r/momdom_castration

"Good morning, son. You're in luck today; I called your school and excused your absence. You don't have to go to school today." "Yahoo!" I shouted; it was the last Friday before summer break, after all, and I was really proud of my mom. "Don't get too excited; I did it because you have a doctor's appointment in an hour." "Why?" I asked. "I feel fine." "You have a routine check-up today to make sure everything is okay." *Alright, but then—finally—summer break,* I thought. We drove into town, and after finally finding a parking spot, my mom took my hand and we went into the practice, where she checked me in for my 9 a.m. appointment right away. The receptionist directed us to an exam room immediately. The room was quite small; there was a desk, two chairs for us to sit on, and an examination table—nothing else. Then the doctor walked in and sat down behind her desk. She was very pretty, and the white coat looked great on her fantastic figure. "Right, you two—tell me why you're here." My mom started explaining that she was fed up with cleaning semen stains from masturbation out of my clothes and bedsheets every day, and she asked the doctor to fix the problem. Oh my God, I was so embarrassed; I turned bright red instantly. Here were two women talking about my masturbation—something I’d always assumed no one noticed. The doctor replied, "Then you've come to the right place—my practice specializes in masturbation surgery. I always recommend the most radical method. If you agree, I’ll remove your son's testicles. That will eliminate his sex drive forever. The downside is that he won't be able to father children anymore." "Mom, what is going on here?" "Please let us go; the doctor scares me." "Hush, son—no more talking from you now." "Are there any other options?" my mother asked. "Yes," said the doctor. "Circumcision—removing the foreskin and the frenulum—makes masturbation somewhat more difficult. If that doesn't yield the desired result, you could also have your son wear a penis cage. That way, his testicles remain intact and he can still have children later, but masturbation is completely prevented; plus, the circumcision ensures no smegma collects under the foreskin." That was it; I stood up and ran for the door, but unfortunately, I only made it as far as the locked exit. Desperately, I looked at my mother, who was telling the doctor—quite happily—that the idea of ​​circumcision really appealed to her. "Okay," said the doctor. "In that case, my boy, you’ll be leaving this room without your foreskin. Is that clear?" "You heard what your mother said. Now lie down on the exam table so I can start circumcising your penis. There’s no need to be afraid; I do this almost every day. See that large jar over there? There are already about 400 foreskins stored in formaldehyde in it. That’s where yours will go, too." "Never," I said, just as my mother explained that there were two options: "Either the 'harmless' route—circumcision and possibly a penis cage—or castration, where your testicles are removed. Which do you choose?" "Neither," I said; I knew full well what castration meant. "But son, you have to be treated; things can't go on like this. And if you don't lie down on the table this instant, that’ll be the end of your testicles for good." So, I had no choice left; without resistance, I lay back on the exam table. "That's a good boy," the doctor said, and began strapping me down tightly so I couldn't move; she pulled down my trousers and underwear and hiked my T-shirt up a bit. Never in my life had I felt so defenseless—naked at the crotch, knowing that my foreskin was about to be removed. The doctor put on rubber gloves, palpated