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A Cure for Priapism                 by: Debbie Cybill

 

LIFE was hell in those days. I suffered from a constant erection that could only be eased briefly by masturbation. There is a medical term for this; it is called priapism, and there is no known cure. I was masturbating a dozen times a day, and still I got no surcease. I was terrified that I would start to assault women, for every time I jerked off I was fantasizing that I was raping some broad. I was actually rather shy around women, and I had never fucked anyone, woman or man, though the latter idea revolted me. I could not imagine why this afflicted me. I had never slept with a woman. Or a man, come to that. I was a virgin, despite my problem. I still am.

I turned to the library to find if there was anything to be done about this priapism. Nothing. The web - nothing. My work suffered since I had to drop whatever I was doing every two hours to jerk off.

Then one day I saw a strange advertisement in a magazine:

 

CASTRATION!

Do you wish to be castrated?

This will solve all kinds of problems:

desire to abuse children, paedophilia, priapism and many others.

Complete discretion and privacy.

Carried out by a State registered surgeon/

Apply to. . . .

 

That word priapism caught my eye. Could it really work? Anything was better than this. I wrote to the address given in the advertisement.

For three weeks I heard nothing and my priapism seemed to be getting even worse if that were possible. I was beginning to fantasize more and more about enslaving some woman and using her as a sex toy. The very idea terrified yet fascinated me. I was horrified at my own thoughts, even more than by my constant need to masturbate.

Then an answer arrived. Dr. Mary Hedon wrote:

"I have read your letter with considerable sympathy. Priapism is a dreadful condition that no man should have to suffer. You are correct that castration is the only cure and I am prepared to take you on as my patient. You should be aware that I undertake this work as a matter of charity and will charge you no fee, so that your only expense will be the fare in travelling here. While here you will be my house guest for as long as necessary. If you have the means, however, you might wish now or in the future to make a donation to the Castration Foundation to help other sufferers like yourself.

"I have a clinic and surgery attached to my home, and there I have castrated 17 men, six of them to alleviate priapism, the remainder for other reasons.

"If you wish to proceed I shall expect you at the airport here on Friday September 16 at 3:00 p. m. You will find that flight 167 from your home town will be convenient for you. My chauffeur will meet you and carry a sign with your name.

"The castration operation is carried out in two or three stages. Please expect to be away from home for two weeks for this first stage. Please write and confirm your acceptance of these arrangements.

Yours sympathetically,

Mary Hedon, M. D."

I felt a rush of relief at this letter. The proposed date was three weeks away. I hurriedly penned a note to Dr. Hedon confirming my acceptance. I put my affairs in order, and took two weeks leave from my job.

The flight that Friday was uneventful, and I only had to retire to the john once to jack off. At the airport the chauffeur escorted me to Dr. Hedon’s black Lincoln and drove about 30 minutes out of town to an estate of some ten wooded acres, with a small lake. Dr. Hedon was evidently well off. She welcomed me, and then said, "I expect you need to masturbate before we get down to business. Let me show you to your room where you can do it in comfort. Come to the drawing room when you have finished." Clearly an understanding woman.

The room was on the ground floor and was set up as a hospital room with a hospital bed and all the usual fixtures. The chauffeur placed my bag on a table and left me to do what I had to do.

The drawing room, too, was on the ground floor, with French windows opening onto a terraced garden. Even this late in the year the windows were open and Dr. Hedon was sitting outside on the patio overlooking the lake, wearing a flowered silk afternoon dress. On the table was a tea set. "Come and have a cup of tea, dear," she said in an English accent. She was a buxom middle-aged woman, comfortable-looking, motherly. We drank our tea, and then she led me into her office.

"We shall have dinner in about an hour’s time, and that will give us enough time to complete the paper work."

She took me through the usual medical history, making extensive notes, then produced a number of forms for me to sign. "This is the general permission allowing me to carry out whatever procedures I consider appropriate. It is necessary before any surgeon carries out any kind of operation in this country."

I read through it carefully. I was not going to sign anything without reading it first. It was exactly what she told me and I signed it for her.

