Here’s another milestone in the development of my castration fetish.
My 14-15 years were intense. Puberty was right behind me and my first teen years found me clueless and out of it. And this milestone is actually kind of painful.
And I suppose I should mention here that I’ve never been what one would call a chronic or compulsive masturbator.
Nude Photos
My crazy older sister came home from college and bragged to me about having nude photos in her luggage that were taken by her photographer boyfriend. When she went to bed I rummaged through her luggage, got them out and used them for onanistic purposes. There was one color one taken in the woods that really showed off her ‘charms’.
The next day she confronted me about her luggage being disarranged. I denied doing anything. I’ve always suspected she wanted me to look at them.
Trimphant Castratrix
I made a sort of confession to my crazy older sister one day while she was doing some simple task in the kitchen of our family home. I told her I had had a dream/fantasy of her castrating me and then holding my severed scrotum up in the air in a gesture of triumph. She laughed it off and to humor me she even pantomimed the gesture.
I think it’s pretty clear that in this instance it was I that was the crazy one.
Wisdom Teeth
My mother took me to have my wisdom teeth surgically removed. She made no effort to prepare me for it. Everything about it was unexpected and disturbing. And my mom was so silent, cold and stern both on the way over and back.
I experienced feelings of betrayal, abandonment and guilt. It felt like a sort of punitive correction. It also resonated with feelings from back during my time in traction when I was two years old. Oh, and it was a male oral surgeon by the way.
Hall Mirror Stain
My mother had a set of three almost full-length mirrors installed in a closed-off hallway at the back of our house. The middle mirror was flat against the wall and the side mirrors were on hinges that swung out so that you could stand inside them and see all around yourself.
One day my mother asked me to come and look at the mirrors. On the middle one there was a long white dried semen stain. She said she knew it had to be either myself or my older brother. She must have been able to tell from my stricken expression that it was me. She told me to clean it up and bitched about how she already had enough to clean up every day around the house.
I think she later come to regret having been so tactless.