I barely slept the night before. Today was 12/06/97 the day I was to travel to a cheap motel and meet a cutter who would remove my testicles. A friend was waiting in the room while I was in the shower shaving for the procedure. At this late stage I was still wondering if I was doing the right thing. My greatest fear was not that something could go wrong but that something would and they would transport me to the hospital where I was employed. At this stage of my life I felt a lot of shame. Shame due to my not wanting to be male. Shame because I had been a victim of abuse for most of my life. The amount of shame I would have felt being dropped off at my ER almost made me call it off. The cutter arrived, I was ready and had a good friend to watch over me and so it began.

Of course it truly began years ago. The actual idea of castration began after hearing a story about a young man who was paid to give up his testicles. I was in my early twenties and was troubled and excited by this story. Other people acted shocked by such an idea and I remember becoming quiet while they chatted. Somewhere deep inside me this made sense to me. I thought about myself and all the troubles I have had trying to have mutual relationships. I never enjoyed anyone trying to please me. I enjoyed sex as long as I was passive and I liked being passive quite a lot. I then began to think of things earlier in life that made me wonder.

My childhood memmories are mostly blocked and my sister said that is a good thing for me. I had a father who must have been a very unhappy man or at least unhappy with me. Very early on I knew I was not the son he wanted. I was uncoordinated, soft spoken and would rather read than play sports. I also enjoyed building things with my little red building bricks. When he did try to teach me sports he would call me names in front of my friends and neighbors maybe to humiliate me into being good. Another tactic of his was one time he caught me in a lie and when I finally told the truth he said now that is all you needed to do and left it at that. Later that night when I was brushing my teeth before bed he came into the bathroom and started swatting me with a broom about the room. My punishments were always surprise attacks. He also enjoyed hiding throughout the house and scaring me at every chance he had. He even began to scare me out of sound sleeps. There was no peace.

I always think back to those days and wonder if he did not realize I was different and was struggling with ways to make me a little boy instead of what he perceived me to be. In school while everyone was going through puberty I think a lot of my classmates also noticed I was different. As children can be quite cruel my abuse at school started when I was in the 7th grade. It is then that I received a girls name as my nickname. Now that I look back it is interesting that I was called that girls name more than faggot or queer. I was even nominated for prom queen and was embarrassed at the time. Today I would love to know how many votes I received. In life I am again dealing with people who know I am different and I still have not figured it out for myself.

By this time in life I had no self confidence or self esteem. Between a great sense of wrongness about myself both internally and from father and peers I was about to start my downward spiral. My first relationship was with a young man I met at school. He transferred midway through senior year. He was unpopular but good looking so I was plaesed when he would be my friend. He knew all the right things to say but in reality he was a user and as it turns out he was more interested in my brother who was 12 at the time. At this stage I did not think I could feel worse about myself.

All of a sudden this incredible young man came into my life. He was everything I was not. He was handsome, confident, popular and not a user. We had a lot of fun together and he was such a positive person and helped build my self esteem. One Saturday I called him to see if we were going out that night. His cousin was in town so we planned on getting together on Sunday. We ended up talking for an hour and a half and I told him how I felt. He said I mad him happy. When he hung up his mother told me that she asked if I was okay and he told her that he had broken up with his girlfriend and that stage of his life was over. He told her about me and after that she always introduced me as his special friend. He died that night in a car accident.

Nothing mattered anymore. I felt happiness would always be taken away. At this point it was easier not to feel. It was easier to be physical. I knew I was good at pleasing men. I began going to bookstores and cruise parks. No emotions no involvement. The need to be used grew as my sexual addiction grew. If the parks were quiet I might even hire a hustler to satisfy my growing needs. The hustlers used to tell me at my age I should be getting paid but never thought enough of myself to be one. All this was going on while I was away from home attending college. As the spiral continued downward I dropped out of school but continued to work to support my need to cruise.

