Here's a potted history of my journey to here.

I have very little memory of life before about May, 1964. This was the beginning of a very ugly marathon divorce. My elder brother and I were used as weapons in the court cases. Mostly by being encouraged to make up wicked lies that would then be used as evidence. We had to betray our souls for food and shelter.

One can learn the price of mere survival is very dear at a young age.

Through childhood (prepubescent) I was sort of aware that the body and mind didn't quite match somehow. This remained a vague but potent idea. At age 10, Things started to get a bit warmer. I started cross dressing, and was also engaging in rather childish and ultimately futile erotic activities with a couple of school friends. Tuesday afternoons in the store room instead of doing sport remained an on and off alternative to regular curriculum activities until I went to high school. By sixth class, we were starting to experiment with proper anal sex, but that soon got tiresome, there was no lube in that store room, and we were just kids messing around.

Somewhere after my eleventh birthday or so, I began fantasising about either some change or modification, or the removal of my cock and my nuts. I was young, and the fantasies included stuff I already knew. My family was in mechanical engineering, so I was dreaming of plumbing and funnily enough, a stop cock. All polished brass, and very victorian.

Where I grew up, high school was largely a sexual desert for gay kids in the 70's. I think we all knew who each other was, but we all feared being 'outed' by someone out of spite or something. At fifteen and sixteen I was regularly being fucked by one of the school athletes. I look back now and think, wow, I was living the dream. Some gay porno plot. It's never like that in real life though, is it? The fucking was just a case of trousers down, heave, grunt, zip back up. What does a 14 year old know about the subtleties of sex? All the same, it was much needed human contact of an intimate nature. Thanks Glen, for a boy of that age ya done good.

Through the teenage years, the urge that my genitals should be altogether gone wasn't very strong. I did however, want something much more practical for receiving anothers manhood. Having to grease your arse-hole with Vaseline on a creek bank in a park when you want to get a cock up you is decidedly unromantic.

In my early twenties I contracted evangelic Christianity. For almost the entire decade I I was in one of two places. Either frantically pulling my cock, or feeling guilty for doing so. Thank goodness I eventually recovered, and now I don't have to feel guilty for enjoying my second favourite organ.(No.1, the brain).

From then on, as time passed I found that I had this internal conflict. I call it that now, but back then, it was just a dreadful feeling of anxiety whenever anything remotely like a sexual encounter arose. It turns out that only about a decade ago I realised I'm probably on the autism scale. Turns out I am, and anxiety like this is, or should be "normal" for me.

The anxiousness arises from there being too many unknowns, and too much sensory input at once for nutters like me who have to over-think everything to death. Try to imagine you've got his cock in your mouth and in your mind is "I wonder if he really likes me?"

Apart from my own two hands, I have been largely celibate for pretty much forever. I did go to a sex-on-premises venue for a while. It was no help. All I ever got was more anxiety, and no slackening of the urge for more sexual activity. You were expecting an STD joke there, weren't you?

More recently I have considered the idea of engaging some body, and paying for some sexual release, but I know from experience that this will result in anxiety going there, feeling disconnected and awkward during the event, and frustrated and depressed afterwards.

As I look back, it was around the age of fourteen that sex started to become an issue. It was always on my mind. Erections popping up everywhere. And masturbating with a fury. Jeezuz H! I just couldn't stop. I still can't. Here I am at 61 years old, and I feel the need at least daily. Often times morning and night.

I have found that unless I can find distractions that require a very deep degree of attention, my mind will wander into a sensual fantasy world pretty much any time.

So, as I write, I'm very conscious of the whopping irony that has led me here. I have been voraciously reading every little thing I can. Devouring everything so I can understand what this urge to be gelded is for me. I have to be honest here. There was a degree of titillation with the idea. There still is. But that's exactly it, isn't it. This blasted sex urge. This is what's been plaguing me. I can't seem to be able to manage to get a good fuck because I don't understand my fellow humans well enough, but that same urge just won't ever let up. And all I ever get for my efforts is angst and grief.

I guess what I'm seeing now is not a matter of something that is just about some external appearance, but something that runs much much deeper. How much my thinking has shifted amazes me.

I still think a male body without balls looks most excellent. And of course I want that excellent look for me too. But so much more. I realise that in getting that look, the urge that drives me to it could well evaporate.

Oh happy day, the day I wake up and not find me already sporting another aching boner. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I wasn't undressing every other male I encounter with my eyes, knowing the dream must remain just a dream?

Is this the eunuch calm some speak about? Because if it is, I want in.

It's interesting that because this sexual urge is so all pervading, and encompasses everything from sleep to sleep, that I feel like one of the long term residents of the City of Oz. I am not aware the city only appears to be emerald colour because I'm wearing the glasses. It's the same thing, or at least it feels like it is. Until I read about other people and how they see things, I wasn't aware that everything in my life is so coloured by this urge.

