A letter from Leg Show of May 2001 (pp.7-8). Dian Hanson boasts that Leg Show doesn't need to make up reader letters. If that is true, this implies that there is already a network of castrating wives. Of the castration stories considered here, this one sounds the most realistic in terms of the circumstances and effects of the operation.
My wife and I decided that three children were enough for us. She visited with her gynecologist who suggested that in light of family history and her stage of life that she ought to have a hysterectomy. She followed through and after recuperation, we returned to our usual weekly sex session. That was that, or so I thought.
A few weeks later, after our sex in bed, my wife turned to me and announced that I too ought to get "fixed." She said that there was no need for me to be able to make babies if she couldn't. I was taken by surprise but couldn't disagree with her logic. I also wanted to give her the comfort. After all, I thought, she did go through with the hysterectomy and I didn't want more kids. She said my attitude was great and that she had already made an appointment with a doctor for me the following week.
She went with me to the doctor's office. We both went into the examining room. I was shocked to see that one of our female friends was the doctor who came in after us. Let's call her Vicky. Vicky was bright and she was also pretty fair-looking, blond with rather large breasts. She sat down next to both of us and explained that she had spoken with my wife and that she would be available to help us out. However, before she could make a recommendation to us, she would have to examine me. She asked me to take off my pants and shorts. Until then, I thought it would just be a talk. I didn't realize what she had in mind, so I was flustered. She put her hand on mine and calmed me down, assuring me taht she was a doctor. She chuckled that she had seen almost all there is to see. Even though she was a friend of ours, I rationalized that she was a doctor and we were seeeking her help so she needed to examine me. Neverthless, I felt slightly uncomfortable as I stood up and slowly slipped off my pants and underwear. I stood there and got an embarrassing erection. I put my hands in front so they couldn't see. Vicki waved them off, accouncing "Let's see what you have." My heart raced as she took a firm hold of my balls. She manipulated them, stretching them every which way and then pushing them all the way up. I gagged a little. She then dropped them and grabbed my penis. When she pulled back the foreskin I shuddered a little. Looking at my penis directly she said "Not a lot for us girls to get exited about, huh?" I didn't answer. Turning to my wife she said "Do you get satisifed with this?" pointing to my penis. "Actually no," my wife said. I turned beet red. My small size was always a very personal matter bewteen the two of us. My penis shrunk considerably. "Here's a specimen cup," she announced. "Masturbate for me. I want to see your fluid." I couldn't believe what she was asking, but complied. It was a little wierd with two women watching you, waiting impatiently for you to cum. I finally came. She took the cup and put in on a table.
"Well," Vicki said, turning to both of us while I continued to stand naking from the waist down. "There are several alternatives. One is the traditional tube-tying. This has its advantages, including being reversible." My wife blanched at this. "Another alternative, which a lot of modern couples are pushing for, is removing the testicles completely. This has the advantage of permanency. It is also seen as a real tribute or gift to the wife, a demonstration of fidelity. The man still gets an erection and sex is still possible. It also has the advantage for the man to avoid the pain the comes with bike riding and other activities where exposure of the testicles is a problem." I was shocked but my wife really thought it was great. "Don't worry about the operation," Vicki said, "I've deballed lots of guys." She turned to me and added, "And since your balls are so small, you probably wont' miss them at all. It will also make your little penis look bigger." I felt ashamed to hear that from her, but my humilation was not yet complete. "Pull up your panties and pants and call me later in the week after you've had a chance to talk it over." I thought at first I had misheard her, but I hadn't. She had said "panies" referring to my underwear.
For the entire week, my wife constantly bugged me about the surgery. She also denied me sex during the harangue. Once, when I was sitting in the big chair in our den she came over to me, stood between my legs and reached over and grabbed by balls through my pants. "Wouldn't you give these up for me?" I was about to say no, but then she started to play with my penis. She started stroking my penis up and down and said "We can still do this." I began to lose control and she knew it. She continued stroking me and then stopped before I erupted. "Okay. Okay, I will. I'll do it." She smiled, returned to her stroking and I came in my pants in a minute.
I went into the hospital the next day. Seems she had assumed my consent and made the appointment. I don't remember much about it except lying on a table in a hospital gown with the bottom exposed, crotch completely shaven, with my wife and three or four pairs of nurses' eyes staring down at me. I was a little drugged up but saw Vicki with her arm around my wife as they stared at me. I got panic-stricken. I reached up to my wife and said, "Please. Please don't let them take my balls." My wife reached down to my head and said "There, there, it'll be okay." Her other hand reached down and held my balls firmly. Looking me in the eyes she said, "I've had the balls in our family for a long time. These are useless appendages like a gall bladder. We don't want you having a middle-age crisis, figuring you need to impregnate some young girl to prove your manhood." Then she turned playful and said with a smile, "Besides, you still have your little penis. Be glad we're not taking that away just yet." I was mortified. "No. No," said. And that was all I remember.
I woke up in a recovery room and became depressed thiking about what had happened. For the next week or so, I moped around the house with bandages on my crotch. We went back to Vicki's office to have the bandages removed. "It's a great job," she declared. We went home in the car in silence. I was in a bad mood until my wife cornered me in our bedroom. She pushed me on the bed and began pulling my clothes off. I presented her with a reasonable erection (for me) and she impaled herself. When I confided that I was having trouble keeping my erection, she smiled and said "Nothing a little Viagra won't help." I liked the sound of that. "Look," she said. "Now that you're de-balled, I'm going to want more of this little meat." I hope she's right. I've given up part of my maleness for her. Lots of guys wouldn't do it. But modern women like my wife want more. I'm okay with her having the real balls in our family.
Ball-less
