By justoneguy

The steer was no longer at the hospital. He had only stayed in the bed for two months. When he moved, the bald doctor moved with him. Although they never spoke casually, the steer assumed that the doctor would be with him until he was ready—but ready for what, he didn’t know. After leaving the hospital, the bald doctor took the steer to a small house. At least from the outside it looked like a small house. From the inside, it seemed to have many rooms. The steer had his own room, which was rather plain but cozy. And the doctor had a room. There were others at the house, doctors and others. But the steer had never spoken to them. He had to talk to his own doctor enough—more than he would like. And the others…. He knew what they were. He could see it in their eyes. They were steers. He had no interest in talking to them.

The doctor spent a lot of time asking him questions and talking to him. It all seemed rather pointless to the steer. Why so much talking? Why couldn’t he just be left alone? He knew he was different now—more different than just between his legs. He remembered how he used to be; he remembered Aaron. He remembered his parents and his girlfriend. He remembered his job in the kitchen—just helping out. He remembered his friends, playing basketball with them and playing video games—hanging out. But they were all distant to him. It was like a giant chasm between him and his former life. It was as if he had gone to work at the kitchen one night and fallen into a deep hole. And when he climbed out, he was on the other side of the valley, with everything he had known before on the other side, obscured by the haze.

He talked to the doctor about this feeling, but only because he was asked. The steer never started their conversations. In fact, he noticed that he never did anything he wasn’t asked or told to do. He recognized the fact, but he wasn’t upset or unhappy about it. He didn’t feel anything about it. It was just a fact. “Aaron wouldn’t sit here talking to this bald asshole. He would have punched him out and walked out of here,” he would think. But the steer didn’t punch anyone and didn’t walk anywhere. He just sat there and answered the questions. And he cried a lot. But never in front of the doctor.

He found that a lot of little things had changed in his life. For example, when he used the bathroom, he often walked to the toilet and opened his fly, as if to stand and piss while holding his dick. But after that first instinct passed, he sat on the bowl and pissed from his new piss-slit, which was nestled in his taint. He also found that, rather than leaning forward and wiping he ass from the side, he just reached forward into the emptiness between his legs and wiped himself from the front. His pubic hair had never grown back. He didn’t shave anymore. He wore panties under his jeans. They were all facts. And he cried at night while thinking about them. But he mostly just sat around and tried not to think at all.

The other steers seemed to do the same. There were a lot of them—usually around a dozen in the house at any one time. Sometimes one would not be seen again, but another always took his place. Some were a little younger or a little older. Some looked as old as their 30’s. One man seemed to be around 31 or 32 and had a pale line on their third finger showing where the sun had never tanned under his wedding band. Some looked younger than the steer. Some looked so similar they could have been his brothers. But all of them had that vacant, uncaring look in their eyes—and the non-bulge in the front of their pants. The steer often thought he should talk to them, ask them where they were from, compare notes and learn information that could be useful. But he never did. He just didn’t care. Where could he go? How could he go back and let his parents, his friends, his girlfriend know what he didn’t have. It was better for them to think that he had run off, or was dead. That was better than them knowing the truth. That he had a pussy between his male legs.

The doctor asked every so often about his pussy—how he felt about it and if he ever touched it. The steer always answered the same. “I’m a man.” The doctor didn’t get mad. He just wrote on his clipboard. One day when the doctor asked, the steer added: “I touched it a little last night.”

The doctor seemed to think that this was very important. “How was it?”

“Like my girlfriend’s,” the steer answered.

“Did you feel any pleasure?”

The steer shrugged his muscled shoulders. “A little, but not like it was. It was weird.”

And it was true. The steer didn’t feel much when he touched his pussy. He had a clitoris at the top of his slit—it was what was left for the head of his penis he knew. And he felt a tingle. But it was not the same as when he had gripped his erection and relieved the tension between his legs by jerking his manhood to ejaculation. It wasn’t the same; he wasn’t the same. He had a pussy for god’s sake.

