ReadRoom8

Reading Room # 8

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Terri Lynn Home From College
Summer Job
Part 1 of 3

Terri Lynn Home From College
Summer Job
Part 2 of 3

Terri Lynn Home From College
Summer Job
Part 3 of 3



	Terri Lynn Home From College: Summer Job Part 1 of 3 As told to Farrell Squire "You got a phone call while you were in town this morning, Terri Lynn," Pop said. "I think you and Sharon might have another job; over at the Jenkins farm this time. You oughta give old Dave a call after a bit." "Thanks Pop, I'll check it out." Sharon was my best friend, and along with Penny, my kid sister, we had been picking up extra money like this for about five years now; performing a farm chore that a lot of people would rather not have to think about - castration. [Read "Terri Lynn's Story"] I started when I was fourteen. Pop showed me how to nut pigs, using a sharp knife, and how to use the Elastrator and Burdizzo on calves. I got Sharon and Penny in on it and we've been castrating animals on farms all over county ever since. Sharon and I were home for a few weeks now, having just completed our freshman year at West Central College. Penny would just be starting eleventh grade next fall. I called old Dave Jenkins and he said he had about two dozen bull calves that needed banding. One in particular was a little bigger than the rest and he thought I might want to have a look at it first. I told him okay, although that seemed a little strange. There wasn't a calf too big for me and Sharon to handle. We had castrated a grown bull once, and had to build a makeshift squeeze chute from scrap lumber. It took us over half a day to do it when you counted the time we spent building the chute, but we got the job done and made twenty five dollars too. Pop let me borrow his pickup and I drove over to the Jenkins farm. Old Dave was probably around fifty years old (we thought that was old then). He had run a small dairy most of his life, but sold his herd a couple of years ago when the last of his kids had grown up and left home. Running a dairy takes too many hands. He mostly raised calves for the beef market now, and did odd jobs like cutting and baling hay. It was mid-afternoon when I pulled up in his yard. Old Rouzer, his border collie, started barking, but settled down as soon as I got out of the truck and he recognized me. Mr. Jenkins came out on the porch smiling, apparently happy to see me. "Calves are down there in the pen by the barn," he said, after we exchanged greetings. "Let's go have a look." "Where's Miss Bessie?" I asked. "Oh, Bessie Mae's doin' some work over at the church this afternoon. I think they're gonna make quilts to sell to raise money." As we walked down the path to the barn, waist-high weeds closed in on us from either side, forcing us to walk single file with Rouzer following behind. I walked behind Mr. Jenkins, feeling a little apprehensive now. Something about this situation just wasn't right. I had heard a lot of stories about dirty old men while I was at college and I wasn't nearly as naive and trusting as I would have been only a year earlier. Here I was, a nineteen-year-old girl, alone with a fifty-year-old man, walking down an overgrown path to a barn, on a remote isolated farm. His wife was conveniently preoccupied elsewhere for the afternoon and no one would be around here for hours. And why didn't Mr. Jenkins just get his wife to help band the calves? We had never had a job here before; why did he all of a sudden need me and Sharon to band his calves? Maybe his boys used to do it when they were living at home, but something just didn't seem right about this. I was very athletic and in top shape, but I had to be realistic. I probably couldn't overpower Mr. Jenkins in a contest of brute strength. I would have to concentrate my strategy on pulling away and putting some distance between us. I still played basketball in college, and also participated in track and field. There's no way old Mr. Jenkins could catch me once I got in the open, and I knew this country like a fox. Even if he blocked my path back to the truck, I could cut across his pasture, go up and over Black Wolf Ridge, then follow the creek back down to the road and be home in two hours. I would just have to be careful not to stand anywhere I could be cornered. I was feeling guilty too. Why would I think these thoughts about poor old Mr. Jenkins. I had known him and his wife most of my life, and I went to school with his kids. Mr. Dave and Miss Bessie were real nice folks, I should be ashamed of myself for thinking he might lure me out here to molest me. But something was wrong; I could sense it. Banding a bunch of calves was not the real reason he called me over here. He was holding something back, something that was causing him anguish inside. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in the tone of his voice. Soon we were leaning over the rail of the corral, looking at two dozen, six-week-old bull calves. "Just bought this batch from a dairy over in West Fork last week," he said. "Gotta feed 'em milk replacer for a couple of months yet. They're just the right size for banding." "Looks like a pretty routine job to me," I said, feeling more apprehensive than ever, and watching Mr. Jenkins closely for any sign of a false move. "Where's that big one that's supposed to be such a problem?" "Well, Terri Lynn," he said, so nervous now that he was actually shaking, "that's really what I called you over here for." I stepped back, making sure I had room to make a break if he came after me. "Terri Lynn, if you band this one animal, you'll make two hundred dollars, but I want you to promise me that you won't say anything about it to anybody, and if you don't want the job you'll just pretend I never asked you." Two hundred dollars was a lot of money in the Ozark Mountains back in 1970. The men who worked at the creosote mill barely brought home fifty dollars a week. "Well, Mr. Dave, you haven't told me what the job is exactly" "Terri Lynn, you gotta promise you won't say anything." I was very suspicious now, and took another step back. I paused, and looked Mr. Jenkins in the eye. He was shaking now, but he looked more like he might cry than attack me. "Mr. Dave, if this is something that is illegal or something that will get me in trouble with the law, I won't promise. But if it's something else, I guess it's okay. I'll promise. As long as it's not something that will get me in trouble with the law for not telling, I'll promise." I could see some relief come across his face. "No, Terri Lynn, it's nothing like that. In two weeks Bessie Mae is going to Joplin to spend a few days with her sister. I'll be alone here on the farm. That's when I want to do it." "Do what, Mr. Dave?" "Well I... ah... want you and Sharon to slip a band on this particular ah... animal." He paused for several seconds. The silence was very awkward and we both began to perspire. "Well, Terri Lynn, the... ah... animal I want y'all to band is... me." I was shocked! I didn't know what to think. I had never had a request like this before. Even after what Sharon and I did to her little brother, Melvin, this was a shock. Someone from the public world, a grown man, was asking us to castrate him! I almost bolted and ran back to the truck, but I could see the pleading desperation in poor old Mr. Jenkins' face. As soon as I was over the initial shock I collected my composure and tried to appear calm and professional. "Yes, Mr. Dave, we can do it, and we won't tell another soul, but it's a most unusual request. Could you possibly tell me why you want this done?" "Well, me and the Misses, Bessie, have been married over thirty years now. I love Bessie Mae, I really do. It's just that we haven't, you know, done it, in about ten years now, and I don't think she's been really interested in that for more than twenty years. I love the kids, we even got a couple of grandkids now. I'm real happy with my family, and I think they're happy with me. I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt them, not on purpose, and not if I could help it." I could actually see the relief on Mr. Jenkins's face as he continued spilling out his soul to me. I realized from some of the books I had read that this was the kind of stuff that people should only tell to qualified therapists and psychologists, and it often took months, or even years, before the patient would trust them enough to open up and tell them their darkest secrets. I felt very inadequate and worried that I was not up to the task. A mature man shouldn't be telling this to a