Self Improvement

As I end my first month in hospital I decided to go back and find some things I'd written....a very long time ago; This is one of those pieces. Possibly because I'm in constant contact with the medical world here and now I thought it appropriate to see what others thought; I can almost hear the criticism but....it is about BDSM, sex, exhibitionism and adults, not the young. My hope is you'll find it interesting and, I should add, two of the surgical procedures mentioned herein are not possible. Yet.

SELF IMPROVEMENT

I was in the hospital for some minor surgery when my regular primary physician dropped by to see how I was doing. Just casual, courtesy call. And, as doctors are wont to do, it was very early in the morning when he was making rounds to see other patients who were genuinely ill. His visit was somewhat ill timed as when he wandered in, I had my dick in one hand and was concentrating on edging myself. When he took a hand I knew our relationship had turned a corner and when he sucked up my cream, liked the serving vessel and asked for more-at another time-we'd turned several corners. An appointment was scheduled for a few days hence when I'd be released. In fact, to make sure I kept the appointment, he offered to collect me from the hospital. Never one to refuse a kindly meant offer I accepted. That was Monday at around 6 am. Thursday, around 5 am. I was wheeled out to his car, was bid a fond farewell from the hospital-they said they knew I was in good medical hands-and we drove to his “other” office which was in his home. Somehow I suspected he'd have another facility for...whatever purposes he needed another facility.

Actually, what he had was a guest suite with an “examining” room attached. Some might have called it a “play” room but he was a doctor and that's how he used his examining room. To play doctor save in my case, he was the patient. First up, minding my slight wounds and stitches, was a “routine” prostate exam first done digitally, then with several digits and finally with a longer “middle finger” that was attached just above my balls. I lingered longer just to make sure it worked as it's supposed to work and one could easily tell he appreciated my thoroughness in exploratory examining. Actually, I enjoyed it myself. Sadly, I'd enjoyed it a bit too much and there was no frothy milk shake available for a few hours. Just enough time for him to have his usual clinic hours and then come home for lunch. I promised to have something up and ready for him. He left, I took a long, hot shower and then, not bothering with clothes, slipped into a bed that was, really, most comfortable. So much so that when he returned home, he dined there commenting that most people don't get enough protein in their diet. Back to his surgery for the afternoon clinic and I wandered around the house, had a good leftover meat loaf sandwich, found that the pool was secluded, had a good swim (100 laps) and then racked out on a lounge to work on eliminating my tan line; I felt he'd appreciate the effort.

Dinner was al fresco and this time we both enjoyed a protein squirt, he mounted me, I returned the favor and then he grilled steaks, really did a great job. Bed early-he chose to sleep with me-and up early for another suck and go which left me to spend the day, with a “businessman's lunch”  for him at noon, found some books, read the paper, got some sun, did some more laps, napped and raided the refrigerator. My idea was to prepare something but to surprise him by serving my self a la pig with an apple in my mouth on the dining room table. No apples but I did find a couple of bananas with which I did interesting things and he was amused. Also enjoyed the corn chowder, with real bacon and onions and sauteed chicken breast with a light garlic sauce followed by a flan from a recipe I'd got in Argentina.

In lieu of television, he let me tie him up and he did do the pig thing-no apple-in that he squealed when I applied a “play” elastrator band to his scrotum but did seem to enjoy my fist in his arse. (I'm rather good at that and, apparently, he was no virgin. Although his hole put up a good, if rather tentative, fight, I got through and did my own version of a manual colonoscopy.) Oh, I also cut his elastrator. Fun as all this was, I did have my own life, my own home and even without a medical opinion, felt it was time to go home for some real home care although what I'd had could hardly be faulted. As a going away present he gave me the keys to his home and said to use the pool whenever and to drop by for dinner. If I happened to be in the neighborhood. I was.