The doctor kept talking about his progress, saying that everything was ahead of schedule and that he was doing well. The steer didn’t know what he meant and didn’t care. Truth be told, he didn’t really care about living. And he told the doctor, but he just nodded his shiny head and said: “That is normal. It will pass. Or if it doesn’t, just stop eating your dinner.”

One day, the doctor told him that he would be leaving in the night and traveling by train. He, the doctor, would not go with him. His training was done and he was ready. His services were needed at the hospital again. His new family would meet him at the train station when he arrived at his new home. “Remember,” the doctor said while he tucked the steer into his bed, “We will not kill you or hurt you. You have a new life, and you will have to learn to live with it. If you choose not to live with it, we understand.”

And then he closed the door. “Good night, and good luck,” he whispered.

* * *

When the train stopped at the station, the steer stepped out onto the platform. The area looked rural, with many green trees. But the trees didn’t look like anything around where he grew up. The bark on the trees was gray and smooth. He thought all trees had brown knotted bark like the ones where he grew up. He had no idea where he was. It didn’t feel like America. Everyone around him was speaking a halting and rough language. He couldn’t understand a word.

The breeze was cold. He wore only a robe. It was like a bathrobe, he thought, but more fine and ornate. Underneath the robe were only his panties, that he wore now instead of the heavy supportive underwear he had worn when he was a bull. The steer fidgeted for a time on the platform, not sure what to do with himself. He had no baggage. Everyone seemed to ignore him.

A large man in a black suit walked up to him and took him by his arm. The steer didn’t resist. He was pretty hungry after the train ride. So, when the big man opened the car door for him, he got in without a word. He was driven quickly and in silence along the winding roads of this strange country. The steer looked out the window, but didn’t really think of anything at all. When the car entered the courtyard of a mansion of stone and ivy, the steer knew that this is where he would live, until he grew old or gave up.

It was already dark when he arrived, and the big man seemed in a hurry to get him inside. The inside of the mansion was as impressive as the outside, with hard wooden floors polished by hand and tall stone walls. There was a grand staircase and statues lining the main hallway. The steer found that his robe, with its crimson color and golden trim, seemed to fit with the feeling of this place. The big man led him around, winding to and fro in the massive house. Until he turned a corner and entered the dinning room. There was a long table of stained polished wood. It was far to long for the number of place settings on the table. Only three people were seated on one side of the table. They were clearly in the middle of their meal.

At the head of the table was a gray-headed man in a smoking jacket. His skin was olive, and his belly was swelled from a life of indulgence. He stood when the steer entered the room. “Ah, our new steer. Welcome to the manor, steer. I must say, you are a fine specimen. Please, be seated.” The man sat down and addressed the big man in black who still stood beside the steer. “Petro, have a plate brought for the steer. I am sure he is hungry.”

And he was. He devoured the food they brought for him with far less grace than his hosts. As they ate, the older man talked constantly. He spoke English, but it was clear to the steer that it was not his first language. His speech had a slight halt, and certain words were emphasized in a slightly off way. But the steer couldn’t tell what accent it was. Of course, his mind only focused on this mystery for a moment. He no longer strove to understand how things worked or fit together. He was a steer after all. He just listened to what was said to him. “I tell you, I am so relieved that you are here finally. We ordered you nearly three months ago. I must say, things seem to be slowing down. I probably should attend the next Association meeting and make sure everything is going smoothly.” The old man just kept talking, stopping only occasionally to sip his soup from a polished silver spoon. He didn’t seem to know that the steer didn’t understand a word he was saying. “I should explain a few things to you. The Association is a multinational organization that, how do you American’s say, ‘runs the world.’ I always thought that a crude way to put things. But I believe in speaking in terms guests can understand. As a member of this group, there are many—and I do mean many—rules that my family and I must live by. In exchange, we enjoy certain perks and privileges.” The old man raised his arms stiffly as if to point to the ornate dinning room around them. The two others at the table had sat eating quietly as the old man talked. But now, the older of the two seemed to shift in his car and cut a hard glance at the old man.

