Cainanite

How to Breathe

Chapters 8-13

I was a little put aback when in the middle of the day, before the big night, my mother instructed me to take a nap. I hadn't taken regular naps since I was five or six. It was insulting.

Here I was, feeling particularly grown up and at last being invited to participate in the world of the adults. Yet I was being told I had to have a sleep in the middle of the day. Of course, the nap was for a good reason, but that didn't stop me from resisting.

You have to understand I was a meek little thing at that age. By ten o'clock at night I was usually tuckered out. My parents had kept me on a healthy diet, and a healthy schedule my entire life. Staying up past midnight was an extreme rarity. If I was to even make it partway through the evening, I needed my rest.

Recognizing the impossibility of a daytime nap for an almost eleven year old, my mother finally resorted to having me take a quarter of a tablet of Ambien®. Within a half an hour I was out.

My dreams were restless and disturbed. In them, I was tormented by a world where boys were regarded as less than common animals. We were housed in pens, and vicious butchers took turns dragging us out and man-handling us. With callous natures, and calloused hands they would grab at our boyhoods and knives would flash. They would laugh at our terror and our pain, as the severed parts were greedily devoured by hungry dogs.

I awoke in the dark, alone and confused. If you have ever accidentally slept during the day, you might know how off putting the experience can be. When you went to sleep, the sun was high and the day still full of promise. When you awoke, the sun had set and the day has left you in its dust.

I was briefly worried that my parents had tricked me. That they had let me sleep right through it all. They hadn't decided to let me into their world after all. It was only when I finally noticed the clock next to my bed that I was consoled. There were hours yet before our guests were to arrive. I was waking up at the time when I was usually getting ready for sleep.

I found my way downstairs. I was still feeling off-centre from both the disturbing dreams and the odd hour to wake up. My parents were having coffee outside on the porch when I came down. I stepped out into the brisk fall air still shaking the cobwebs from my mind. My mother approached me meekly when she saw me.

"Sorry, honey," She apologized. "I guess the pill was a bit much. How do you feel?"

"Okay, I think."

"Would you like to eat something? Are you hungry?"

I had, of course, slept through dinner and my stomach rumbled. "Yes, please," I admitted.

She brought out some leftover dinner, wrapped neatly with plastic wrap from the fridge. It was arranged on the plate in a way that told me, she hadn't forgotten about me at dinner time. My place had been set.

I sat with my parents on the porch, eating my re-heated food as they looked out over the lights reflecting off the pool. I shivered in the cool evening air.

"Here, Jason," my father offered when he noticed the goosebumps quivering on my arms. "Drink this." He poured me a cup of coffee, and mixed it with lots of milk and a bit of sugar.

I took the warm cup in my hands and apprehensively tasted. It was bitter, and odd. It wasn't the type of thing I would have chosen for myself. If it had been offered alongside of fruit juices or pop, I would never have tried it. But this was something for grown-ups. My father trusted me to have it. I sipped at it gratefully. A warmth spread through me with the look of pride on my father's face. The warmth had little to do with sipping the hot beverage.

"This will be a night of firsts," he told me.

We talked that night. We really talked. What we talked about didn't really matter. What mattered was that my parents seemed to take an interest in what I had to say. I listened to their words too, and felt accepted.

I was beginning to tell my parents about the part in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer where the boys follow Injun Joe and his accomplice through the haunted house, looking for treasure. Though it was cleverly written and the boys always stayed just ahead of the bumbling, but dangerous thugs, it frightened me. I wanted to know why anyone would take such risks with their life.

Before I could get to the part that really confused me, my mother looked at her watch and interrupted.

"Jason. It's time to get ready."

A new and different feeling coursed through me. It was time.

Upstairs, I bathed and readied myself. I struggled with the enema bottle, but eventually found a comfortable position on the toilet where I could get it to function as intended. I combed my hair, and brushed my teeth, and finally dressed in the clothes my mother had left out for me.

These clothes were different from what I was used to. Instead of my usual white cotton Y-fronts, I wore a silk pair of underwear. They fit like my usual underpants, but had no front opening or elastic. Instead there was a drawstring in which I tied a bow like I usually did with my shoes. The shirt was light, and very like the shirt of my silk pyjamas, but long sleeved and with smaller buttons. The pants were a white cotton fibre. They were airy and loose fitting. Instead of shoes, I wore sandals.

The clothes were almost more comfortable, than I felt comfortable wearing. I returned downstairs to my parents. I was feeling self conscious, and nervous in my new outfit. I might have preferred to wear the skirt Hanna had dressed me in, I felt so exposed.

My father was dressed much as I was, and that made me feel a little better. My mother was dressed in a flowing and beautiful gown. It was made of the same silk my shirt was. It was loose fitting and revealing. Though she was clearly dressed to match her husband and son, she might have been a Hollywood starlet, on the red carpet of a Gala affair. She was radiant, powerful, and I felt insignificant in her presence.

Though I felt awkward, I stood still with my family, as we welcomed the first people to arrive. Our guests barely took any notice of me. They greeted my parents, and entered our home. They all seemed to know where to go, and not one had to be given directions to the basement.

I recognized many of those who came in. They were my parents friends. They were my father's co-workers. More than most, they were the parents of my fellow home schoolers. A few were even older children I knew from the home school program, teenagers mostly. Cassie, a girl of about sixteen had often baby-sat me while my parents were out.

When Doctor Freidmont arrived, I nearly didn't recognize him. Somehow, at the time, I imagined doctors always wore their white coats, and went everywhere with a stethoscope around their neck. Seeing the stocky man dressed casually, with his shirt collar unbuttoned was unexpected. My father shook his hand, and the doctor kissed my mother. To me he only gave an odd smile, that seemed to be more of an inside joke to himself than pleasure at seeing me.

I nearly jumped with joy when I recognized the car of Hanna's parents pull up, but was disappointed when Hanna did not climb out. I remembered belatedly that Hanna would not be coming. I greeted her parents politely, even though I was not to see my Hanna that night.

"Hello, Mister and Missus Underwood."

"Hey Champ," was all her father said to me.

The guest of honour arrived on time, but fashionably after everyone else. A long Limo, flanked by two black and imposing SUVs dominated our driveway. As they stopped, dark skinned men erupted from the escort vehicles, and appraised the area before one of them opened the door for the mysterious occupant.

The man who stepped out was tall, and dark and frightening. He wore a dark business suit and tie. He filled the suit in a way that barely contained a power and confidence rippling just below the surface. His hair was short cropped, and his face was lined by years in a hot and sun fuelled climate. He waved away the men who tried to attend him. They instantly obeyed him. It was clear these men held him in a powerful regard. Even I could see, any of these men might willingly give up their lives for the prince they served.

He regarded us coolly for a few moments while the last of his men ran off, presumably to secure the perimeter or whatever it is such men do.

Then he smiled.

He had the kind of smile, where he smiled with his whole face, his whole body. Everything that was frightening about this man vanished with one expression.

"James, my friend!" he called out as he embraced my father. I was aware that my father hated being called James, but he seemed now not to mind. James was the name only people who did not know my father would use. From this man however, it seemed natural, and well meaning.

The two men clapped each other on the backs, and laughed like long lost brothers. "Marie," my father finally said to my mother. "I'd like you to meet Prince Shahriar Bin Kali of the United Arab Emirates, Kingdom of Dubai."

The prince waved away the introduction, and approached my mother. He took her hands and kissed them. "Just Shahriar, fair lady. My friend James, is too formal." Still holding her hands, he looked her up and down. "What vision is this? Why, James," he chided my father. "You should be ashamed. How could you leave a woman such as this behind to visit my back-water country. Had I a wife as beautiful, I would never leave my bed." He pulled my mother in close, and whispered none too quietly, "And, neither would she."

My mother actually blushed.

The prince finally released my mother's hands, and turned his attention to me. Before my father could introduce me, the great man dropped to a knee before me and clapped a fist to his chest.

"Sahib," he addressed me, meeting me eye to eye. "You could only be Jason." He took my hand and shook it like a grown-up. "Many wonderful things I have heard about you. Your father speaks of you often. Even in my distant land, tales of your doings have spread."

I was instantly taken with him. "Pleased to meet you Mister Kali."

If it was possible, the prince's smile grew even wider. "It is Bin Kali, my little fellow. The Bin means 'son-of'. But we shall call each other, Sahib. It means, friend." He shook my hand again.

"Pleased to meet you 3; Sahib," I tried a second time, feeling out the new word.

The prince clapped my shoulder before he stood. "What riches you have, James," he told my father. "I, a prince, am jealous of you. My children are surly and ill mannered. My wives are hags compared to yours. Come. You must tell me your secrets."

The two men entered the house, The prince's arm around my father's shoulders. My mother and I were pulled along in their wake.

When we entered the basement, it seemed transformed. Music was pumping from the sound system, and milling bodies filled the space. People seemed to be standing closer than usual. Closer than they would have in public spaces. Everything paused as the prince entered.

"Guests," my father addressed them. "This is Shahriar Bin Kali. Tonight, he is one of us."

There was a polite applause, and the prince waved it off dismissively before moving to mingle with the crowd.

Before I could process what was happening, my father's hand pressed into my back and shoved me forward. I was unprepared for being thrust into the group's field of attention. "Most of you know this person," he said of me. "This is Jason. This is his first time with us." I was feeling myself blush as people stared. "Do you have anything to say, Jason?" my father looked down at me.

I stuttered for a moment. The many faces looked at me expectantly. I looked back and forth between my father, and the staring eyes. I wished I could run and hide. I needed to be anywhere but there. I had made a terrible mistake. I didn't know what I was expected to say or do. I was about to embarrass myself, and humiliate my parents.

In another moment I found a wisp of courage as my mother's hands come to rest on my shoulders. Whatever happened, my parents would be there for me. "I 3; I'll do my best," was all I could say.

People laughed at me but clapped politely. I was momentarily off the hook and mercifully, their attentions quickly drifted elsewhere. My parents were soon caught up with mingling and chatting to their many friends.

As people went back to their business, I began to look around. People pressed up against one another at the bar, they lounged in pairs on the low backed leather chairs, and stretched out on the extra large bed. Some of the teenagers were swinging from the chrome railings as though they were monkey bars, doing just what I had imagined they'd do. A few people were beginning to undress, as they climbed into the hot-tub. I began to stroll around. It didn't seem as bad as I was worried about.

A few people said hi to me as I walked past. I tried my best to remember their names and say, hello. I was polite, and I was putting on my best grown-up face for them.

I was about to walk up and say hi to Cassie, my one time baby-sitter, when a man who was not her father, came up behind her. She had been half-heartedly swinging from one of the rails when his arms closed around her. She was instantly a different person from the nice girl who made me popcorn, and let me stay up past my bedtime.

This person reached back and grabbed the crotch of the man who held her. She pawed at it with intent. Without turning her around, the man plunged his hand down the front of her shirt. He began to fondle her breasts. She was moaning and clearly enjoying herself.

With her free hand she unbuttoned her blouse, and took control of his meaty hands. She guided it around her pert nipples, and then down past her heaving stomach. When his hands met the waist of her skirt, and began to progress even lower, I saw her hand was down his pants and was massaging what resided there.

Without a word, the man flipped Cassie over, and leaned her over the chrome rail. Her skirt was up, and his pants were down. His rock hard penis drooled, and he plunged it into her bare groin hungrily.

It happened with such speed and such animal intensity, I was frozen in place. I had never pictured Cassie doing such a thing. I looked around to see if anyone else was as shocked as I was. Instead I now saw people grinding and pawing each other. Clothing fell from bodies, like the leaves falling from the trees outside on that cool September night.

Toys from the closet were freely passed around. Some were mock penises, meant to be worn from a belt, and forced into openings. Some were balls that fit into people's mouths, or other creative places. There were fuzzy handcuffs, and strange straps. Here and there, the hooks in the ceiling supported odd harnesses that suspended a body at just the right height for whatever carnal pleasures came to mind.

No-one was with who I thought they should be. My mother was wrapped up in the embrace of one of my father's co-workers. My father was holding court on the large bed. Both men and women were rubbing hands and mouths down his body. His mighty member standing proud like a flagpole.

Hanna's mother was already draped over the form of Prince Shahriar. They had taken over one of the low backed leather lounging chairs. His body was dark and hairy. His penis stood straight as Hanna's mother pumped it with her fist. He wasn't as large as my father, but was impressive nonetheless. His skin was shining. He was circumcised, and his dark coloured glans stood out round and proud in the pearly white room.

Doctor Freidmont had a boy of about fourteen bent over a stool, and was thrusting his member in and out of the boy's rectum. The boy had a look of boredom on his face. He was counting the seconds until it was over.

This wasn't what I had imagined at all. All my experiences were with people I trusted, and who loved me. This seemed like a free for all. A mindless savage thing.

That wasn't all that was bothering me. I'll tell you now without shame, or worry about what you might think 3; I was feeling left out.

I knew how good it felt to be touched, and to touch another person. As always seemed to happen to me when I was around a large group of people, I felt ignored. I did not know how or even if I should approach someone. I was terrified at breaking etiquette.

Never offend a guest.

I spent quite a while wandering the edges of that room, avoiding random arms, legs and other appendages. I felt small and pointless. I longed for Hanna to be there. She at least would have comforted me. We could have played our own game among the others. I would have someone to touch, and someone to touch me.

Eventually I made my way to the edge of the whirlpool. In the water, Hanna's dad and another man were taking turns with a woman. There was a curious ebb and flow to the motion of three people together. It was almost beautiful.

As I stared, Hanna's father noticed me. "Hey, Slugger. Enjoying the view?" He smiled an almost wicked grin. He rose up out of the water, and stroked the side of his erect cock. "Take a long look. You'll never be able to do what I can."

I walked away. I was embarrassed.

Almost everyone was naked and engaged in passion of one kind or another. I was still wearing everything I had come in with. No-one seemed to notice me. They looked away as I met their eyes.

Eventually, one person noticed me.

"Come here, Sahib," the prince beckoned. I sheepishly approached. I stood beside him as Hanna's mom left us alone.

The prince's dark body was covered in even darker curly hair. His suit had vanished, but he showed no signs of missing it. He seemed completely at home in his own skin. I liked him.

"Why do you cower so?" he asked me.

I was grateful someone was talking to me. "Everyone has someone. No one wants me here," I lamented.

The prince pulled me in, and sat me on his lap. He stared into my eyes, an overpowering gaze that could command men to their deaths. Yet there was a kindness too. "My poor little, Sahib. How little you know. Every person here desires you. It is they that are afraid."

I couldn't believe it. "They're afraid of me?"

"Yes, my little friend," he nodded seriously. "You are new and fresh and beautiful."

I squirmed under the descriptive, "Beautiful?"

The prince went on. "Your skin, your touch. All desire it. You are the unbroken flower, waiting to be picked. You are the oasis in the desert. They are afraid they will harm you. They are afraid you might reject them."

"But 3;" This flew in the face of everything I had assumed. I couldn't finish my thought.

The prince's voice grew soft. "Dear Sahib. Would you stay with me? Love me if I asked it?"

I didn't even have to think about it. "Yes, Sahib. Anything."

I hugged him, and he hugged me back.

He sat me up. "Fetch me that bottle there." He pointed to the cupboard, and the small clear bottle nestled among the toys. I quickly obliged. He set it next to him on a little table by his lounger when I handed it over.

He sat me back on his lap and instructed, "Close your eyes, little one." And I did.

His hands smoothed out my hair, and swept lightly over my face and neck. Despite his rough hands, it was tender and kind. Slowly he unbuttoned my silk shirt. With each button he placed a kiss on the newly exposed flesh. His hands stroked the silk of my sleeves. The feeling of contact with this exotic and powerful man was intoxicating.

When the last button was undone, he slid the silk down off my back and over my arms. He drew out the smooth sensations of the fine fabric flowing over my skin. His hands floated over my bare chest and back, when the shirt finally fell to the floor.

He was being very careful and deliberate.

Gently, he laid me down on the lounger, and unbuttoned my pants. He slid them off me so slowly. His fingers excited every inch of me. As my pants finally fell off, so did my sandals. My toes curled and my bare skin prickled in the open air.

I could feel his gentle touch, explore my silk underwear. Attentively he undid the bow in the drawstring, and again, he slowly slid them off me. The air on my exposed boyhood sent chills down my spine. Somehow, he had made the very act of undressing me a stimulating experience in itself. It was an epiphany.

With my eyes closed fast, I could feel him explore every inch of my naked body. The line of my neck. My nipples, and belly button. His fingers traversed the curves of my leg from my ankles to my scrotum. His touch explored the thin softness of my pouch. He rolled the tiny balls between his rough thumb and digits. My penis was subtly stroked, and the tiny amount of flesh that was my foreskin, brushed and pulled back. Every millimetre of me was touched and appreciated.

At last he said, "Open your eyes."

When I did, I saw him radiant and powerful, a fearful visage. His penis was rock hard, and the purple circumcised head pulsed. I wished I could get hard like that. I loved him for being so kind to me.

"Look there." he said, and directed me to a woman, taking a man's shaft into her mouth. "Would you try that if I asked?"

He didn't have to. "Yes, Sahib."

For the first time my mouth closed over the glans of another male. I was unschooled in technique, but eager and willing. His taste was musky and powerful but not unpleasant. As I sucked, I remembered how powerful a feeling came over me when Hanna had dragged her tongue over the head of my penis. I did the same for the prince now. He shuddered and his hands gripped my shoulders.

I would have swallowed all of him if I had been able, so overwhelming was my need to please him at that moment. I drew my lips as far down the shaft as I could without choking. Up and down the shaft I moved my mouth, while my tongue circled and tasted the head. I could feel the prince quaking under my lips. That I should have had an effect on such a compelling force as the prince, gave me pride.

He was quaking almost uncontrollably when he stopped me.

"Enough." He pulled my head up and kissed me. His stubble was rough like sandpaper against my cheek, but there was passion there. When our lips parted, he said, "I will save my seed for something better."