What a happy six months! Another person would have taken advantage of the situation and used his prescription pad as their own to get drugs to sell on the street but I had enough money. What I liked was...him, however I wanted him and what he liked was me, always looking for ways to enhance me he offered to pay for any piercings I wanted, ditto tattoos, clothes, a new car...just whatever would make me happy. He made me happy and so, with the exception of quite a nice pickup that I could use for work, I accepted nothing except for his attentions. And, I must say, which ever medical school he attended must have had some very advanced thought when it came to the methods and means of sex and human anatomy. We enjoyed each other, laughed a lot and then had sex. Or we reversed that and had sex then laughed and finally enjoyed each other.

We were sitting in his home office just before Christmas. It was the giving season and I'd already had his gift waiting. As was normal by then, we were naked, stroking each other, my head was on his shoulder while I decided whether to suck his nipple or kiss him. His mouth was almost at my ear when he said, “Gonna make you even better hung than you are, just take off one ball.....” and I forgot about nipples or mouths and pulled back, looked at him in shock and said that, fun as playing doctor with him was, it did not extend to castration. He fumbled for a way to make me understand what he had in mind. Desperately sorry for what I thought he meant, he said if I didn't like what he had in mind, I could cut off both his nuts. That was a sufficiently compelling ofter and so I listened to what he had in mind.

For his own reasons, one of his greatest pleasures was to lay me out on his examining table and just stare at my body. He'd arrange me in ways that pleased him, sometimes face up, or down or sideways or kneeling...often holding my genitals in alluring ways, sometimes faking innocence. It was to enhance this pleasure that he had an idea that would to him-and most other men who might be interested-add something that wasn't already there. I'm hung as are most men, perhaps just a trifle better but in a locker room no one was going to point me out or be jealous. Just everything in it's place. The one thing, as he knew, was that when aroused, my cock did do a bit more than get hard and extend some little ways, it got very hard and nearly doubled in length. What did not change was the heft of my ball sac. It just hung there, until I was ready to fire one, and then drew up as does that of every other man.

His idea, one that pleased him greatly and, as I thought about it, had a certain attraction to me, was to increase the size of my sac, have it hang a bit lower and the way to do that was to increase the size of my testicles. At first I thought we were back at castration but, as he explained, all he would do is remove one testes and replace it with a larger, artificial one. With a little snip in the rear, one of the ligaments that held it up would release and it would hang lower. Also, he's make the swap so that my largest ball-almost everyone has a pair in which one is slightly larger and lower than the other-would in effect be big and my samllest ball, the artificial one, very much larger. It was simple enough, take out the small one, the largest then became the smallest and add his own version of a large testes. Nothing grotesque, nothing that would scare barnyard animals but a surgery that would leave me getting noticed in the locker room not to mention his own private examining room. I knew perfectly well that the loss of one testicle effects nothing in terms of fertility so this big for bigger was indeed the enhancement he described.

I thought about it. I was at an age, 40, where youth wasn't on my side. I'm not inherently vain but I do take care of myself, hit the gym, watch what I eat, all the things that are routinely good for one and, if they help your appearance, so much the better. What he was suggesting, and I did the research and found that it was easily feasible, almost day surgery in some ways, which could do what he said it might. Taking off a bit for his own enthusiasm, I could see myself with a pleasantly bulging pair of jeans but one that wasn't too big, or too flashy, like baby bear's bed, just right. His rapture when I agreed almost made me fear for his heart. Since we all had the Christmas/New Year span of days available-he canceled all his appointments save ones for those of his patients who were truly ill already-and I made plans to move to his place for the holidays.