nineteen-year-old girl. What could I possibly know about life? Nevertheless, I tried to be a good listener and maintain a professional posture. "Well, Mr. Dave, I think you have a wonderful family too, but I don't quite see what this has to do with what you are asking me to do to you." I knew, or at least suspected, but I had to draw it out of him. I wanted to hear it in his own words. I had often fantasized about men desiring castration and now I was talking to one! I had to know what went on in their heads to make them have this bizarre wish. "Well," he said, I guess it's just hormones. When I was young, that's what attracted me to Bessie Mae in the first place. That's what allowed us to get together and make babies. But after that's all done, the hormones are just in the way. They just make a man want things that will tear up his marriage, and ruin the lives of everyone he loves. My hormones just make me want things I can't have and shouldn't have - things I shouldn't even want. I have to fight all the time to resist those temptations. "When I watch those shows on television with all those pretty women, it just makes me want to be with them and take my pleasure with them, and I know that's wrong. When we get those catalogs and flyers in the mail, showing all those pretty girls in swimsuits and underwear, it's the same thing. It makes me want to do things that I know are sinful and wrong. And when I go to town, its even worse. Women these days are wearing those little short skirts that just drive a man crazy, and I know I shouldn't even be thinking about things like that." I couldn't help looking down at myself self-consciously, knowing that I dressed like that over half the time myself. I was glad I was wearing jeans today, although they were tight and fit just a little too good. "And I feel so guilty," he continued, "because Bessie Mae doesn't make me feel the way those women do. Now don't get me wrong, I love Bessie, and I wouldn't have her know what I'm telling you for anything. Now I know Bessie Mae has put on quite a few pounds over the years, but I don't think she ever made me feel like that as much as these women do today. Women today are just prettier than they were back in my day!" "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Dave," I said, with an embarrassed chuckle, "but I think girls today are allowed to be sexier. Thirty years ago, girls weren't allowed to be sexy, or at least not too sexy. It's not their fault." "I guess it really doesn't matter why," he said, wistfully. "All I know is that its gettin' to be more painful than I can stand. Can you understand that, Terri Lynn? The pain ain't physical, it's in my mind and it hurts just like real pain. Hell, I'd rather get a toe cut off any day, 'cept I'd finally run out of toes. This thing just keeps hurtin' again and again, every time I look at a pretty girl. "I was in Paxton just the other day, in the parking lot of that new discount store and saw this pretty girl, about your age, Terri Lynn, in one of those little mini skirts. She had perfect legs, not too fat, not too thin, and they were tanned and soft-looking. I tried to act like I didn't notice, but she was all I could think about. Every time she took a step it just made me weak. It was like somebody was hitting me in the chest with a sledge hammer, it wasn't doing any real damage, but I was feeling the pain just the same. Just before she got in her car she looked at me and smiled. She knew I had been watching her and I don't think she even minded. Not like girls in my day. She got into a little yellow Mustang with vinyl seats and when she sat down I could hear her legs make a squeaking noise, rubbing against the vinyl. That almost killed me. And when she drove off she just smiled and waved like she knew me, but of course she didn't. Terri Lynn, I was shook up for the rest of the afternoon. I couldn't help thinking about what it would be like to... "Oh, I'm sorry Terri Lynn. I shouldn't be talking about that kind of stuff to you. I don't know what I'm thinking. It's just that this thing is running me crazy. I've got to have some relief!" "It's alright, Mr. Dave. You've got to have somebody to talk to about this. How long has this been going on?" I could see he was on the verge of tears. "Oh, I can't really say, Terri Lynn. The more Bessie Mae quit caring about it, the more other women started to interest me. Like I said, we haven't done a thing in about ten years. At first I just tried not to think about it. I would just tell myself that things would work out somehow. Then after about two years without it, I sat down and forced myself to look at the truth. Unless something happened I was never going to do it again for the rest my life. All I knew was that I didn't want to hurt Bessie Mae or the kids. I thought way too much of my family to start seeing another woman or anything like that. I was just going to tough it out, but the pain just kept getting worse. I would see women in magazines, catalogs, and on television, and it would just remind me of what I could never have again in my life. I even considered doing that disgusting thing that teenage boys do and just dream about women in magazines and on television while I did it, but I couldn't stoop to that. I sometimes have dreams, two or three times a year, where I, you know..., but even then I usually don't dream about women. Sometimes I dream I'm flying through the air, or I'm in a rocking boat, or trying to keep my balance walking a rail fence, and stuff like that. And when I fall, in the dream, I mess up the bed sheets. It's not fair, Terri Lynn! I can't even dream about women when I... "Oh, Terri Lynn, please forgive me! I can't believe I've been talking to a teenage girl about something I can't talk about to my wife or my brother, or even my doctor. I'm so sorry!" "Don't be sorry, Mr. Dave. Not being able to talk to anyone else about this is exactly why you're talking to me. You just can't live with something like that bottled up inside you forever. Have you ever considered talking to... you know, a professional?" "You mean a psychiatrist?" he said, defensively. "Yes, a psychiatrist." "Now I don't want people thinking I'm crazy, 'cauze I ain't crazy! And if you ever go see one of those shrinks it goes on your record forever. They tell me that after you've been treated by a psychiatrist you can never legally buy a gun again, and you can't sell your property without your family signing off on it, and a bunch of stuff like that. Besides, I could never afford one of those guys anyway." "I'm sorry, Mr. Dave, it was just a suggestion. I guess that means you're stuck with me for talking this thing out, doesn't it? Are you really sure you want to go through with this thing? I mean, how long have you been considering getting banded?" This conversation sounded so weird. I couldn't believe I was talking about this kind of stuff with old Mr. Jenkins, but here we were. "Oh, maybe five years ago. I thought about it before that, but I've only been really serious for about five years. I started to do it to myself a couple of times, but I couldn't go through with it. I know in my heart that it's the right thing to do though. The Bible says in Matthew 5:28, 'That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.' and in Matthew 5:29, 'And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.' Terri Lynn, I know what I'm asking is right in the eyes of God." "Well, Mr. Dave, have you thought of talking to your minister about this?" "Naw, I don't think he'd understand. I've never told anybody but you, Terri Lynn. I guess that's kind of strange, when you think about it." "Not really so strange when you consider that... you know, I'm the one that'll be doing it. But I do want to make sure this is what you really want and not just something you thought of when you were feeling down. Once it's done, we can't change it back." Mr. Jenkins paused for a moment. He seemed to be reflecting on his feelings. "I know it's what I want, Terri Lynn. It's what I want and what I need. This thing's been drivin' me crazy for ten years now." "Okay, Mr. Dave, but I've got some conditions too. What do you say we put off banding those calves until that same weekend. I've got some girlfriends from college that want to learn how to do that. I could use that job to help train them and they could help with... you know... your job." "Now Terri Lynn, I didn't want the whole country gettin' in on this. I don't want them girls goin' around telling about this like some funny story in front of all their friends. How many of them are there, anyway?" "I'm