"Now this is a statement that you are permitting me to alter your genital organs and that whatever I do is at your request, even if there is no immediate medical reason for the procedure."

Once again I read it carefully and signed.

"And this last one states that you suffer from priapism and are requesting this procedure to alleviate this condition." I signed once more.

Dinner was a gourmet feast in which the centrepiece was roast pheasant. "I shot that on the estate three days ago. I hope it has hung long enough to be tender." She need not have worried. After the meal she said, "This is your last meal for at least three days. Tomorrow we carry out the first procedure quite early. You may drink a little water when you retire, but nothing more and nothing at all tomorrow morning. Let me explain what I shall do."

Nothing would persuade me to hear it ahead of time. I just wanted it done. I held up my hand to stop her and told her so. At that point I had to leave the table to masturbate. When I returned she asked me if I was quite sure I did not want an explanation. I was adamant.

The next morning, about 6:00 a. m., I was wakened by a nurse who gave me an injection. "Valium," she said, ‘to sedate you quite lightly." She then lathered my pubic hair and shaved it all off. After I masturbated I stripped and donned a hospital gown, and then I was further prepared for the surgery, given a much heavier dose of Valium, and placed on a gurney. In the operating room I was transferred to the table, and given an epidural injection: I was to be awake during the surgery. I lay back and was covered by green drapes. A masked and gowned figure appeared alongside; I presumed it was Dr, Hedon. "All set?" she asked. Then she began testing to see if the anaesthetic had taken hold. She gave a running commentary on what was happening.

"Your most pressing problem is with your penis," she said. "That is what you grasp when you masturbate. I am going to remove that as the first stage. If you had allowed me I should have told you that last night." I murmured my assent; I was drowsy because of the Valium. I could feel manipulation of my prick, but no pain because of the epidural anaesthetic.

"Scalpel, please." A nurse handed it to her and I felt her take my cock in her left hand and cut up it. At least that was what I thought happened. She confirmed it, "I am cutting up the skin of your penis preparatory to dissecting out all the muscles and erectile tissue. Haemostat, please." The nurse handed her the stainless steel clamp that would cut off the blood supply to the penis. She seemed to be blunt dissecting the tissues at the base of my prick, calling out from time to time for more clamps. "I have now clamped off all the blood vessels and the nerves," she told me.

"Now I can start amputating the other tissues. I am going to take away the total penis, including the parts that lie inside the body, so I shall be dissecting quite deep inside you." Scalpels and scissors in quick succession. "Do you want to see your organ." She lifted up the bloody mass. I closed my eyes; I did not want to see it.

"I am now tying off the various blood vessels, arteries and veins. I may have to use a little cautery to stop minor bleeding and I shall cauterize the ends of the nerves too." I smelled the odour of burning flesh.

"Now I am going to close up the wound, using some of the skin from the shaft of the penis, and I shall insert a catheter into the stump of your urethra. It will heal quite quickly."

I had expected stitches, but she used wire staples to close the wound. "There, all done! Stage one is complete. The staples will itch for a few days, but they heal better than sutures and cause less scarring. I’ll look in and see you later."

I was wheeled to the recovery room, where my vital signs were checked for an hour or so and then back to my room. After about three hours the anaesthetic wore off and the pain started. My nurse gave me a shot of demerol and I dozed off again. It was growing dark when I next awoke. Dr. Hedon was standing beside my bed. "That went very well, I think. You are going to be pleased with the result. You will have a nice flat pubic area with no pole sticking out and no chance whatever of masturbating or of assaulting any woman." I mumbled my thanks and dozed off again.

That night I slept well with the aid of a sleeping pill and another demerol injection. Breakfast in bed next morning consisted of a glass of juice and a dish of jello. Lunch was little better: more jello and glass of milk this time. After lunch the dressing were changed and I had the first glimpse of how I looked: a bloody bruised mess.