By this time I did not know what direction life was taking me so I moved back to my hometown. The town of all the abuse and the great loss of an incredible young man. My behaviors did not change. You can not run away from yourself. I was out cruising for sex just like before. It was not long before I would meet someone who would take me lower than I ever thought I could go. I was always ashamed of my addiction and tried to keep it quiet. I would date for a semblance of normalcy. Life was to change forever and not for good that fall of 79. The day I picked a drunken young man up for a ride.

At first it was just for a good time. He began to get more aggressive and demanding. Of course he was satisfying my need for sex. He was treating me worse and threats and verbal abuse began. Soon with my vicitm personality I began to suffer physical abuse. Having no idea how to stop it the abuse continued. Now knowing he could get away with anything he called me to his house one night because he was depressed. I enjoy helping others and I thought maybe there was a human side to him. I went to his home and he was smiling which I thought was odd. He said it meant a lot to him that I would come over. He bent down I thought to tie his shoes and he pulled out a gun and raped me. The body tenses due to fear and I bled for three days after the rape. This was in 4/89 and he proceeded to beat and abuse me until my catration. Many nights he would hold a gun to my head and tell me tonight was my night to die.

During the sex addiction I became addicted to gay phone chat lines. I did not have a computer but I did have a telephone and it caused me financial problems because that was part of the addiction. If I was not looking for sex I was on the phone chatting about it. If I tried to have a relationship I was only finding other abusers. That explains the brand on my ass. The more I tried to break the pattern the worse it became. I was convinced I would be killed soon and no longer worried about safe sex. I began chatting about castration. Many would move on to some one else. A few shared the interest. It became an obsession and anytime I would have sex I would make a bet or some odd way to see if partners were interested. By now it was all I thought about. The phone chat lead me to find out about a cutter.

The cutter called me and told me he heard of my interest and he coud help me. Of course there would be a few things for him. He would videotape and keep my testicles and then only charge me for the local anesthesia. He told me of all his surgeries and I would be in good hands. The surgery did go well but partly because of my medical background and knowing what to insist on for technique. After the surgery when I would call and mention I was still having drainage it must have been something I had done wrong. He talked about his surgeries and that is when I found out he was not as experienced as he said he was. He also started to talk about people he wanted to castrate by force. It was then I stopped any communications.

That is my story and it does have a happy ending. I like who I am now. I am in love and I am loved. I am a member of a wonderful community. It took a long time but I am a eunuch and finally my true self. I must add that if I had not been so desperate I would never have considered a cutter. Life is too valuable to take such risks.

In preperation of my new life which I thought was going to simply be me without a sex drive I began to discard anything that was of a sexual nature. All porn, toys, naked photos of men I had taken and letters from lovers were discarded. I was ready to live as a monk. I was ready to put that part of me in the past. I still had my platonic friends and I was ready for the change.

A few weeks after surgery I began the first of many hot flashes. Those were for me the first signs of change. People would ask why I would get red faced and was obviously warm. All of a sudden taking your coat off out of doors made people wonder what was happening. At this point my nipples became sensitive and were always erect. A young man I worked with would always notice and comment. The next physical sign was in front of the mirror. I had been lifting weights and really noticed the chest deffinition I was developing. Of course what I realized next was the decrease in amount of chest hair that enabled me to see the improvement. I was not losing strength but I realized I was not gaining strength.

Along with the physical changes were the emotional changes. I was happy to be a eunuch but was so much more emotional. More to the point I was overwhelmed by emotions. If a friend did something kind to surprise me it would bring me to tears. A sad movie would bring me to tears. After years of photographing weddings I found myself crying at weddings. All these emotions and I had yet to adjust to them. Now years later they are still stronger than ever before in my life but I am no longer overwhelmed and can control them outwardly when needed.

The feeling that surprised me the most was my desire to have a child. I viewed this as the eunuch joke. I could no longer create a child but I wanted one so badly. My hormones had changed and I had become very nurturing. I took joy in the fact that so many women I knew were having children and would bring them to see me. This drive to have a child was very strong for the first four years. If I was not healing emotionally from other previously mentioned problems I might have adopted.