Well, I think I've run out of words for now.

Billy.

I very much liked yours article. You true writer!

At me everything occurred not so dramatically... I did not dream to get to the emerald city at all

I agree with you that the body of the eunuch looks excellently (about which one ... I'd rather not say anything, I am afraid to continue this seditious thought )

Hi Valery,

I guess what I'm trying to get out is I'm coming 'round to the idea I have a sex drive that does not match the rest of me, kind of like the balls themselves that cause it.

The remark about the emerald city was about me being so sexual, and for so long, that I've never realised that I see everything through testosterone eyes (emerald glasses). It's just the way things are to me. I'm just starting to understand how much of my mental state revolves around my balls, instead of the other way.

Today while I was meditating on these things, I came to see that at least some of my lifelong on and off depression may have stemmed from the repressed feelings that I cannot be who I am on the inside, the feeling that I have had to be what I thought was expected of me.

Until a few years ago, I have always shared my homes. This makes for some financial security, but there is always a subtle undertow of societal expectation. Now I finally have my own place, I think some long buried ideas are starting to find their way up to the surface now the downwards pressure has eased.

I don't claim to understand enough yet, but becoming a gelding seems to answer some powerful call from within. I have always wanted to be different to the person I am being now. I tried drag as an eleven year old, but that didn't last very long, it wasn't me. Even within gay society I feel like the odd man out. It's an "either-or" world too. Either you're a bear or a cub, a top or a bottom, you get the picture. (An otter or a fish?!? Nah, that can't be right.)

Later, in my forties, I got involved in the fetish scene where I was living, but that's not me either. That was too black and white, male/female as well. And the word eunuch sort of got spoilt for me there. The pervading attitude was eunuch = submissive = slave.

Well, the fact is I do like to please, and if you''re a man, then just maybe you could get on and have a ride, but no one can ever own me. So I like to think of myself moving towards becoming a gelding. Nice word too. Round and smooth in the mouth.

So, just who or what am I now? I don't know yet. A gelding wannabe with ambition perhaps? No! I've got to be more than that. I have to achieve resolution.

Damn, have I opened a Pandora's box.

The internal dialogue

It goes along like this:

Two days ago- "Won't it be great. If I can get this all to come together I will be able to walk up to town, and all these men won't be my visual victims." And, "I will not be feeling that awful tearing in my soul between wanting to go get a fuck, and the misery that comes from trying to satisfy the need, wouldn't that be a great thing for once?"

Today- "Are you fucking mad? you're talking about having your nuts cut out!" Then I reply to myself, "Yeah, don't you remember the paralysing dread and fear that was here with you last weekend?" "Yeah but..." I don't have a rational thought to follow the but. Part of this is down to the autism. Change is a tough nut to swallow. Maybe part of it is just fear of the unknown. That seems reasonable.

It's also probably down to social conditioning. The subtle but ever present pressure to be part of the binary definition.

I'm confused too. "Who am I, really?" I'm asking with respect to gender identity. I'm definitely a human male by physical definition. "Why don't I feel like a man then? I dunno." "What, or who do I feel like? I just feel like I'm me. I'm not a man, I'm not a woman, nor a boy or girl, dog, cat or kitten". I'm me".

I think that being gelded would reflect this not belonging thing. I also think, at least hypothetically, that castration is indeed the way to go for a whole host of reasons around mental health. But it's a huge, a massive step, and I hesitate. I wish I had someone to hold my hand for a bit.

BillyBlogs (imported) wrote: Fri Aug 06, 2021 4:28 pm The internal dialogue

It goes along like this:

Two days ago- "Won't it be great. If I can get this all to come together I will be able to walk up to town, and all these men won't be my visual victims." And, "I will not be feeling that awful tearing in my soul between wanting to go get a fuck, and the misery that comes from trying to satisfy the need, wouldn't that be a great thing for once?"

Today- "Are you fucking mad? you're talking about having your nuts cut out!" Then I reply to myself, "Yeah, don't you remember the paralysing dread and fear that was here with you last weekend?" "Yeah but..." I don't have a rational thought to follow the but. Part of this is down to the autism. Change is a tough nut to swallow. Maybe part of it is just fear of the unknown. That seems reasonable.

It's also probably down to social conditioning. The subtle but ever present pressure to be part of the binary definition.

I'm confused too. "Who am I, really?" I'm asking with respect to gender identity. I'm definitely a human male by physical definition. "Why don't I feel like a man then? I dunno." "What, or who do I feel like? I just feel like I'm me. I'm not a man, I'm not a woman, nor a boy or girl, dog, cat or kitten". I'm me".

I think that being gelded would reflect this not belonging thing. I also think, at least hypothetically, that castration is indeed the way to go for a whole host of reasons around mental health. But it's a huge, a massive step, and I hesitate. I wish I had someone to hold my hand for a bit.

