I’m a 35 year old bodybuilder who abused steroids in my weight training for many years. I achieved the body I wanted, but eventually developed serious problems which required my stopping the injections cold. Deprived of the drug my body had come to count on, my testicles went into overdrive, producing double the normal amount of testosterone. It sent me through the roof, causing aggressive behavior and an inability to control my sexual desires. Morning till night, I couldn’t concentrate on anything but sex. Work suffered, as well as, my relationship of ten years. As months passed, I believed that things would return to normal, but after several confrontations, my partner announced that he wasn’t going to tolerate my behavior any longer and would leave if I didn’t get help.
I went through several drugs meant to control hormone production, including those used in chemical castration of sex offenders. The side effects totally took me down, basically leaving me unable to function at work, the gym or at home. Frustrated with my options, I asked the question I had avoided for months. “Castration would solve the problem, right?” My doctor recoiled at the mention of the “c” word. He answered, “yes”, but that it was absolutely not an option he would consider as a treatment. I was on my own.
I sat with my partner that evening and I explained what I was considering. I told him that castration would eliminate the rage and since I had been on steroids for many years, the thought of hormone replacement therapy didn’t really bother me. Avoiding the obvious pun, this was going to fix everything and I had decided castration wasn’t the worst thing that could happen in my life. Lots of guys have lost their testicles to cancer, prostrate trouble and they’ve done just fine.
I was surprised by his calm reaction. He listened intently, then said, “I don’t know what to say, that’s a serious move, one that can’t be undone. I mean I’ll support your decision without question – but that’s a hell of a sacrifice.” From that I figured I had his approval. Now I just have to figure out how to “do the deed”.
The options for castration are pretty limited- cutting, clamping or restriction. I immediately ruled out surgery because it required a third-party cutter – an outsider I wouldn’t know or trust. Cutting my ball sack open really bothered me. I figured this was something I had to do myself, so I searched the web for options which came down to a Burdizzo or an Elastrator. I found information on their use, effectiveness and recovery. I figured I had to go with a bloodless method and tough out whatever pain was associated with it.
In retrospect, I guess I must have had some hesitation, because I ruled out the Burdizzo. It would be quick and over with one 30-second crush. Definitely no turning back once you started, plus I wondered if would I be able to hold the grip if the pain was intense. So I opted for the Elastrator which came with a bag of 100 green castrating bands and a “cat claw” band cutter. I looked at the bands and thought, “Which one of you guys gets to do the deed.”
I examined the instrument, loaded a band on the four prongs and squeezed the jaws open. It worked simple enough, over the sack and let it go. My heart began to race. What would it feel like? Could I really go through with it? I decided to test it out. I stripped off my pants and shorts – my ball sack was now vulnerable.
With the Elastrator fully extended the band formed a nice square which easily slipped over my scrotum. I slowly released my grip letting the jaws and the band close around my ball sack. It was uncomfortable, but then I realized the prongs were sticking me. I worked the band off the first prong and then the second, third and finally free from the Elastrator. The band restricted into my sack but felt more comfortable than before. I can’t say it hurt, more like a strong pinch with a really strange feeling beginning to build. After only a minute or two, my scrotum turned red which meant the band was doing what is was designed for. I reached for the band cutters, I took a deep snip and the tight green band came free. As the stabbing pain of blood rushing back into the testicles and scrotum hit me, I realized that cutting it off hurt more than leaving it on.
Later that night when my partner came home, I showed him the Elastrator and explained how it worked. He immediately asked, “Have you tried it?” After I described my experience, he answered, “Doesn’t sound like you’re exactly ready, but if, and when, the time does comes, I’ll be here.”
In the next couple days we had a lot of sex, mostly because my hormones were continuing to race and we both realized my rampant desires were going to come to an end soon. Afterwards, it always came back to the same thing – we’d start talking about “doing the deed”..
I was becoming more comfortable with idea. Especially after I had met a guy on-line who claimed he had been castrated with a Elastrator. His first-hand account was pretty graphic which made me think it really was his experience. He told me about the “sick” feeling in the lower abdomen which let you know the testicles have been deprived of blood and the most difficult part for him – waiting for the damn things to fall off. All-in-all, it didn’t sound as bad as I had feared. I was even more determined to proceed.
It was late Friday night and we were almost asleep when my partner got up and left the room. I heard the bath tub running which struck me a odd since we both shower. Ten minutes later he came in and said, “I think this is the night to do the deed. We’ve got the weekend to deal with whatever happens as a result of tonight.” His logic made sense and I was relieved to follow his lead.
There in the bathroom my razor, shave cream and several towels where neatly laid out. He said, “Strip down and I’m going to shave your balls.” I asked if that was really necessary. “Probably not, lets just say this is for me.” He knelt in front of me and proceed to lather and shave my ball sack. He took his time which meant he was really enjoying this.