my testicles, and joked that it wouldn't be much of a loss anyway, laughing as she did so. Then she took hold of my penis, held it upright, and very slowly pushed back my foreskin, revealing my glistening glans. She remarked that the curvature showed I masturbated constantly—something that was coming to an end today. All of this happened in my mother's presence, which was very uncomfortable. She brought over a trolley with surgical instruments, laid down a green drape with a hole through which only my penis protruded, and picked up a huge syringe. She said I wouldn't feel a thing in a moment, then took my penis in her hand again to press it down—the sensation was fantastic, yet tinged with agony. She then injected the needle several times into the base of my penis and, shortly after, into the penis itself. Each time she depressed the plunger, the injection site swelled up. The initial pricks were very painful, but now I couldn't feel a thing—though I got the impression she was enjoying it....to prick my penis about 20 times. To test whether I could still feel anything, the doctor made a one-centimeter incision in my foreskin and glanced over at me. Now she knew she could get started. My mother stood right beside me, watching with great interest and a grin on her face; she seemed to enjoy the idea of ​​something being cut off my penis. The device used was apparently a Mogan clamp; after my foreskin was pushed back down, a metal bell was placed over my glans, and the incised foreskin was pulled up over it as far as possible using tweezers. Then, a sort of frame with a hole in it was placed over the top, and she repeatedly pulled my foreskin up through this hole with the tweezers, remarking that the goal was to remove as much foreskin as possible. Once that was done, the bell was hooked onto the frame, the foreskin was tightened once more, and a nut was screwed down so tightly that the foreskin was clamped firmly inside. It all looked so surreal—for instance, that metal device gripping my penis tightly, or the way the doctor kept pulling, pressing, and manipulating my penis. But I couldn't fight back when the doctor used a scalpel to slice through my clamped foreskin right over that metal plate. When she was finished, she loosened the nut, removed part of the clamp, used tweezers to lift the foreskin off the device, and placed it in a kidney dish. She said that was the last time my foreskin would ever be pulled over my glans. My penis was revealed with the glans exposed—permanently. She put in several stitches, completely removed my frenulum, bandaged my penis in a way that left the glans exposed, and undid my restraints, telling me that I would now have to rediscover myself down there. "Oh, and when you leave the practice later, your penis will naturally be sticking out in front because of the bandage; most guys find that embarrassing, but don't worry—most people around here are used to seeing that, so there's no need to be ashamed. Once the anesthesia wears off, you’ll be holding your trousers away from it yourself anyway," she laughed. Then she told my mother that I had been circumcised so tightly that no skin could slide back or forth during an erection; she added that if I kept masturbating, my mother should just come back in, and she would show her how to put a penis cage on her son. "Most mothers do that after about four weeks, by the way, if the spots start appearing again. With a penis cage, you have full control over your son's masturbation." "That sounds great. Now come along, my son; your sister will surely be happy to hear that we’ve got you under control now, and she’ll definitely want to see your 'new' penis," she laughed.