He rolled me over then and lifted my hips. On my hole he spread the contents of the bottle I had fetched for him. It was cool and slick. I recognized the feeling from when my father had taken me in the hot-tub. I was fearful, but knew what to expect.

He had me kneel on all fours on the lounger as his penis pressed into me. I relaxed, and let it come. Like everything the prince did with me, he took his time. He did not thrust into me with one press of force. Instead he slowly slid into place, letting me become accustomed to the sensation, letting that coil of muscle within me open in its own time.

There was much less pain with this approach. He was smaller than my father, but still more than enough to do the job. The pain almost immediately subsided when he was all the way inside me. The combination of his smaller size, and careful penetration made a world of difference. That secret button inside me was buzzing with the prince's heat and pressure.

Instead of leaving me on all fours, when we were connected, he held on to me and sat back, with me atop him. Once I was in place, he held my waist and slowly rocked his hips up and down. As he pulsed, I began to quiver with the feelings of pleasure. My eyes closed as I focused on that moment.

All my nerves slowly came to life, and I felt ecstasy. It was lightening flowing through my body, down my legs and arms, exploding out through my fingertips and toes. It came in bucking spasmodic bolts that shook my core.

The bolts flashed again and again. Each one more intense than the one before. At last a mighty tide swelled up and broke the dams of all my resistance. I remembered at last to breathe, and the world shattered in white shards, ripping through my every muscle in a quake that went on and on.

When the world eventually came back into focus, the prince was breathing heavily and was clutching me in his arms. He looked momentarily weak, but peaceful.

As I took air into my lungs, I could feel him softening, and finally slip free. There was wetness between my legs, but it was not unpleasant. As I turned, he opened his eyes and smiled.

"Did I do all right, Sahib?"

"All right?" he remarked. "Dear, little one. You have surpassed all thought. You may have ruined me for all others to come." He took my chin in his hands as he held me. "You ask if it was 'all right'. I say you are an angel sent from Allah."

He began to laugh, and it was infectious. As with his smile, he laughed with his entire being. This was a man who did nothing in half measures. When he spoke, he spoke from the heart. When he smiled, he smiled with his whole self. When he laughed, there was no-one who could not feel the joy spreading out from him. I knew why men would die for him.

I felt myself laughing with him. I'm sure I didn't understand why, but the joy of it carried me off. We laughed, heedless of those around us. When we found them staring, we laughed harder.

At last with tears rolling down our cheeks, we managed to control ourselves. When the last of the laughter finally left us, the prince spoke.

"Are you able to walk? Have I harmed you?"

I moved my legs experimentally. I felt all right. "I'm fine, Sahib."

"Allah, be praised," he said. "I am spent. Would that I were young and strong as you. I will need something to recover my spirit. Would you go to the bar for me? Would you bring me some wine?"

I was eager to please. "Yes, Sahib." I stood, and found my legs stable. I jogged over to the bar, and asked one of the men standing there if they could help me. Of course I knew nothing of wine, or even what a prince would like. A man walked behind the bar and helpfully began to search the bottles for me. He asked questions I didn't know the answer to.

As I struggled to make a choice for the prince, I noticed Hanna's father sit on the edge of the prince's lounger. The two men were speaking quietly, and I saw Hanna's father make a motion with his hands like a pair of scissors cutting paper. He was laughing but the prince was not.

When I finally returned with a glass and bottle of wine that had been chosen for me, Hanna's father had already left. The prince looked deep in thought.

"What's the matter, Sahib?"

The prince's mood had shifted. He smiled at me, but it was controlled. "Nothing to worry about, my little friend. I do not concern myself with idle gossip of fools."

He patted the seat next to him. "Lay with me, as I drink my wine. It would please me."

"Yes, Sahib."

We lay together for some time. As we lay, the party slowly wound down. As people's desires were satisfied, they made excuse and left.

Doctor Freidmont stayed behind, and administered to a few people that had enjoyed themselves a bit too much. There was nothing serious. A few salves were handed out, and a few band-aids applied where flesh had not quite stood up to passion.

When it became clear the party was over, people cleaned themselves up and began to dress. As the prince straightened his tie and re-donned his fine jacket he called over to my father.

"James. A word if you please."

My father came over. He was flush and sweaty. He clapped my shoulder as I was buttoning my silk shirt. He addressed the prince. "I see you two had a nice time."

"That we did, my friend," the prince agreed. "Your family and home have much impressed me. Your son is as remarkable as you have said. Even more so. It is for this reason I must speak to you."

"What is it Shahriar?"

The prince again became serious. "Word has come to my ear you plan to geld the boy."

My father's flush face seemed to drain of blood. "That is a private matter. Who told you?"

The prince continued. "It matters not. A petty man. I'm sure you can guess who."

My father nodded, and I could see the metal beneath his flesh harden. In the excitement of the evening, I had almost forgotten about my impending castration. Now all my fear and helplessness came rushing back.

"I have found a friend in your son, the young Jason. It would affect me greatly for unnecessary harm to come to the boy." As the prince said these words there was a clear threat buried within them. "Do you plan to geld him for personal satisfaction?"

"What?" My father seemed to rebel at the implication. "No, never." He waved to the doctor, who was just finishing his ministrations on an overzealous teenager, who had received lash burns from improperly wearing a leather toy. "Charles, come over here. Tell the prince."

Doctor Freidmont finished, and came over momentarily. My father urged him to explain his recommendation. "I'm the boy's doctor," he said. "It is unusual, I admit, but I assure you it is necessary. We are exploring all of Jason's options"

"I will tell you," warned the prince. "I have known men who would do such a thing for their baser instincts. There have been a cadre of men in my lands who castrate children and sell them as slave to whoever would pay the price. These children are raped, abused and tortured for the pleasure of creatures not deserving of the title of men. They sully the noble institution of the eunuch. Their power lies in corruption and oppression. If I find you are among such men 3;" He paused to let his audience absorb his words. "Then I will have sorely misjudged you."

"No," my father insisted. "We don't want to do it, but we feel it is for the best."

By now my mother had joined our discussion. She wrapped her arms protectively around my father. Her eyes implored the prince, but she did not speak.

The prince's mood eased, as he studied their faces. "I see now that you would not do such a thing as that. It pleases me."

My parents relaxed, and my mother pulled me to her. My mother, father, and myself stood together as one.

"Let me tell you about my land," said the prince as he sat back on his chair. "In my land the eunuch has always been a sacred profession. The eunuchs have been entrusted to protect our women while the men were away at war. They have sanctified our mosques, and served as teachers in our military. Within my own harem, five eunuchs serve my wives. There is no shame in being a eunuch."

As he spoke, I found myself enthralled. "For some men it is a calling that they choose. Some are born as eunuchs. Some come that way by accident or injury. For some it is medical necessity. What bothers me about the practice is when it is done to possess another, or for sexual gratification. Though I am not a religious man, I know. Even the prophet Mohammed outlawed castration for such vile purpose. And he was an uneducated desert dweller. We should all know right from wrong."

He gave me his smile that came from his whole self. "You needn't fear castration, little one. Your family loves you, and will do what is best." He then addressed my parents. "When will it be done?"

"We haven't decided," admitted my father. "I'd like him to go as long as possible before it has to happen."

This did not please the prince. "Such a thing should not be delayed. Once a thing has been decided, you must not hesitate."

I had a creeping worry enter me when the prince said that.

"If it is true that you are not having him cut for some perverse pleasure, then keeping him whole can only be to serve your own ego. It is cruel to draw out the boy's fate. If it must be done, then do it." He slapped his hand down on the leather seat for emphasis. "Keeping the boy in limbo does him no favours. It is for your own glory you hesitate. You are his parents and he your charge, but he is not your property. If Allah has chosen this path for him, then it is your duty as parents to act swiftly."

Doctor Freidmont was excited, "I could do him tomorrow. It would be no trouble at all. I have all the 3;"

"No," Shahriar cut him off. "I believe you would enjoy it too much. I have a man in my employ. He is a master cutter. He has never lost a boy. A more skilled hand you could not ask for. It will take me a week to fly him in. I would be honoured if you would use him. It would ease my mind to know that Jason was in safe hands."

My mother was nodding, but my father was shaking his head. "I'm not sure," he said quietly.

"I insist," urged the prince. "Or, are you not the man I thought you were?"

My father looked small. He hugged me to him as he breathed. When he released me, he finally nodded. "A week then," he agreed.

"Agreed," said the prince. He reached out and took my hands. He spoke to me plainly. "Please do not despise me little one. I wish only for your well being. Trust me. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. Were this to be done without reason, or for the wrong one, I would not suggest it. As I see your parents love you, as I now do, I cannot bear to have you suffer, while you wait for it to be done. The sooner it is finished, the sooner you can continue with your life. The sooner you can begin down the path that Allah has planned out for you."

I couldn't hate him. Though I was filled with dread, I could not hate the prince. "I understand, Sahib."

The prince stood then. As he did, he touched the side of my face and kissed the top of my head. He embraced and kissed my mother. He hugged my father, and patted his back.

"I do not envy you the decision," he told my father. "No greater burden could be asked of a father for his son. But, it is right that it should be done swiftly. I will contact you soon."

With that, the prince was gone. He was carried into the night by his dark limousine and entourage of intimidating men. I immediately missed him.

Doctor Freidmont said when the prince was gone, "Well, I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some sand covered camel rider cut the boy up. When he calls you, you tell him 3;"

"Charles," my father stopped him. "I want you there. You'll make sure everything goes smoothly." My father's voice was weak and quiet. "Make sure he doesn't feel any pain. Make sure he doesn't get an infection."

Doctor Freidmont shook my father's hands. "I'm there for you, Jim. You call me day or night. I'll make sure Jason is protected." And then, Doctor Freidmont too, disappeared into the night.

When we were at last alone, we all quietly returned to the house. We were all tired, but we took the time to shower, and clean ourselves of the sweat and smells of the night. For the first time since I was a baby, we all showered together. None of us wanted to leave each other's sides. There was nothing sexual about washing each other's bodies. Like weeping had cleansed me of sorrow in the days before, the night in the basement had exhausted us of those desires. We were simply a family, caring for each other in the best way we knew how.

Dressed in our most comfortable pyjamas, we all cuddled together in my parent's bed. The fear and shame I felt facing a final date for my emasculation, was nearly overshadowed by the love and comfort of my parents bodies. We all tried to sleep through what little remained of the night.

Despite the love and comfort of my parents, my sleep was restless. I kept waking at the sound of two words ringing through my head.

"One week," it said.

One week.

Chapter Nine
Separation Anxiety

Though I had never gone looking for such things before, I finally had no choice. If no-one would tell me what it all meant, I would have to figure it out on my own.

During a quiet moment, I closed the door to my room and turned on my computer. Until then, I had only used my computer to play games, research for my school-work and occasional chatting with my few friends.

That time, when the search bar came up, I typed in something different.

Castration.

My browser filled with links to farms and veterinary clinics, but this wasn't what I needed. Page after page I flipped through the websites there. Finally, I found what I wanted. I had to lie about my age to enter the site, but it had what I was looking for.

The site I found talked about eunuchs through history. It spoke of the slave trade. It spoke about the Hijra in India, the harem keepers in Arabia, and the Castrati in Italy. There was a lot of technical information about the what part of it. What I was looking for was the how and the why.

The website was very organized, and I found it without too much trouble. It was all broken down into easy to digest points. The ones that stood out to me were frightening.

There was more than one type of castration. There was the one I knew, where the balls are cut from the body. There were so many types I had never imagined.

Sometimes the balls were crushed to a paste, still inside the bag. A man with a strong hands would press the testicles until they popped, then continue mashing, until no piece remained.

In some castrations clamps or bands were used to destroy the cords. The balls would die and rot away without ever leaving the body. There was a real risk of blood poisoning with that method.

In India and Asia it was common to remove everything. The penis and balls would be stretched out from the body, and sliced off in one smooth motion. Boys often died from this sort of thing. If they didn't die outright from the shock and blood loss, infection almost always claimed them soon afterwards. Only a lucky few survived, if their piss could find a path from their body, that didn't leave them jaundiced.

The very worst was the medieval method, popular in Europe. A branding iron would be heated until it was glowing white, then pressed against a helpless boy's sack. The heat would roast the flesh. It would burn and bubble, and the balls would be cooked while they were still inside the boy. Though death was less likely, and the heat cauterized the wound as it made it, I still cringed. I couldn't fathom the pain those boys must have endured, as their boyhood was rendered black and charred, and the balls were cooked while still attached.

Just as disturbing as the methods, were the results. I couldn't understand why anyone would desire for this to happen to a boy. As I read, I came to understand what would happen to me once it was done.

My voice would never change. I would never have the commanding baritone of my father. No matter how old I got, I would always have the high pitched voice of a little child. No one would ever respect the shrill squeak that would be my voice. I wasn't a singer, and no choir would benefit from my castration.

My facial hair would never grow. I could never sport a moustache or a beard. I would have the face and features of a child or a woman. Never would someone look at me and feel masculinity at my presence.

Castration would keep me from entering puberty. I already knew that. My penis would never grow hard. I could never pleasure a woman the way my father pleased my mother. My already tiny member would stay the same size. It would be minuscule and hairless forever.

Then the revelation.

I could never have children.

No matter how much I loved Hanna, no matter how much I desired it, we would never be able to have a child of our own.

I remembered one of our games together. I must have been only five or six. We had played 'house'. "You be the daddy, and I'll be the mommy," she had told me. "This is our baby," she said, as she placed one of her dolls in my arms. I hadn't wanted to play that game. It seemed too girly the first time we played. As with everything Hanna, she won me over to it. I found myself having fun, and came very quickly to look forward to the times we played as 'Mommy, Daddy and Baby'.

Now that game would never, could never be a reality. I felt an odd loss for the child of my own, that would never be. I was too young to know fully what that meant, but felt the pain nonetheless.

I couldn't take it any-more. I closed my browser. Perhaps I could run away. Maybe the adventure Tom Sawyer found himself on wasn't really that bad. Maybe I could be that boy, and sail away to my own island. Become a pirate and search for gold. But even Tom couldn't do it alone.

I needed to talk to Hanna. I opened my messenger program, and searched for her name. She wasn't on line. I must have refreshed it hundreds of times to no avail. She wasn't on Skype or any of the other chat sites I knew.

"Are you there?" I typed into her message box. There was no reply.

Filled with my dark thoughts, I returned downstairs.

"Mom?" I asked. "Can I please use the phone?"

My mother was serene. "Who do you want to call, sweetheart?"

"I need to talk to Hanna."

My mother slowly shook her head. "No, dear. I don't think that would be a good idea just now."

"Please, Mom. Just for a minute?"

She shook her head again. It was final. There would be no moving her. "Why don't you call one of your other friends? You and Hanna have had quite enough time together lately."

I was dumbfounded. There was certainly no-one I could talk to like I could with Hanna. Only Hanna knew about the basement room. Only she knew what was to happen to me. I couldn't talk to one of my other friends, even if I had wanted to. I was forbidden from discussing all the topics that were haunting me.

"Please, Mom," I tried one last time.

"Jason," she said firmly. Her serenity fading. "That is quite enough of that. Either call another friend, or find something else to do. The matter is settled."

I was angry at her. I tried my father next.

"You don't need to bother the Underwoods, Jason," he told me as he rubbed his hand and knuckles thoughtfully. "Now, go and play somewhere. Find something to take your mind off of it."

There was no moving either of them. It wasn't fair. It wasn't like I had ever asked for much. I stormed around the house feeling trapped and alone. I slammed doors, I stomped. If there had been puppies, I might have kicked them.

After another couple of days of this, my parents had enough. I wasn't the boy they knew. I was sullen and depressed. The longer I went without Hanna, and the closer I came to my castration, the worse it got. They tried to cheer me in other ways, but I was immune to the things that had given me pleasure before.

I needed Hanna, and they wouldn't let me see her or talk to her. My fate was looming ever larger on my horizon, and I had no way to cope with what was to come. I felt helpless and alone, and I was angry that I felt helpless and alone.

With only two days to go to my castration, my parents brought me to an office I had never been to before. It was quiet, and a little dreary. We were alone in the waiting room, when the door opened.

Doctor Lindsay greeted me. She was dressed much as she was when I first met her in Doctor Freidmont's exam room, A plain skirt and blouse, and a sweater over top.

"Hello, Jason," she said. "Its good to see you again."

I wasn't sure why I was there, but I was happy to see her. I liked this doctor. When she asked questions, she seemed genuinely interested in the answers. Perhaps she was someone who would finally take me seriously.

"Mom and Dad," she addressed my parents. "Why don't you stay here in the waiting room? Jason," she said to me. "Would you like to come inside so we can talk for a bit?"

I quietly followed her inside, and she closed the door behind us.

The office inside was plain. There were a lot of books on the shelves, an area in the corner where younger children could play, and there were comfortable chairs. It was pleasant enough, but like the outside of the office, a little sad.

I sat in one of the chairs. Doctor Lindsay sat across from me. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, and her face, neutral. I waited for her to speak. The silence in the room was eerie.

While time stretched on, I took note of my surroundings, and the doctor in front of me. She was a little older than my mother. Her clothes held less colour. Though her hair was nicely styled, it wasn't the sort of hairstyle meant to be beautiful. It was meant to convey professionalism.

In the room, there wasn't a single memento, or photo. Everything was tidy, but soulless. This was not a place anyone cared to be in for a long time. This was a room one spent as little time in as possible, and when the time was over, you left. I was a little disappointed that Doctor Lindsay seemed so at home here.

Doctor Lindsay studied me, as I studied her. Finally she said, "Go ahead Jason."

"What?"

"Tell me why you are here."

"I don't know." It was the truth, though I did suspect. I was very smart for my age. I knew a lot of people went to therapists and psychologists when they had a problem. I realized that my parents thought Doctor Lindsay could make me feel better. They hadn't told me, but I realized now, that was what they wanted.

"You've been having a tough time this week," she said.

I nodded.

"Do you want to tell me why that is?"