sorry Mr. Dave. It's not like it may have sounded to you. These girls are all serious about going into medicine and psychology and stuff like that. They won't treat this like a joke at all. Besides, they're not from around here anyway. They're from the city. They don't know you and you don't know them. There'll be three of them if they can all come. There'll be me and Sharon, then these three girls from the college. I won't let Penny come. I think she's too young right now." "I don't know, Terri Lynn. It just kind of makes me nervous." I had to admit that I was still apprehensive about what old Dave might try, once we got him naked. I figured five of us would be plenty to overpower him if he got out of line, especially if Nedra was with us. She was taller than I, big boned, and strong. Nedra could probably handle old Dave all by herself. I found myself feeling guilty again for thinking bad things about old Dave. Hell, these girls probably wouldn't object to a little fooling around as long as they were in charge of the situation, especially if they knew it was Mr. Dave's last time. "Well, Mr. Dave, I won't do it if I can't bring my friends. But these girls are really cool, and they could even make things go a little easier, if you know what I mean." I saw Mr. Jenkins smile and a tear ran down his face at the same time. "Okay, Terri Lynn. You have yourself a deal." (Continued in part 2)

	Terri Lynn Home From College: Summer Job Part 2 of 3 I don't think old Dave knew what to think when he saw the pale blue Volkswagen Micro Bus with five girls pull up in his yard that morning. But when he recognized me and Sharon he smiled and told us to just drive on down to the barn. The barn was behind a little hill and you could barely see the roof from the road. I noticed the weeds had all been mown and the barn lot looked a lot neater than the last time I was here. We pulled Nedra's Micro Bus around behind the barn and parked it where nobody could see it. Old Rouzer was barking his head off and the other girls wouldn't get out until Mr. Dave got to the barn. The dog quieted down with Mr. Dave's arrival and we piled out of the Micro Bus. I began introducing Mr. Dave to Nedra, Melanie, and Doris. Old Rouzer was now wagging his tail and sniffing at us in that curious, but friendly manner that dogs have once they no longer perceive someone to be a threat. Mr. Jenkins was wearing a new pair of blue jeans and a western shirt with those little pointed pocket flaps and decorative stitching. I realized that he really wasn't a bad looking man, in spite of his age. In another setting, Mr. Jenkins could easily have been a successful business man or a politician. Although lacking formal education, he didn't really exude a "hayseed" aura at all. At that moment I actually felt a little sorry for him. He was a prisoner of the world into which he was born - a world that was in many ways at odds with his inner nature, and having himself castrated was the only way he could deal with his dilemma. We were all wearing shorts except for Sharon and Melanie. Sharon was wearing one of her blue denim skirts - the ones she made herself, with the quick-release snaps that allowed her to pop out of it or put it back on at a moments notice. Melanie was wearing a mini skirt so short that she was constantly revealing a flash of white panty as she went about her routine activities. Nedra was a good two inches taller than Dave, and he acted just a little sheepish as he shook her hand, looking up to meet the gaze of her steel blue eyes. Nedra's blonde hair was cut short, barely falling past her ears, which was shorter than most boys were wearing their hair in those days. Her white blouse, was tied in a square knot in front, revealing a lean bronze midriff. I thought this made Nedra look a little butch and perhaps a bit intimidating. (Actually, Nedra is quite "butch", but that's another story.) "What kind of dog is he, Mr. Jenkins?" Doris asked, petting the dog who had suddenly found a new friend. "Oh, old Rouzer is mostly border collie," Dave answered. "Got some retriever in him though, from a couple of generations back." Doris was freckle-faced with auburn hair. A perennial mischievous smile and deviously dancing green eyes made her look like she was concealing some delightfully funny, naughty secret that she dared not tell. I remember her smiling at a guy back at the college who actually checked his fly to see if he left it unzipped. We all roared with laughter and the poor guy just turned red and slunk away. Doris didn't mean to, but she just had that kind of effect on guys. As Melanie extended her hand to greet Dave, a puzzled look came over his face. "I know I've seen you somewhere before," he said. Do you live around here?" "No, I live in Springfield," she giggled. Her soft brown eyes were scrutinizing Dave's face with sparkling curiosity now. "But I think I've seen you somewhere too. I have an aunt that lives in Paxton and I was here visiting her a few weeks ago... maybe it was then." The morning sun was heating the sheet metal roof of the barn, but fortunately the doors and most of the walls were all made from slats covered with woven wire. A light breeze kept the shady interior from becoming unbearable. Nevertheless, we decided to strip for action. Sharon was first. Popping out of her denim skirt and blouse, she was sporting a hot pink bikini with a thong bottom. The rest of us started peeling out of our clothes. I was wearing a bright red bikini and Nedra was wearing a pale blue one. It almost matched the color of her Micro Bus. I think that is Nedra's favorite color. Doris was wearing a floral print bikini that was made from material so thin as to almost be transparent. Actually, I think the big swirls of green foliage with large flowers of various colors just disguised the view. Otherwise, you could see through it. The print created the illusion of opacity! "Well shit, folks" Melanie whined, slipping out of her mini skirt. "I didn't know we were going swimming! I didn't bring my suit. All I've got are my panties and bra" "You'll get those dirty," Nedra said. "I've got an extra suit in the Micro Bus that should fit you. Just look in my bag and get that yellow bikini." "Talkin' about swimming," said Dave, "there's a nice pond just past that fence there. I just use that pasture for a hay meadow now. There ain't been no cows in there in over two years and the water's real clear. When you get through with the calves you all might want to jump in and cool off." I could tell from the expression on Mr. Dave's face that he was clearly enraptured with the scene that was unfolding before him. "Thanks Mr. Dave," I said. "We'll be taking you up on that." I accompanied Melanie back out to the Micro Bus where she changed and I fetched the bag containing the tools of our trade - the Elastrator, and a bag of bands. I Also had a Burdizzo. I had talked to Mr. Dave again since our first meeting and we decided against the bander for him. The idea of that dead scrotum hanging inside his pants for six weeks was not an appealing thing. He thought it might stink and Ms. Bessie would ask him what was wrong. I agreed and we decided the Burdizzo would be better for him. It still seemed unreal that I had actually made plans with a man to take his balls off. Sometimes I just couldn't believe it was happening. Mr. Dave was still staring wide-eyed at the bikini-clad beauties strutting and parading around him. Poor old Mr. Dave, I thought. You'd better enjoy this little show while you can, because a few weeks from now you won't find this little striptease nearly so exciting. At that moment I sort of wished we wouldn't have to do it to him. Maybe he would back out at the last minute. I kind of enjoyed the effect I had on him when he looked at me twitching and strutting around in my little bikini, but something about what we planned to do to him turned me on too. It turned us all on; that's why the other girls were here. I remembered what it had done to Sharon's little brother, Melvin. Girls and sex just didn't interest him anymore. However, he treated me and Sharon with great respect, and he treated my kid sister, Penny, like a goddess. Melvin had a deep crush on Penny at the time we "did" him. His castration took away his lust but not his affection. He just became Penny's loyal little pet and willing flunky, and she was quite pleased and infatuated with him. Melvin's emasculated condition was still a little secret between the four of us too (me, Sharon, Penny and Melvin). At this time nobody else knew that Melvin had been castrated. Not even his parents suspected. Since