It was a terrible two weeks; my penis throbbed with sharp pain, and I had to come to terms with the fact that my mother had had me circumcised. I was furious with her about it. It was also deeply embarrassing to have to undress every three days and lie on the dining table so she could change the bandage. The first time hurt like hell, and my penis had turned blue and purple. By the end of the two weeks, I had gotten used to it, and all that remained was a red line around my penis. "Right, son, you’ve made it through—at least the circumcision part." "I decided not to wait until you started touching yourself again; that’s why you’re getting your penis cage right now and being locked up." "Mom, why are you doing this to me? I don't want this—it's *my* penis." "Son," she said calmly, "just be glad you get to keep your testicles. You’ll have the chance to father children someday. You can thank me for that. If it were up to your sister, your testicles would have been cut off and you’d be castrated by now." "Oh, speaking of which—Clara, could you bring your brother's gift over here?" "I don't want my sister..." "Quiet. Ah, there you are; now you can finally see the result." *Fat chance,* I thought, and pulled my pants up just before Clara arrived. "Well, look at that," my mother said. "Our rebel is putting up a fight. Son, stop this nonsense right now, or we’re going back to that masturbation-surgery clinic and that’ll be the end of it for good—do you understand?" Oh God, I felt so helpless; I couldn't fight back. "Come on, Clara, pull his pants down." Clara did it immediately—and very gently and slowly, too. I saw her eyes sparkle; she was clearly having a lot of fun with this, I thought, as my penis "sprang" out of my trousers. "Look, Clara—it has to be small, neat, and circumcised. Want to test if there's still any movement?" my mother asked. "Sure—otherwise I wouldn't be Clara," she laughed, taking my penis in her delicate hand; oh boy, she kept applying pressure here and there. The sensation of being touched by my sister wasn't bad at all, though. I actually enjoyed it, and a short while later, naturally, I was fully erect. Blushing deeply, she tried to jerk me off, but found she couldn't really do it because of the missing foreskin. "Wow," she said, "this is how women like a penis—look how beautifully the bare glans stands out. But to make sure women actually get something out of it, we’re going to put a penis cage on you now. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. It pinches a bit for the first two or three weeks, but after that, you won't even notice it." Before that, however, she used both hands to push the remaining skin of my shaft down toward the base—really hard, almost painfully so—and held the pressure there. It was an incredible sensation; after about thirty seconds, my penis started to twitch, and inevitably, I had an orgasm—semen spilled over my sister's hands and onto my stomach. "What a mess," my mother scolded; "maybe it was the wrong decision after all, and the little piglet should just be castrated." My sister, however, said that the release was fine—that it wasn't good to leave the testicles full without emptying them now and then. "Okay," said Mother, "but the urge to masturbate won't just disappear." Clara replied, "That's exactly why he's getting the cage put on now." I was absolutely stunned and wanted to fight back, but I was immediately warned that I’d be tied up again if I did. Clara then placed a metal ring—about 7 cm in diameter with a protruding rod attached—over my scrotum; she pulled the scrotal skin through it vigorously and pushed the ring toward my body until one testicle suddenly slipped through on its own. She helped the second one along. Next, she pushed my penis through as well, sliding the ring closer to my body, and then fitted the penis cage—which was about a third the length of my flaccid penis—over both the penis and the rod that held everything in place. The metal felt cold; then she attached the small padlock that held the entire assembly together. I looked down at myself; my genitals were now confined in a metal cage, pressed tight against my body. I repeatedly said I didn't want this, but again I was told it was for my own good. "But how am I supposed to pee now?" I asked. "Very good question. You see this 5 cm tube? It’s a urethral dilator. We’re going to insert it into your urethra; it has a threaded end so it can be screwed in place. Then you’ll be able to pee—though only while sitting down, of course," Clara laughed as she pulled my underwear back on. "Look, it’s not even noticeable. No one will realize it’s there—unless a woman reaches into your crotch," she laughed, "and if you ever get a girlfriend if you do get it, then you can simply tell her, and maybe she’ll get the key from us—though we’ll take a very close look at her first, if you know what we mean—and both of them laughed out loud. Now I wish the little former masturbator a good night—and a jerk-free one, too.