In the few days before this event there was no moment when I doubted what I was doing. He was not only my doctor but, face it, my lover. Had I wanted I could have been a (well) kept man but I genuinely cared for him, did enjoy our times together and, oh yeah, the sex was great. Just for me he kept the pool open as it became winter and heated to the point that it wasn't too warm but a pleasure to slide into, do some laps, and just float with my nose and eyes above the waterline; On the day it snowed heavily, he had me make snow angels around the pool before I dove in. Naked, of course. In fact, that's how he liked me. Why? That would be a question for the doctor. I wasn't badly build but no one was asking me to pose for Playgirl or anything with or without my clothes. I appealed to him just as he came to appeal to me. Face it, anyone who dotes on you makes it very easy to like them. He never became cloying or too demonstrative; When we were out in public it was clearly just too men having a business lunch or dinner. Playing golf, tennis, whatever. Back in the locker room he could keep his cock under control and, as we walked out, would do some sort of manly farewell and drive away in our separate cars. Headed for the same place.

Here's a tip; Putting up a Christmas tree while nude isn't a good idea. Pine needles can and do stick you and as he'd bought the sort that has short, hard needles, we got stuck a lot until I said the hell with it and put on some sweats. (I planned on letting him talk me out of them later.) It was nice in the large front room, sort of like a gentleman's club in London, manly lamps and furniture, a wall of books, a drum table with a decanter of Brandy and several glasses, wet bar, just a pleasant place to be. And, of course, although I hadn't been allowed in recently, the examining room now turned into an operating room. At first I'd been reluctant but then agreed to let him video the whole thing from the shave down-something he always enjoyed-to the final suturing. Something for him to watch when television failed and I wasn't available.

On the “big day” he had me stay in bed, rest, while he showered, got everything ready and then said he'd come for me. Under his careful supervision I was showered myself, carefully, lingeringly dried and wrapped in a long Turkish Towel robe and escorted to the operating theatre. It had changed. Always slightly informal as was his “real” office, it now was a testament to stark medical necessity for cleanliness and sterility. His only conceit to everyday was a chair near the sink which was missing most of the seat; It was where I sat while he shaved me, a process somewhat delayed as he got overheated and had to stop and jerk off. Which destroyed some of the cleanliness so he showered again and finally, under a white cloth, the operating table. But not one as usually seen. Made from steel, it was a cross with restraints at ankle and wrist as well as a leather strap that would go across the mid section. I was somewhat taken aback, there was surgery-and I'd been in several of them so I knew the general layout and what should be there and then there was this which was sexual fantasy crossed with Bondage, partial castration and...I wondered what else.

His head was bowed and he mumbled about being sorry, he'd gone too far, it was a fantasy of his, we could stop....but fuck sterility, I dropped to my knees, pulled off his scrubs and sucked him dry, even to the point that he was staggering, slapped him on his balls hopped up on the X and told him to get started, just leave his pants off. It was as if I'd given him a puppy for Christmas. He lovingly bound my ankles and wrists, drew the strap across my chest and, with the camera rolling, we were ready.

He'd thoughtfully positioned a mirror so I could watch his technique with my head slightly elevated on a foam triangle. It was with real relish that he began. First a check to see if how much feeling I had and then, successively, further tests as he deadened the area, would wait, squeeze and ask me about pain. It's an easy area to block but, with as much anesthetic as he used  (“to be on the safe side”) I wondered if I'd ever feel anything again. Delicately he made a mid line incisions, so little blood, and gently manipulated my smallest nut toward the opening. As he worked he told me what he was doing as well as why. Once it was out, he also pulled quite a lot of spermatic cord, to make more room he said, tied it off cut it and then, from his work table, he produced a covered tray with, theoretically, my new ball. To be truthful, it was somewhat disappointing probably because I built myself up to expect at least a tennis ball but, as he'd promised, it was within the range of reasonable if reasonably large.

The teste had come out easily but now, to avoid tearing the skin, he had to enlarge the incision by a few millimeters to insert and position my new fake ball. That done he closed, zipped around to my side, reached under me to where my scrotum joined my trunk and did...something. I was so pain free he could have tattooed an eagle on my nuts using rose thorns and I wouldn't have known it. This part took almost as long as the deballing simply because he was creating loose skin for the increased hang and snipping a ligament which had to be reattached. And then it was over.