I didn't know where to start. It felt like so long since I had last seen Hanna. It had been over a week since she and I had been together. We had talked on the phone, and online several times since we had parted, then after the night I met the prince, nothing.

With the date of my castration looming over me, I was scared, felt alone and was without the one person who really mattered to me.

"Go ahead," she prodded. "This is a safe place."

My face was getting hot, and I didn't want to say the words. I knew I couldn't sit there in silence forever. When the words finally came, they burst out of me like a ruptured blister.

"They're going to castrate me." The words seemed to ooze and corrupt the very air I had spoken them into.

"Yes, Jason," she nodded as she heard me. "Does that frighten you?"

It did, and the reality of it was getting worse. "I don't know what I'll be after," I said. My voice was quivering in a way I didn't like. "I'm not afraid of being cut." I tried to sound brave, but it wasn't working. "I'm not afraid of blood, and I'm not even afraid of the pain." My voice sounded small, even to myself. "I don't know what I'll be after?" I felt hot tears threatening to erupt as I admitted my fear.

Doctor Lindsay took the time to process what I said. "Well, Jason. The technical term is a eunuch. You will be a eunuch."

This was the first time an adult had spoken plainly about what was to happen to me. I took a breath, and felt the tears cool and subside.

"Do you know that word?"

"Yes," I said.

"What do you think it means?"

I admitted to her what I had discovered online. I told her all that wouldn't change about me. I told her I was afraid of never fitting in again. I told her that the life I envisioned for myself would never be.

"Jason," she asked when I was done. "Are you afraid that things will change, or that things won't change?"

This was confusing. "I 3; I don't know."

"Will your parents love you any less?"

I knew better than that. "No."

"The last time we spoke, you told me of your little friend. Hanna? Was that her name?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Do you think she'll love you any less?"

I knew that was impossible.

"No." I swallowed a breath of cool air. I was suddenly relieved, but sad too. "They won't let me see her," I told the doctor. "What did I do wrong? Why won't they let me talk to her?"

Doctor Lindsay's implacable face twitched. I could tell she was reacting to something she hadn't expected. Adults always thought they knew everything. I had noticed adults make that face many times. Always when it was something they didn't expect, and didn't want to let on they didn't know. I knew instantly she knew nothing of Hanna. She couldn't help me.

"Oh, well 3; Why do you need to talk to her? Is it very important you see her?"

"Yes," I said. I was suddenly feeling this conversation was not the one we were supposed to be having. I felt oddly powerful just then. "It is very important that I talk with her."

"Hanna is your best friend?"

"She was," I said. I wasn't lying. Hanna was much more than that now. Even being separated from her, there was a connection that was powerful and more than I had ever known.

As I studied Doctor Lindsay's face, I could see her struggle to mask her confusion. She hadn't expected the conversation to go the way it was. She wasn't privy to all I was feeling and dealing with. She clearly thought the only thing I was upset about was my castration. I had deflated her calm demeanour, by changing the course of the conversation.

I could feel anger and helplessness melting away from me. Seeing the doctor flounder was encouraging me in an odd way. I liked her, but strangely, I also wanted to embarrass her. I needed to see an adult be as helpless as I felt.

The doctor was being lured into a trap I was only dimly becoming aware that I was setting. "She's not your best friend any-more?" she asked. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She thought I was like all the other boys she had met. She didn't know I was smart. She didn't know I was reading books and solving Math problems, two and three years ahead of my age group. She didn't know how good I was at observing things, like the fact she didn't have a wedding ring on. She didn't know how good my memory was, or how intensely I studied facial expressions. She had only met me once before, when I was injured, ashamed and frightened. She was underestimating me.

I stayed quiet. I knew from experience that being quiet, I could learn many things. I could pick up on things other people missed. People would often say things into a quiet room, they wouldn't normally. I was used to being overlooked. Being quiet, I was often invisible.

For the first time in my life, I was using that to my advantage. This was very different from who I usually was. I let the silence linger. I made my face calm like the doctor's. I even folded my hands in my lap.

"Did you have a fight?" she said at last.

She was moving closer to the trap. I knew if I wanted to embarrass her I couldn't let her control the conversation.

I took a slow breath before I answered. "People fight all the time doctor. Haven't you ever fought with someone?"

Her hands folded and unfolded in her lap, and she adjusted her seat. "Yes, Jason," she said. "I can guess that fighting with Hanna must have been very upsetting. Is that why you want to speak with her?"

I was very calm now. My mind was arranging puzzle pieces. I carefully changed the subject. "Doctor. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Jason. Anything you like."

"You've met a lot of boys, haven't you?"

Again, she displayed the face that said she was in uncharted waters. "Yes. I've met many boys. It's what I do. I speak to children."

"What are they like in Dubai?" I asked, remembering she had said she had studied boys from all over the world.

"Why do you want to know that?"

"How about India. What are boys like in India?"

"Jason, I don't know what I could tell you. Is there a reason you want to know?"

My trap was closing now. I could sense her feelings. She felt in control. Her every question was constructed to regain control of the conversation. She needed that control to feel safe. I kept my tone light and non-threatening. I played up the act of the curious, timid little boy

"Do boys fight often?"

I could see her face suddenly decide on a course of action. I was determined to make sure she had chosen the wrong one.

"Yes Jason. Boys fight. Boys from all over the world. There's nothing wrong with fighting. The important thing is to admit when you are wrong, and to learn from your mistakes."

"How many boys come to you because they were fighting?"

She seemed to consider carefully. "Some," she said. "If you want to talk about your fight with Hanna 3;"

"I don't want to talk about Hanna. I want to know more about all the boys you've helped."

"Jason that's not why we are here."

"You travel around a lot to see these boys?" I asked.

"Are you worried you won't be like other boys?"

"You aren't married are you?"

The doctor stopped. Her hands were up. "Jason, I don't talk about myself in this room. This room is about you. I want to know about you."

"Have you ever loved anyone?"

The doctor seemed to recognize she was in dangerous waters now. "Jason, I want to know about you. Are you asking because you are worried someone won't love you?"

"I need to know, Doctor. Have you ever loved someone? Not like a friend or a parent, but like a husband and wife."

She considered my eyes. The quiet room beckoned for a response.

"Yes, Jason," she admitted, deciding her answer was harmless. "Yes, I've loved someone like that."

"But not any-more?"

"No."

"Did you fight?"

"Yes."

"Did you forgive him?"

There was a very long pause, as the Doctor considered her position. She must have been considering the ramifications of answering me. I knew she couldn't see the trap though. I was quiet. I was invisible. I knew she would say something she never would otherwise, into that quiet room.

I watched her face as she remembered. Her eyes went dark, and that told me so very much. I saw now the power of letting someone feel safe. I smiled sympathetically and leaned towards her. I waited.

"No. I didn't forgive him," she finally admitted. Her eyes were full of regret. She must have thought by opening up to me like that, I would be more open about myself. She was wrong.

The trap was closed.

"I think I'd like to leave now," I dropped the curious little boy act. I knew enough to know there was nothing else she could give me.

Doctor Lindsay was confused. "Jason, you've only just got here. I want to hear more about you."

"Why?" I asked. "You don't care, and you can't understand."

"Jason, I do care. I care very much."

I stood then. "No, Doctor. You don't. You travel from place to place like Tom Sawyer trying to become a pirate. You've travelled all over the world judging little boys, looking for something you can't find. Your treasure is little boy's problems, and you think you're rich. Only, Tom Sawyer wasn't where he was supposed to be. The treasure he was looking for, wasn't the one he really needed."

I was calm, and the words seemed to be coming from some far off place. I had no idea these things were within me. Like a creature inside me was speaking them. It didn't matter to me if she understood my words, only that she know I understood her.

"You can't stop my castration. You're the one who actually suggested it. It was you and Doctor Freidmont who said I need to be castrated. So, how can you make me feel better about that? You talked my father into it. I can't trust you. I'll never believe you want to help me."

I paused to let the silence fill the room again. The Doctor was looking at me with horror and confusion. I'd never spoken this many words to an adult in my life. For the first time I was telling an adult what was really on my mind, not just answering a question. I'd never before been so daring.

"You remembered me talking about Hanna, and you thought I was only talking about a friend. Hanna and I are more than friends. A million times more than friends, but you couldn't know it. If you had ever been in love, real love, you would have forgiven him. You don't know anything about it, and you can't. Hanna and I did have a fight, but only for a second. No matter what, she loves me. She would never hurt me. When it is real, fighting doesn't change anything. How can you understand it, if you've never felt it? You've never been in love, so how can I talk to you about Hanna?"

I walked up to the doctor and placed my small hand on hers.

"I like you, Doctor. You seem like a nice person. But I can't talk to you any-more. I don't think it is me that needs to be in therapy."

Awkwardly, I said the words of comfort I thought she should hear. "I hope one day you do feel real love. I think you deserve it."

The oddest thing happened then. Doctor Lindsay's dark eyes welled with tears and she began to cry. In a way, I recognized those tears. She was weeping. I hoped for her sake that crying like that would help her, as my tears had helped me before. She slumped in her chair, lost in a revelation I could only guess at.

I felt bad that I had done that to her. I had seen behind the façade she showed to the world. I only knew a fraction of the real doctor, but from what I knew in our short conversation, I knew she was very lonely. I patted her shoulder and silently exited the room.

My parents were surprised to see me.

"Done so soon?" My father checked his watch.

"We can go home now," I told him.

My mother stood and started toward the door. "I want to have a talk with her."

I stopped her. My head was very clear. "No, Mom. It's okay now. We should go."

We left without disturbing the doctor.

In the car, I realized she had helped me. I had been feeling weak and helpless. Instead, I had discovered a strength I didn't know I had. I still missed Hanna, but I knew that my castration would not be the end of me. I was strong. I didn't need to have muscles and a beard to be strong. Doctor Lindsay had helped me realize my strength.

Adults were always underestimating me. I was too silent. I didn't speak my mind enough. I knew now I could speak for myself. My impending castration had given me a sense that there was nothing left to lose.

Doctor Lindsay had thought of me as quiet and timid, and usually I was. She hadn't known I was ready to hurt someone. She didn't know a ten year old could possess the tools to hurt her. The truth was, until I did it, I didn't know myself.

Hurting her had helped me. I no longer felt like everything was out of my control.

My parents didn't ask me what had gone on in that room, and I didn't tell them. As far as they were concerned, they took me to Doctor Lindsay to help me, and she had. I felt calm, and at peace for the first time in days. I still missed Hanna, but I was willing to wait. Nothing could keep us apart forever.

None of us were expecting the visitor waiting for us when we got home.

Chapter Ten
The Thin Man

He was tall and slim, and had a smooth face. His complexion was as dark as anyone I had ever seen. His African accent was lyrical. The deep O and AH sounds of his speech almost masked his light voice.

He was dressed strangely, in robes and a kind of tunic. Everything about him announced he was from the deepest part of the African continent.

He had been waiting for us on our doorstep when we arrived back at our house. Though he clearly didn't belong, he didn't look uncomfortable. He was a person completely at home in his own skin.

He had walked from the airport. Not only was it an unusually long ways, but he had done it barefoot. The man didn't even own a pair of shoes. I was fascinated. He was the first real eunuch I had ever met.

Upon learning he was the man Prince Shahriar had enlisted for my castration, I was at first afraid and suspicious. He quickly set my mind at ease. His nature was not threatening. He seemed genuine and kind.

My parents invited him in to our kitchen table, where we all sat as he proceeded to tell us his story.

"Dere had been both famine and war, the year ah was done," he continued. "Mah father and many siblings had died, and dere was only mah mother, mah little sistah, and me left. We were starving, and couldn't even afford water."

"It has long been a tradition of mah people to be sold into indentured service. As ah was the man of mah family, the duty fell to me. A man paid mah mother for me, and he took me wit him. We travelled far to the North, near Egypt, where he took me to another man. Dis man wanted me for a eunuch, and ah was sold to him."

"Ah was very afraid. Ah did not want to be cut, and made man-less. Ah had become very fond of mah-self." He laughed at his joke and winked at us knowingly, "Ah think you know what ah mean." He continued, "The person ah was sold to was very kind. He did not cut me right away. First he taught me."

"He taught me to read and do sums. Ah had nevah been to school, and it was very hard. But ah was bright, and learned quickly. When mah master was satisfied ah was worth the price he paid, he came to me. He told me ah had a choice. If ah agreed to be castrated, he would continue to teach me. He would pay for mah education, and would even pay me a wage dat ah could send back to mah family. If ah did not agree, then he would not cut me, but keep me on for the length of my indenture, den ah would be free, and could return to mah family, intact."

"Ah chose to be cut. Ah could not leave mah mother and sistah wit nothing. The money they had been paid for me was very little. The wage would keep dem alive, and keep mah sistah from selling herself on the street. Also, ah wanted to learn and better mah-self. Ah told mah-self it would be worth the price."

"When dey cut me, dere were many people watching. It was a big event. Ah was lead naked into a large room where dey strapped me to a table. Ah was very afraid, and ah was crying very bad. All dose strangers looking at me. Ah was very humiliated. Dey gave me an injection and ah went numb. Dey meant to be kind, but the injection did not fully block the pain, not where it mattered most. The man who cut me was little more dan a farmer. It was not his fault. He tried his best."

"It was agony as dey cut me. It seemed to take forevah. Ah struggled and bruised mah-self against the straps. Ah remember the people cheered when mah balls were cut out. Ah also remember the pain that went all the way up inside me, like a knife twisting."

"It took me many weeks to fully recover. Ah had an infection from the cut. Ah was in much pain. Ah do not wish dat pain on anyone. Ah swore ah would try to prevent anyone from feeling dat pain evah again. When ah finally recovered, mah master put me to school. All day ah had mah tutors, and at nights ah served mah master, as his personal aide. Very much was expected of me. Ah learned many languages, and became his interpreter. When ah was old enough, he sent me to medical school."

"After many more years, ah became a doctor. When ah graduated, mah master freed me. He asked me to stay on as his assistant, but ah could not. Ah had promised mah-self ah would prevent the pain dat had been inflicted on me. Ah have done many castrations, and under mah knife, no boy has been lost, and ah have never given any infection."

I had never heard such a story in my life. I felt terrible for this man. There were tears in my eyes. He saw them.

"Dis is not a sad story," he explained as he noticed my tears. "Dis is a good story. Ah had a good education. Mah mother and sistah did not have to sell themselves, and lived good lives. Mah master opened doors for me, ah never could have opened mah-self. If dis had not happened, ah would have surely died of starvation, or worse. Dis is a happy story. If ah did not have dat pain, then ah would not have become the person ah am today."

He touched my chin kindly. "Do not fear. You will feel no pain from me." I let him touch me. It seemed natural, and unforced.

My father cleared his throat. "So what do we call you? Doctor 3;"

"You will call me Xolani. Dat is my name. Ah am very proud of mah name. Doctor Xolani has nevah suited me."

"Well 3; Xolani, we weren't expecting you for a few days."

"Ah will not cut him today," Xolani assured. "Today is for talking. Ah do not cut a boy unless first ah know it is right. Some boys should be cut. Some boys must. For some boys, to cut dem would be a crime."

This news was a huge relief to me. There was still a chance I might not be cut, at least not right away.

My father was confused. "What do you mean by 'right'?"

Xolani explained, "Some boys love demselves too much. To cut dem would destroy dem, it would be like a murder. Some boys need to be cut because if left intact, dey would be a danger. Not to cut dem, would be immoral. Some boys will live a bettah life if dey are cut, and some are suited to it. To cut dose boys is a privilege. Ah cut the ties that bind dem."

"Ah have many reasons not to cut a boy. More dan ah have to cut. Ah must speak wit Jason. He will give me the truth of it. If dere is a reason not to cut him, ah will leave, and ah will do all in mah powah to protect him from it."

My father asked, "But Prince Shahriar 3;"

"Bin Kali will abide by mah judgement. He knows me well enough."

"Well," my father prodded. "How do we start?"

"We do not. Jason and ah do." He turned his attention to me. "Is dere somewhere we can talk in private?"

"Umm, okay," I said. "I guess we can go to my room. Can we?" I asked my parents.

They nodded, and I took Xolani's hand. I didn't even think about it. I led him away from my parents, up to my room. I closed the door behind us.

I have no idea why I reacted to him like I did. I should have been distrustful of the person who came to castrate me, but I wasn't. I immediately felt I knew him. I felt a kinship I couldn't explain. We couldn't have been more different. He was tall and dark skinned. He was barefoot and exotic. I was small and plain, and had never travelled. He had grown up in poverty and hardship that was beyond my ken. Though all that was true, I felt a brotherhood between us.

Xolani stood while I sat on my bed. He eyed me quietly for a few moments before he spoke.

"Do you want to see?" he asked.

I knew exactly what he meant. "Yes, please."

Xolani calmly unwrapped his robes, and dropped the tunic to the floor. His body was dark and glistening. He was as hairless as I was. I looked at his naked body with wonder. His shoulders were slim, and despite his height, he had the straight lined body of a child. No muscular chest, no bulging biceps, just a slim clean body.

His penis was as dark as the rest of him. But unlike his arms and legs, it was short and insignificant. There was no pubic hair, and no balls. There wasn't even a hint of a scrotum. Below his penis was just smooth plain skin. There was a bit of a puckered scar, long faded.

Xolani did not seem embarrassed by his nudity, or lack of balls. He lifted his penis out of the way, so I could get a better look. "Do you want to touch?" he asked.

I nodded, lost for words. I stood off the bed, and my hands found the empty space that once was his balls. The scar was rough, but other than that, there was no sign he had ever been whole.

"The scar is because of mah infection." he explained. "If ah cut you, dare will be almost no scar at all."

As I touched the space below his penis where his balls had once hung, I asked. "Would you cut off my scrotum too?"

"The skin of the bag is very thin. It can tear easily." He said. "A wound in dis place can quickly lead to an infection. Even if ah cut outside the bag," He drew a line with his finger on the side of his groin to show me where he meant. "The pouch can still hold onto impurities, inside. Ah remove the scrotum, and close the flesh around it. The wound is much cleaner. Stitches hold bettah. Healing is fastah."