But the old man just smiled. “My son does not like it when I talk openly of the truth of the world, as we refer to it.” Then the old man looked straight at the son sitting on his right, yet the words he spoke were still addressed to the steer. “But I believe in being open with the members of this household, from the first to the last.” The old man looked back at the steer and sipped another spoonful of soup. “Besides, there is no way for this information to leave this house. You are a member of the household now, steer. Here you will remain. But your stay with us need not be uncomfortable.”

There was silence for a time, while the four ate their meal. While dessert was brought, the old man continued his speech. “Allow me to introduce my sons. This is my elder son Nikos and my younger son Joran. Nikos is 31 years old and is my strong right hand.”

The steer looked at the man. He looked strong, with wide broad shoulders and dark olive skin. His hair was cut short and professional. He had some trimmed hair under his lip and a dark shadow where the rest of his facial hair was shaved. Nikos glanced over at the steer and nodded, but his disdain was evident in his eyes. He was a proud man, wearing expensive clothes, his body groomed and exercised to perfection. His look was of conscious wealth and power—which was different from the old man’s fatherly learnedness. As he acknowledged the steer at the other end of the table, it was clear that this jester was only out of respect for his father. If he were the master of the house, this un-bull would never be allowed the dignity of sharing their table.

The old man watched for a moment, observing the silent attitude of his elder son. Then he continued. “Joran here is really the reason we requested a steer.” The old man smiled at the boy. His old eyes glinted with sincere love. That smile was a contrast to his reserved look of appraisal he had just given his elder son. It was clear that Nikos was expected to behave, to learn from his father and take over his place one day in the important Association. But the younger boy was the apple of the father’s eye. He was the one the old man protected. And the older son was expected to assist the old man in protecting the wilder youth. For his part, Joran’s olive checks blushed pink, but his eyes also looked with anger at the old man. Don’t embarrass me in front of the steer, his eyes seemed to say. That look was an indulgence of the youth that his older brother was never allowed. The old man spoke again: “You see, part of the rules, the religion if you will, of the Association is sexual purity. The only woman a man can EVER have is the one he is lawfully married to. These rules are precise and breaking them will lead to death, no matter the offender. The rules are important. The Association cannot afford any bastard children to mare the perpetual design. But, as you can imagine, such a strong prohibition creates some problems. Young Joran here just turned 18 years old, and his arranged mate is now only 14. They will not be married for 4 more years. But he’s a young man, with the needs of a bull, but with no ways to satisfy himself in a respectful manor.”

The steer looked at young Joran. He was a fit youth, muscular, but with the slimness of youth rather than the bulk of maturity. His skin was a lighter shade of olive. His hair was as dark as his brothers, but was curlier and longer. He reminded the steer of some of the skater guys he had hung out with in high school—with their hair a mop on their heads. He had the undisciplined look of the young entitled.

“The crisis came a few months ago when he was caught nude with a young maid in an unoccupied chamber. My son had not debased himself with sin yet. But it was clear that he would not be able to control his desires for 4 more years. Something had to be done to protect his soul—and indeed his life. That is why I ordered you. Our religion is specific: a man cannot have relations with a woman who is not his wife or with another man. The answer was as obvious today as it was hundreds of years ago when the Association was founded. What we needed as a steer, no longer male, and female enough to satisfy the needs of a young bull.”

Joran blushed yet again and looked intently at his food, a chocolate cake with strawberries. Obviously, his older brother had been held on a tighter rein. The youthful pranks of a good-looking younger son in his youth are perhaps more forgivable than the same acts by the heir to the father. But now, the young son had almost gone too far, exposing himself to a situation in which his father could not have saved him. By the merest of chance he had been stopped before his hard manhood had penetrated the willing young maid. Had it done so, this lad of 18 would now be dead. But it had been stopped when Petro, always looking out for the young master Joran, had followed him down the hallway when it became clear what his intentions were with the young maid. The maid herself had been sent to another wing of the estate, where she and Joran would no longer face temptation. But the hot blood of youth could not be cooled with earnest speeches on responsibility. So, now the young man sat at the table, his father and older brother watching over him, with the solution to his problem on the other end. He still wasn’t sure about the idea, especially now that the steer was actually here.