Since I am not a writer, I find it unproductive to delve into my inner experiences and feelings. I cannot throw them out on paper, and no one will read like that (except doctors). No adventure, just delirium. People will get bored. But when it comes to sex, gender: just hold on here!

I've been away from here for a while now. This was a deliberate decision I made. I wanted to find out whether I had developed some mad infatuation with this castration idea, so I was trying to extinguish it if possible. I've stayed away from anything to do with body modification, eunuchs or anything else that might fan the fires, so as to speak.

This is just me using the scientific method. If I can disprove that I want to be gelded, then the hypothesis was false.

After all, you all keep saying having your nuts off is no small thing, and I believe you.

Well, as you've noticed, I couldn't stay away. This urge towards castration is much stronger, if anything. (I've even caught myself a couple of times pondering just what sort of person I might consider as a cutter, but then I slap my face, shake my head, and get on with something sensible.)

So, since the massive read-a-thon through this web site, and some reading from various medical practices, I do believe I have so much better an understanding of a range of things.

In the mean time I have been just getting on with life, and gradually having a series of mini-realisations that add up to what follows.

What I'd like to write about now is how my head-space has been in recent years. I’ve not really talked about a lot of this, because until recently I didn’t know that the various things that have been going on in my mind were even possibly related. (And I was worried.)

Truth be told, there have been times when I thought I was really loosing my mind. Horrific mood swings. Unbelievable anger welling up from somewhere inside that I didn't even know was there. This was something that frightened me. It was like I was a witness to my own unravelling. I'll come back to this, because it's important.*

Then there were times of unbelievable sadness. Not depression, but properly feeling so very sad. No reason at all, but there it was. I was getting misty eyed over a Kenny Rogers song. Seriously? It happened. Fuck off!

Of course, there’s the depression. I've been mildly to middling-ly depressed for what are called "chronic" periods for much of my life. I think it's to do with my autism and brain wiring. But Holy cows! I had no idea the black hole was that deep. Words fail me. Once again, I could not find anything in my life that could explain these dreadful dark feelings.

And libido should crack a mention here, since it's a brain thing too. I hadn't really noticed that it may well have been dwindling over the past three to five years. Particularly so since I moved here a few years ago. Dealing with all that other turmoil tends to leave one less than stimulated anyway. Another mask is that I do enjoy a good e-stim session, and a strong libido isn’t exactly required for that. Mr Happy can be rock solid and pulsating with electricity any time I want, but it’s all artificial.

The good news is that the worst of all this is tapering off. The anger especially has reduced a lot, and I'm very grateful for that. I have been such a shit to be around at times. I’ve also learned to manage myself better too.

So, what does it all mean? Right now, I think I am enjoying all the benefits of being slap-bang in the middle of what I understand is called the andropause.

I’m also seeing classic physical indications too, such as muscle mass loss, body hair growing very slowly if at all, A new layer of fat all over me, being easily fatigued and tired all the time. Mental fatigue is close to constant. The thermostat is seriously broken. Mostly hot flushes, but sometimes the chills too.

*I mentioned above that I have at times felt like I was witnessing my own descent into madness. And that was the big clue. Because I was able to watch things develop, I sort of intuitively knew that whatever was wrong wasn’t a mental condition, something else was wrong. I think it’s this intuitive knowledge that’s the reason I’m still here at all.

A few weeks ago I felt wonderful. So like my old self, and it felt so good. My old inner peace was back. The spirit of timidity largely went away. I was thinking clearly, and not like I haven’t slept for a week. Then last Tuesday came another crash. Up comes the rage, then the depressive bout. Again.

This being the observer and subject in one is becoming a bit tiresome. As the awareness grows though, I’m learning how to keep a lid on the reaction to the gut feelings. So much so that if the hormone problem is making me feel dreadfully anxious for example, then at the same time my rational mind is kind of pleased at the same time, because at least now I understand what is making the guts churn. It can feel a bit weird though.

I think my tired old nuts are slowly limping along, trying their damnedest to do the job, but testosterone production that goes in fits and starts is just fucking me up so badly on each attempt. It’s got to stop.

Last time I was here, I said I’d visit my doctor to get things rolling on this. Since then a booking was made, but in the end I got a phone consultation as we were in lock-down here due to a particular virus. I will admit that I didn’t feel comfortable about raising issues like these over the phone, so I just plumped for a referral for a steroid shot to the shoulder.

The local lock-down is over for now, and I’ve booked another appointment with the GP. And it WILL be face-to-face. It’s time for some serious action. I can’t keep this up indefinitely.

Although I now understand what’s driving so much that’s amiss, or at least I very strongly think I do, I can do a lot to lessen the emotional impact. But that in itself is a huge internal struggle, and is taking its toll.