I let my fingers explore while his words sunk home. Xolani was beautiful. I found myself envying his appearance. His body was simply magnificent. He would look strange with an empty bag below his penis. The way he looked seemed right. There was a symmetry I admired.

When I had my fill, I sat back on my bed, and Xolani dressed. When he was finished covering himself, he sat on the bed with me.

He looked at me while I composed myself. Finally I said, "I don't want to be castrated."

"Few boys do," he agreed. "Ah am not here to decide if you want it. Ah am here to decide if it should be done."

He looked around my room, and his eyes fell on my desk, and the books that were there. "Ah see you are reading Tom Sawyer," he noted.

"I just finished," I said.

"Ah am partial to the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn mah-self," he said. "Ah like Niggah Jim. Mark Twain should have written more about him."

"I haven't read that one yet."

"Ah liked it bettah than Tom Sawyer," he explained. "Ah didn't like Tom Sawyer, but it took me a long time to understand why. Do you like Tom Sawyer?"

"I liked the story," I said. "But I didn't like Tom very much."

"Do you know why dat is?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Tell me. Who was the villain in dat story?"

I had thought it was obvious. "Injun Joe."

Xolani shook his head. "Try again. Think hard."

I thought about it, and it suddenly came to me. "Tom was the villain?"

"Correct."

It suddenly made so much sense. If Tom had been the good guy, then Injun Joe would have been caught right away. An innocent man wouldn't have gone to jail. None of the bad things in the story would have happened.

Something didn't make sense. "But Tom gets all that gold, and he gets the girl and is a hero."

"He learns the error of his ways," Xolani explained. "In ah good story the villain isn't always defeated, but learns ah valuable lesson, and changes his ways. In ah good story, you can't always tell who the real villain is. Sometimes it is the boy who gets the girl, and lives happily ever aftah."

"I think I understand." I was looking at the story from a new angle. It made sense. I realized Xolani was trying to take my mind off my castration. I was grateful, but there were things I needed to know.

"Xolani?"

"Yes?"

"What is it that makes a boy need castration?"

The thin man nodded. "Mostly it is his nature. Some boys are already a complete person without dare balls. Dare balls will change who dey are, and possibly not for the bettah."

"My doctors say I'd be better off without them."

"Do you agree?"

"I don't know."

"Let me see what your doctors have seen," he said. Once again, I understood him perfectly.

I stood off the bed, and removed my shirt and pants. I pulled off my socks before I slowly removed my underpants. For some reason I was feeling self conscious in front of him. I wasn't embarrassed to be naked with him, it just felt odd. My hands covered my little boyhood, and I felt my cheeks going hot.

"Let me see," he told me, and I finally lowered my hands to my sides, exposing my little member.

Xolani's large hand reached out, and his slim fingers touched me. Like always, I quivered from another's touch. He was gentle, but matter of fact in his examination.

"Your balls are very small," he said as he probed them in their sack. "Dey will not wake for a very long time."

"Is that bad?"

"For some, yes."

"Is it bad for me?"

Xolani did not hold back. He did not try to hide the truth from me. "If left alone you will not grow into a man like other boys. Your path will be filled wit pain and shame. When your balls do wake, life will be very difficult for you."

Xolani removed his hands, and regarded me politely.

"Does that mean I have to have them cut off?" I asked.

"Maybe," he said. He placed both his large hands on my little shoulders in a comforting way. "We will decide dat togethah."

I nodded. I trusted this person. If he decided it was correct, I would be fine with that.

"Tell me," he continued. "You have had sex, yes?"

My face burned again. Why did I feel so odd around this man? "Yes, sir," I admitted.

"Wit a male or female?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. "Both." I finally said.

Xolani nodded. "And who did you enjoy it wit most?"

This was a real confusion to me. With each person I had felt something different. There was a different kind of intensity that overcame me with the few people I had been with. As I thought about it, I knew the answer.

"Hanna," I said.

"Tell me of dis Hanna."

I told him everything. Not just what we had done, but how she made me feel. That when I was with her, my world just felt complete. I told him that she loved me. I told him that I loved her too.

Xolani nodded knowingly. "Ah have felt dis kind of love," he told me. "For me it was mah sistah, Kgosa."

"Your sister?"

"We were young, and life was very hard. We had nothing but our bodies. We were our only comforts. Mah mother allowed it because she did not believe we would live through our troubles. She let us have what little pleasure we were capable of. Being togethah kept our minds off our troubles. Kept us sane. Gave us a reason to stay alive. Kgosa was more dan mah sistah. She was mah world."

It was my turn to nod with understanding. "You let yourself be sold, to protect her," I said.

Xolani smiled. "You understand, yes?"

I did. My eyes welled again with tears, thinking about how hard it must have been, and thinking about what I would endure to protect Hanna.

"Where is Kgosa now?"

"She lives in Mali wit her children and her husband. We love each othah still. Dat has not changed."

"Her husband?" I was horrified. "How could she be with someone else?"

"Ah do not begrudge her dis. Kgosa has love enough for two men. We love each othah. Dis has not changed, dere is simply more to her life than just me. Her husband is good, and he loves her too. He know of us. When ah visit, the three of us share a bed. Dis is how it should be. Ah have nieces and nephews dat ah love. My sistah is well taken care of. Her heart is big enough for all of us."

This knowledge made my heart ache. I couldn't imagine Hanna with anyone else. The very thought made me jealous.

"You must understand dat woman have needs. You must allow her dat, or you will lose her."

I sniffed, and composed myself.

"Tell me of da men you have been wit," he asked.

"Just my father and Prince Shahriar."

"Was it terrible for you?"

I had to admit it was not. "No. It was very nice. I really like the prince."

"And he, you," Xolani told me. "He cares for you."

I blushed again, and became aware I was still naked. Xolani's hands were still on my bare shoulders. "Can I get dressed now?" I asked him.

He removed his hands. "If it would make you more comfortable," he agreed.

As I pulled on my clothes, I saw Xolani smile, and nod to himself. I was aware that he had come to a decision.

"I'm going to be castrated aren't I?"

"It will be an honour," he agreed.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it would be right," he told me. "You are more dan your sex. Ah can recognize dat. Your balls would be weights dat would hold you back. You are very smart, and very sensitive. You are as ah was. You were born to dis. We are kin."

Somehow, I knew he was right. Finally meeting a real eunuch, it all made sense. It was what I was meant to be. Despite knowing and accepting my fate, my eyes were filled again with tears. I found myself hugging Xolani. His long arms wrapped protectively around me. He let me cry.

At long last, he let me go, and I wiped my eyes and nose.

"Come," he said. "We shall tell your parents the news."

I held his hand as we returned downstairs.

My parents were waiting for us when we came down.

"Well?" my father asked.

"The day after tomorrow," he said plainly. "Today he should eat a good meal. Tomorrow he should not eat. Ah will give you a list of instructions. The day after tomorrow it will be done."

My father looked disappointed. My mother looked relieved but uncomfortable.

"Where will you do it?" she queried.

Xolani smiled a warm grin. "Dis is Jason's home," he spoke with his light voice. "If you have a suitable place, den dis is where it should be."

My father suggested, "We have a room in the basement. It is well lit, and it is the cleanest space in the house. I'm sure it can be made suitable for you."

"Dis is good," Xolani agreed.

"Mr. Xolani," my mother asked, her voice lacking enthusiasm. "Will you be staying with us? Shall I make up a room?"

Perhaps he sensed her unease. "Thank-you but ah cannot stay. Ah must prepare. As ah am sure you understand, dey did not let me bring mah tools on the plane. Dere are things ah must acquire. It would be easier for me to stay in the city. Ah will return the day after tomorrow. Until den, it is important dat you follow mah instructions. If you have a pen ah will write for you what must be done before ah can operate. It will be best for Jason."

My mother provided him with a pen and some paper, and Xolani wrote out the simple instructions I needed to follow to prepare for surgery. As my mother took the papers from him, I could see she was uncomfortable. Xolani was thin, but very imposing and he towered over my mother. I could see she wasn't accustomed to his size and physique. She nearly cringed under his smile.

Xolani asked for a bit of directions into the city. He made a few pleasantries with my parents, then gathered his few things, and left. We watched him from the door as he walked away. A barefoot African tribes-man, strolling across the Virginia countryside. His long legs carried him swiftly out of sight, and down the road into the valley below.

When he was gone, my mother let her agitation come to the surface. "Did you see that man?" she asked my father.

"I saw him," he agreed.

"His voice is like a woman's, and his body 3;" she struggled to describe what she found distasteful. "His arms and legs were so long and thin. He wasn't right."

My father tried to be reasonable. "I understand that castration before puberty can cause that. Without testosterone the body grows lanky and tall. Jason will be tall like that, after."

"I don't like the thought of Jason like that," she said.

Up until now, I had though my mother liked the notion of me as a eunuch. She had never said anything contrary to the idea. Now faced with a real eunuch she saw the future of what I would become. It disgusted her.

"He'll stick out like a sore thumb," she continued. "Everyone will know."

They're bound to find out," my father agreed. "I expect by the time he's a teenager it will be pretty obvious."

My mother was shaking her head. "No," she stated firmly. "The whole point of this is to make it easier on Jason. Like that, he'll be the object of ridicule. We'll be laughing stocks. We can't just think about his first eighteen years. We have to think about his whole life."

The steel beneath my father's skin seemed to have melted out of him for the time being. "What do you want we should do?" he asked helplessly.

My mother paced a bit, and finally her eyes settled on me. I usually loved the way my mother looked at me. She always had a look that made me feel safe. Her eyes were loving, and always seemed to see the real me. This time, I did not feel that way.

Her gaze was studious. I felt like a bug under a microscope.

My mother was very smart. Probably smarter than my father. The software they designed was mostly the product of my mother's invention. My father was more the face of the company. Both of my parents had used their keen intellects to build software solutions that were highly valuable. But it was my mother's insights that had kept their company at the forefront of emerging trends. Her intuition was impeccable. She could always think far ahead of any situation.

It was that intellect and intuition I saw in her eyes as she studied me. I had seen that look on her face many times. As a toddler, I used to sit by her feet as she coded software. I was well aware that at times she got that look on her face. When she did, there was nothing that could stop her. Some coding problem that had vexed her and my father for days or weeks would be solved in minutes. She could work hundreds of steps ahead of any problem, all in her mind. Now I was one of those problems.

When the look passed, she smiled to herself. I was worried, and shuffled uncomfortably.

"Mom?" I asked meekly.

"Marie, what is it?" asked my father.

"I'm going to call Doctor Freidmont," she said cryptically. "I think I know what needs to be done."

She didn't say any more about the topic that night. We ate dinner quietly, and absorbed the revelations of the day. I was supposed to have a big meal, but I could only pick at it. I had too much on my mind.

My day had been very full. I had found a new kind of strength in myself when I had spoken with Doctor Lindsay. I knew now, I was capable of hurting someone.

I had met a real eunuch. He was kind, and alluring, and very real. What had seemed far off in my imagination, was now frighteningly close.

Somewhere in the midst of this day, I had come to accept my castration.

I already felt like a eunuch.

Seeing Xolani opened my eyes. I wanted to be like him. I didn't want big ugly balls hanging from my groin like they did from my father's. I didn't want thick hair over my body like Prince Shahriar. I didn't want to walk around all day with the front of my pants puffed out like the older boys I had seen. Xolani's body looked right. It looked natural. It was what I wanted.

I wouldn't find out what my mother had planned for me until the next day.

I went to sleep wishing that Hanna had met Xolani. She would like him, I knew. I wondered what she would think of the story of Kgosa. It was a story that had almost broken my heart.

As it had been for many nights. My sleep was restless.

Chapter Eleven
A New Look

I did my best to absorb all the nutrients I could. I ate eggs and bacon, along with cereal, and a muffin. My father allowed me a cup of coffee, but made sure it was mostly diluted with milk and some sugar.

I was starting to acquire the taste for the bitter dark liquid. More than that (though I didn't understand it at the time.), it was a symbol of bonding between my father and myself. It was something that said he saw me as more than just the awkward little boy who shared his house. Perhaps not an adult, but a valid person. It meant a lot to me.

I hadn't often gone without food. Once or twice I had been sent to bed without supper. The hunger had been almost more than I could bear. Of course, I had been very young the last time that had happened, maybe six at the most. No doubt I was remembering it as worse than it really was. Regardless, I wasn't looking forward to fasting.

My parents did their best through the day at keeping my mind off of it.

My father and I played chess, and then a few video games. He let me win a few games of chess, and I let him win a few games of Assassin's Revenge III. After we had exhausted all the distractions that games could give us, my mother called me up to her bathroom.

She had a stool set up in the middle of the tile floor. She had combs and scissors, and electric clippers laid out on the bathroom counter.

"I thought I'd give your hair a cut," she said pleasantly as she patted the seat of the stool. "You've gotten quite a bit long over the summer. I think it's time for a new look. Don't you?"

She had cut my hair for as long as I could remember. She was pretty good at it too. It had been several months since my last cut though.

I pinched a lock of my almost shoulder length hair and examined it. If I let it grow much longer, I was risking being mistaken for a girl more often. It was bad enough when Hanna dressed me as a girl. Being in a dress, and with longish hair people took me for female. If my hair was much longer, they'd start making that assumption whatever I wore.

I hopped up on the stool. "Yeah," I agreed. "a trim would be okay."

As I settled myself into place, my mother pulled my shirt off over my head and tossed it on the edge of the tub. She brushed my hair to one side, and draped a towel over my shoulders.

"Oh, my," she commented as she took my hair up between her fingers. "We have let this go for a bit too long, haven't we?"

"I guess so," I agreed.

"What do you think? Should we do the 'Bieber' cut again?"

I shook my head vigorously. I wasn't a fan, and I didn't like how it covered my ears, and hung down in front of my eyes. I was constantly flicking my head so the hair was out-of-the-way. I didn't mind letting it grow out, though. With long hair, I was able to hook it behind my ears, and it generally stayed where I put it. I was getting a little fed up with all the tangles though.

My mother laughed. "No, I didn't think so. I think we should go for a little more grown up look," she said as she tousled my hair. "What do you think?"

"I don't want it too short," I said.

"What? No buzz cut?" she mocked.

I laughed. "No, thank you."

"I think I know what would look best," she told me.

She used a spray bottle to wet my hair, and ran a comb through it to straighten it out. When she finished prepping my hair, she picked up the scissors. They were the long thin type with small black handles. She held them daintily, like I imagined a queen might hold a tea-cup.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

I nodded.

The first cut was near the top of my head. Her fingers slipped through my hair, and she tugged slightly. I heard the light sound of the snip, and a long lock of my hair fell into my lap.

I picked up the lock of discarded hair from my lap, and trying not to move my head too much, looked up worriedly at my mother.

"No stopping now," she said cheerfully.

The blades moved quickly and expertly through my mane. My mother's fingers were nimble and gentle as they danced over my scalp. With each snip, another long bit of hair fell.

I could feel her breath and her body close as she worked. Here and there her fingers rested against the side of my head and turned me this way and that as she sought to find a better angle for cutting. Strands of hair fell in rapid succession like a light brown snow.

I shivered as the blades came close to the back of my neck. So close to the flesh without ever touching. As she cut around my ears, the sensation was delightful. Goose-flesh spread across my arms with both her fingers and her blades so close. Every few snips she blew her warm breath to clear the fallen hairs that were in her way. I squinted my eyes shut as she cropped my bangs.

The electric clippers were the worst. It tickled and sent chills down my spine as they hummed and vibrated so close to my flesh. As my mother ran it round my ears and at the back of my neck, it was all I could do to remain motionless. I wanted to squirm and shake myself. It felt good too.

At last she finished. She blew off the bits of hair from my forehead. She pulled off the towel from my shoulders and shook the hair onto the floor. Her gentle fingers brushed the last bit of hair from my bare shoulders and chest. When she was satisfied, she turned the stool so I could see in the mirror.

I had been afraid she would cut it too close, but as always she had done a wonderful job. Instinctively my fingers inspected my head as I looked. My new look suited me. It was short, but not so short as to leave me nothing to comb.

With my hair this way, I could see much more of my father in me. There would be no more mistaking me for a girl with this style.

"It looks good," I said.

"I think you look very handsome," she said, and she leaned over my shoulder. Together we were framed in the mirror. Mother and son.

"Jason," she said to me in the reflection. "Do you trust that I know what is best for you?"

I was a little surprised by her question. "Of course, Mom." To me, there was nothing she didn't know. Everything she did was magical. How could I not trust her?

She moved around and knelt in front of me. Her hands on my legs.

"Jason. I've decided something for you, and I want you to know that it is for the best."

"What is it Mom?"

"You know I don't like how Mr. Xolani looks. He's too tall, and too thin."

I nodded. "Yes, Mother."

"If I let that happen to you, then things will be very difficult for you. For all of us. It is not very common for a boy in this day and age to be castrated. You might be made fun of. You'd have a very difficult time fitting in. Eunuchs aren't very accepted in this world."

"Are you going to stop my castration?"

"No sweetie. That's still for the best. It's been decided." She hesitated in explaining the rest. "I've talked with Doctor Freidmont and your dad, and I've come up with a solution."

I was getting afraid now. I had only just come to accept my future life as a eunuch, what more could they do to me?

"Doctor Freidmont is going to give you some shots. You'll have to have those shots once every few months for the next year or two. But when they're finished 3; Well it will stop your growth."

A dread feeling spread over me as she told me her plan. "I'm not going to grow up?"

"You won't get much taller, no. Maybe a little taller. I think you'd look good with a few more inches of height. Hopefully though, we'll stop your growth before your next big spurt."

"Mom, please no."

"Jason, honey. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

I examined the boy with the fresh haircut. What was supposed to see there, I wondered? "I see me," I answered.

"I see a very handsome young man. As handsome as anyone I have ever known." She moved up beside me again and wrapped her arms around me. She pressed her head up against mine, and together we studied my reflection.