I hope you enjoyed this fictional story, and I’d really appreciate a rating.

Chi vuole chiacchierare mi scriva

"Well, son, the day has finally come. I told you that a very special gift awaited you when you came of age. To get it, take off your trousers and underwear and lie on your back on the dining table." I said there was no way I was going to drop my trousers in front of my mother and sister. However, my mother was prepared for that and said to Simone, "Take a hammer from the workshop and smash his PlayStation—right now." "No," I said, "please, please not my PlayStation." "Then undress and do as I say," my mother said, sternly adding, "Right now." What would you do? Let all those save files you’d fought for over the years simply be destroyed, or strip naked? I decided to expose myself—since I’m pretty well-endowed down there—even though I was mortified; after all, the sight of my sister was a vision to behold in her olive-green leggings, which clearly outlined her crotch. But what was even worse was having to lie backwards on our wooden dining table—though, what wouldn't you do for your PlayStation? My mother used large cable ties to secure my arms and legs to the table legs, leaving me immobilized and completely exposed, my naked crotch left at their mercy. *What are they planning?* I wondered, feeling a knot of unease in my stomach as my mother brought in a small package wrapped in gift paper and topped with a bow. The package measured roughly 20 x 14 x 5 cm. "Here is the special gift I’ve been telling you about for years. It really is something unique, and I hope you like it. Would you like to unwrap it? Oh, wait—you can't, can you? You're tied up. Simone, would you be so kind?" She lovingly tugged at the bow and carefully unwrapped the gift paper. Out came a box striped green on the left and blue on the right, featuring Chinese characters, a circled number "B34C," and an image of an object resembling pliers that I couldn't quite identify. Oh, and the manufacturer's name, Bonnie Medical, was printed in the top left corner. I wondered what it could be, just as my mother said she had been looking forward to this moment and always wanted only the best for me. I also noticed my sister’s mocking grin, though I didn't yet understand the reason for it. "So, my son, I’m sure you want to know what this is. It’s a foreskin circumcision device. After using it, you won’t have any foreskin left to pull over your glans; your glans will be permanently exposed—exactly how a penis is supposed to look." "I don't want to be circumcised!" I shouted. "Not so loud," my mother said; "the neighbors don't need to know you're getting your foreskin removed. And as long as you sit at my table—with your legs and, in this case, your penis under it—my rules apply. Understood?" I tried to break free and run away, thinking this couldn't possibly be happening, but unfortunately, I couldn't get loose. "Alright, Simone, go ahead." She actually grabbed my penis and pushed my trunk-like foreskin all the way back toward my body—so far that it actually hurt. She held the foreskin there until my penis became erect and stiff. My glistening glans was now pointing straight up at a 90-degree angle, standing about 17 centimeters tall—much to the delight of my mother and sister. "Get used to the sight, because after your foreskin is removed, you’ll have to get to know your penis all over again." Without touching my glans, Simone then used her hands to firmly push the foreskin back toward my body in alternating strokes, until I couldn't hold back any longer and experienced a wonderful orgasm. That was the moment my mother had been waiting for: "So, now we have your penis right where we want it. Please wipe away the semen—there, now it’s finally gone limp." After Simone wiped off my semen and my mother unpacked that tool, she started turning a screw as she extracted a metal rod with a metal, semi-spherical cup attached to the end. She placed this "bell" over the head of my penis, and Simone pulled my foreskin up over the "bell" and the rod as far as it would go. Then, my mother secured my foreskin over the "bell" with a cable tie, tightening it against the metal rod. It was so excruciatingly painful that I writhed against my restraints and grimaced in agony. My sister seemed to enjoy it, though; she laughed and said, "The part of your foreskin being crushed by that cable tie won't be attached to your penis for much longer anyway." I realized once again that I was completely at their mercy—and that they intended to cut something off my manhood. I thought to myself that there were certainly better situations to be in as my mother slid a white, plier-like tool over the metal rod until a threaded section appeared at the top. She then attached a plastic wing nut and tightened it. I feel ...causing my foreskin to get pinched against the lower, rounded rim of the bell. The pain from the cable tie—which had disappeared inside the device—slowly began to recede into the background. I screamed louder and louder, begging my mother to stop. Finally, she stopped, saying her hands hurt, and asked Simone to