those days I've learned a lot more about what castration does to men. No two men are affected in exactly the same way. It doesn't necessarily put an end to their interest in sex or women - not completely, anyway. It sure changes their focus though; makes them less selfish and less aggressive, and I think it makes them better companions. Poor Melvin was just too young when we did him. He started puberty a couple of years late and I doubt if it had been a year since he first jerked off when we nutted him with the Burdizzo. His balls were real small. Castration just shut him down completely. I would never do it to a boy that young again, but we were all a little young and more foolish in those days ourselves. I strapped on the Elastrator, which was in a custom leather holster and belt I had made myself. The tool was heavy and hung low on one leg and it made me walk with a little swagger like a gunslinger in a western movie. You should have seen the look on old Dave's face when he saw me strutting into the barn wearing nothing but that little red bikini, a pair of boots, and that Elastrator strapped on my hip. It was Nedra who let out a wolf whistle though. "I like that, Terri Lynn. I love it! I've got to get me one of those." "Here," I said, giggling as I handed her the Burdizzo, which was in its own holster and belt. "You can wear this." Unfamiliar with the device, Nedra fumbled with the belt momentarily then buckled it in place. "How's this?" she asked. "Great, Nedra! You look like a seasoned bull nutter," I giggled. "You know, I have no idea how to use this thing." "Don't worry. Before the day's over you'll be an expert - almost. You will have saved several cute little calves from growing up to be big mean bulls." The girls all laughed. Melanie and Nedra were city girls, Melanie from Springfield and Nedra from St. Louis. Like Sharon and I, Doris was a country girl, but she had never castrated livestock before. Hell, most girls haven't done that, even if they have grown up on a farm. Sharon and I grabbed one of the calves and did a demo for the other girls. We showed them how to make an improvised halter out of an ordinary piece of manila rope. We made a little slip noose in the end of the rope to fit over the calf's nose and then stuck the main part of the rope through the noose to make a larger loop to go behind the calf's ears. This way the calf was securely held and the harder it pulled to get away, the tighter the halter would become. However, there was nothing around its neck so it was never in danger of choking. The other girls thought this was real neat - so simple, yet effective. With the calf securely snubbed to a pole, Sharon straddled it facing the calf's tail and locked her legs around its stomach just in front of the pelvis. Calves at this age weigh between 150 and 200 pounds and can easily be held this way. If they get especially vigorous in their protests an extra rope can be put on the back legs, but Sharon and I rarely found this necessary. At this age calves can draw their little testicles right up inside their abdomens, leaving nothing hanging down to band. They can't do this when they get older, but at this age the procedure causes them no pain or trauma at all, so it's also the best age to band them. The trick is to get them to relax enough that their testicles descend back into their scrotum. I squatted beside the calf, being careful to stay out of range of its kicks and reached between its legs and began massaging its scrotum. Sharon and I both talked to the calf in soothing tones petting and rubbing it until we felt it relax and quit struggling. Soon I felt its little testicles descend back into its scrotum and my waiting hand. I massaged and kneaded them and the calf became even more relaxed. I always liked to think the calves kind of enjoyed this part. I already had a band on the prongs of the bander and I quietly expanded it and slipped it over the calf's little balls. When I had it in place I let it snap and the calf didn't feel a thing. I jiggled its scrotum to make sure everything was swinging freely, then Sharon released her leg lock and stepped aside. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I said to the calf as we released him into the pasture. "Well, who wants to do the next one?" The girls were a little nervous, but grinning with enthusiasm. There were plenty of calves for Nedra, Melanie, and Doris to band at least three each. The girls were a little awkward at first, but caught on real fast. I kept watching Mr. Dave out of the corner of my eye. He was taking this all in with a big grin. It must have been a very erotic spectacle for Dave to watch a bunch of young college girls, almost naked, and in top physical shape wrestling and wallowing with the big rambunctious calves. The fact that each calf, in turn, was relieved of its maleness in an atmosphere of lighthearted giggles and fun added a surreal, sadomasochistic undertone to the scene. Delicate caring fingers, so careful not to pinch or hurt, were altering the destiny of these hapless creatures, changing the very essence of what they were. I think Mr. Dave became so enthralled with the scene that for a while he forgot his own turn was coming! The most erotic part for me though - the thing that was making my crotch wet - was my knowledge that this was just practice. Not just for Mr. Dave, but for all the yet-unknown boys and men who would be beguiled and seduced into willingly giving up their balls to us. At that time we didn't know just how; we didn't have a real plan, but we knew that somehow, some way, we were going to make it happen. Three calves in the group were very cooperative, just standing there relaxed and not struggling, allowing us to slip the band on them without protest. Melanie had just banded such a calf when she turned and smiled at us. "That was so easy!" she said. "I wish they were all like that." "Not me," Nedra giggled, standing astride the calf in anticipation of the struggle that never happened. "I like a little bit of a challenge." "No," said Doris, "I have to agree with Melanie. There's something sexy about watching them just stand there and let us do it. I keep thinking about having a boy on a date who wants in my pants real badly. Then I tell him if he wants to do that he'll have to let me band him. Then he would stand there real quiet and gentle, like that calf, and just let me slip it on him without a struggle." "You have quite an imagination," I said, "but keep it up. You're making me horny as hell." We all laughed, and I glanced around the barn. Sharon had unconsciously allowed her hand to fall between her legs and she was gently rubbing herself. Mr. Dave was blushing bright red! We had saved four calves with the biggest balls for practicing with the Burdizzo. "It's time to learn to use that thing you're wearing on your belt," I told Nedra. I snubbed the calf up to the post and straddled it, holding it firmly between my legs. Sharon was instructing Nedra in the use of the Burdizzo. Who could be more qualified than Sharon, I thought. This was the same Burdizzo tool Sharon had used to castrate her younger brother. I had helped, but it was actually Sharon who had pressed the handles. I suddenly realized that Sharon was the only one of us who had actually castrated a human male. That was going to change today though. I was going to do Mr. Dave! "You're really supposed to do one testicle at a time," Sharon said, "but as young as these calves are you can get them both with one pinch. It's always worked for me, anyway. But you'd better stay to one side though; don't get behind him." "Yeah, I don't want to get kicked," Nedra agreed. "Well, that too," I laughed, "but the big thing is that they shit - over half the time. "And once you bring the handles together," Sharon continued," hold them together until you count to ten and don't let go - no matter what you feel running down your arm - or your face." The other girls laughed nervously. "Everything feels right," Nedra said, somewhat apprehensively. Sharon leaned forward to inspect Nedra's technique. "Do it now," she said, in an even voice so a not to excite the calf. Nedra brought the handles together in a quick snap, as Sharon had instructed, and held them as she slowly counted to ten. The calf, one of the larger ones, bawled and arched its back, lifting me off the ground slightly. I could hear the fibers in the rope squeaking as the calf strained against its halter. There was something singularly sexy about the feel of that calf's backbone arching into my crotch, knowing that his very maleness was being pinched