The catheter came out after four days and the staples after a week. Hobbling to the toilet was quite painful at first with the staples pulling so. I seemed strange to sit to pee, and instead of a steady stream my pee spurted out; I had to take good care to wipe myself well. By now I was beginning to get the old urges again, but I could no longer masturbate for relief. Instead my prostate took charge of things and discharged semen at unexpected moments, each time accompanied by a strong orgasm.

At ten days the final dressing came off and I was able to examine myself with the aid of a hand mirror. My scrotum and balls were still there, but in place of my cock I had a smooth patch of skin below my pubic hairs, which were beginning to grow again. It was still purple and bruised, but I could see what the final look would be. Just behind this patch was my new urethral opening through which I peed, and behind that my hairy scrotum.

That evening Dr. Hedon invited me to dinner with her. We sat at a fine mahogany table, lit with candles and laid with sterling silver and crystal. This was my first good meal for ten days, baked salmon, roast beef and all the trimmings, accompanied by fine wine. During the dessert my prostate decided it was time to discharge and I started to orgasm. Dr. Hedon saw what was happening.

"That will occur frequently, but at least you will not have to masturbate. In the meantime you must wear sanitary napkins to catch the semen. Maxipads probably."

I grinned ruefully. "But I thought you were going to castrate me, to remove my balls so that this would not happen."

"All in good time, my dear. We can’t do it all at once, and the most urgent task was to stop you masturbating so frequently. When all the tissues have recovered from the trauma we can proceed to the next stage."

The next three days were quite pleasant except for one thing. I ate all my meals with Dr. Hedon. She asked me to call her Mary. The food was superb, my pubis was healing nicely and the pain subsiding. But still my prostate was working overtime. I could not masturbate and so got no relief.

At the end of the second week I was discharged and returned to my job. "I will see you in about three months time for the next stage, dear."

"Thank you for everything, Mary. I am looking forward to the next stage already."

Back at home and at work I began to realize my situation. My balls and prostate were working overtime, just as before, but instead of masturbating I could obtain no relief of any kind. I was totally frustrated. It was the ultimate torture: priapism with no Priapus, the need to masturbate and no cock to jerk off. I wore a maxipad all the time, and after a few hours it was sticky with semen. In the evenings I paced the room. Eventually I went to a sex shop and bought a vibrator. I thought that if I stuck it up my arse I might stimulate the prostate to come when I wanted it to, and not just when it took it into its own mind to do so. I was beginning to think of my prostate as a thinking parasite inhabiting my body. I did get some relief from the vibrator, but I could not use it during the working day, only at home.

Finally, Mary’s letter arrived inviting me to attend for the second stage of my castration in two weeks time. The two weeks passed so slowly I could hardly bear it. Once the chauffeur deposited me at Mary’s mansion I immediately sought her out. She took one look at my face: "Tell me all about it, dear."

I poured it all out to her, about my frustration and the continuing priapism, even in the absence of a cock, my frustration at this ultimate torture.

"Never mind, dear. We can put that right tomorrow."

We dined on roast grouse that night, accompanied by a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. Mary was wearing a long formal evening dress in a dark red silk that enhanced her natural colouring. "Do you want to know what I shall be doing to you tomorrow?" she asked over coffee.

"No, just do it, provided it gives me relief from my frustration."

"Oh, it will, dear."

The next morning I was prepped just like last time. Again Mary kept up a running commentary.

"Since you are having such discomfort from your prostate I am going to relieve that this time, and deal with your testes as a separate third stage. I am going to distend your anus and operate on the prostate by that route. This will avoid disturbing the freshly healed tissues of your pubic region. Give me a distender, please, nurse."

She stretched my asshole wide. I felt her fingers locating my prostate. "Scalpel, please." I noticed how polite she always was, saying "please" every time. She cut through the wall of the rectum and then did something with the prostate. "I am cutting the nerves to the prostate, dear, then you won’t be able to feel anything there and the muscles cannot spasm to discharge semen."

The operation this time was over quickly. Once again I found that I had a catheter in my bladder, and I was allowed no solid food at all for a week. By then the cut in the wall of the rectum had healed and my asshole was no longer sore. To my surprise I was placed in diapers immediately after the catheter was removed. The nurse told me not to attempt to go to the toilet, but to rely on the diapers.