The old man smile. “Now, son, there is nothing to be ashamed of. All young men have needs. It is an unfortunate circumstance that your future bride is years younger than you are and not yet ready for you marriage bed. Why, I arranged a steer for your brother when he was your age.” The old man looked at the steer. “My elder son is of course married and has made two small grandsons for me already. But, he might wish to satisfy himself with your body as well, since his wife is now more consumed with her motherly duties than her duties as a wife—at least when compared to my son’s considerable appetite. But, either way, I have requested that he accompany Joran into the bedroom with you for the first time, just in case.”

The steer sat listening to all this in a daze. He had stumbled into another dream, this one silver and stone and polished wood. It was perhaps better than the lime green and cold hospital bed dreams that proceeded it. But it was still not his waking life. He looked at the young man, his face eager but pensive; he looked at the older son, his expression hard and confident in his own power. And he looked at the old man. He was almost like a grandfather, kind and reasonable.

As he looked at the father, the older son, and the younger son, the steer wondered if there was something he was missing.

The old man rose from the table, and this time his sons rose with him. “The meal is completed. I hope you enjoyed it. Nikos, will you accompany Joran to the room? I’m sure Petro already has everything prepared. I will bring the steer there myself.”

The two sons nodded to their father in a respectful solute. They moved to leave the room without any further regard for the steer. The old man stopped Joran as he passed by and took him by the shoulders. “Enjoy yourself, my son. When next we meet, you will be a man.”

The son blushed, but managed a smile to his father. His mind brightened. Perhaps this would all work out after all. He could be fulfilled in his needs and still have the respect of his father. Nikos waited for his younger brother at the massive door of the dining hall. When the lad passed him, he slapped his hand around the lad’s shoulder, and together they left the hall.

The old man watched them go. Then motioned the steer to come to him. “I will accompany you to the room. And I want to talk to you as we go. I know that your life has changed quite a bit. It must be very difficult. But it does not have to be the end. As I told Joran, Nikos had a steer that he used before his marriage. And once he was married, Nikos rarely visited him again. This steer is now living comfortably in one of the east wings. He is of course too old for my younger son. But he is an example to you.” The old man led the steer down the winding hallways of the mansion. “Let me be frank, you were once a young bull. Now you are a steer. I understand fully what that means for you. It is perhaps somewhat worse in your case because you were a young American. You never imagined that the world works like this—like it really does work. You thought you were on top of the world, that things would never be different. Now, you know better, you know the truth, as it were. Nikos’s steer was an American also, based on his request. Nikos loves the idea of Americans being made steers. He personally neutered 30 American soldiers who were captured by the Association when they got too close to one of our operations. It is a weakness of his, I know, but since your very presence at the estate comes from Joran’s natural weakness, I could not deny him. As it is, I promise you that you will never be harmed in this household, that you will live well. All that is required of you is to live up to the role that is now your nature, even if you don’t yet accept or understand it. And when you have served your role and are no longer needed, you will be afforded the gratitude of me. Here we are. This is the room.”

The old man had stopped the steer in front of a large darkly polished door. It was at least 2 feet taller than the steer. The steer’s first impulse was to run down the hall and away from the door, but he didn’t move. Like all his old impulses, the neutered body didn’t respond in the way it once did. He doubted that he could find his way back to the dining hall anyway, much less the courtyard.

The old man looked the weary young steer in the eyes. “I can’t promise gentleness or respect from Nikos. And as for Joran, he has not yet been tested in that regard. But I can tell you that I respect the sacrifice you have made for my family and the Association. Even though that sacrifice was involuntary, it has opened the possibility of reward to you. I hope you accept it. Good luck.” The old man smiled. And then began to walk slowly down the hall.

The steer waited until the old man had turned a corner and was out of sight. Then he knocked heavily on the wooden door.

to be concluded….

for sure this time…………

your comments are welcome. email me at jjdov26@hotmail.com

how would you like the story to end?