I want this gawd-awful roller coaster ride to come to an end. Presently I couldn’t give a flying fuck whether the T goes up or down, so long as it stays there. Where I am at the moment is unstable, and it seems small fluctuations are really playing havoc.

Oh, I guess I should say, no living things got hurt in my fits of rage. There’s some limiting thing inside me, and no matter what, I cannot cause hurt to living things. But two computer monitors didn’t qualify as living. Or a few other objects.

Now, about the other half of the equation; The appealing nature of how a male without testes or scrotum looks, and how that might affect my judgement.

For the present, I have decided that a surgical castration is going to be quite unlikely. As the local health system is becoming more and more clogged up, “elective” surgery is going to become a foggy memory I fear.

Also, I think it’s convenient for this to be true for the present. This way I can test how much my motivation for castration is for cosmetic reasons, and how much is to get back onto an even keel.

I find that while I want my nuts gone like crazy because I think it looks superb, I want emotional stability a thousand times more. If I can only choose one, it will always be stability. If I could have both, I might think I had gone to heaven.

The last bit. I did talk about matters of identity previously. It’s true. I have always kind of felt awkward at being called (accused of being?) a man. It makes me cringe a bit, and it does almost feel like an accusation.

Owing to the rush after our local lock-down, I can’t see the doctor until November. I’ll keep you posted.

BillyBlogs.

Wow, interesting read. Have you tried tracking your T? When I was going through something similar, I started getting my T checked every quarter. I was surprised how stable it was until I intervened chemically. That intervention was very eye opening. Using spironolactone under the supervision of an MD was way better than androcur off the internet. Being chemically castrated puts a whole different view on things. There are lots of threads about it on here, but you need to experience it to understand it. You don't have to jump in the deep end. A leisurely stroll from the beach is pretty good. Would be happy to share my resources and experience if you are ever interested. Good luck.

Cseriess (imported) wrote: Tue Oct 19, 2021 6:20 am Wow, interesting read. Have you tried tracking your T? When I was going through something similar, I started getting my T checked every quarter. I was surprised how stable it was until I intervened chemically. That intervention was very eye opening. Using spironolactone under the supervision of an MD was way better than androcur off the internet. Being chemically castrated puts a whole different view on things. There are lots of threads about it on here, but you need to experience it to understand it. You don't have to jump in the deep end. A leisurely stroll from the beach is pretty good. Would be happy to share my resources and experience if you are ever interested. Good luck.

No, tracking T levels hasn't become a thing for me yet. I think this will have to be a first step in getting my mind more even. I did say it seems small changes are destabilising me, but that's pure speculation. Something is changing though, and I need to know one way or another what it is and the magnitude, so it can be properly addressed.

"

Cseriess (imported) wrote: Tue Oct 19, 2021 6:20 am Would be happy to share my resources and experience if you are ever interested.

"

I'm not exactly sure what that might entail, but thank you for the offer. The idea of a leisurely stroll down the beach is indeed appealing. Presently I feel like I'm trapped on some evil ducking stool.

"

Cseriess (imported) wrote: Tue Oct 19, 2021 6:20 am Would be happy to share my resour

BillyBlogs (imported) wrote: Tue Oct 19, 2021 1:37 pm ces and experience if you are ever interested.

"

I'm not exactly sure what that might entail, but thank you for the offer. The idea of a leisurely stroll down the beach is indeed appealing. Prese

ntly I feel like I'm trapped on some evil ducking stool.

Thank You, we are waiting for messages ...

By the way, I found out what "ducking stool" is:

Ducking Stool

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boHKjBZqBDw&t=54s

https://www.medieval-life-and-times.inf ... -stool.htm

Hi there,

Just a follow up on the last message to let you know how things stand now.

My GP ran me through a long questionnaire. In the end he concluded that I am deeply and chronically depressed. He said that he thought that looking at testosterone levels made a lot of sense, and referred me to the pathologists who did their vampire act this morning early. Results will be known next Monday morning.

I came away from the appointment feeling quite a bit reassured. The doctor is well up to speed on andropause, and its insidious effects. We didn't discuss what the future might look like much, beyond my saying that I was aware of some different methods for applying HRT if it's needed, and a general outlining of the idea that if the results are well in the normal range then the future will probably be a suck it and see proposition until cause, affect, and treatments get sorted.

In the mean time I still feel well and truly like shit a lot of the time. Mornings are by far the worst time of day for now, that's for sure.

I have to say again how glad I am to have stumbled upon this group. Reading about all the different things people have or do that have some relationship with their balls (or lack of them) really had a crystalising effect. It had me realise that the raft of things I was experiencing, especially the horrible ones, might be all down to one thing perhaps.

In any case, its a waiting game until next Monday now for the results.

Billy.