him here to check for infection, remove the stitches and take a photographic record.” The client asked me to call the hotel when Tommy was ready to travel. Two days later I watched Tommy in the shower, gingerly washing his gelded genitals. Later that morning, after Martin had given Tommy his daily enema, I took his stitches out, and took the opportunity to explain to him that very soon he would be starting a new life in another country. I said that the laws of that country prevented him from ever getting married or having children. His body didn’t need testicles, and so that’s why they had been taken out, to prevent him “doing it” with a girl. Tommy seemed to understand. Later that morning I caught a glimpse of him, with his shorts down, showing the results of his operation to two other boys. .These were a pair of cheeky urchins, whose balls were still in. They pointed at Tommy’s penis which drooped limply over the empty space between his thighs. Without doubt, Tommy had had his last hard-on. By contrast, their own organs stuck stiffly out. For how much longer though! I could hardly wait for an excuse to prune them in the same manner! Next day I rang my customer, who invited me to bring Tommy round to his hotel. Tommy wore a new white T-shirt and shorts to match, new trainers and white ankle-socks. In his hotel-room the client wanted to see for himself that I’d done what he paid for, before he took delivery. “Pull your shorts down, Tommy” I said. Tommy didn’t hesitate. I fact he seemed proud of his two tiny scars, of his empty scrotum that was now just a fold of skin. “Are you sure he’s perfectly safe, now, Doctor?” the client enquired. “See for yourself” I said. I flicked Tommy’s foreskin up and down while showing him a picture of a sexy young teen with her legs open and a boy’s penis up her vagina. Tommy’s penis didn’t even twitch. “That’s good!” said the client. “I’ve a 14-year old daughter and she’s real horny. I wouldn’t want him to try anything with her”. I took my leave of my client, with hand on the shoulder of his new purchase. “Bye-bye” said Tommy – the limits of his vocabulary. I never saw Tommy again. He could never be a man, but might do well as a substitute girl. Meanwhile I had something to remember him by. His entry in my register under “Bilateral Orchiectomy”. And two other little things! |