"Yes, you are small, but not so small as some. You'll stay just as you are now. When people see you, they'll see what I see. A handsome young man. They won't see a eunuch. They'll just see you."

I protested again. "But even when I'm grown, I'll still look like a boy." I may not have wanted to be hairy like my father. I could live without a deep voice. But to never be tall? I didn't want that.

"Oh, my little man," my mother lamented. "The world can be a cruel place. Keeping you small is much better. It's better that people see a child than a eunuch. Of course you won't be a child. Not where it matters." She touched my temple. "In here you can be an adult. You'll still be able to do everything an adult does.

"On the outside people may see a child, but that's not so unusual. Gifted children can do many things. On the inside though, you'll still be an adult. You'll still be you."

"Are you going to tell people I'm still a little boy, even when I'm older?"

"No we won't. That will be your decision. If you want people to know, you can tell them. What this gives you, is the option. People can know how old you are if you want. People can know you're a eunuch if you want. What you'll have is the choice to tell them, or not. You can be who you want to be. You won't have to let your castration define you."

She smiled her warmest smile for me. The one that always made me feel protected and understood. "I know it seems unfair, but it really will be for the best."

I was beginning to be afraid of those words. 'For the best' seemed nothing of the sort.

I stared into the mirror and tried to image my future life. I'd look like this forever. The person I was now, was who I'd always be. Frozen in time like Peter Pan.

On the wall of our stairway were a series of pictures, professionally done. Each was a family portrait, taken once a year. On the lowest step it was just my parents, before I was born. The next step up, I appeared as a baby in my mother's arms. With each step upstairs I went from baby to toddler, toddler to small child. Each step I aged another year, until at the top of the stairs, I appeared as I was then. Ten years old, and the top of my head not quite to my parents shoulders. It was a reminder of what the future could bring, that I was growing and changing.

I imagined that last picture, repeated again and again into the future. Copied identically, marching up the stairs and down the hall. It wasn't a bad picture. There was nothing sinister there. But for it to never change 3;

I heard Doctor Lindsay's voice in my head. "Are you afraid that things will change, or that they won't change?"

My reflection stared back at me. Was it the reflection of someone capable of being strong? It was someone half my mother and half my father. I could see both my mother's intellect and my father's iron. Usually most of my face was hidden beneath a mass of light brown strands. The person that stared back at me now was as freed from his childhood as I was my mane of long hair. My real self was bare to the world. This was who I was, who I would be. I could imagine confidence in the eyes of my reflection, even if it wasn't there right now.

I allowed myself to believe.

"Will you forgive me?" my mother asked.

I wouldn't cry again. I would face this. My instinct was to cry and complain, stomp my feet. But that was what a child would do. I needed to stop being a child. Even if I looked like one forever, what my mother said was true. I didn't have to be a child where it mattered. In my mind I could be mature. I was coming to understand what being mature meant, little by little.

"I forgive you Mom."

"Can you do this for me?" she asked. She was always so calm. Even when my world was in pieces.

I could watch the eyes of my reflection narrow in determination. "I'll do my best," I told her. I meant it. I meant it in a way I hadn't before. I was resolved to be more than my reflection. More than the boy in my family photographs.

Xolani had said I was more than my sex. I could be more than my size too.

My mother hugged me, and brushed her fingers through my freshly cropped hair. "I know you will," she said. "You're stronger than you think." She smiled warmly. "Trust me. I'm your mother. I know these things."

Chapter Twelve
Everything Laid Out on the Table

The previous day had been hard. I hadn't been allowed to eat. With nothing in my stomach I found it difficult to sleep. Exhaustion was becoming a problem for me. It had been a long time since I had a night where I slept soundly. When I did nod off for brief moments, I saw Hanna in trouble, and I was powerless to help her. I would shock myself awake as I lurched forward in my dreams for her hand. I was always a moment too late, or an inch too far away.

The only real rest I had was a few hours before dawn, when my body finally shut down and sleep was dreamless. It was the ache in my belly that kept me from continuing in that state. It nagged me even in my unconsciousness, and woke me before my alarm. If I didn't get any real sleep soon, I was going to be in trouble.

I dressed and came downstairs to the sound of someone knocking at our door. As always my parents were already up, and my mother had made it to the door before I did. As I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, my mother was letting him in.

Doctor Freidmont was again dressed casually, not looking like a doctor at all, I thought. This time he carried a bulging leather bag. It was the type that opened up at the top by the handles, and bowed outwards to the base and was flat on the bottom. It was the type of bag I imagined doctors used in the old days when they still made house calls. I was surprised to think anybody would still use them.

"Come in," my mother said politely as she welcomed him. "Thank-you for coming."

"I promised I'd be here," he said. "I wouldn't miss this." He noticed me watching him from the stairs. "Hello, Jason," he said.

"Hello, Doctor," I replied.

"It's still a bit early," my mother observed. "Can I get you some coffee? We were just having a cup ourselves."

"Ah. Yes," he nodded. "Black, if you please."

She led him through the kitchen and out to the porch where my father was already sitting with his cup.

Even though I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything, I followed them. My father and the doctor greeted each other simply.

"Charles."

"Jim."

Doctor Freidmont took a mug from my mother, and sat at the place he was offered. He took a sip, and smiled. The morning sun was just breaking through the clouds at the horizon.

My father tapped the side of his mug thoughtfully. "Charles, I gotta ask one last time. Is there any other way?"

The doctor put down his mug and regarded me for a few moments, then back to my father.

"Jim," he said. "I've given you all the options. We could start him on Testosterone replacement, but at his age, it will probably do more damage than good in the long run. It can effect the liver, kidneys, the thyroid. Testosterone therapy would actually shut his testicles down. His body would become dependant on external hormones. He'd be just as sterile. If a bit hairier. Testosterone is very powerful stuff. Not everybody is suited to it. I don't think Jason is. Frankly, his regular paediatrician said as much in Jason's records, and Doctor Lindsay agreed. What it comes down to is all about a boy's psychology.

"Do you want me to say I'm one hundred percent certain?" The doctor took a deep breath before he continued. "I can't do that. There was a time, not long ago, we thought we knew about sexual identity. We thought sexual orientation was a learned trait. We tried to turn boys into girls, and tried to impose our ideas on children's futures. We tried to cure the gays, and we classified anyone who didn't fit within our little boxes with labels like, 'sexual dysfunction' or 'gender identity disorder'. It didn't work out so well. We know now that there is much more to what a person's sexual identity will be, than just how they are raised. The truth is everyone is different. It is a spectrum. And it is all equally valid.

"Jason's personality is neither male nor female. His gender identity should have solidified by now, but it hasn't. The question is, would his personality change into a more recognizable form if we introduce testosterone? How big a role do hormones play in the development of sexual identity?

"More hormones one way or the other doesn't decide if a person is straight or gay, or trans-gendered. It resides in the mind, from birth. There are people with raging testosterone that identify as neither male nor female, but A-sexual. Having a non-sexual identity is just as valid as any of the alternatives. What we do know, is that for people with non-sexual identities, hormones are more damaging than helpful.

"Jason shows early signs of something we call Hypogonadism. One of the symptoms is delayed puberty. With only that diagnosis, I wouldn't recommend castration. I'd risk the testosterone therapy. But combined with his asexual psychological make-up, well castration seems much more justified. At least this way, if at a later time his psychology changes and it seems appropriate, we could still try the hormones. Other than missing some bits between his legs, we'd still end up at the same place."

The doctor looked at both my parents seriously, and sipped on his coffee. My parents listened intently to his words, and waited for him to continue.

"The fact is we can't really know what Jason would become, or wouldn't. We can only make a best guess. I'm very confident that this is the right thing for Jason."

"It is," I interrupted. I couldn't stay silent any longer. As I discovered in Doctor Lindsay's office, I needed to speak for my self.

All the adults stopped and looked at me when I spoke. They were all staring as though there were snakes coming out of my mouth. I stood there hungry, thirsty and tired, but determined.

I had had about enough of everyone making up their minds without including me in the conversation. It was time for me to say my piece.

"Mom, Dad," I said as I walked up to the table. "I want to be a eunuch."

My father tried to stop me. "Son, you don't know what you are saying."

"Yes I do, Dad." I needed to speak for my own sake. It wasn't enough for me to just accept what was happening to me. I needed to choose it, and I needed them to know I was choosing it.

"I want to be a eunuch," I said again, as if just saying it over and over could make it more acceptable. I tried with some difficulty to clarify what I meant. How do you tell someone using only a ten, almost eleven year old's vocabulary, that you know what's best for yourself? That you understand what the consequences are.

"I didn't know I wanted it," I explained. "I didn't even know it was possible before now. But I really do want it." I felt shame admitting my feelings aloud, but I felt relief too.

My father tried to speak again, but my mother stopped him with a hand to his arm.

I continued, trying to use the words that didn't express everything I wanted them to. It was all so new to me.

"When I met Xolani," I told them. "I saw him and I knew. I knew it was the right thing to do. I like the way he looks, and I want to look like that too. I'll never be like you Dad. I'll never be like Mom, or Doctor Freidmont. I'll be like Xolani. Even if I'm never a real eunuch, I know I'll be like Xolani."

I found myself trembling as I said the words. I was terrified confessing to my parents like this. I needed them to know, that even though I was a child, I knew what I was, and what I always would be. "It's what I am," I said, imploring them. "I'm a eunuch. It's the right thing to do. I want to do it."

A voice came abruptly from the yard below the patio. "Well said, mah little brothah."

It was Xolani.

He was dressed as I remembered him. A bare foot African tribesman. This time he carried a walking stick, and a large satchel hung from one shoulder. He had walked here, and having heard our voices from the back-yard, walked around to meet us.

Leaving my stunned parents behind me, I ran down the patio steps to him, and we embraced as the kindred souls we were.

When we finished our embrace, he held me out at the full length of his long arms. He tilted his head from side to side as he examined me. Finally he said "Ah like your hair, brothah. Very good."

I touched my hair self consciously, and blushed from his compliment. I held his hand as we walked up the steps to the porch. Doctor Freidmont stood to greet the newcomer.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Doctor Charles Freidmont."

"Oh," said Xolani. "Ah was told you would be here." Xolani seemed cool towards the good doctor. "Ah assure you. Jason is in safe hands wit me."

"I'm sure that is the case," Doctor Freidmont countered. "But, I'm here as a favour to Jim and Marie. They want to make sure the surgery is supervised by a qualified doctor."

"Ah am a qualified doctor." Xolani's eyes flared. "Ah hold all the certifications, and am licensed to practice in eleven countries, including dis one. You are welcome to observe," Xolani told him. "But mah business is between Jason and mah-self. You will not interfere."

Doctor Freidmont considered Xolani. Despite the eunuch's high voice and thin body, he left no doubt in the imagination, that he was serious, and there was no discussing the matter. The doctor stared up at the imposing figure of Xolani. Finally he blinked, and nodded. "Yes of course," he agreed. "You need to know, I have to give Jason some shots. It won't interfere with your surgery. But it is best if we do it before you start."

"What exactly are you injecting into mah little friend?"

Doctor Freidmont looked back and forth between my parents before he responded. Only when my mother nodded, did he answer.

"It's a bonded Lanreotide compound in time release formulation."

Xolani's eyes widened as he worked out the function. "You are stunting his growth?" He was confused and very suspicious. "Why would you do such a thing?"

It was my mother who answered. "It was my decision, Mr. Xolani." She stood and walked to my side. She put her arms around me. "Mr. Xolani, I'm sure you've had many tough times because of your appearance. I can see by your face, that it is true. People judge you without even knowing you. Being a eunuch must be very difficult. Tell me Mr. Xolani, do you feel accepted wherever you go? Truly accepted as a eunuch?"

A shadow passed over the eunuch's eyes. "People judge," he admitted softly.

"I don't want that for Jason," she told him. "I don't want people to take one look at him and decide they know everything about him. If we stunt his growth, then he can be a child in people's eyes. When they look at him they will only see his potential, not what he's lost."

Xolani was silent for some time. We stood there on the porch in the morning air as memories passed over the tall eunuch's eyes. Eventually, he nodded to himself and smiled at me and my mother. He spoke to me. "It is good you have parents such as dis."

"Thank-you Mr. Xolani," said my mother. She seemed much more comfortable around him this time. "Won't you come and sit with us? May I get you something to drink, or eat maybe?"

The tall eunuch nodded and found himself guided to a seat. The adults chatted amiably, about the weather. They snacked on muffins and drank coffee. When it was noticed I was sitting nearby, and uncomfortably trying to clear my dry throat, it was Doctor Freidmont who sprung into action.

"Marie," he said. "Get the boy a glass of water. It should be safe for him to have at least that." He looked over at Xolani, and the tall man nodded his agreement.

The doctor opened and fumbled through his medical bag, until he came up with package of lozenges. "Here, Jason," he said, sliding a lozenge across the table to me. "Sip on the water, and suck on this. It should help with the dry throat and hunger."

I unwrapped the lozenge and when my mother appeared with a small glass of water I had to hold myself in check. I wanted to guzzle the liquid greedily. I wanted to crunch and swallow the cherry flavoured candy. The adults made me go slowly. Sip and suck. I have to admit it helped.

As the adults chatted, my head was swimming. I could tell they were trying not to make a big deal about what was about to happen. Fear was pumping through me, but I couldn't let anyone see it. I needed to be grown up. Inside I wanted to run and scream and throw a tantrum. As much as the adults didn't want to let me see they were concerned, I needed them to see I was all-right.

I didn't know how much longer I could sit at that table, pretending it was just another morning. Thankfully the phone rang, before I could lose my mind.

"I'll get it!" I shouted. I sprang away, and into the house. I'd take any excuse to get away from that table.

I ran to the kitchen, but the cordless wasn't on the cradle. As the phone continued to ring I shouted after it, "I'm coming!"

I tracked the ringing to the living room where the phone was on the coffee table. I snapped it up. I didn't care who was on the other end. I'd happily talk to a telemarketer, just to keep my mind occupied.

I hit the talk button. "Good morning. Sidney residence," I said in my best, most grown up voice.

On the other end I heard a bang as though someone dropped the phone. In the background there was the sound of muffled yelling. "Hello?" I said.

From the other end of the call, I thought I could hear someone crying. It was a child's voice. I thought I could also make out an adult man screaming something in anger.

"Hello?" I said again, becoming worried. There was only silence now in response.

I looked at the caller-ID, but the number had been blocked.

My mother came into the room. "Who is it sweetie?"

I handed her the phone to see for herself. "There's no-one there," I told her.

She listened for a few moments before she hung it up. "If there's anything serious, I'm sure they'll call back."

"Come on," she said to me as she set the phone aside. "Doctor Freidmont wants to see you in the kitchen."

Apparently the adults had been waiting for some unknown cue to begin. They had been sitting on the porch waiting for someone to make the first move. The signal they apparently chose was a phone call from a wrong number. It was as good an excuse as any.

As I came back to the kitchen, Doctor Freidmont was opening his medical bag on the counter. My mother guided me to a chair.

As Doctor Freidmont unpacked what he needed he said to me, "Have a seat Jason. Can you please take off your shirt?"

I had to take several moments before I could do as I was asked. My fear was so intense I could barely take it. This moment had come too soon. Despite my speech to my parents, it all seemed too much to handle.

I wouldn't let it show. I had asked for this. I could handle this. I had a numb feeling all over. I was operating on automatic pilot. My body just kind of moved on its own.

As I descended into the offered chair, I asked, "Where's my Dad and Xolani?"

My mother sat beside me and helped me out of my shirt. "They've gone downstairs. Xolani wants to see the space and make sure it is clean enough to operate." She placed her hand comfortingly on my arm, and remarked, "Oh honey, you're shaking."

Doctor Freidmont took that as a sign to come over with his tools. "Hey, bud," he said simply.

He wrapped my arm with the device to check my blood pressure. He pumped it up and paused to look at the gauge. My arm tingled as the bag around it inflated. The doctor frowned, and removed the cuff. He listened to my heartbeat with the stethoscope and told me to breathe. He moved the stethoscope to my back and said, "Again."

I pulled air into my lungs, but it seemed to stutter with my thudding heart.

The doctor pulled a free chair from the dining table and sat next to me, opposite my mother. He was suddenly being very kind.

"Okay Jason," he spoke softly. "You're going to need to calm down. Your heart is racing a mile a minute."

He rubbed my shoulders and told me again to breathe. "Take your time," he said. "Deep breaths now. That's good."

I closed my eyes and tried to let the feelings pass. With each breath, my senses came back. Slowly I was able to stop my shaking and relax.

"That's good, Jason," the doctor said, as he listened again with the stethoscope. "Good man."

When I opened my eyes, the doctor was smiling. "You tell me when you're ready, okay?"

I took a few more experimental breaths, before I could respond.

"Okay," I managed to get out. "I think I'm okay now."

My mother was still sitting close to me. She was looking worriedly at the doctor. He noticed her and waved away her concerns. "He's all right," he reassured. "It was just a mild panic attack. It's passed now. He'll be just fine."

My mother hugged me gently, and Doctor Freidmont stood up and walked back to the counter. He washed his hands thoroughly in our sink using some soap he had brought with him. When his hands were dry he pulled on some plastic gloves, and retrieved a tube from the things he had set out.

"This is a numbing agent," he said. He squeezed some out onto his gloved fingers and began to rub it into my bare shoulder. "It also sterilizes the area, so it is very safe." He described what he was doing as he worked. "The Lanreotide compound is injected as close to the thyroid as we can get. So we inject it along the collar bone." He rubbed the line of my collar bone with his fingers, then repeated the process on the other side. "Do you feel it going numb?"

There was a tingly warmth wherever the doctor has spread the cream. I nodded.

The doctor waited a minute before he produced a needle. He scraped the tip lightly over my flesh. "Do you feel that?"

I shook my head. Where he had spread the cream, I couldn't feel the needle at all.

"Good," he said. He returned to his tools, and produced something that looked like a cross between a syringe and a gun. My eyes went wide at the frightening looking device.

"It will only take a minute," he told me softly.