out of him at that moment. As Nedra finished her count, big globs of fresh manure began to fall on the floor behind the calf. "I believe you've got him," Sharon said, reaching between the calf's legs to feel of his scrotum. The calf had relaxed somewhat and his back was no longer arched, but he bawled again and continued straining at his halter. "Here, you feel," Sharon said, instructing Nedra. "See, there's nothing left connecting his nuts. You just wiped it all out. How does that make you feel"? Sharon and Nedra looked at each other and exchanged smug, knowing smiles, giggling softly with a hint of sadism. "That hurts them!" Melanie exclaimed, with distress in her voice. "Well, for a couple of seconds it does," I said. "Then they don't feel anything after that. "Yeah," said Sharon, "that's why I like to get both nuts with one pinch. Why hurt them twice when once will work?" We released the calf into the pasture. His brief moment of trauma over, the calf seemed not in the least worse for wear from the experience. Nedra stood there for a moment smiling as she fondled the Burdizzo, playing her fingers along the smooth, heavy, emasculating jaws. No, it was not the minor discomfort caused the calves that was so intriguing, but rather the potential application of our skills among the human male population. It was a feeling of empowerment that few girls were privileged to experience that was making us all damp in the crotch. Melanie and Doris both got to try their hand with the Burdizzo. Doris got spattered good with manure and we all laughed. Nedra then used the Burdizzo on the last calf, handling the task like a pro. Finally we were ready to take Mr. Dave up on his offer to let us swim in his pond (especially Doris). Mr. Dave had changed into a pair of cut-off blue jeans, said he hadn't owned a pair of swim trunks since he got out of the Army. As we headed for the pond we saw the calves in the pasture nibbling at the tender shoots of grass and milling about peacefully as though nothing had happened. The little pond covered about three or four acres. Near the earthen dam there was a large oak tree with a swing for swinging out over the water. Further down the bank there was a little wooden pier where Dave's boys used to fish and keep a boat when they lived there. Mr. Dave had been thoughtful enough to inflate several old inner tubes and lay them near the tree for us to play on. Doris was the first to jump in, eager for the opportunity to wash off the manure spatters she had received moments earlier. Sharon and I followed her in, but Melanie and Nedra hesitated. They admitted that they had never swam in anything but a chlorinated pool in their lives. I thought this was strange; I had never been in a pool until I enrolled at West Central College. I guess there's always a first time for everything. "Come on in!" I shouted. "It's just like the pool except it doesn't burn your eyes." "Yeah," said Doris, giggling, "and you can pee anytime you want. You don't have to come out!" "You mean you guys pee in here?" asked Melanie. "Yuck!" Melanie and Nedra had waded in about knee deep. Melanie hesitated while Nedra swam out and joined the rest of us. "Yeah, why not," said Doris, grinning mischievously. "The snakes and turtles pee in here." "Snakes?" Melanie said, stopping cold in her tracks. "I'm not getting in here with snakes!" "Aw, I wouldn't worry myself about snakes," said Dave. Old Rouzer there keeps all of them killed out. Never have had to worry about snakes." "Mr. Dave, could you throw me one of those inner tubes?" I asked. "I want to just float around for a while." As much as anything I wanted to change the subject and get Melanie's mind off the stupid snakes. Mr. Dave threw some of inner tubes into the water and jumped in himself. Melanie grabbed one and, clinging to it, gingerly pushed herself out toward the rest of us. Before long we were all splashing and frolicking, jumping off the swing, and dumping each other off the inner tubes. I don't think we had had so much fun all year. I especially enjoyed watching Mr. Dave. He seemed twenty years younger. I swear he would have passed for a thirty-year-old guy out there playing with us. I realized that he probably hadn't done anything like that since he was a teenager himself, and then not with girls. Boys and girls didn't swim together when he was a kid. Melanie climbed up on her inner tube and suddenly looked at Mr. Dave very intently. "Mr. Dave, I think I know where I've seen you before. Were you in Paxton about three weeks ago at that new discount store?" "I reckon so," he said. "I get into town about once a week." "Well, do you remember a girl in a yellow Mustang? You smiled and waved at me, remember?" "Well, I'll be� "Sure, I remember now, but how in the hell do you remember me?" "It's your smile, Mr. Dave. You have the warmest, friendliest smile. How do you remember me?" "Well, that's easy, Miss Melanie, he said, laughing. "Yeah," I added, "he'd never forget that car." The other girls all laughed. "I guess it's a small world after all," Nedra said. I certainly agreed, and I was the only one of the girls who knew just what an impact that chance meeting in the parking lot had on Mr. Dave. When I heard Melanie's velvet smooth legs squeaking against the inner tube I knew what that must be doing to Mr. Dave. We played in the water for over two hours. Nedra went back to the Micro Bus and got an old basketball and we tossed that around for a while. We wound up splashing and floating around in the shade of the big oak tree to keep from getting sunburned. Finally, exhausted from our romp, we just floated quietly and nobody said anything for a long time. "Well, this has all been fun," Mr. Dave said, at long last, "but we have business to tend to you know." There was a note of resolution in his voice and his eyes seemed to be focused on the distant horizon. We knew what he was talking about and our mood suddenly became somber. Sharon and I both swam over to where Mr. Dave was floating on his inner tube and put our arms around him. "Are you sure you want to go through with it, Mr. Dave?" Sharon asked. "I know what I've got to do, Miss Sharon," he said, "and it's time we should be gittin' on with it." We got out of the water, dried off, then headed for the old dairy barn - that's where we were going to do it. The dairy barn was a small building as barns go. That was where the cows were milked, six at a time, with the electric milking machines. It was maybe half the size of a three-bedroom home. Built to meet Health Department standards, it was a modern building of concrete block construction, fully wired and plumbed with running hot and cold water. Back when the dairy was operational they had to hose it down and scrub the interior twice a day, morning and night, after each milking. There were drains in the concrete floor to carry the water away. Mr. Dave had sold all his dairy cows about three years earlier, but he maintained the barn in good shape. (Concluded in part 3)

		Terri Lynn Home From College: Summer Job Part 3 of 3: The Conclusion Mr. Dave opened the windows, all screened to keep out the flies, and turned on several large fans mounted on the wall near the ceiling. A porch with a corrugated sheet metal roof ran the length of the building on the west side, blocking the direct rays of the afternoon sun. It wasn't air conditioning, but the little building soon became quite comfortable. We all took hot showers with a shower head improvised from a garden hose - it felt good. Mr. Dave had rigged a privacy curtain from a plastic tarp and placed it around the stanchions that once held the cows while they were milked. We washed out our swimsuits in the shower and put them back on as we came out. They dried quickly in the dry summer air under the fans. Mr. Dave showered last and came out wearing only a towel. The air was filled with tension as we all realized the fateful moment was now near. We had covered a long stainless steel table with a cotton blanket. Our plan was to have Mr. Dave bend over the end of the table, face down, with his buttocks and legs hanging off. This would let me get to him from behind and put the Burdizzo in place. "Just bend over the table and put your weight on it, Mr. Dave," I said. He looked rather sheepish and nervous as Doris and Melanie each took one of his hands and started to assist him to his position. Sharon had started to remove the towel from around Dave's waist when Nedra whispered something to Doris and Melanie, making them giggle. "Terri Lynn," said Nedra, "I think it would go a lot better for Mr. Dave if we could