Along with my desire for a baby came the desire for physical affection. I knew I would never be happy just haing sex again. Touching and gentleness was what I craved. I felt like I was finally a three dimensional person again. I was aware of my feelings and needs. I could no longer hide or suppress them. I could not allow myself to just be used. The addiction was gone and the real me was left behind. I needed time to get to know me.

Yes the first few years were quite an adventure but with each year that passes I am happier with where this journey has taken me.

Tugon, thank you so so much for bearing your soul like this ::GREAT BIG HUGS::, I can only imagine what you went through - and I think you're so brave to be able to write it out.

I've heard some parts of this before, but to see the whole picture ...I just wanted to say you're so very brave to be able to write about it. And I admire you for this! I think you may have started a similar thread before The Great Crash of '06? And I'm very glad you've written this out again.

tugon (imported) wrote: Sun Feb 26, 2006 3:22 pm The actual idea of castration began after hearing a story about a young man who was paid to give up his testicles. I was in my early twenties and was troubled and excited by this story.

You say you were troubled and excited. It's weird, because I know exactly what you mean. I remember first seeing a (fact-based) movie about a prisoner, beaten so badly he lost his testicles. I remember this thought stopped me in my tracks. I remember being frightened and excited by the idea. Not just sexually - but emotionally. It's really hard to put into words.

It felt like a bolt of cold lightening through the heart. And it never really left me. Even when I would indulge in self-harm, I would get the same shaking coldness. It's weird.

But I wanted to offer another ::GREAT BIG HUGS:: ... You make this community what it is, and I'm so very glad you're here. (and feel very priveledged to be able to read your thoughts!)

Please keep us updated!!!

~Rog

When you leave a hospital or surgical center after a procedure you are given after care instructions and follow up visits. You are prescribed antibiotics and something for pain if you need it. You know how long to take it easy and the doctor will give you a slip if you need time off for work. If you use a cutter, as I did, you get nothing. As soon as you part company you are truly on your own. I want to share my experiences with my cutter for anyone who is desperate enough to think about using one.

When we first began to talk he was oh so willing to help. He was only concerned for me and he had the skills to help. He learned to castrate farm animals and that was his only training I found out later. He told me about all his experience and how happy everyone was. It sounded like he could help and he cared. After several lengthy conversations we agreed to a date.

As soon as the procedure was over and he had what he wanted, my testicles, the video, and the joy of castrating a man, my presence in the motel room seemed to be annoying to him. I dressed my own incision with dressings I brought with me. We spent the night in the motel room. He was resting for the long drive home. I was awake most of the night worried I might start bleeding. The next morning he left the job of gathering up the trash and used supplies to me. The room was in my name and I did not want to be questioned about what went on last night. I gathered everything up and took it to the dumpster. He then announced that I should buy him breakfast before he hit the road. Like the passive person I still was at that time I took him to McDonalds. I was never so glad to see someone get on a freeway in my life. Yes I desperately needed to be castrated but I did not know I would be so used but I guess I was using him.

The desperation kept me from thinking things through. I had not planned enough time off from work. Surgery was on a Saturday and I was back to my part time job on Tuesday and my full time job on Friday. Like so many events in my life I wanted to keep this from everyone. This meant I could not act like I had surgery. Activity had to be normal to keep my secret. I was never so glad to go to bed at night. With all the activity I had more drainage than normal and I called the cutter for information and he said I must have done something wrong. The old don't call me I'll call you.

I was having lots of drainage and my uniform pants at work were white. I learned when I was raped how to steal sanitary napkins from the supply rooms of the nursing units and now I had to help myself to gauze dressings. I was working twelve hour shifts and had to change many times to avoid any leak thru. Once again I was in the midst of health care but could not ask for care. If my secret was known could it cost me my job? Would I be sent to our behavioral health hospital? It was easier to keep working and quiet and sneak in for what I needed.