Given modern photography, he took I know not how many pictures of me secured to my “surgical cross” and then gently, carefully, I was unlatched and moved onto a gurney. Just like in a real hospital. I had watched him bandage the area which, when he finished, was larger than anything natural and, I could only hope, was part of his overwhelming concern for me. It was odd being rolled through his house and then gingerly put back in a bed I'd slept in many times. His worries were without border and without  necessity but there was no future in pointing out I was a grown man and all these precautions were unnecessary. I would have mentioned that had he not established a line for a drip IV and into the piggy back part, slipped a syringe with something to make me sleep. Which is what I did.

No patient had better or more solicitous care; At times it was almost too much care and, I'm sorry to report, I was cross and told him to leave me the fuck alone. But on day three we had the unveiling. For this he used a full length mirror-I was almost surprised he let me stand unassisted-and he carefully removed the bandages.

Better than his word, it was damn near a work of testicular art. Remember that I'd watched him but the horizontal version didn't begin to suggest what the vertical would be like. Clearly, I had a large scrotum that was nicely packed but...it wasn't overly done, just right. They hung a good inch and a half lower which made them a nice back drop for my dick. I was stunned, couldn't wait to see how they'd fill out my 501's (Bought and worn as extensively as possible before the surgery.). I'm not sure which of us was more pleased, me as consumer or him as architect but looking in the mirror I had no regrets, wish I had known to do it earlier and then I looked to see a flicker of criticism cross his face. Nothing serious but...

Several days later, when I could wear pants-Wow, could I wear pants! I made a note to have my dress suits re-tailored to-modestly-suggest what lay beneath. But I could see he was troubled. Restless, constantly having me strip from the waist down, at one point taking all sorts of measurements with a ruler. And thinking. Finally he broke it to me, what was on his mind and that was he was concerned that my cock wasn't as long as it needed to be to paint a truly fascinating picture. No problem in my mind, if he wanted a longer cock, then mine was available for the lengthening. I could see the pleasure in his face when I immediately told him whenever was convenient to him.....

This was not as easy as the first surgery as there were issues of veins, arteries, nerves, several kinds of tissue and so a good six months passed until he was “ready”. By then it was summer, my tan line had disappeared and I'd even spent a bit more time at the gym so there was actually the suggestion of some abs and a more raised, muscular chest. I'd really worked on my pecs and upper body with good results.

For this one, he used a more traditional operating table, had me completely anesthetized-he worried about that, in the first place he wasn't in reality a surgeon and when a patient is wholly asleep, an anesthesiologist was always present. We actually rehearsed anesthetizing me until he was satisfied and, frankly, so was I. There were certain sacrifices I would make for his art but my life wasn't one of them.

Again, it was a triumph. That first time in front of the mirror, my cock, perfectly shaped, just the right amount of foreskin over the glans and now almost two inches longer when flaccid. While it wouldn't have made the average porn actor jealous, it was something to be admired by other men and, indeed, make them jealous. The one concession I'd made, odd as it may seem, was to change gyms. The guys at the old one would have noticed that I was distinctly larger and longer and thicker and there might have been questions; At my age using as an excuse a delayed growing spurt wasn't a possibility. He found one, slightly more hard core, less social more populated with what might be called gym rats. There one spent time admiring oneself, working on getting bigger or wider or whatever your goal might be. At first I felt out of place but in the locker room, the first day, there was overt commenting on my package, all of it positive. “Some guys have all the luck” was a representative comment.

That marked another shift, from then on, although I continued my job and my time with my doctor, increasingly I was at the gym, the guys there encouraged me to “bulk up”, worked with me on biceps, triceps, calves the oh so desired six pack and, for my age, I got what I wanted. I couldn't keep up with them, most of whom were fifteen to twenty years younger than was I but it was a new sort of club, a private one open only to those who worked out, valued their bodies and how they were presented to an unnatural degree. We were a clique, at the gym, at home, when we went out, usually several of us together. People didn't understand our mania for ourselves and so it was just easier to be with each other.....