let him cum and do it just as he shot off. Could you do that?" Sharon and I looked at each other and smiled. We knew that was exactly how we did it to Sharon's little brother. We clamped him just as he came and it was at once the most wonderful and the most horrendous moment in his life. "And don't worry," said Nedra, reaching down and fondling Dave's turgid penis, "I'll take care of things down here." "Okay," I said, chuckling, "you just let me know when he squirts." "Don't worry," Nedra said, giggling uneasily. "You'll know!" "You girls are so sweet," Dave said, sounding like he was about to cry. "You know I haven't done my thing in years, at least not when I was awake to know about it." "You know," said Doris, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "it's a shame you sold all your electric milking machines, because I just thought of something that would have really been fun." "Yeah," Dave muttered, sheepishly, trying to manage a chuckle, " I let all that stuff go when I sold my cows." His face was now as red as a beet. "Maybe it's just as well it's gone. I think I know what y'all are thinkin' and that's just too naughty!" "What's that thing over there, Mr. Dave?" Melanie said, pointing to a small stainless steel contraption with some clear tubing and cups attached. It was sitting in a shaded corner we had paid no attention to it until Melanie pointed it out. "Oh, I had just about forgot that thing," Dave said, still sounding quite embarrassed. "That's an old outdated model I just used for a backup. It wasn't worth anything for resale, so it just got stuck in here when I sold the rest." "Does it still work?" Doris asked, enthusiastically. "Can't rightly say," Dave replied. "Don't guess it's been turned on in over four years." Doris and Melanie dragged the old milking machine up near the table and wiped off the accumulation of dust with damp towels. Doris had an aunt and uncle who owned a dairy and she had helped them milk on numerous occasions, so this kind of equipment wasn't totally unfamiliar to her. After the machine was reasonably cleaned up, she plugged in the cord and poised her finger by the switch. "Well, here goes." With the snap of Doris' finger the machine whirred to life and we could hear the rush of air as it was sucked into the tubing through the nipple cups. Grinning impishly, Doris removed her bikini top and placed one of the cups to her breast. The machine quickly pulled her nipple, aureole, and about two inches of soft, white breast into its suction, distending the tissue to conform to the shape of the cup. I don't think it really felt that good, but Doris threw her head back, rolled her eyes wildly, and gave a deep gasping sigh as though she was in the throws of wanton rapture. "Oh, I've got to try!" said Melanie, ripping off her bikini top and placing a suction cup over one breast. "Me too!" Nedra exclaimed excitedly, following the lead of Doris and Melanie. Melanie quickly grabbed the fourth cup, which was dangling and sucking air, and placed it on her other breast. The powerful vacuum surged in little pulses as it futilely tried to draw milk from the four dry teats it held in its grip. Fascinated by the strange new sensation and the sheer naughtiness of it all, the girls giggled and tugged at suction tubes into which their breasts were distended. "You know," said Sharon, "if you're not giving milk that thing will start sucking blood - right out of the end of your tits!" "Yeah," I chimed in, "it'll make your tits look like limp bananas and they will hang down to your navel. Is that what you want? We're going to all look like that soon enough anyway. They call those granny tits!" A note of concern came across Melanie's face and she tugged at the cups attempting to remove them. However, her soft breast flesh just distended all the more as she pulled, the suction cups refusing to part with their prize. "Oh, don't worry, Melanie," Doris teased. "Just relax and enjoy it. You can wear a support bra and nobody will know what your tits really look like. Who cares if it makes our tits look like link sausages? This is fun!" "Turn it off!" Melanie shrieked, in sheer panic. "Turn it off!" Giggling, Doris reached down and switched off the machine. Melanie pulled herself free and her face was filled with obvious relief. The rest of us all laughed, even Mr. Dave. "That thing won't really stretch your tits out like that, will it?" Melanie asked, looking a little embarrassed now. "I don't know," I said. "Maybe it would if you used it every day for a long time." Finally we wound up our fun, settled down, and got back to business. Nedra assisted Melanie in getting Mr. Dave into position on the table. We had decided to let Doris handle Dave down below now, since she was our "expert" with the milking machine. Along with some other toiletries, we had brought some lotion and Melanie and Nedra were rubbing it onto Dave's back and shoulders. Sharon and I had spread his legs so his genitals were easily accessible and we were rubbing lotion on his legs and we felt him relax. Mr. Dave gasped with pleasure and surprise when I gently grabbed his balls and began fondling them. He stiffened a little at first, then he relaxed and just sighed. Suddenly, Melanie climbed onto the table and nestled Dave's head in her lap. "Would you like to kiss my legs, Mr. Dave? I've noticed you've been looking at them all morning." Mr. Dave just blushed and grinned as Melanie grabbed him by the ears and pulled his face firmly into her soft inner thighs. Doris switched-on the milking machine and began lubricating one of the cups with lubricating jelly. It made a gurgling sound as some of it was occasionally sucked into the plastic tubing. Sharon and I were both kneading and stretching Dave's balls and we could hear his breathing becoming more excited and irregular. Melanie raised her hips and wriggled out of her bikini bottom. "Here, Mr. Dave; let me get this off so you can get in here. You do want in here, don't you Mr. Dave?" "Oh�, oh� Miss Melanie," he said, in a quivering, pleading voice, "do people really do that?" Melanie just smiled as she pulled Dave's face deeply into her warm dripping fuzziness. Dave slurped, moaned, grunted and squealed like some kind of little animal as he frantically indulged himself in his newly-found bliss. I believe that I, more than the others, more fully appreciated the ecstasy that poor old Mr. Dave was experiencing at that moment. I knew what an affect Melanie had had on him that day in the parking lot when he heard her beautiful legs squeaking against the vinyl seats her car. His heart had been heavy for weeks, thinking of it; believing at the time he would never be able to touch, caress, or even acknowledge such beauty openly. Now his face was buried between those very thighs; his frantic tongue now probing the wondrous altar of his most delectable and forbidden fantasies. And constantly in the back of his mind must be the acute awareness that he was enjoying his last few minutes as a man. I heard a loud gurgling slurp come from beneath the table as Doris slipped a nipple cup onto Dave's eager penis. I looked down to see small streamers of pre-cum being sucked up into the clear tubing. Mr. Dave began trying to thrust with his hips which was almost impossible in the position in which we held him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Melanie's hips and his slurping and squealing became even more frenzied. He was wiggling and thrashing helplessly, like some tormented worm. I left Sharon to knead and stretch Mr. Dave's balls while I removed the Burdizzo from its holster. I knew it wouldn't be much longer now as I placed the heavy stainless steel jaws softly against the cord of Dave's right testicle, as near to his crotch as I could. Suddenly, Mr. Dave withdrew his head from Melanie's crotch and began licking her all the way from her crotch, through her midriff and navel to her breasts. He seemed to do this in a sweeping motion from his waist or hips, hardly moving his neck at all. All the while his tongue was distended from his mouth as far as it would reach, trying to get as much of Melanie's skin in contact with it as possible. He just kept going, "Ahaaaaaa, ahaaaaa, ahaaaaaa," mindlessly. Suddenly, Mr. Dave stiffened, broke his rhythm and squealed and babbled like he was trying to say something as he shot his load. I brought the jaws of the Burdizzo together quickly and held them for the count. Mr. Dave just froze, looked up into Melanie's face, and shrieked pitifully. Then he collapsed like he had passed out. Sharon quickly stretched his left testicle