When he was finished, I added hot water to the waiting tub and sat down trying to relax. He commented, “A loose sack and balls will make it easier for the band to take a good hold from the start.” I looked at him, “Sounds like you’ve been doing a little research on your own.” He flipped back, “I have.” He then produced a 30mg Restoril. “Take this, it’ll help you relax and get to sleep later.” I took the pill and continued to soak, my freshly shaved scrotum floated freely in the water.
As the sedative kicked in, he knelt down by the side of the tub and started talking to me in a low, calm voice. “I told you from the beginning that I would support you through this. This has been a huge emotional strain to get to this point…for both of us. I picked tonight because we either need to get this done or drop it. It’s totally up to you if we continue or not, but if we do, I need to hear your commitment that once the band goes on, it doesn’t come off for any reason until it falls off. Frankly, I don’t think I can go through this again.”
I responded that I couldn’t agree more.
I dried off and he brought me my favorite workout shirt. The warm bath did it’s trick, my scrotum was loose with my two balls clearly defined and hanging low in the sack. He put one hand around me and opened a draw. There lay the Elastrator, loaded with a band. “Let’s make this real easy, I’m going do it for you.” I nodded with relief. It somehow seemed easier knowing I wasn’t doing this to myself, but that my partner was going to castrate me, which he now seemed quite determined to do.
He gripped the Elastrator retracting the band to its full capacity. “It’s going to be okay”, he assured me. As he moved the instrument up under my scrotum, it slipped through the square made by the extended band. As he released the grip and the band closed in, he pulled my scrotum down to insure a tight fit to top of the sack under my cock. As before, I felt the prongs of the Elastrator sticking me. One by one he worked the band off the first three prongs, then stopped for a moment and looked at me. Remembering my commitment, I nodded my approval and the band slipped from the final prong embedding itself into my skin. The constriction was more intense than the first time, the loose sack did make it easier for the band to bite in and take hold.
The Elastrator immediately went back in the drawer and my partner put his arms around me and took me into the bedroom. “It will be better if you lay down.” That strange feeling was starting to come over me. My ball sack and testicle wanted to retreat, but the band restricted their once free movement. As I laid down the feeling crept into my abdomen just as I had been advised. A queasy belly ache – not really pain, but very uncomfortable none the less. Even with the sedative, it was difficult to relax. My body wasn’t happy about what was happening as the band continued to restrict tighter with each passing minute.
My partner laid down next to me stroking my chest and abdomen and finally reached down to my crotch and stroked my captured balls. “You doing okay?” It was hard to speak, I just nodded. I knew he couldn’t resist seeing his handy work and after about thirty minutes he took a look. “It’s definitely doing the job. Your sack is dark purple.” The ache had intensified and the pinch of the band had started to throb. I figured this was probably it, the point of no return and I tried to clear my mind of what was happening. As I rolled on my side, I could feel the ball sack had turned cold as it lay against my thigh. It already felt foreign, not a part of my body. With my partner spooned on my backside, his arm over me as a protector, I did manage to fall into a daze.
When I woke the next morning, I found my partner standing over me looking down at my crotch. Eight hours had passed since the band had been secured and pretty much the “deed” had been done. The ache in my belly had subsided and the only pain was from the compressed skin just above the band. I reached down for the first time and found my scrotum cold and without feeling. I worked my fingers around my testicles which produced no sensation either. I looked up at my partner and asked the stupid question, “How does it look?” His somber expression told me all I needed to know, but he answered anyway. “Well, it’s pretty black. I think it’s safe to say their finished. The band has cut into the skin to the point I can hardly see it.”
I spent the next two days in bed. My body was worn down by the trauma. But even by the morning after I realized that my over charged drive was gone. The band had done it’s work alright, cutting off the blood stopped the flow of testosterone. That perked my spirits. I had accomplished what I set out to do. But this black cold lump of dead tissue was starting to bug me. It had been more than two and a half days since I was banded. There seemed to be some uncertainty how long it would take to fall off on its own, but I wanted it gone now. So I called my doctor and made an appointment.
When the doctor came in I was wearing my baggy workout pants. He asked what was up and I flatly told him that he wasn’t going to be happy to see me.
When I pulled down my pants he grimaced at the sight. “I took things into my own hands. Now that it’s done, I want to have it rest removed…today, if possible.” He shook his head and said, “Unbelievable, you actually did it.” With great reluctance he groved his hands and began feeling around my black ball sack. I could tell the testicles had started to become mushy as I watched him probe around, but no feeling whatsoever. “I’m going to call a surgeon friend about this. This needs to be removed above the band and sutured closed to avoid serious complications. Under the circumstances, I’m sure he will see you today. It will be a fairly easy in-office procedure. Then I suggest you find yourself another doctor.”
It’s been five years since the banding and I haven’t regretted it for a day. My partner and I have built a strong relationship which really started that night when he releasing the band from the final prong. He will always be the guy that “did the deed” for which he takes full responsibility. I know it sounds sadistic, but that’s a bond that will always be there. And just to remind me, he comes home every so often and greets me with, “How’s my gelding?”..but only in private.