take over turning the mechanism. What the fuck—where did my sister get so much strength? My vision was starting to go black because my foreskin was being crushed, when my mother said, "Come on, Simone, finish it; he shouldn't suffer unnecessarily." Simone quickly removed a piece of plastic—likely some sort of safety catch—then grabbed both handle-like ends of the "pliers" and squeezed shut. That was the moment I passed out. When I woke up, my sister was holding a small preserving jar in front of my nose and asking if I liked the foreskin inside it. I looked down and saw my penis resting on my abdomen; small metal clips formed a ring about 3 cm behind the head of the penis, presumably holding the incision closed. There was also a visible difference in skin tone: slightly lighter toward the head and darker behind the clips. "There, son. I hope you're happy with the removal of your foreskin and that you won't be jerking off into the bedsheets anymore—that’s always bothered me. By the way, once the incision heals, I have a belated little birthday gift for you. Here you go." I wondered what it could be—about 5 x 8 x 8 cm and relatively heavy. But Simone quickly took the package away, as I wasn't allowed to open it either. By this point, I had gotten used to the routine: every three days, up onto the table for a wound check and a fresh bandage. It was hard not to get an erection while they were working on it. Somehow, I got the feeling that my mother and sister liked it. After about two weeks, once the scar had healed reasonably well, the day arrived for a check-up—and to my great surprise, I was strapped down again. Then a small box appeared; my mother opened it, and out came a penis cage! I was spared nothing; when I asked if I could finally have my penis back to myself, the two of them just laughed loudly and said, "Your penis belongs to me—after all, I gave birth to you, do you understand?" My sister began putting the cage on me by pulling my scrotum through a ring, guiding both testicles through as well by pushing them along. Then she pushed my penis—still sore from the scar—through the opening, slipped the cage over it, and locked the two parts together. "There, my son—no more messing around for you. And do you see those five grub screws around the edge? Well, if you have any trouble over the next few days because your erection can't go down, we’ll just screw them right into your glans—then everything will be fine," they both laughed again. Oh my God—why? What are they doing to me? Every time I objected, I just got punished even more. At least I was comforted by the fact that I only had to wear the cage for a month. Finally, the day arrived for the cage to be removed—not on the kitchen table this time, but at a urologist's office. Naturally, my mother and sister were with me when I was called in. In the treatment room, I was told to strip completely and lie down on the exam table. Well, I was already used to being naked in front of my mother and sister, but then the doctor and an assistant walked in—both of them stunningly beautiful. There I lay, wearing the penis cage, in front of four women. I cannot describe the humiliation of it all. My mother handed the keys to my cage to the assistant, who then strapped me down onto the exam table with leather belts—apparently afraid I might make a sudden move. Completely helpless, I watched as she began removing the cage from my penis. When she finished, my flaccid penis—with its circumcision scar—hung toward the right; my mother told the doctor to begin, then turned to me and said sympathetically that I wouldn't have to wear that metal thing anymore. "Should he have one last orgasm?" the assistant asked. "No," my sister replied; "that’s exactly why we’re here." A sense of dread slowly crept over me as all four of them gathered around and a trolley with surgical instruments was wheeled into place. "What’s happening?" I asked. "Don't worry, my son; it will all be over soon. Your testicles are being removed now, and after that, you’ll never soil the bedsheets again. You won't miss a thing afterward, I promise you." "Really?" I asked my mother. "Yes, son, trust me—it will soon be over, for good." My mind was too clouded to notice the anesthetic injections being administered to my testicles......were injected. I could still see my penis being taped down against my abdomen and a rubber ring being placed around my testicles, making them look very taut. All four of them were grinning; you could tell they were enjoying themselves as I helplessly watched the doctor make a deep, central incision in my scrotum with a scalpel, followed shortly by my testicles slipping out. The assistant held them away from my body in her hand while the doctor tied off the connecting cords with dissolvable surgical sutures. The doctor then told my sister to take the scissors from the kidney dish and finish the job. "Sorry," she replied with a grin, "but your mother decided this," and she severed both spermatic cords in one cut, saying, "How does it feel to be an ex-wanker, my little castrated boy without balls?" and everyone laughed loudly...