to the bottom of his sack and I repeated the process before he regained consciousness. Dave moaned and mumbled a little, like someone having a dream, but he never knew when I crushed his other cord. All the while he was smiling peacefully with his head lying between Melanie's thighs. I doubt if Mr. Dave was unconscious for more than a few seconds, but it seemed like a long time to us. When he came around, we assured him that it was all over, and yes, we got both of them. He felt his sack to confirm that his cords were no longer attached and then he began to cry. I was worried at first. I thought Mr. Dave was having some serious regrets and that he might go to a doctor and we would all wind up in a psycho hospital or something. But he said it was okay and he was really glad it had been done. He didn't know why he was crying and he tried to apologize. I've since learned that it isn't at all unusual for men to cry after they've been castrated, in fact, it's unusual if they don't. I think it's some kind of emotional release mechanism. We held him and comforted him for several minutes and finally he said he felt okay. Sharon and I took Dave back to the shower to help him bathe because we were afraid his ordeal might have made him weak and he might fall or something. We didn't worry about modesty and just stripped off and showered with him. We realized that, technically, we weren't really showering with a man; Mr. Dave was officially a eunuch now. However, we did notice that he obtained a partial erection as Sharon and I washed him. After we had all showered and dressed we went up to Mr. Dave's house and we girls were going to fix lunch (or dinner, as country folks call it). Mr. Dave paid us the two hundred dollars he had promised and threw in another fifty dollars for a bonus. He smiled (and cried a little) and said we had done a fine job. Maybe it's because I realized that I was the one who pressed the handles on the Burdizzo and actually castrated Mr. Dave that caused me to start getting nervous. My hands started shaking so badly that I couldn't even help with dinner. They just told me to sit down and rest and I did. Fortunately, that problem has never recurred, and I've castrated lots of men over the years. It was just first-time jitters I guess. After our late lunch (it was already three o'clock), we stayed with Mr. Dave a while to keep him company and watch for any signs of an adverse reaction. We all kind of felt a little responsible for his well-being after the castration. He kept insisting that he didn't feel any differently; there was no pain or anything. He was a little tired from the morning's activities and that was all. Finally he said he needed to start making preparations for the evening feeding. He said he enjoyed our company, but if we needed to go he would be alright. "Mr. Dave," Doris said, gingerly, with a mischievous smile on her face, "Melanie and I have been talking, and since we have to leave tomorrow, we would like to say good bye in a very special way, you know, since you're feeling okay and everything. I'll bet you can still do it." It took old Dave a few seconds to catch on to the full meaning of Doris' words. He looked kind of surprised, then he replied. "Oh no, Miss Doris, I couldn't do that. It just wouldn't be right. I've never been unfaithful to Bessie Mae in all our years of marriage, at least not until today, and that was like part of the job. I was getting fixed so I would never want to be unfaithful again. "You know, I've never even seen a girl nekked in my life until this morning, �cept in pictures, and I try not to look at that stuff." "How could that be, Mr. Dave?" Melanie asked. "I thought you had a couple of kids." "I got three," he replied, "but me and the Misses never took off all our clothes to do it, we took off just what we had to, and we always did it in the dark with no light at all. I was raised to believe it was a sin to dwell on the nekkedness of a woman, even if she was my wife, and Bessie Mae believed that too. We was taught that if your mind wasn't on having babies, you shouldn't be doing it." "That's so sad, Mr. Dave," said Doris. "Sex should be a wonderful happy thing, especially for married couples. The human body is a beautiful thing, to be admired, not something to be ashamed of." "That may be what you believe, Miss Doris, but that ain't the way I was raised. I never even saw a pretty girl in a bikini close up until this morning. You know, I mostly just saw pictures and maybe once or twice I saw one at the motel pool when I passed it on the road. And then we get those catalogs from Sears and the other stores showing all those women in pretty underwear, and it just makes me want to take my hands and� and� "Oh, forgive me, please forgive me! I shouldn't be thinking those kind of thoughts." "Mr. Dave," Doris said, with a more serious expression on her face now, "you've practiced abstinence and remained true to your convictions for more years than I've been alive. I can't really imagine the suffering you've endured because of it. Now you've given up the one thing that many men consider more precious than their lives, just so you won't be tempted into unfaithfulness. But this is your day, Mr. Dave, you've earned any pleasure you enjoy today, and nobody will blame you for it." "Yes, Mr. Dave," Melanie added, "I don't even think God would blame you for it today!" "Oh, you girls are so sweet, but I just couldn't, not in mine and Bessie Mae's bed, or in this house. It just wouldn't be right." "Well, Mr. Dave," said Doris, "we can take some blankets down and throw on the hay bales and do it in the barn." "Well, what about feeding the calves?" "Sharon and I can take care of that," I said. "We've bucket-fed calves before; we know what to do." "And I'll help," Nedra added. "After today I want to learn all about the livestock business. I'm inspired!" Doris, Melanie, and Mr. Dave disappeared into the same big barn where we banded the calves that morning, while Sharon and I began preparing the milk replacer and buckets. Nedra watched and helped as much as she could. The calves, including about a dozen heifer calves which had of course missed out on this morning's escapade, all came up in the lot bawling, awaiting their feed. The ones that had been banded still seemed oblivious to the little rubber rings that had forever deprived them of becoming bulls. We used hot water to make a lukewarm mixture with the milk replacer, approximating the temperature of cow's milk. This is why Mr. Dave had maintained the hot water heater in the dairy barn. We fed them, six at a time, from buckets, each with a nipple projecting from the bottom like a cow's teat. After that, we turned them into a little pen with troughs full of calf starter, a high-protein grain. Counting the heifers, there were about fifty calves in all, and the feeding process took well over an hour. By the time we had cleaned up the buckets and the lot, a good two hours had passed. Our work finished, the quietness of the rural countryside became manifest. We could hear sounds coming from the barn that we knew were the sounds of love making, but we tried not to eavesdrop. I walked with Sharon and Nedra back out to the pond where we had swam earlier and we just walked around the bank watching the fish and frogs jump. The sun was sinking low in the sky now and the clouds shown with vivid red, pink, yellow, and purple hues. It was like something out of a surrealist painting. Old Rouzer followed us around faithfully and it made us feel a little safer from snakes. It was as though the dog tactfully knew to leave his master alone when he had female company. Nedra, a city girl, was overwhelmed by the tranquillity of it all. The quietness was almost eerie. Not that it was really so quiet, as it was that there were no manmade sounds. There were insects, frogs, birds, and the occasional bawl of a calf, but no cars, airplanes, lawnmowers, or any of the many sounds you hear in the city. We sat on the pond bank for a long time, sometimes talking girl talk, and sometimes just listening to the sounds of the country. Finally, we heard laughter and talking, and a light came on in the dairy barn. It was beginning to get dark now. We started walking back in that direction and heard the sound of running water coming from the dairy barn. Mr. Dave and the girls were taking a shower. When they dressed and came out, I don't believe I can remember ever seeing such contented smiles on three people. It was the kind of smile and contentment that only comes from wonderful, satisfying sex! All of us girls piled into the Micro Bus and