He slipped a pellet into the end of the large needle, then loaded it with three more. When the gun-needle thing was loaded he came over to my left side.

"Look to your right," he said.

I looked in the direction he told me, but with my peripheral vision I could still see him press the large point of the needle into the skin on the front of my shoulder. There was the sound of four distinct clicks. With each click, the doctor moved the device ever so slightly. He rubbed his fingers along my numb collar bone, and satisfied, he moved around to my other side. My mother moved out of the way for him.

"A few seconds more," he said as he loaded the end of the device with four more pellets. "Look left."

Again I did as instructed. Four clicks later. He was finished. "I'll get you some band-aids," he told me.

I looked down to see two small needle marks on the fronts of my shoulders. A small drop of blood was forming at each one.

Before he applied the band-aids, Doctor Freidmont used a damp cloth to wipe off the excess cream. Dabbing me dry, he affixed two small round band-aids over the needle marks.

"It will take a few minutes for the cream to wear off," he told us. "Try not to move around for a bit. Just stay seated."

When he finished, he again sat in the chair beside me. "Can you feel the lumps?"

With my fingers, I rubbed around where he had injected me, but could feel nothing. When he saw where I was probing, he repositioned my hand along the top of my collar bone. In a neat little line, I could feel the four lumps, deep in the flesh, right next to the bone. Only if you knew exactly where, could you find them.

"The pellets are infused with the hormone that will shut down his growth," he told my mother. "They break down at a very predictable rate. As they break down, they release the hormone blocker. What I gave him should be good for about three months."

My mother knew what he was talking about. "It's like my Depo-Provera injections then?"

"Very much," the doctor agreed. "The drug is called Lanreotide-Somatuline or LSH. It blocks the body's ability to create growth hormone. This version is stabilized into a solid for time release. There shouldn't be any adverse side effects, but we'll keep an eye on him anyway.

"We have a little while before the effects become permanent. Two or three more injections until we see his growth start to level off. We can reverse the procedure if necessary, up to a point. There should be regular X-rays. Once his bones cap, that will be it."

As my mother took a turn feeling for the lumps along my collar bone, my father retuned from downstairs.

"How'd it go?" he asked the doctor.

"Slick as snot," the doctor chuckled. "He's a brave boy."

My father looked at me and gave me a nod. It wasn't quite pride in his expression, but acceptance.

"It will be awhile yet," he said to all of us. "Xolani is cleaning everything to an inch of its life down there. He'll have it set up just like an operating room." He laughed to himself. "Cleaner actually.

"In the mean time, he said you should take a long hot bath. You should probably use the enema bottle too. Just to be sure."

Doctor Freidmont retrieved a bottle of soap from his medical bag. "Here," he handed the bottle to my mother. "Make sure he cleans with this. It's a powerful antibacterial soap. It'll help."

My mother took me to my parent's bathroom, which had the largest tub, save for the jacuzzi in the basement. She left me alone to use the toilet, and clean myself out with the enema bottle. When I was done, she returned and ran the water as hot as I could stand, and helped lower me in.

The hot water stung, and my skin reddened in the heat. The soap the doctor gave me was orange and smelled of hospitals. The powerful disinfectant in the soap burned my eyes until I became accustomed to it.

My mother scrubbed every inch of me until my skin was raw. When at last I was clean, my mother topped up the tub with more hot water, and left me on my own to soak.

Alone at last, I took a few moments to touch and probe my testicles. They moved freely in their sack. They were tiny, and until recently, I had taken little notice of them. They had always just been there.

It seemed weird that things so small and insignificant could cause me such a world of trouble. I wondered if I'd miss them when they were gone. I realized with a touch of sadness that I was touching them for the last time.

The heat of the tub penetrated deep into my core. It was very soothing. As I hadn't been getting much sleep, the combination of extreme emotions and exhaustion took their opportunity to shut me down.

I was slumped over in the tub, snoring softly when they came for me. They woke me gently.

"Jason, sweetie. Come on now. Time to get out of the tub," my mother coaxed.

I blinked awake as my mother and father were lifting me out of the tub. They rubbed me down vigorously with clean towels. When they were finished, they wrapped me in my terry-cloth robe, and some blankets.

It was so I was wrapped in my robe and warm blankets that I made my way downstairs to our forbidden room.

In the basement Xolani was waiting for me. He was dressed in clean clothes, with a paper doctors gown, mask and gloves. One of the low backed leather benches had been converted into something of an operating table. It was covered in surgical cloth. A bright light was plugged in and placed nearby. On a small table next to the bench were Xolani's tools. Small thin knives glistening in the light.

"Are you ready, mah little brothah?" he asked.

"I'm ready," I said, trying to keep my voice as stable as possible.

I walked over to Xolani, and he unwrapped the blankets from my shoulders. I dropped my robe, and felt cool air once again on my skin.

Xolani had me lay on the bench. I was no sooner laid flat that I felt a sharp pain in the side of my groin. I looked down to realize that Xolani had already injected me.

"Relax," he said as he removed the hypodermic. "It will take a minute to take effect." He was so quick and skilled I almost hadn't felt it.

True to his word, in a few minutes my groin from belly button to thighs went numb. When he was sure I wasn't feeling anything, he brought out a second needle, larger than the last.

The bench curved up slightly at one end, and my head was elevated enough to watch what he was doing. One of Xolani's long fingers probed my bare groin until he found the spot he was looking for.

This time when he injected me, I didn't feel the same quick jab of the needle. Instead I felt something twinge uncomfortably deep inside my belly.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"It's okay," said Doctor Freidmont from where he was watching. "There's another bundle of nerves deep inside you. He's making sure you don't feel anything."

Xolani nodded. "Quite right." He shared a meaningful look with the doctor.

The twinge disappeared in moments, leaving a very odd sensation of emptiness inside me. From my belly button to my toes, I could feel nothing. I couldn't have moved or even sat up.

As the strange nothingness spread across my lower half, Xolani spread iodine over my groin and scrotum. With a small piece of surgical tape he affixed my penis by my foreskin up and away from where he would cut.

He paused and looked me in the eye. "Ah will be very quick, but you may not wish to watch. Dere will be blood, and you will not like it."

"It's okay," I said, screwing up my courage. "I'm ready."

My parents watched from a respectable distance. My father's face was dark and his eyes glistened. My mother's face twinged in sympathetic response to pain I did not feel. Doctor Freidmont studied Xolani with something like respect, or awe.

I knew that behind the paper surgical mask, Xolani was smiling at me. He nodded and picked up the knife. It was small and curved. It seemed to glow in the light.

I wanted to close my eyes and look away, but I couldn't. I was frozen in this moment. As Xolani started his first cut, it seemed my entire life had been leading to this. He pressed the blade deeply into the side of my pelvis where the skin of my scrotum met the skin of my groin. Blood flowed up around the blade as he began to make a perfect vertical cut.

Before he could go further, there was a noise outside the door, and Xolani withdrew the blade.

Everyone's attention affixed on the door, and Xolani carefully straightened up.

There was another noise, and the door swung slowly open.

She stepped into the basement room looking very small and very afraid. Her blonde hair was a mess. Her t-shirt and jacket were both dirty and torn from hundreds of tiny snags. She wore shorts that exposed red scratches over her bare legs. Worst of all, I could only see one of her beautiful green eyes, the other was blackened and almost swollen shut.

Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't good. My mother gasped. I tried to sit up but couldn't.

It was her. My love. My life. The one person I cared about most in the world. I wished I could run to her. Tell her everything would be all right.

Xolani stood between us. He was surprised by the dirty little girl suddenly in our midst. "Stop," he said to her, thinking only of the sanctity of a sterile environment. "You are not clean."

She looked past him to where I lay.

"Jason!" Hanna screamed, and she began to cry.

Chapter Thirteen
Hanna's Story

-from the prologue.

Her name was Hanna, and she had told me her story;

"When I was a little girl," she said, "I fell in love with a beautiful boy 3;"

Boys shouldn't be prettier than girls. I had always thought so. Yet, Jason was one of those boys. He had beautiful straight, sandy brown hair that had grown almost to his shoulders. His hazel eyes were large and honest. His smile was so genuine it actually made me mad. It was the kind of smile those pretty boys on the cover of teen magazines tried to emulate, but never quite could.

Most of his friends were girls, and I knew why. They thought he was dreamy. What was most infuriating of all was, he didn't even know it.

I had had a crush on him since we were both five years old. Jason never had a clue.

Our mothers had enrolled us in a beginner dance class where they were supposed to teach us coordination through a few simple dance steps. I was bored by it all, and skipped off on my own.

As the teachers tried to get us all in a line, I was by myself, spinning in a sunbeam. The other kids were whiny and irritating, and I decided I didn't like them. I spun in my sunbeam wishing I were home. I was content in doing my own thing. I didn't need anyone telling me what to do. I wasn't interested in friends.

Suddenly he came up to me. He'd left the teachers and the other kids behind. He had a nice face, and an easy smile. I liked him instantly.

We took each other's hands and spun. Who cared what anyone else thought? We danced and spun together, ignoring the teachers and their pleading for us to join the group.

I left that dance class babbling about the boy I had just met. I was filled with tales of how Jason had said this, and Jason had done that.

Our mothers knew each other, and before I would know it we were being brought together all the time.

I lived for our play-dates. Whenever we were together, it was magic. He always made me feel like I was the only little girl in the world. Even when we met at five years old, he already had a following. If he should walk into the room, every little girl would instantly gravitate to him. I'm sure every little girl wanted to be his dance partner. I was luckier than they were. Jason became my friend. He chose me.

Once or twice a week, our parents would get us together. Jason would always play whatever I wanted to play. He was always honest. He wasn't stupid like other boys. He never played rough like they did. He had other friends, but I was his favourite.

You must think I was a very silly little girl with a crush, and you'd be right.

I have a confession to make. When we went outside to swim that September afternoon when we were ten 3; well that was my idea. I knew it was too cold to swim, but I just needed to see him. All of him.

Oh, god. I feel ashamed to admit that. But it's true. We always swam in the buff. No one in our families ever made a big deal about it, but I knew, growing up in the neighbourhood that I did, not every family was like that.

I had missed swimming with Jason over the summer. My parents and I had been away when the usual get-togethers had occurred, so I had missed the swimming, and seeing him. Though we had been together to play, and for our home school outings, we hadn't been naked together.

Over that summer, I had begun to notice boys.

We had just finished playing snakes and ladders. He had been so nice to me, his laugh was so infectious, and his smile was simply to die for. When I suggested it, I had expected him to laugh, and say 'no'. He was wonderful, but he sure was dense. He actually said, 'yes'.

Seeing him undress was like watching a sunrise. Every part of him was beautiful. He was like those paintings in museums, or a sculpture of fine marble. He was so perfect I was jealous. Only the cool air marred his form, by causing his penis to shrivel. And that certainly wasn't his fault. Yet, when we were naked on that cold porch, the first stupid words out of my mouth were, "You've got shrinky-dink."

What was I thinking? I could have died from how obvious and dumb I was. Jason though, was a saint. He laughed, he tossed a towel at me, and he let me run away to hide my blush.

When he sat next to me at the pool, I could feel his bare body touch mine. How he didn't see me with goose-flesh all the way down to my toes, I have no idea. I said something stupid about how it was his fault it was cold out, and my poor sweet Jason took it personally. The way he suddenly became bashful and apologetic was so charming it overrode all my inhibitions.

I think I said something else about his shrinky-dink, and without my even realizing it, I was touching it. To my shame and horror, I was pinching it and wiggling it side to side. He froze and had a startled look on his face.

Way to go. Hanna, you dunce. What the hell was I doing? I had heard of girls going boy-crazy, but I had crossed a line. Even a ten year old, like I was knew that you don't go around grabbing a boy's privates.

My Jason, poor boy. Can you believe it? He apologized to me.

In the sauna, I had tied a different approach. I lay seductively in front of him, not even trying to cover myself. Jason however, remained the perfect gentleman. I had such a burning crush on him. Did he even think the same about me?

Later when we had our shower, he gave me the first hint that he was interested in me too. As we soaped each other up, he touched me on my private area. He was scared and shy, and touched far too lightly. I was blushing all the same, and was grinning like an idiot.

When it was my turn to soap him up, I was much more daring. I made circles on his chest, and soaped him for far longer than I should have. When I finally touched his penis, I was not myself. Something had taken hold of me. I stroked and played, completely in my own moment. When I finally let it slide out of my grasp, I looked up, and his face was ashen.

I had hurt him. I had embarrassed him. I thought I would die. Then he started to laugh at me. I was devastated. All I wanted to do was run away and hide. I had ruined everything. I had destroyed the relationship with the boy I had loved for over half my life.

Before I could get more than a step out of the shower, he was kissing me. I had no idea what was happening. One moment I had ruined everything, the next was magic. That kiss may have been the sweetest of my life. I kissed him back with all my heart.

It was my fault the parents found out.

I was on Skype with Jenny, one of my girl friends, and was telling her all about it. Jenny knew Jason from some of the home school events and was very jealous. She grilled me for all the details. When I got to the bit where I thought I had ruined everything, but was rewarded with a kiss, I discovered my mom was listening.

"Hanna Louise Underwood, come here this instant!" My mother's voice was like ice down my spine.

My humiliation was total. I was forced to explain exactly what had transpired. She didn't let me keep even one detail to myself. What was worse, no matter how much I begged and pleaded. No matter how I cried, she was going to tell Jason's mother all about it.

My family isn't religious. I don't go to church, but that night I prayed harder than anyone ever has, that I wouldn't lose my Jason.

It is true. Sometimes God grants the prayers of fools and little children, for I surely was both. The next day, when my mother told me I wasn't in trouble, was the second happiest I have ever felt. Instead, I was told my parents wanted to get to know Jason better.

The week we were allowed to school together, I was in heaven. Though we weren't ever left alone, I got to sit beside him all day long. We got to hold hands and whisper to each other. We got to share the piano bench for our music lessons. He played and I sang, or tried to keep up on the recorder. I liked singing better, I have chubby fingers, and I'm not so dexterous. Still, the music was wonderful, regardless of how we made it.

My mother spoke to him a little at the end of every day, and soon decided she liked him too. How could she not?

The night of our first sleepover, my parents weren't very subtle. Of course they embarrassed me with a couple of their usual fights. I had to make some excuses for Jason and I to go outside to play when it got bad. Jason pretended not to notice, and only because of his good nature was I spared from total humiliation.

At bath time my parents stole glances at Jason, and appraised every inch of him. What they were looking for, I didn't understand. Jason never let it bother him for a second.

During that bath, we were finally left alone for a while. Bless my Jason, he forgave me for spilling the beans. He let me touch him again, and didn't pull away from me. I touched him and explored him to my heart's content. I've heard girls say a boy's thing is icky. They squeal and retch at the thought of it. They'd think differently if they saw Jason.

His little thing was as adorable as he was. The skin was as fine as porcelain, so delicate and soft. His neat little balls in their soft little bag. Other girls were down right stupid if they were afraid of this. Even when I squeezed too hard, wonderful Jason forgave me and let me continue.

When I finished, I let him touch me. I didn't have anything as neat and lovely as Jason down there. Heck, I was flat as a board, and not much to look at, but fair was fair. At first he seemed afraid to touch me, his fingers barely grazing. I had to guide his hand and show him that a little pressure wouldn't hurt me. He soon got the idea.

As he rubbed, I began to buzz with an odd feeling. All of a sudden I felt his fingers slip inside me. What I felt was extraordinary. Heat, like a warm sunny day flowed right through me. I gasped, and must have flinched, because Jason pulled away. He thought he had hurt me. As though he ever could.

"I'm sorry," he said with a look of compassion and concern. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," I told him. "Keep doing that."

He continued more confidently then. His fingers inside me were nothing short of miraculous. He touched a part of me, I hardly knew was there. This was what girls squealed for when they saw their teen idols. It was the feeling they fainted over, without knowing why.

Under his touch I quivered and squeaked embarrassingly. It built until I could take no more. When it finally broke, I gasped in a full breath of air. I hadn't even known I was holding my breath.

Jason looked so bashful and confused.

"What did I do?" he worriedly asked.

I honestly didn't know. I couldn't explain it if I tried. Instead I threw my arms around him and kissed him. It was the very moment I realized what I felt for him, wasn't just a crush. At that moment I knew I loved him. I would never again be complete without him. "Thank you, Jason," I said when our lips parted. "That was wonderful."

Finishing that bath without his hands on me was torture. It was all I could think about. I didn't even care when it was my dad that came in to help dry my hair.

Over the last few months I had begun to rebel at being seen naked by my dad. But, I didn't want to seem childish and yell at him like I normally would have. Not in front of Jason. I even sat on his lap while he brushed my hair. He was more interested in Jason anyhow.

As soon as we were in my bed, and my parents closed the door, I could no longer contain myself. Jason was bare chested, and wearing only a thin pair of silk shorts. He was so handsome and perfect. In the glow of my pink night light, I pulled up my camisole and took his hand.

He didn't even ask me what I was doing. He tenderly slipped his fingers between my legs, and began to rub. To my horror, as his fingers touched me, I became wet. This had happened to me when I touched myself, and I knew it was gross. Jason didn't pull away though. He just continued on without so much as pausing.

Did he know what he was doing to me? How could anyone be so giving and selfless?

With every new vibration and explosion of feeling, I kissed him and rubbed his chest. I fell asleep under the touch of an angel. My whole body alive in an exquisite new sensation.

In the morning his mother came to get him. He promised to call after his father got home from Dubai. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted nothing more than to be with him forever.

He didn't call that night.

He didn't call the next day either.

I was beside myself. I tried to contact him on Skype, but his computer was off. When I tried to call, even the phone was unplugged. I paced around the house, and felt myself crawling in my own skin.

What had happened to him? Was he all right? Jason had never lied to me before. He wouldn't leave me like this.

My nights were sleepless and tortured.

In the morning, three days after I had last seen Jason, my mother got a phone call. I barely noticed it, until her voice became worried, and I heard the name I had been pining to hear.