Just giving it a try—translating from German for this very stimulating group here.

It was a week before the autumn break when, during dinner, our mother stated matter-of-factly that she was having me and my slightly younger brother circumcised. When I heard that, I went into a state of shock; I thought, "Excuse me? I’m supposed to have the foreskin removed from my penis?" It took me a few minutes to regain my composure, and I told my mother that I wanted to remain uncircumcised.

It was hard for me to talk to my mother about this subject, but given that it involved my penis, I simply had to do it. She said curtly, "I’ve already made an appointment for your circumcision for next Friday. Your father had it done back in the day, too, and we think it’s a good thing—end of discussion. Once you’re circumcised on Friday, you’ll have two weeks of vacation time for the wound to heal undisturbed. That way, no one at school will notice that you’ve been circumcised." My older sister, who was present, seemed to like the idea; she giggled, and her nipples became clearly visible through her top.

Then my mother said that there was no need for action regarding Michelle yet, since female labia can continue to grow until adulthood. "That’s why I’m having you examined by a gynecologist when you’re seventeen and a half, Michelle—so that if anything needs to be cut off, it still falls within the time I have legal guardianship over you. So, just be prepared for the possibility that your inner labia might get trimmed." Suddenly, Michelle’s face turned red, too, and her nipples were no longer visible.

For the next few days, I could think of nothing but the upcoming circumcision; I couldn't get it out of my head, and the closer the day got, the more terrified I became at the thought of having my foreskin cut off. On Friday morning, our mother woke us up with the words, "Right, today is the big day. Please go take a shower after breakfast." You need to wash thoroughly under your foreskin—meaning you pull it back and clean the exposed glans properly. I’m going to watch to make sure you do it right. I seemed to have done it okay, but my brother had to repeat it because he hadn't pushed his foreskin back far enough. We were on our way in the car, and I begged my mother to please, please reconsider, because I wanted to keep the foreskin on my penis. "No way," she said. "You’re both getting your foreskins professionally cut off today." When we arrived, we had to take a seat in the waiting room and wait a while.

The place had that typical doctor's-office smell. A boy and his mother were waiting there too; the boy had a blank look on his face and was called in for a follow-up check. As he stood up and walked away, he pulled his sweatpants away from his crotch so they didn't touch his penis; it looked to me like he’d already been circumcised. Then it was our turn; we went into an office where a female doctor was sitting at her desk with her computer. We were allowed to sit down, and my mother spoke up: "Please circumcise both my sons—to prevent masturbation."

God, it was so embarrassing—two women talking openly about me masturbating. The doctor said it was no problem and explained that, to prevent masturbation, it was best to circumcise very tightly—so tightly that the foreskin couldn't move at all when erect. The doctor looked over at us and said she was ready to have us circumcised; she stood up and told us to follow her. She walked toward a door labeled "Circumcision Room." Oh boy—it is really not a nice feeling to follow a doctor into a circumcision room knowing that something is about to be cut off your penis. I did it anyway, since I didn't really have much choice. In that room, I had to lie down on an exam table, where a second blonde woman pulled my trousers down a bit and my T-shirt up. I was naked and fully exposed—a truly wretched, uncomfortable feeling—and after pulling myself together, I said I didn't want anything cut off.

The two of them laughed briefly and said they were sorry, but they had to carry out my guardians' wishes; meanwhile, a green drape with an opening was placed over my penis. Then they told me it wasn't a standard circumcision, but rather an anti-masturbation circumcision designed to remove as much foreskin as possible—ensuring nothing would move if I tried to masturbate. For this reason, they needed information about the foreskin on an erect penis—specifically, how far back it could be retracted. Only then could they remove the excess foreskin completely. "Do you want to rub yourself hard, or should we take care of that?" I said—since I still didn't want anything cut off......you really ought to handle that part yourself, knowing full well it’s going to feel good. It was absolutely incredible when the hot medical assistant started jerking me off. With her delicate hand, she simply slid my foreskin back over the glans toward my body and then forward again. She didn't have to do it many times before my penis went rock-hard. Once it was erect, the doctor marked a spot near the shaft with the foreskin retracted; she did the same thing at the same spot with the foreskin pulled forward, explaining that everything in between would be cut away.