I eventually healed without infection. All that drainage probably helped keep bacteria from entering. I remeber that first time I could soak in a bathtub again. For several months I would have dreams that all of a sudden the incision would open on its own and blood would be down my legs and at my feet. In the dreams I was always at some place nice or with somone important and I was standing in a puddle of my own blood. This anxiety I think stemmed from never being sure if the surgery was performed correctly. I felt like something bad would happen to give away my secret.

Too much of my life had been secrets and I was imprisoned by secrets. My addiction needed to be a secret, my abuse needed to be a secret and my castration was the biggest secret. Secrets kept me from taking care of myself and doing things the right way.

I hope my struggles and poor choices will help someone from traveling the same path. Your physical and mental health is worth going through the proper channels. You deserve proper medical care and if you can not find it use chemical castration. I hope all the work involved in the survey and other things members are doing to educate health care providers will eliminate the need for back alley castations. Most importantly do not do as I did.

As a preface to this post I decided to talk of my life in two stages. My first 41 years I now speak of as PreEunuch and the current years as Eunuch. Never having felt like I was male calling myself intact male before my surgery was for me not correct. I think PreEunuch is a better description.

I not only had my gender confusion but it seemed I caused confusion in others. One of the things that I have experienced both as a preeunuch and eunuch for much of my life is being called ma'am. This happened when I had a full beard and mustache and was in rather good shape. It seemed to happen when people were a little distracted and they did not perceive me as male. I always wore mens' clothes and was not effeminate, unless of course I wanted to be. My point is it happened so much it became a joke among my friends and family. I even experienced it with patients who had a little dimentia. They would complement the woman who helped them. I never bothered correcting anyone because once they looked at me they would blush and say oh I mean sir. Of course I would not let my friends call me ma'am they had to call me miss. LOL

Another interesting experience was the men I seemed to attract. I could walk into a gay bar and unless I spontaneously combusted I would not be noticed. If I went to a straight bar I would attract a man. It seems I would attract the sexually confused or I somehow confused them. During my second attempt at college a straight young man started to have feelings for me. He was troubled because he knew he could not have sex with me but I was the perfect person for him if I would become a woman. Later he called to tell me he found the female equivalent of me. Several years later he saw me at the mall. He was walking with his wife and we both smiled broadly and before we spoke his wife said "oh this must be John". I was confused and causing confusion for others.

All my life people were picking up on the fact that I was very in touch with my feminine side. One of my oldest straight male friends always noticed that in personality I was very much male and female. Men always found it easy to talk with me even preeunuch. I had knowledge of men and could understand the woman's feelings. I guess I have always felt regardless of parts that I was deffinately living in the middle and glad to in some ways be part of both.

I bumped into a woman that I used to consider a friend. My first thought was how to get away so I do not have to get involved in a conversation. I noticed she was looking at me in the same way. I began to think of the changes in me and in my circle of friends.

During my days as a sex addict friends and acquaintances other than my old core group of friends were either addicts themselves or preoccupied with sex. Sex or talking about sex was the basis for many friendships including the lady I bumped into. We always shared our success and failures pursuing men. Our humor was always sexually tinged. The majority of time for me to find someone interesting they either had to be of sexual interest or as obssessed as I was. This group of friends and I were very one dimensional in our thoughts and focus.

After castration and the drop in male hormones I began to avoid these folks. I was very bored by the conversations. I thought this must be what it is like for an alcoholic after recovery and wanting to avoid his old drinking buddies. I was now interested in so many more things in life. I wanted to talk about feelings. I wanted to experience affection and maybe even fall in love. I was now as much a bore to them as they were to me.

With my new conversion I drifted away from those friends and connected more strongly with my long term friends. I have been developing new friendships based on the quality and character of the individual and not what kind of thrill they can give me. A wonderful improvement.

My dreams, since becoming a eunuch, are opening up some repressed memories. Well at least as reliable as dreams can be. With the realization of what they may mean I am better able to understand myself and the paths I have taken.