When next I saw Dr. Hedon I asked her why this was. "You will always have to wear diapers from now on, dear. I would have told you that last night if you had allowed me. You see, the prostate, besides storing and supplementing the semen, contains the muscles that spasm for ejaculation and also the sphincter muscles that control urine flow. Now that I have cut the nerves to the prostate none of the muscles will work, and they will soon degenerate altogether without any nerve supply. This means that the prostate will not spasm to ejaculate semen, and also that you cannot control your urine flow. You will have a steady trickle of urine and an intermittent discharge of semen, without the nasty feeling of the spasms that used to accompany your orgasms."

I digested this in silence for some time. I had not bargained with being incontinent like this.

"You will be far more comfortable now, dear. And in a couple of months we can complete the process and remove your nasty testes and scrotum."

I stayed two more days, learning how to diaper myself, how to use zinc oxide ointment and baby powder to prevent diaper rash, the use of deodorants to prevent odours from the diaper.

"Are you more comfortable now , dear?"

"Yes, I am. I haven’t spasmed once. None of that orgasmic discharge."

"That’s good. But you couldn’t possibly, you know. Do you find the diapers comfy? No diaper rash?"

"Oh, they’re comfortable enough, I suppose, but they do tend to droop."

‘You might be more comfortable wearing a pantie girdle to keep it in place. You may have to try several makes and patterns before you find one that’s really comfortable."

Back home once more I found she was right: I was more comfortable without the frequent spasmodic contractions of the prostate as it discharged semen. But I seemed as frustrated as ever. I was in a constant state of arousal. I supposed the hormones from my testes were flooding my brain and stimulating me. I now had no means at all of relief, not even the spontaneous discharge of spunk by orgasmic contraction of my prostate. Some days my diaper seemed to contain more semen than urine.

I was terribly embarrassed at buying a pantie girdle and chose the largest department store in town since I thought it might offer me more anonymity. I ventured into the ‘intimate apparel’ region where I managed to find the right size; it was not all that comfortable, but I remembered what Mary had said about trying on several different ones. The next time I tried them on in the changing room of the store. I went early in the morning when they first opened and had almost no customers, and used a changing room despite the protests of the sales clerk. I found one that was much more comfortable than the others and bought four of them.

Once more I welcomed Mary Hedon’s letter calling me back to her clinic for the third stage. This time she really did castrate me. She slit through my scrotum and removed my balls, holding each one up for me to see. She then trimmed off excess scrotal sac and stapled the edges together of what remained. When the dressing came off, I found that I had a totally smooth area between my legs, no protrusions of any kind, no cock, no balls, no sac, just taut skin and a tiny hole through which I peed, a hole that dripped steadily, all day.

Two months later I visited Dr. Hedon one more time for a final checkup. "The diapers are a bit of a nuisance, Mary, but in all other ways I am really happy with myself. Your suggestion that I wear a pantie girdle was a good one. I’m much more comfortable now; no more droopy drawers. The girdle gives me such a good sense of security, all warm and cosy as it were,"

"That’s good, dear, but you’ll have to watch your diet. You are a eunuch now, and eunuchs tend to put on weight and then they sweat heavily. I will suggest a regime, which will include a good exercise programme as well as a restricted diet."

I had not realized that I was eunuch. It came as a bit of a shock.

We chatted some more, then I asked Mary how she had come to start this business of castration.

"It all started with my ex-husband, and the way he treated me. When he finally left me (we are not divorced by the way - he just abandoned me) I determined that I would punish him for what he did to me, using me as little more than a sex toy. The best punishment I could think of was to castrate him. I have to some extent been experimenting on you and other males, finding out how best to do it, and what I have done to you shows me how I should proceed. What I now propose is not to castrate him at all, just to remove his penis as I did yours and leave it at that. You once described that to me as the ultimate torment, a full prostate and no means of relieving it with no penis."

I thought back to that period, not too long ago, but now part of a distant history. What a punishment it would be for a real cocksman!