started to leave. "Hey, wait a minute!" called Mr. Dave. "You girls are about to forget your little present." "Oh yes, we don't want to forget that," Doris said, giggling. "Nedra, just pull up to the dairy barn and we'll load it." I had no idea what they were talking about until I saw Mr. Dave coming out the door carrying the milking machine. "Ain't doin' nobody any good in here," he said. "It's just in the way here, and if you girls can have a little fun from it I'm glad for you to have it." "Oh, this thing ought to go over big in the dorm this fall," I said, half tongue-in-cheek. Everyone laughed. Once we were back on the road we headed for my house. That's were we would all spend the night. "Well, should we be jealous?" I asked, directing my question to Doris and Melanie. "Yep," Doris answered smugly, a devilish grin on her face. "Be jealous, girls. Be jealous!" "That good, huh?" Nedra quipped. "Yeah, that good!" exclaimed Melanie. "Hell," said Doris, "even after being castrated, Dave was more than enough for two nineteen-year-old girls. Just imagine what he would have been like if we hadn't fixed him. He could have probably handled all five of us." "I kind of wish we had done that before we fixed him," said Nedra. "I've never particularly liked men, but I kind of like Dave." "Yeah," I said, "It's a little sad, but I don't think he would have touched us before we castrated him. He would have considered that being unfaithful to his wife." "I think you're right," said Melanie. "That bothered him a lot. We tried to assure him that he wasn't cheating since, technically, he wasn't a man anymore. It still bothered him though." "Speaking of his wife," asked Doris, "what kind of woman is this Bessie Mae? Is she an old biddy or what?" "No," I said, "Bessie Mae Jenkins is the sweetest, most goodhearted, grandmotherly little woman you will ever meet. She's not exactly the most attractive woman in the world though. She's real short and about a hundred pounds overweight. Her legs just look like a couple of big fat posts - no shape at all. Her face is wrinkled like a pug dog and she's always looked about twenty years older than she really was. But when she smiles you can see the warmth and genuine goodness oozing out of her. You can just sort of tell by looking at her that the only reason Miss Bessie Mae ever had sex was to have kids so she could have grand kids." About that time our house popped into view and in a couple of minutes Nedra was pulling the Micro Bus into our driveway. It was dark and I was afraid Mom and Pop would be worried about us. Sharon called her folks and let them know where we were. She had planned to stay over with us, making it kind of a slumber party. We told our folks that we had just been showing the city girls the sights in the country - and in a way, that was true. The other girls went home the next day, and Sharon and I went back to check on Mr. Dave. He admitted that he was a little sore where the Burdizzo had clamped him, but otherwise, he didn't feel any differently. He seemed happy and said he was glad it had been done. Sharon and I had talked about trying to take him down to the barn like Doris and Melanie had, and just see if we couldn't give him the fuck of his life. We decided against it because he was a neighbor, and we grew up with his kids, and we really liked Miss Bessie Mae and wouldn't want to hurt her, and all of that stuff. It just didn't seem right for us to do it, we were practically family. What was okay for Doris and Melanie wouldn't have been right for us. Looking back over the years, though, one of the biggest regrets I have is that Sharon and I didn't take Mr. Dave back down to the barn that afternoon and fuck his eyeballs out. I'm sure he would have been up to a good performance that day since his nuts had only been disconnected about twenty-four hours. I've found that most men can still perform for a week or more after being castrated. After that, their ability drops off quickly. By the time we had a chance to be alone with Mr. Dave again it was too late. Our opportunity came that October when Miss Bessie was on an overnight trip with her church group and Mr. Dave was by himself again. Melanie had come down to visit her aunt in Paxton and we had arranged to go see Mr. Dave. It was just me, Sharon, and Melanie this time. Nedra and Doris had stayed at the college that weekend. We had Mr. Dave strip off his clothes to show us how his "operation" was progressing. He was a little embarrassed about doing that at first, then he just chuckled and said, "I guess it ain't the first time," and dropped his pants and underwear. I felt of his scrotum and his balls were still there, but they were tiny - about the size of marbles. His penis seemed smaller but I couldn't be sure. He never showed the slightest hint of a budding erection as I examined him. He said he hadn't had one of those since that first week. Just to see if we could get a response from him we stripped off and showed him the new lingerie we were wearing and asked him what he thought of it. He ran his hands over the silky texture of the fabric as it clung to our bodies and said it looked and felt real nice. He said it probably looked so nice because it was on such pretty girls. We chuckled and thanked him for the compliment. We broke out a bottle of scented oil and rubbed it all over Mr. Dave and let him rub it all over us. During all of this his penis remained completely limp. We asked him how all of this made him feel and he said it felt good. He said he knew we were pretty and he still enjoyed being with us and rubbing his hands over us because we were pretty, but he no longer felt that "urge." Being with us just made him feel all warm and cozy. Melanie asked him if he would still like to put his head between her legs and do that thing with his tongue. His eyes lit up like a little puppy dog's, and I'll swear, if he'd had a tail he'd of wagged it! Melanie asked him why he liked that so much if he no longer felt the urge. He said that it made him feel even more warm and cozy and most of all, when she let him do that, he felt like he was someone very special to her. Melanie assured him that he was someone very special and that when he did that to her she felt very special too. She then grabbed him by the ears and pulled his face into her wetness. Sharon and I both made sure that Dave knew he was someone very special to us too. It was the first time that either of us had done that with a man and it made us feel a pretty special too - it was wonderful! Over the years we stayed in touch with Mr. Dave. (He actually worked as a maintenance man and caretaker on one of the farms owned by our feminist group up until he retired, but that's another story.) He became a lot calmer and contented with his life. He said the girls in the movies or catalogs and magazines didn't bother him anymore. He still enjoyed looking, but it wasn't the same without the urge. It was more like looking at a sunset or a view from a mountain top. It was pretty, you were glad it was there, you liked to look at it, but you didn't feel like you needed to go out and do something about it. You just relaxed and went on with your life, knowing that beauty was there, but not feeling the urge to possess it. He says that afternoon he spent in the barn with Melanie and Doris was one of the happiest memories of his life, but he's not sad because he can't do it anymore. He says it's like he remembers climbing trees when he was a boy and those are happy memories even though he's never going to do that again. As he puts it: "Now you know I ain't goin' to go scamperin' up a tree anymore, like some squirrel, nor would I even want to, but I can remember doin' that when I was a boy and just smile thinkin' of how much fun it was. Well, it's the same way when I think about that afternoon I spent with Miss Doris and Miss Melanie; I ain't ever goin' to do that again, but I ain't sad because I can't. I just think about what it was like and smile because the memory makes me happy." Eunuchs tend to live longer than regular men, and Mr. Dave has been no exception. He outlived Miss Bessie Mae, who passed away some years ago. He lives in one of our feminist compounds now (quite a few eunuchs, but no men, live in our compounds). Melanie visits him often, and Dave says he can still remember her getting into that little yellow Mustang in the parking lot like it was only yesterday (and he remembers that little yellow bikini too). Yes, Melanie is fifty now and Dave is eighty, and they still make each other feel very special. THE END Farrell Squire February 2000