"Oh Marie, I'm sure Jason will be just fine," my mom soothed. "You can't blame yourself for his getting hurt."

I had dropped my spoon, and abandoned my Cheerios the instant I heard Jason's name. I was beside my mother in a second. "What is it, Mom?" I pestered. "What happened to Jason?"

She covered the phone with her hand. "Shush, Hanna," she said firmly. She returned to the phone.

I stayed silent, but on the edge of tears.

"Why ever did you decide he was ready to go downstairs?" My mother's words caught my attention.

Jason's parents had a forbidden room in their basement. To my knowledge, no child had ever been allowed into it. I knew my parents had been, but they wouldn't tell me what went on there. All the parents seemed to know about it, but no-one was talking.

The day Jason had first kissed me, we had spoken about it. He had promised he would find out what it was for. He had promised he would tell me as soon as he knew. Jason always kept his promises.

All kinds of horrible things flooded over me. Was this because of me? Did he do something to get into that room and it had hurt him?

My tears were starting to flow.

My mom was looking at me in a very odd way as she listened to Jason's mother. "I see," she nodded. "No, I hadn't known they had done that."

My mother's look was full of an emotion I didn't recognize. There was a kind of pride and horror, mixed with worry. Somehow, I knew this was my fault.

"When will you know if he has to be hospitalized?" as she listened to the response, she was pacing across our floor. I sat frozen on our couch as the conversation played out.

"Doctor Freidmont is very discreet. You needn't worry about that. You are torturing yourself for nothing. If Jason does need to be hospitalized 3; well we'll cross that bridge if it comes to that. Frankly, I thought Jim would be more careful."

"Oh my. No, no, Marie you couldn't have known what would happen to him. Frankly, I probably would have made the same choice. It does seem like he was ready. Maybe Hanna too, from the sounds of things."

The mention of my name stopped my world. I did have something to do with this. This was my fault. I was crying in pure fear for my lovely angel.

"It will be all right Marie. You call me as soon as you know. We love you, and our prayers are with you. Give my love to Jason when you see him 3; Okay. Stay strong now. Bye-bye."

I couldn't talk when my mother finished that call. I knew Jason was hurt, and it was somehow my fault.

"Hanna. I want you to stay here," my mom told me. "I need to speak to your father."

I nodded, as my mother left to find him. My whole world lost its detail and colour as I sat in horror. When they both came back, I hadn't moved an inch.

"Hey, Princess," my dad said as he dropped down on the couch beside me. "We have to tell you some things, okay?"

My mind was overflowing. "Is Jason okay?"

"We don't know yet," said my mom. "We hope so."

"Is it true that you and Jason were getting a little serious when he slept over?" my dad asked plainly.

I didn't know how to describe what had happened. "Serious" seemed as good a word as any. "Yes, Daddy," I said.

"Well, because of that, Jason's parents decided he was grown up enough to be invited into their room for entertaining. You know their basement?"

"Uh huh." The knowledge that I was responsible was overwhelming.

"Do you know what adults do in that room?"

I now imagined something violent and horrible. "Uh uh."

"Well, how do I explain this?" My dad looked uncomfortable. "It is for sex," he finally said.

If there was a topic I thought I knew less about, I didn't know it.

"As you get older, and your body matures, sex become a wonderful thing," explained my mom. "I'm sure you know how wonderful it feels when you are touched, or you touch a boy."

I was embarrassed by this topic, but I was even more worried for Jason. I nodded.

"With what you two have been doing, Jason's parents thought he was ready to see how the grown-ups do it. We always intended to invite you when you were ready. We are a little surprised how quickly you are growing up."

I couldn't imagine how what Jason and I had done, had led to this. "How did Jason get hurt?"

My mom sat on the arm of the couch, and put her arm around me. "Jason got tore up a bit. His parents didn't plan for him to get hurt, but he did something they didn't expect, and things went a little too far."

My dad was laughing to himself. "I should have known that little prick was a faggot."

"David!" my mom gasped.

"Oh come on Carol. You have to admit it's a little funny."

"It most certainly is not. This could be very serious."

"Ah, where's your sense of humour? Tiny little kid like that shoving himself down on a massive cock. What do you call it then?"

"David," my mom looked at him with disgust. "That is quite enough."

I didn't know what a faggot was, or even understood what my father was describing. All I knew was it wasn't a nice thing. "Don't call Jason a faggot," I said between tears.

"Yeah, well 3;" My dad suddenly looked embarrassed. "Just forget I said it. Okay, sweetie?"

"Hanna, honey," my mom changed the topic. "I'm sure Jason will be all right. It was just an accident. But the two of you are growing up so quickly. We want to be there for you. Whenever you are ready, we'll invite you into the Sidney's room. All you need to do is tell us you're ready, and we'll do it together. Your dad and I will protect you, and keep you from getting hurt."

"How about it, Princess?" asked my dad. "Do you think you're ready?"

It all seemed horrible and frightening. Jason was hurt, and I wasn't there for him. I hated that room. I decided I would never set foot in that place.

"No, Daddy," I managed to say. "Never."

"You'll think differently as you get older," my mother explained. "You have to tell us when you are ready though. You can do that right?"

I nodded, knowing I never would. I could never be a part of anything that had hurt my angel, Jason.

They let me go up to my room after that. I couldn't read. I couldn't do my Math work. My entire being was concentrated on Jason. He was hurt and suffering, and there was nothing I could do. Even when I got the news that Jason was recovering at home, and didn't need to go to the hospital, I still couldn't concentrate.

Before bed, I went to my mother.

"Mom, I need to see Jason," I told her.

Thankfully she took me seriously. "I know, honey."

"I need to see him now."

My mother patted the side of her bed, for me to join her. I did so quietly. "I know how much you care for Jason, Hanna. I promise, the second he can have visitors we will see him. Okay?" She hugged me to her gently.

When I was released, I asked, "You promise?"

"Of course we will," she told me. "I'll call in the morning, and set something up."

She regarded me for what seemed like a long time. She seemed to come to a realization she hadn't before. "You love Jason, don't you?" She wasn't speaking to me as a child when she asked. Her tone was the same as when she spoke to other adults like her friends.

I nodded. Love didn't seem like a big enough word. I was actually hurting being away from him. I might have said I love Cheerios or a certain dress, or doll, but I could live without those things. I loved my parents, but not in this way. My concept of love was woefully incomplete. This was so much more.

My mother seemed to understand. She hugged me again, and there were tears in her eyes when she released me. "I'll call the Sidneys first thing tomorrow," she decided.

She would prove as good as her word.

I got to see Jason the very next afternoon. Somehow my mother had finagled dinner for us all. When our car pulled up in front of their big house on their acreage, I could wait no longer.

He was there on the lawn waiting for me. I leapt from the car before it could even stop, and ran to him. He was moving gingerly and slowly, but he was there. He was smiling at me. I flew to his arms, and we fell to the grass, laughing, and happy to be in each other's embrace.

I helped him to stand and we walked away, on our own. When we found ourselves by his father's koi pond, we sat.

It took me a while to work up the courage and ask, "Did it hurt?"

His beautiful face became serious. "It hurt," he admitted. "But it felt wonderful too. When did they tell you?"

I told him about the phone call my parents had received. I was still reeling from all the feelings of terror and helplessness I had felt.

He told me then, of his night in the forbidden room. He seemed to tell it all in one breath, like he couldn't hold it back. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

He told me about how he was overcome by sensations he had never felt. He told me how he had pushed back into his father without thinking, and what that had done to him. He told me how afraid he was, and how he had thought of me.

When he finished his tale, I could only stare in silence. Finally I threw my arms around him, and lamented for what he had gone through.

"Oh, my Jason. My poor, poor Jason." I wanted more than anything, that he should not have gone through that without me. I was aching with pain for him.

When he asked if I still loved him, I lashed out. How could he think that? I had spent days worrying about him. I was devastated when I learned he was hurt.

I punched his arm with all my might, and began to run away. Even, that he didn't understand.

"What was that for?" he cried after me.

I stopped and turned back. He was holding his shoulder where I had hit him.

"Of course I still love you, you big dummy." All my worry, became anger. He should know why I was upset. I couldn't love him less, no matter what. I would die a thousand times to make sure he was all right. "How could you ask that?"

His face was filled with concern, and I knew, his concern wasn't for himself, but for me. I didn't deserve someone so selfless. "I should have been there for you," I finally confessed. Tears were blurring my vision.

He tried awkwardly to stand and come after me, but I took a step back. I wasn't ready for him to forgive me. "I should have been there for you," I said again. " You shouldn't have had to go through it alone. I don't care if it was wonderful. You were scared, and you were hurt, and I should have been there for you." My confession, rent my soul. Everything was my fault. He never would have been in that room if it wasn't for me.

"I'm so sorry Hanna," he said. Why did he always apologize when it was me who had done wrong? "I wished you were there too," he said softly. "Every second I wished it."

I could be away from him no longer. I was welcomed back into his arms, and I cried. How he stayed strong, I couldn't know. He held me until I finally calmed. We fed the koi and leaned on each other. He was mine, and I was his.

He waited long enough for me to master my emotions again, before he told me the rest of it.

"The doctors found something wrong with me," he said.

I held his hands as he told me his terrible news. "I can't go through puberty," he explained. "There's something wrong, and the doctors are going to stop it from happening. I'm too small, and I'm not developing fast enough. They say it is for my own good."

He gulped with the difficulty of saying the words. "Hanna, they're going to castrate me."

Earlier in the spring, we had seen a farmer castrating pigs and lambs. All the girls had giggled as he did it, and all the boys had looked away. The farmer had explained it was so they could never get up to mischief with the females. He said it was so they couldn't breed, and make unwanted babies.

One by one, he had cut their little balls out, and fed the discarded bits to the hogs. I thought of Jason's perfect little balls, in their delicate little pouch, and felt sick.

"How?" This was so wrong. I could feel bile at the back of my throat. "How can they do that to you? You're a boy not a pig. They can't do that to a boy."

"I don't think I have a choice," he said calmly. "They made it sound pretty serious. My parents have already decided."

I couldn't let that happen. There had to be another way. I was desperate, and told him we could run away together. We had to run away.

"No," he said simply. "I can't do that." I had known he wouldn't. He wasn't the sort to hide or run away. He was too noble for that.

He looked into my eyes. He was so beautiful. Boys have no right being that lovely. He whispered my name. "You'll still love me after, won't you?"

I kissed him for all I was worth. No matter what. Whatever the future brought, nothing could change the feelings I had.

"Of course I'll love you," I said. "Stop being so stupid." I didn't deserve a love like his. "I'll love you forever and ever and always. No matter what."

We stayed like that for a long time. Jason, even managed to make me smile. He made a game of trying to get the koi to jump out of the pond, with strategic tosses of their pellets. Even now, with all that happened and all that was to come, he was only concerned with my happiness.

When we went into the house, I had almost forgotten why I had been so upset. Jason had that power over me.

At dinner, the conversation seemed pleasant. The parents no longer guarded their words, and they spoke clearly about an upcoming night, and the prince who was to attend.

Then my mother reminded me of something horrible. "Are you nervous that Jason's first time entertaining will be in the presence of royalty?" she asked Jason's father.

I didn't want Jason to go back to that room. I didn't want him to be hurt again. I had hoped he was done with that. Jason's Father said he wasn't worried. Then he asked if I would be joining them.

I froze and clutched Jason's hand. I would never set foot in that room. Not ever.

The parents were talking, and I barely noticed their words. Finally my father asked, " 3;or have you changed your mind?" He was talking to me.

I never would. I shook my head.

Jason's mother told us again about how the parents would only take us when we were ready. It was much the same discussion my parents had already had with me. Though this time she used the word 'Kinseyans'. I agreed I wouldn't discuss it with other children. So did Jason.

Jason's mother told me that Jason would be there for me when I was ready to change my mind about the room.

Now it was my father's turn to comment on something I wished I could forget.

"For moral support anyways," he laughed. "It's not like he'll be good for much else after he's castrated." It was the same cruelty he showed when he laughed that Jason had been hurt. I loved my father, but at that moment I hated him too.

In a moment all the parents were all standing. A chair had been broken, and the air was thick and tense. My father wanted to leave, and I was sure Jason's father was going to hit him. He would have deserved it.

When my father called to me, I stayed put. I wouldn't go home with him. When he called again, I told him, "I want to stay with Jason."

There was yelling then, and Jason held my hand tight. I knew he would protect me, and I wanted to protect him too.

Suddenly, almost without warning, Jason's mother was agreeing to something I hadn't realized had been discussed. The parents were suddenly calm, and the fathers shook hands. In that moment I was being allowed to stay with the boy I loved. I can't tell you how it happened. It was magic. It was a miracle.

He answers the prayers of fools and little children. It had somehow been decided I was to stay with Jason and the Sidneys for the whole weekend.

My parents fussed over me a bit, before they left. I didn't have any clothing to stay the night, I didn't have my toothbrush, etcetera. Jason's mother was fabulous. She said I could wear Jason's clothes, she would find me a fresh toothbrush. There was no difficulty, she couldn't dismiss.

I was absolutely over the moon.

When Jason and I could finally be alone together, I told him, "I'm sorry my dad said that." I was ashamed that my father was so cruel. I was ashamed he'd started a fight.

"It's okay," he said like it didn't matter. "It's true though. We'll never be able to do anything. Not like the parents can."

"I don't care," I told him. "I don't want to if it's not with you." I didn't want to think of Jason's castration. It was too awful. He didn't deserve something like that.

When we showered, I pressed myself to him. Our hands were all over each other. Just the feel of flesh on flesh excited me. If you saw us, you might not have recognized it as passion. We were more like clumsy kittens tangled up in play. There was so little we knew, but so much we wanted from each other.

I didn't notice Jason's mother come and go.

She must have seen us together like that. My dress and knickers, that I had tossed haphazardly on the floor, were missing. In their place were a set of Jason's pyjamas and underwear. On the sink was a fresh toothbrush she had conjured. In Jason's bathroom the shower curtain was just a sheet of clear plastic. There was no doubt that what we had been doing, had been witnessed.

As soon as I was dry, I pulled on the pair of Jason's underwear that were left out for me. I was afraid someone else might come walking in and see me nude, and drooling over the boy of my dreams.

The stretchy cotton felt nice, but a little loose in the front. I think I liked the feeling of them, more because they were something Jason wore so close to his body. I imagined I could feel his warmth still in them. It was thrilling having something that touched Jason is such an intimate way, touch me the same.

Jason pulled on his underwear too. His fit a little better. His pouch and little willy filled out the front better than my nothing at all. I was a little disappointed he was covering himself. I'll admit, if he'd stayed naked I'd have been happier. Nothing would have pleased me more than letting my eyes drink him in, and my fingers explore. Jason was my absolute best friend, but he was also my new favourite plaything.

Get a hold of yourself, Hanna.

He didn't seem the least bit phased that we had been seen together like we had. There wasn't even a flicker of humiliation in his eyes. How did that boy stay so strong? I wondered.

In the mirror, Jason and I looked much the same. With my long hair matted and still a bit wet, I realized I could pass for a boy. I was flat chested and shapeless. If I stuffed some tissues down the front of my borrowed underwear, and trimmed my hair a little shorter, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between our bodies.

I longed to have boobs like my mom, or Jason's mother. Mrs. Sidney had beautiful breasts. Everything she wore seemed to accent them. I was as flat as could be. Some of the other girls my age were beginning to fill out, but I wasn't. I was the only girl my age I knew who wasn't yet wearing a training bra.

I wondered then if Jason even saw me as a girl.

Dressed in Jason's silk pyjamas, we cuddled together under the covers. I was relieved when his parents didn't come into the room to wish us goodnight. I didn't think I could face Mrs. Sidney just then. They just said goodnight from the hall, turned off the light, and shut the door.

I fell asleep quickly, luxuriating in the feel of his silk pyjamas, and the warmth of my Jason beside me. Despite my comfort, my sleep was restless. The worry I wasn't feminine enough worked its way into my dreams.

I awoke, while it was still dark. Jason had told me how his mother had sucked on his penis while they were in the forbidden room, and how it had felt so very good. I was jealous of Jason's mom. She was beautiful, and no-one would ever mistake her for a boy. I knew she had made Jason feel wonderful, and I wanted to give him that too.

My cravings overpowered sleep.

Jason woke while I was trying to get his pyjama bottoms off. He undressed quickly for me, and I did the same. I kissed him and rubbed myself over him. I even straddled him and felt his soft willy brush up against my slit. I had lied to Jason. I really did want to do it like the parents. I knew a little of how it worked, and I dreamed of Jason slowly penetrating me, while his gentle eyes held mine.

I worked my kisses lower as I worked up my nerve. I had never done anything like this. What would it taste like? What if I threw up? Would he still love me if I did it wrong?

Experimentally I kissed one of his balls, then the other. They twinged in their soft sack with each peck. I kissed the tip of his penis. The smell was wonderful. I was worried a boy's penis would smell of urine and nasty things. His smelt of soap, and fresh water. Finally I took it into my mouth.

His taste was mild and a bit salty. It was warm and felt comfortable against my tongue. As I sucked I stroked my hands up and down him. I had never done this before, had never thought of it before this night. There was so much I didn't know, like when to breathe. When I took a breath I noticed his penis glistening from my saliva in the moonlight. I carefully slid back the skin that covered the pink tip, then returned my mouth.

This taste was different again. There was a kind of musk in the flavour, but sweetness too. My tongue drew over the tip, and his flavour exploded through me. I could hardly notice his back arching, and his body quivering. I could feel myself getting wet between the legs. I needed to please him like a woman could. Of course I was unprepared for the pleasure I would feel, just from touching him in this way.

He was shaking violently as I continued. As he reached the peak of sensation I felt his little willy stiffen briefly between my lips. As he finally sagged from the experience, so too did his tiny member.

He was breathing deeply as I came up to kiss him. He sat up, and our kiss was more passionate than we had ever dared. We were lip to lip and tongue to tongue.

He took me then, and rolled me over to lay where he had been. For the life of me, I didn't know what to expect. He kissed my bare chest, and I felt my nipples harden.