Who suggested being photographed to mark our progress, I don't know but a guy who specialized in body shots was brought in and, in almost mug shot fashion, we were each given a front, side and back view. Then, again who suggested it I don't remember, we did it again nude. Nothing erotic, just naked men front, side and back. To be on the safe side he photographed us only from the neck down. No faces to associate with names.

A year passed, my doctor was at least as thrilled, if not more so, than was I. The examining/surgery at his home became a microcosm of a gym training room. Over time, he'd taken massage courses and loved having me on his table, well oiled, his hand enjoying the tour of my enlarged body saving until the end, of course, his contribution. That was last, it could take him an hour to get it soft, the skin velvet to his touch and then the edging, if I was restrained, it was a rush when I finally pushed out a wad of cum that bounced off his tonsils and on occasion seemed to gag him: He loved it. At the suggestion, and to be like the other guys, I went to a place they all used and had my body waxed to get rid of all my hair that wasn't on my head save for a small patch just above my cock, as I was told, so that a hair or two would come out of my posing strap. And, yep, I was entering “natural” body building contests and, in my age and weight group, doing pretty well. Even won a couple. Doc was in ecstasy.

He had a favor, one I could do but...it was a lot to ask. Up to then I'd had sex with only him ever since that day he walked in on me jacking off. Now he wanted to watch my beautiful body, my long cock, my low hanging large balls fuck another man. Let him photograph it. Just for him. He wanted to see what I looked like when I came, wanted to see my abdomen writhe and shudder just before.... Would I? Would I even consider it? As far as being photographed nude, he had video of me jerking off, so that wasn't a consideration nor was there a thought of infidelity to him, after all, this was something he wanted. So....somewhat reluctantly I agreed only stipulating that I pick the other guy, had to be be a buddy of mine, no hired professional stallion. Fine with him. Harder to do than I'd thought.

What I knew was that a couple of the guys I worked out with had more or less suggested that they'd “done some film work, you know, muscles and stuff....”. But I wondered what the “stuff” might really be. As is said, dogs don't bark at parked cars so I found a quiet moment to ask some discreet questions of one I was tight with. I knew he made it with men so with some gentle conversational directing I got him to the point of admitting that he'd fucked another muscle head on camera and been paid to do it. Glad to hear it said I and then explained what was on my mind. I could see the smile on his face. Sure I was older but I was a nice guy, this would be clean, after all a doctor would be there, sure he'd do it. One thing, we both had to be tested for AIDS and any STDs. I knew I was clear but the idea wasn't bad and Doc readily agreed. No problem on either side.

When it came to the “shoot” he was both the director and the camera man. Totally uninterested in faking a story line, this was to be straight sex. Bareback, meaning no condoms, cum swallowed, butts fucked hard, kissing, nipples twisted, everything he could think of or, actually, recreating his favorite moments from porn. That, too, was no problem. For the sake of continuity, we did it twice, enjoyed it twice and, we forgot, came in the first take so we had to wait a few hours to build up some sperm to do it again. Frankly, I enjoyed. Compared to Doc, this was SEX and the guy I did it with wasn't tentative, didn't spend his whole time adoring me, we got into it, did it and everyone one was pleased. At one point I'd happened to look over and saw him holding a camera with one hand and jacking off with the other.

A few days later my “co-star” got me alone and asked what I was doing Saturday? Apart from Doc, I couldn't think of anything. He hedged around a topic, thought about it then...

“Uh, I'm invited to this party and I wondered....” and shut down.

“Yeah? Wondered what?”

“Well, I'm no exactly the guest, they sorta want me for the entertainment if you get my drift...”. Which I didn't and apparently it showed.