Then I got the anesthetic injections, and once the numbing kicked in, the pretty assistant began circumcising me. Afterward, she held up the foreskin—which was about the size of a matchbox—with a pair of forceps before tossing my "ex-foreskin" into the trash can. I liked the look of that flap of skin and wished I could take it with me—and actually, they did let me have it. It was a shame, though, that within a day it turned black, lost its volume, and sort of shriveled up, becoming useless; I had secretly hoped I might be able to slide the severed foreskin back over the glans later on, but that wasn't possible anymore. I was all done, and on my way out, I was supposed to send my brother into the circumcision room. I did just that, saying, "Hey, you'll be half a kilo lighter after this—please go through that door." Once he’d gone through the procedure too, we were allowed to leave the practice. Without our foreskins, of course—those stayed behind (and I don't mean "pushed back"). On the way out to the car, we both held our sweatpants away from our penises to avoid pain. The only downside was that we had to walk through a shopping street to get to the car. We ran into a couple of girls, and the way they looked and giggled betrayed the fact that they knew exactly that we had been circumcised. It was a really unpleasant feeling.

Once we got home, the humiliation continued, because my sister was dead set on seeing my circumcised penis. I told her she could forget about that—that I’d never allow it—but then my mother said, "Drop your pants right now; after all, she’s your sister, and it was her idea to have you circumcised in the first place." She said that since we were getting castrated in two weeks, a foreskin would only get in the way when peeing. What does my mother mean by that? What does "castration" mean?

"Oh, my little son, why are you so afraid? After all, today they’re just cutting out your testicles. It’s a perfectly normal operation that mothers want.

Believe me, it doesn’t hurt, and you’ll be better off for the rest of your life!"

"Really?" I asked. "Yes, really—now come on, undress down there and lie on the table so I can make the cut."

"Very good, you’re doing really well. Look at your penis and your testicles. It’s just a minor procedure; you won’t miss a thing. Let’s get started."

"Since I can’t afford an anesthetic, I’m going to tie you to the table; otherwise, I might end up cutting more than necessary."

Then the moment arrived: my mother stretched out my scrotum and cut right through it with a large pair of scissors.

I fainted. When I came to, I was in great pain in my groin, and a bandage was stuck over the spot where my scrotum had been. My mother was very proud of me, which calmed me down a lot. "Thanks, Mom, for cutting off my testicles."

Och mein Söhnchen, warum fürchtest du Dich so sehr? Heute werden Dir doch nur die Hoden herausgeschnitten. Das ist eine ganz normale Operation, die von Müttern gewünscht ist.

Glaub mir, das tut nicht weh und danach wird es Dir ein leben lang besser gehen!

Wirklich fragte ich, ja wirklich und nun komm schon und mach Dich untenrum frei und lege Dich dort auf den Tisch, damit ich schneiden kann.

Sehr schön, das machst du wirklich gut. Schau Dein Penis und Deine Hoden. Es ist bloß ein kleiner Eingriff, du wirst nichts vermissen. Lass uns Anfangen.

Da ich mir kein Betäubungsmittel leisten kann, binde ich Dich am Tisch fest, sonst kann es passieren, das mehr verschnitten wird, als es muss.

Nun war es soweit, meine Mutter zog mir den Hodensack lang und schnitt mit einer großen Schere durch.

Ich wurde Ohnmächtig. Als ich wieder zu mir kam, hatte ich große schmerzen im Schritt, es klebte ein Pflaster an der Stelle, wo mein Hodensack war. Meine Mutter war sehr stolz auf mich, das beruhigte mich sehr. Danke Mama das du mir meine Hoden abgeschnitten hast

An E-mail Exchange [S] Original author: strassenbahn (ochiltreeth@yahoo.com)

College Freshman Jimmy Jenkins sends an e-mail to his mother about his newly-discovered desire to be castrated.

An E-mail Exchange

[Jimmy Jenkins, college freshman, to his mother:]

Dear Mom,

I can't believe that I've gotten up the courage to write this to you, but since you have always be understanding, and are really my best friend, here goes. I want to be castrated!

I hope you haven't fainted, Mom. But I've gotten it off my chest. I know this has been a shock for you, but it doesn't change the simple fact: I want to be castrated!

The truth is that I have always looked with distaste on my male equipment (I won't, can't say "jewels"; "junk" would be a better word in my mind.)