I had a dream this past Sunday night that woke me up and kept me awake the rest of the night. In the dream I was on a psychiatrists couch. I relived some of the erotic dreams I had early in puberty. The doctor asked if I thought the one dream was a repressed memory coming out as a dream. It was then that I woke up. During puberty I had the normal erotic/wet dreams but I also had a dream that I would feel profoundly guilty about when I had that dream. In those days I attributed the guilt to my realization that I was gay. Now I am not so sure.

The dream repeated itself many times. I was always in a bathroom in a home and I was giving oral sex to a man. The man was seated on the toilet and was mature. I always knew from that dream what sex was going to be like and I knew the tastes before my first experience with a peer. I never had an orgasm with this dream the way I would with the other sexual dreams. I would only have the aforementioned guilt with that dream. I was troubled by the dream but did not think about what it could mean until this most recent dream where I was asked if it could be a repressed memory.

Monday I thought a lot about what this could mean and some of my behaviors as a child. Also what part this may have played in my later addiction and precocious actions as a young teenager. Tuesday the emotions hit and I was nauseous, stomach cramps, was cold, had chills and body aches. Today a sense of peace that I understand a little more about the path of my life and as an enlightened friend told me the more I have these dreams and work through them the less power they will have over me.

Thanks for sharing this part of your life with us. I can only imagine how deeply personal it must be, and being able to talk about it already shows how well you are coping. I wish I could cope with life that well!

Dreams certainly facinate me - because they usually have a root somewhere in reality. That days' or weeks' events, or just thoughts going around in the mind sometimes spill over. And it's a funny/facinating idea that you saw a psychiatrist actually in your dream, to analyse your dreams. But I guess it shows you are healing even in your sleep.

I admire you for being so strong and being able to talk about this. Thank you for sharing!

Thinking back through my life I realize there were times I wanted to be female. No I did not have that sense of being in the wrong body. For me it was more a matter of convenience. As a young boy having no interest in sports or much aggressive activities I felt out of place. Growing up at the time and place I did there was a lot of pressure to conform. I noticed that girls had a wider latitude of accepted behaviors than boys. A girl could be prissy or a tomboy and not be picked on as much as a boy who was not boyish. At least that is how I saw it back then. Of course I also thought my father might have treated me better.

Never having much success playing the role as a male these thoughts came back every now and then. I remember telling my lover when I was 19 that I thought I wanted to be a girl. He told me I made a much better looking boy than I ever would a girl. So I did not mention those feelings again. I still did not have those overwhelming desires to be female I just knew something was wrong in my life. I felt like the triangular peg that would not fit in the circular or square hole.

While away at college after the death of my lover the desires to be female came back. I think that tragic loss and how men are supposed to not show emotions or receive much support brought back the desire to be a woman. I shared this with a few friends and they were surprised but supportive. Of course even though I had the feelings I somehow knew that path was not right for me. Still not comfortable playing male I could not fully commit to being female. I would never have been strong or brave enough to be transgendered. I remember buying women's magazines and trying to get in tune with their feelings and the female experience. This did not covince me that I was female. The struggle to find myself continued.

It was when I first heard of the

tugon (imported) wrote: Sun Feb 26, 2006 3:22 pm young man who was paid to give up his testicles

that the light bulb flashed. I was not sure what those feelings of excitement meant but it became a seed of thought in my brain. The more I read and learned about eunuchs the more I thought that finally this is where I fit. I never had thoughts of becoming female again. Even though I thought I was the only person choosing this for myself besides of course the young man in the story I knew without a doubt I would be happiest as a eunuch. I was correct.

Tugon,

Thanks for these reflections. For eunuchs like myself who are still trying to figure out what we are, it helps to see what others are thinking.

My happiness post-castration lasted approx. 4 months. Then TG stuff, which I thought had been put to rest with other issues by castration, started to slowly emerge...Dreams where I had long hair (and liked it) or had an inverted penis (and liked it)...Checking my breasts every day for development (and being disappointed by lack thereof)...Growing distaste for Mr. Penis' appearance.

Thanks much!