“I mean, they kinda want me and some other guy to perform....sort of a sex show thing. Like at your place....all the way, fuck and suck....and you an' me, we've done it so that's no problem and the pay's really good,  five hundred each or, if we'd do it bareback, a thousand each.” To him this was big money and it wasn't something we hadn't already done. When you get into body building, as I had, you find although you start out doing it for yourself, there's a recessive gene called “exhibitionism” that's suddenly not so recessive. The first time I put together a posing routine, pasted on a posing strap, slicked with oil and walked out on stage it was a drug. It was what I wanted to do, it was validation of all the hard work and, at my age, it was work. Oddly, that always made me a sentimental favorite, the “old guy” who pumped it up with the kids. So when the idea of a private party, naked and fucking a guy was presented, it took no time to agree. In ten minutes we had our “act” down in terms of what we'd do and I had some instructions as to where and when-in the end we went together, not only was it easier, but safer. He knew a couple of the party givers but I did not, going in pairs is just sensible. Additionally, he'd “renegotiated” our “stud fee” and got two grand each. Bareback, guaranteed cum from us both, one definitely eating it, tongue fucking the ass, as he'd said, everything. But the catch, a minor one, was that the guys at the show got to feel us up, heft our nut sack, shuck down our cocks. If that's what turned them on...okay. I suggested that we start out with clothes on, throw in a little strip and then...lube up and have at it.

Which is what we did. It was almost like the first time at Doc's with the exception of starting with clothes on, just jeans over a jock, a T and sneaks and the apres sex when everyone got a look and a feel. Or several. It was the first time I really was aware of what a good job Doc had done on me. A bunch of the guys took a handful of my balls and were really into them. More than one said that they were obviously real as was the long dick. One guy wanted to jack me off, for money, but I'd already given at the office so that possibility wasn't there. He then asked if I'd see him privately when I'd had time to “fill 'er up”. The answer to that was “No” but on the way home my partner said I should think about it. I wasn't whoring myself, just letting the schmuck jerk me off, eat the cream, get paid and get out. Turns out he had turned a few tricks, just because he needed the money-a typical reason-and thought I could have a future. Even at my age. Especially because of my age. Lots of guys were looking for muscular “Daddy” types and that was me. This from a kid who was half my age, looked it and already was way ahead of me in sin but more than willing to show me how to get into the business. I still said “No”.

Word gets around and over the next several months he and I did several more performances, surprisingly, not a few for swinger's clubs who probably got into us and what we were doing more than the all male groups. And our price went up. We'd developed a list of things, with prices, as well as length of performance, what they would pay us to do sexual act by sexual act etc. The one thing I'd resisted, apart from having “for hire” dates, were the several requests we'd gotten to do it on video. We'd learned from our first outing that we'd given away  a lot of what could be sold. Putting it on tape, while momentarily profitable, also took away the novelty of watching two guys fuck each other, right there, in front of you. Video, no matter how well done, cannot replace that and we knew it. Also, we found out, we were willing to go a lot farther than some other guys. We would do bareback, we would eat cum, we would fist each other, we would, if they provided it, work with a sling, we would do “theme” costumes, we would allow the touchy feely sessions, although at a price per person. Video was all well and good but one night, driving home, we agreed that it would be damn dumb to kill a golden egg laying goose which was live performance. We agreed that in fact we liked doing it, liked fucking around and liked doing it to and with each other. And having Doc to make sure we were clean-he auditioned each new act or theme and added direction sometimes and, when we were having a busy week, Viagra just to make sure...

One night at a performance someone said that they wished they both had sets of cocks and balls like mine. My partner heard it and driving away said outright he really envied my set. Inside I knew I was going to tell him. I liked the guy, knew this was his primary source of income and...what the fuck. What I didn't do was tell him right then. I had enough sense to go home, well, Doc's house, and tell him about the comment, what my partner wanted...and waited for him to react.