Furthermore, I have always regarded my testosterone surges and erections as annoying distractions that come at the most inappropriate times..

Well, I have made a good friend here at Lowell House, Pete McCue. He and I were talking about one thing and another, and gradually the conversation drifted into the question of masculinity. We found ourselves both agreeing on what a crock masculinity really was, with its insatiable drives and aggressions, and all to no point, since one contribution by one man to a sperm bank takes care of reproduction for generations to come; and human cloning will soon make men completely superfluous to reproduction of the human species, since it will be possible for women to be cloned in an all female world.

Sure, we talked of such future possibilities, and agreed how desirable for the human race an all-female world would be. Our shared regret was that we weren't women. But then we got down to brass tacks, as I told Pete how I'd always been ashamed of my erections as a demonstration of the masculinity I've never desired. (I've always wanted to be a girl.)

I noted that testosterone surges and erections were a real distraction in my life from studying and many other things. "Why should I be a slave to this stupid thing between my legs I didn't ask for and don't want?" I asked.

Pete replied simply, "there's a way out." He unfastened his pants and showed off a totally limp penis with not a trace of testicles! He gave his penis a contemptuous flick with his thumb and forefinger. "Dead as a doornail," he said. He added that he was thinking of having the penis itself removed as a next step.

From that moment on, I knew what I wanted. I was helped by the fact that Pete gave me the address of a wonderful reddit sub you may want to visit to better understand where I'm coming from: momdom_castration. Going to that site, I found myself in the middle of a supportive family (that's the only word for it) of boys who wish they could eliminate their genitals, and women who understand this urge.

Pete also introduced me to other eunuchs (they use the word without shame) here at Harvard. I was surprised how many of them there were. They were all totally supportive of my exploration of the subject, without putting any kind of pressure on me to follow their example

But Mom, I really know this is what I want in life. Please help me, because I don't know how to approach Dad about this. I know Dad really loves me, but he's always been sort of masculine-distant. Keep a stiff upper lip, etc.

I hope this hasn't been to much of a shock to you. But I would be dishonest to my tradition of confiding my deepest feelings to you if I didn't repeat, I want to be castrated!

Love, Jimmy.

[Laura Jenkins to her son Jimmy:]

Dear Jimmy,

Far from shocking me, your e-mail has made me the happiest mother in the world! Just as at Harvard there is (it appears from your letter) an "underground" of boys who want to be castrated or have been castrated, so there's an underground among us women who are willing to discuss the subject of VMGE, as we say for short (voluntary male genital eliminationa). Hardly a meeting of my bridge club takes place without one of the ladies saying, "the answer to the problems in that marriage is one word: castration!" We discuss ways to broach the subject to husbands and sons, all in the spirit of being confident that the testosterone-free life is a happier life for a male, and that many are even happier having their penises amputated as well (penectomy is the term, I believe. You may want to consider it.) Darling, I'm so happy for you! As for your father, I contacted him in LA where he's at that conference, and he sent the attachment to this message that you see. A Eunuch for a son! I'm so happy I could cry! One final thing: do consider a penectomy as well as castration. Why do things half way?

Lot's of love, Mom

[Jimmy Jenkins to his Mom]

Dear Mom,

I know I told you earlier how grateful I am for your understanding and supportive approach to my castration. Now, I just want to say "the deed is done". A visit to Dr. Judy McCue's Castration and Penectomy Clinic "fixed" me. Incidentally, that's even the name of the place on a plaque outside, which shows how mainstream voluntary male genital elimination is becoming. Anyway, I'm testicle-free and testosterone-free and happy as a clam!.

I'll be home in a couple of weeks for Thanksgiving, of course, Mom, I really look forward to letting you see how happy and relaxed castration has made me. And we also need to talk about the possible next step, namely penectomy. I know I want this.

Love, Jimmy

Did someone manage to save

The Mastectomy

And making of a steer by Caligula?