"And how about your nurses? Do they have a vested interest in what you do?"

"The certainly do. My head nurse, Beatrice, was raped by my husband and one of his friends. Then they took her to a biker headquarters and she was gang-raped. The other guys were later charged with a similar offence and are now in jail, but Mr. Bigprick Hedon is still running around. Bea would like me to castrate him without benefit of anaesthetic, but I don’t think that is really feasible.

"I run a very minimal operation here, as you know . That is why I operate under local anaesthesia or with an epidural. Anything more and I should have to work with an anaesthesiologist, but this way I can work alone.

"Then Susan - she was your night nurse - was married to a man who turned out to like little boys. He sodomized her too. He is in prison, but I don’t suppose he’ll last long; jailbirds don’t like child molesters.

"Your day nurse, Sarah, was abused by her uncle when she was a child. She has never been able to have a decent sex life and is scared of being raped. She would love to cut her uncle’s penis off. I shall do it for her one day." She looked grim.

"They all like you, because you came to me before your condition led you to rape any woman. They really appreciate your sense of responsibility. I need your help now, dear."

"Anything at all I can do, Mary. You have been so good to me, so kind, and you have never taken a penny from me."

"I want you and three of my other patients to kidnap Mr. Bigprick Hedon and bring him here."

I realized that the time had come for her, in her own mind, to carry out her plan.

The four of us, all eunuchs, spent a few days tracking Mr. Hedon’s movements. I was struck by how much younger he was than his wife and wondered how such a woman as her could ever have married a bruiser like this. Every evening he went to some pickup bar and took home a different woman. The next evening we were waiting for him with a whore we had paid, as bait. She enticed him outside to the parking lot, where she left him to our care. We bundled him into his own car with his jacket pulled over his head, and drove him to Mary’s mansion after we injected him with a strong sedative.

The next day we were invited to watch the surgery. Only Henry and I did so; the other two were too squeamish. Mary dissected out her husband’s penis, just as she had done mine, but then she did something more. She gave a commentary, as was her wont.

"This time I am going to try to cut just the nerves to the sphincter muscle, within the prostate, leaving those intact that control the spasm muscles that ejaculate." The operation seemed delicate and took some time.

"There, that’s done it. No damage to the nerves and muscles that spasm to discharge semen."

I realized that as far as his reproductive system was concerned he would be in the frustrating condition I had been in after the first stage of my surgery, the condition of maximum frustration and would continue to have orgasmic discharges. I said as much to Mary.

"That’s right, dear, but he is worse off than you were at that stage. He can’t control his bladder at all, so he will have to wear diapers. Now I am going to add one more refinement."

She exposed his asshole and distended it. "Now I am going to search for the nerves that supply his anal sphincter. Ah, there’s the one on the right," Snip. "Now for the left nerve." Snip. Now he can’t control his bowels either. His diaper is going to be really smelly."

I did not envy her husband, with his raging desire for women and no way to assuage it, and his inability to control either his bladder or his bowels. When I went into his hospital room a few days later his diapers really did stink. Mary kept him sedated until his incisions had healed, then her nurses dressed him and bundled him into his car, still out to the world. Mary drove her big limousine and I followed driving her husband’s car. We drove into the garage at his apartment where we manoeuvred him into the driver’s seat and left his keys in the ignition. Mary checked his vital signs and pronounced him fit.

"He will come round in about half and hour."

We left him a package of diapers on the back seat.

Driving back to Mary’s mansion I asked why she had not divorced him.

"If I had he would have received half of my entire estate under the Married Couples Property Act, and I did not want that. He could not divorce me because he had deserted me, and I would not divorce him. I still won’t."

Mary apologised to me later that day. "I did not really have to spread out your surgery over so long a period. I just wanted to know how frustrated you would be if I left you in the first condition, the one you described as the ultimate torture. That way I could get a better idea of what the effect would be on Mr. Bigdick there. Can I make it up to you by converting you into a woman and giving you a vagina?"

I declined the offer. "I have no interest in having a man make love to me. I am happy as a eunuch."

I still am.

 


1998
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