More than I could have hoped for. He was all for it, sure he'd do it, he liked the “kid” and knowing his circumstances, why not? But he went a little further. Professionally he knew that the guy was a steroid user which was one of the reasons his balls had shrunk. He had an idea and told me to bring the guy around on Saturday and we'd talk. Which is what I did. I started by explaining that what you saw was part real and part surgery at work. Had him feel the fake ball, showed him the microscopic stitches where my dick had been enhanced and let him think. But Doc tossed him a curve. To satisfy his own desire, he had always wanted to do a full castration, on film, minimal pain medication. If he could do that, then he promised we'd almost be twins, hell, he'd make him slightly larger-he was younger after all. The word castration hit him hard. He was backing away until Doc told him his nuts were already basically dead from steroid use. So long as he continued taking them, whether his balls were real or not made very little difference. It would change the color of his sperm somewhat but the volume would be there, the explosiveness of squirting would be there....castration was just a word meaning “trade in” used for new. Smaller for bigger. Doc had him feel my artificial one, promised he could pick the size he wanted and the surgery, pain and all, wouldn't take two hours. He laughed and used the old line, “No pain, no gain”. Without thinking he was stroking my cock, emphasizing my meaty balls, the pendulous sac, slowly working his hand to my cock, making a ring with his fore finger and thumb and, without looking, began to beat me off. As a doctor he knew where all the nerves were, just how things worked and in moments had me panting and beginning to sweat.

As he worked me down he looked at both of us and said that, actually, he'd always wanted to cut me and if we'd both agree....of course it would be free, but he'd have the only double castration on tape.

Two weeks later we were tied end to end, our legs spread wide making a circle in which Doc worked. It was what he wanted all along, to castrate me and now he was in castration heaven, two guys to nut as he wanted, make us the way he wanted us to look. We were tied down, another fantasy of his, gagged,  chained to the tables and he was playing the evil surgeon ready to unman two guys who'd stumbled in. Whatever was in his mind. From the start it was rough. He took turns shaving us down although because we were so frequently waxed, there wasn't much to take, just that patch over our cocks. Then it was nutting time. Since I was the easiest, only one to do, I went first, He'd allowed each of us one shot of pain killer and one was not enough. Chained and gagged, I wanted to scream, sweat was pooling in my navel inside my ears. Across the way, my buddy was watching, not liking what he saw but there was nothing to be done but wait his turn. And it was coming.  Again the careful slice, trying to find the scar from the first time, but this time, when the ball came out, it hurt like fuck and when he got to the cord, no careful tying it, no, just took a surgical clamp and closed it with that. And then he stopped. Or seemed to. Turning around he smiled and started on my partner who had no idea what was coming. Like me, I could see him arching his back in pain, in advance of the cutting, Doc took his nuts and beat them with a mallet. Then it was slice and remove, as with me, he pulled his nuts out as far as he could and let them hang there.

He held up a tray with our new nuts and Jesus Fucking Christ, he must have used a bull as his model. All he could say as he stuffed them in our sacks was, “This is going to hurt a lot for a long time”. And it did. The other guy got another surprise, circumcision. Doc  did a beaut of a job, left just enough and then added just a bit of body mod when he split the head slightly. I was next. Not worrying about what is considered a good starting size, I got a PA that any man would be proud to have. Damn near tore the head of my dick off  but eventually....and then he closed. At least, he closed down there.

In a way, he hated perfection, knew it was never possible and as time had gone on and I'd become more fascinated with attaining some sort of perfection in a way he could not  give me surgically, he came to resent it. He felt a man should have character, almost visible character so when he came to my face with a clean scalpel I knew..

A year later my partner and I are a sensation with our bull balls, iron ring in his slit dick and, of course, my famous scar that connects the tip of my eye to the edge of my nose, the nose with another bull ring, welded in. And we're both in shape. Great shape. Doc gives us steroids, hormones, whatever we want. Keeps us big, bulging, our balls hanging like ripe pears. Some nights as I'm fucking him or he's sucking me I try to remember  a day in a hospital when I was jerking off. Then I look at my muscles and my nuts and think.....I wonder how much bigger they could be....?