He noticed too. He kissed and licked my nipples. His teeth grazed, and I was alight with sensation. He kissed his way down to my thighs. He gently parted my legs, and kissed me on my cleft. I was frightened. I didn't want him to see I was wet. It was disgusting, and I was clenching. When he licked though, my resolve fell apart. I felt myself open to him. Heat was coursing through me, and I was a slave to it.

His lips, his tongue. I had never felt anything like that. His lips pressed against my slit, and my body was on fire. Oh god, his tongue went inside me. His tongue. What a miracle. When I thought it could get no better, he wrapped his arms around my thighs, and his fingers found the way to caress the top of my slit. He hit a spot, and music joined the flames of my feeling.

Beautiful soaring music rose to a crescendo inside me. I was dimly aware I was saying something. Whatever it was, I was repeating it over and over again.

Music deafened me, but it was all I wanted to fill me. Flames ripped through me and burnt away every doubt, every fear and every bit of loneliness. A wash of love and satisfaction went out from me in every direction.

All my self doubt, all my awkwardness, and all my faults burnt away in a fire-storm of bliss. It was terrible and wondrous, and more than I had ever known. I screamed for it. Every fibre of my being was packed into a wail that announced my womanhood to the night.

When my body finally quieted, the echo of it could still be heard.

He held me so completely when it was over, I wished I could die right then. I knew if I did, I would be in heaven forever.

When the knock came at the door, my heaven threatened to become a hell. I had woken his parents. I really did want to die when I hear a voice ask if we were okay.

To my relief, despite a few cross words from the hall, we managed to calm his parents, and assure them we were all right. The door never opened.

We laughed together, and Jason held me as we slept through the rest of the night.

I spent the next day dressed as a boy. Despite my new feeling of womanhood, it was humiliating. It was a feeling that started the moment I got up.

Mrs. Sidney discovered Jason and I, naked, and pressed together between the sheets. If it had been my mother (or worse, my father) I'm sure I would have been yelled at, or at minimum spanked. Jason's mother was a saint though. She pretended she didn't see anything, made no comment about our bare flesh. She left us to get dressed without consequence.

I guess that makes sense that Jason's mother was a saint. From where else would an angel such as Jason come.

Jason and I dressed in matching clothes. Though different colours, we both wore some of his button up shirts, and shorts with belts. My legs looked positively boyish with my feet in his athletic socks and trainers. If I didn't have long hair, you might have called me Harry, instead of Hanna.

Later in the day, while we were grocery shopping, I noticed a creepy old woman watching us. As we went from aisle to aisle, I held Jason's hand. He was still walking slow from his ordeal in the basement room. That old lady's eyes never left us.

I could feel her judging us. I didn't like the way she was looking.

In the deli section she cornered us. She spoke to Jason's mother. "What beautiful children," she said. "Are they siblings?"

I noticed that she didn't say 'what a beautiful boy and girl' or 'are they brother and sister?' There was a rude implication there I didn't like. I really didn't like the way she was looking at us. I'd show her.

"Yes, we are, Ma'am!" I told her before Mrs. Sidney could answer. And to demonstrate we were boy and girl, I pulled Jason to me and planted a big kiss on his lips. He moved into me, and kissed me back.

Let's see her misunderstand that, I thought.

I was delighted when her face turned red, and she sputtered incoherently. Stupid, nosey old bat.

Mrs. Sidney was not so amused. She dragged us out as quickly as she could. All the while we were in line to pay, I could feel her anger at me. Jason wouldn't let her stay mad at me though. He stood at the end of the cart as we loaded the groceries onto the conveyor, smiling. He tossed his head to one side, and said, "Hey, Sis. Wanna hand me that bag of apples?"

I could see his mother flush, and her silent anger was directed at him. She might have said something, but we were in public.

"Sure, Brother dear," I replied as I guessed the game.

We called each other brother and sister the rest of the way home. We laughed when we saw her get mad, and before long, she couldn't say anything because it had all become such a big joke. She had no choice but to ignore it. Jason was so smart with things like that. Despite my awkwardness in boys clothes, he would always keep me safe.

I know you won't understand this next part. I'm not sure I understand it myself.

After my mother brought me my travel bag filled with my clothes, I got a nasty idea. As Jason and I unpacked my stuff into some drawers they'd emptied for me, I caught him looking at one of my frilly blouses.

I loved Jason with all my heart. I don't think I'm capable of loving someone more, than I loved him. But I hated him too.

Boys shouldn't be prettier than girls. I always thought so. I wanted to punish him for being so pretty. I wanted to humiliate him like I had been humiliated by wearing boys clothes.

The next morning I sprung my trap. He never saw it coming.

He could have refused. He might have pushed me away, and dressed himself, but he let me have my way.

I dressed him in a cute pair of my pink panties, a short white skirt, and a pink blouse with a lace collar. Today he wore my bobby socks and a pair of my Clementine shoes. But I didn't leave it there.

Before we went down to breakfast, I styled his hair with a butterfly comb, and tied a ribbon around his waist. He was awkward and uncomfortable, and I was extremely proud of myself.

At the bottom of the stairs I introduced him to his parents as their daughter "Jessie." His parents exploded with laughter. That might have been the end of it, but Jason's parents took it to a whole new level.

Something had been weighing on their minds. The Sidneys had been more serious than I had remembered them as of late. They took this moment of levity, and embraced it. Poor Jason didn't have a chance.

All day he spent in my clothes. His parents took us all around town, and we called him Jessie.

No. We called HER Jessie.

She was very pretty in my clothes. She was awkward and blushed at everything. She was timid in a dress, as she wasn't used to it.

On the playground I had to intervene, before some bully boys could make fun of her. She was helpless, and that helplessness made her even more beautiful.

When we went shopping for girl's clothes with Jessie's mother, I was really starting to believe the game.

As we prettied Jessie up in the cosmetics section, I become jealous. Jessie was prettier than I was. The make-up and jewellery all accented her perfectly. That angelic smile, just made it even more unbearable.

Back at Jessie's house, we modelled the dresses we had bought for her. I had to show her how to twirl, and show off her clothes. She knew nothing of fashion. Jessie's parents laughed and clapped for her. It all felt so natural and light.

At the end of the night, Jessie and I went up to her room, and showered. As the water and soap carried away the style from her hair, and the make-up from her face, not a girl, but a boy stood before me.

"Aww," I lamented as reality came back to me. "You're a boy again."

He stood there under the falling water, every bit the perfect boy I loved. "Hi," he said simply.

I suddenly realized I had lost a precious day with Jason to my own cruelty. I had been selfish. I had been jealous. I was ashamed and happy it was over.

I kissed him and threw my arms around him. "I missed you today, Jason."

He hugged me, and held me close. My tears were concealed by the falling water. I vowed to never again let my jealousy ruin another moment with him. He pretended not to see my tears.

All that night, I loved him. We barely slept. I couldn't keep my hands off of him. Just being in contact with a being as wonderful as Jason filled me with joy. The music of his caress, his every kiss was a miracle I never wanted to end.

I didn't want to leave him. I cried in the back of the car when my parents came to get me the next day. He ran after the car as we left, and I watched him until we were too far down the road to see.

Though we weren't together over the next few days, we talked on Skype every free moment. His voice and his image gave me excruciating pleasure. I could almost forget my fear for him. He was to spend yet another night in his parents' forbidden room.

The night of the event, we did not speak. He wasn't on line in any of the usual places. I spent the day in terror. What if he got hurt again? What would I do without him? Fear made it hard to concentrate on my school work.

My mom noticed my distress. "Hanna, honey," she assured me. "Jason will be just fine. Your dad and I will be there tonight. We'll tell you all about it in the morning. I promise you Jason won't get hurt."

I hugged her in gratitude. It was good to know my parents would be there to protect him. I knew I couldn't go. I wouldn't. My fear of that place was too great.

I slept restlessly that night. I was dimly aware of my parents leaving when it was time. Exhaustion claimed me at last, after my house was quiet.

I awoke the next morning to yelling. It was different from what I was used to. It was coming from my front yard. I pulled open my curtains and looked down. Mr. Sidney and my Dad were arguing on the front lawn.

"You son of a bitch," Mr Sidney yelled at my dad. "Do you have any idea what you did?"

"Jim, calm down 3; I have neighbours."

"Do you think I give a shit about your neighbours? I should fucking kill you."

"I didn't mean any harm. I just thought it was funny."

"Funny? Jason might have gone years before anything had to be done, but you had to open your big fucking mouth."

With the mention of Jason's name, I was running. Down the stairs and out the door. I didn't care I was only in my light sleeping dress. In the morning light it was almost transparent. I might as well have been naked, running out for the entire neighbourhood to see, but I didn't care. Something terrible had happened. I needed to know.

My dad had his hands up, and was backing away from Jason's father. "Look. How was I supposed to know? It's not like I planned for anything."

"Because of you, Jason has less than a week."

"What does it matter. He's a queer anyway. Not like it will make a difference. I've never seen a bigger faggot than your little brat."

I was then in front of my dad, hitting his chest with my clenched fists. "Don't call Jason a faggot!" I cried at him.

"Get back in the house, Hanna," my dad pushed me away.

I leapt back and hit him again. "What did you do to Jason?"

He pushed me away harder, and I fell on the grass, hurt and scared.

"I said, get in the house!" he shouted.

Jason's father stepped forward as my dad's attention was on me, and hit him in the face with a powerful strike. The sound of it was shocking. My dad dropped to the ground beside me in an instant. The side of his face was already swelling and red.

Jason's father stood over my dad, his face filled with rage. "You stay away from us, you hear me," he said. "I don't want anything more to do with you. You are not welcome at my home. You are not welcome near Jason. I don't want to know you exist."

My mom rushed in to cradle my dad's head. She looked up at Mr. Sidney. "Jim please. I know he didn't mean any harm."

Jason's father turned away from us. His voice was cool and emotionless. "I don't want Jason to have anything more to do with any of you." He walked away, and began to climb into his car. "Stay away from my family." His Lexus roared to life, and he was gone.

My dad brushed my mother aside, stood and went into the house. My mom went after him. I was left alone on the grass. It seemed like the entire neighbourhood was watching me. I pulled my night dress around me, and ran inside.

My mother was trying to calm my father. "David, don't do anything rash."

He wasn't listening to her. "It's not my fucking fault. He should be mad at that camel humping prince of theirs, but no. He'd rather hack his kid's bits off than lose all that money."

"David," my mother tried again, softly.

"I need to call Jason," I said, and reached for the phone.

"No, you fucking don't," my father yelled again, and slapped the phone out of my hands. "We don't need those people."

I was quivering in place. I had seen my dad like this before. He would be lost in his anger. I couldn't let the tears take me though. I ran suddenly for my room, and for my computer. I had other ways to contact my Jason.

My dad had longer legs, and was just as fast. As I made it to my computer, so did he. He pushed me aside, and yanked the internet cord from the wall. He wasn't being careful, and the socket broke as he ripped it out.

"You stay away from that boy," he yelled at me. "You don't need those people for anything. I don't want you ever talking to them again."

"Daddy, please 3;" I managed to say through choking sobs.

"Never!" he shouted finally, and he slammed my door as he left.

I cried alone in my room as my parents yelled at each other. Something had gone terribly wrong.

All I wanted to do was call Jason. My every fibre of my being needed him. I was in Hell.

Over the next week, my every attempt to contact Jason was thwarted. My mom soothed me and tried to comfort me, but I was beyond her help.

The shouting matches between my dad and mom just got worse. It seemed they were no longer trying to hide there was a divide between them. I'm sure all the neighbours knew by now.

Every dinner through that horrible week was worse than the one before. My dad glowered over his swollen cheek. The dinner table seemed to grow larger and more vast with every passing day. My mom and I at one end, my dad at the other.

On the final day of that horrible week, I tried a desperate gambit.

When my dad wasn't looking, I stole the cordless phone, and made my way to the closet below the stairs. It was one of my favourite playing spots when I was little, and I had always felt safe there. As quietly as I could, I began to dial. I hoped the sound of the tones wouldn't carry.

I dialled *67 before I keyed in the Sidney's number, knowing it would block the caller ID. I feared if Mr. Sidney was by the phone and saw our number, he wouldn't answer. I also kinda hoped it would erase my tracks of ever having made the call at all. I didn't really know how it worked. As I said, I was desperate.

I wasn't quiet enough.

Just as the phone started to ring, my father found me.

"God dammit!" He flung open the closet door. "What did I say?" He yelled as he grabbed me by the arm and heaved me from my hiding spot.

He grabbed the phone in my hands, and pulled. I wouldn't let go. "Do as I say!" His voice was pure rage.

"I need to talk to Jason," I pleaded as we struggled.

"Give me the phone!"

"No!"

"You stuck up little bitch!" He slapped me fiercely with the back of his hand, hard enough that I saw stars. The phone flew out of my hands and down the hall.

I fell backward into the closet, my head ringing, cheek stinging, and my eyes filling with tears. I started to sob.

"What the fuck do I have to do to make you understand. When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it! You stupid little cunt. Do you hear me?"

My dad was blinded by his tirade. He didn't notice my mother coming silently down the hall to see the trouble. She stood there quietly. Her eyes were dark.

My dad slowly realized she was there. "Carol," he said. Almost pleading.

She pushed past him and collected me in her arms. She carried me out and to my room. She had me put my clothes into my luggage, and she did the same.

"Carol, don't give me the fucking silent treatment," my dad berated her as she packed.

My mom said nothing. When we were both finished packing she led me out to the car. My dad tried to be calm and reason with my mom. He wasn't doing it very successfully.

I cried as my eye swelled shut. My mom's face was like a stone.

When I was loaded into the car, my dad tried again to stop my mom. "Carol, where do you think you are going?"

"I don't know," she spoke to him at last. "Away from you. I will not stand by while you beat our daughter. I've put up with a lot of your shit. But this is the line. No more. Now let go of my arm."

My dad looked like he had been doused with a bucket of cold water. He quietly let my mom go. He watched us silently as we drove away.

We drove for a short time, until my mom pulled over into a gas station. She looked at me after she parked the car, and assessed my swelling cheek.

"Looks like you'll have a black eye," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry Hanna."

My mom hugged me, and we both cried. I didn't understand all that had happened.

When we finally stopped crying, I asked her, "Why wouldn't Daddy let me talk to Jason?"

"Your father did something stupid, and told the wrong person about Jason's condition," she explained. "Mr. Sidney didn't want for Jason to have to go through it yet, but this person is making it happen."

"I don't understand."

"Jason is to be castrated this week." She thought about the date. "Today, I guess," she said. "Jason's Daddy hoped he wouldn't have to have it happen for a long time, but because your father told Prince Shahriar, it is going to happen today. That's why everybody is mad."

These words were horrible to me. It was awful. Fear spread its cool fingers down my spine.

My mom smoothed my hair and touched the side of my face. It stung where my father had hit me.

"Stay here," my mom said to me. "I'm going to go inside and get some ice for your eye. Do you want any snacks for the road?"

I shook my head, and instead asked, "Where are we going?"

"To Atlanta, to your grandmother's." She again gently stroked my cheek, below my now swelling eye. "I'll be right back, Honey." She left me in the car then, alone with my thoughts.

My grandmother's was hours and hours away in Georgia. Jason was to be castrated today. Even now I was to be denied him. How could I be there for him, if I was hours away in Atlanta? My mother went inside, and was speaking with the clerk. All of the sprawling city of Richmond, Virginia stood between me and Jason.

I had to try.

I waited until I knew she wasn't looking, I stealthily slipped out of the car, and made a break for it. I couldn't let him down again. I had to let him know I was there for him. I had a little bit of money in my jacket, some leftover from my allowance. I hoped it would be enough for a bus ticket.

When I was out of sight of the gas station, I ran.

I ran and ran and ran.

I left familiar streets behind me. Crossing alleys and unfamiliar intersections, I ran to a nearby neighbourhood. There should be a bus-stop near houses, I gambled.

In the back of my mind, I saw my mother returning to our car and finding me gone. She would be frantic. She would be furious. I imagined I could hear her calling my name, just a few steps behind me. If I didn't run hard enough, her hand would be almost at my back. When I glanced behind, there was nothing there.

At last I spotted a bus station. A small glass enclosure on the corner of the street, next to a small community centre. There were a few people already waiting, and looking impatiently down the road.

My eye throbbed to my pounding heartbeat. I crossed the street to the enclosure, and joined the other waiting travellers. On the side of the glass enclosure was a schedule. It made little sense to me. I wasn't sure I could do this.

Please, God. Let me do this for Jason.

When a bus arrived a few minutes later, I waited behind the others as they clamoured up, before I too stepped aboard. I held back before dropping my money in. I asked the driver, if the bus went to Jason's neighbourhood. The driver was impatient and short with me. "You want the next bus. Not this one." He looked at me, as I shuffled my feet. "Well, get off. Get the next bus. I'm on a schedule here."

Gripping my money, I nearly flew off that bus in fear. As it pulled away, I felt very small, and alone.

It was another ten minutes before the bus arrived that was headed in the right direction. It was a very long ten minutes. Each second I jumped, thinking every sound was my mom's voice, screaming after me. Every car that passed was her looking for me.

At long last the bus heading in the right direction arrived. I was almost too afraid to get on, but I pushed past my fear, and climbed the steps inside. This driver was much more patient and understanding. The bus driver gave me some helpful advice on where to transfer. He looked at me oddly when he noticed my blackening eye swelling shut and my breathless state, but he didn't say anything about it. He even let me on board despite the fact I was five cents short on the fare.

I willed with all my might, that Jason would know I was coming. I couldn't let him go through this alone.

I sat near the driver, and the pleasant man coached me on which bus to catch next. When we arrived at the transfer point, He gave me my transfer slips and wished me luck. I was more confident of where I was going on the next bus. It was the next one that took me into Jason's neighbourhood, which was really the outskirts of town. Jason's place was still a long way away up the road, and out of the valley. When I stepped off the final bus I looked up the long road. It was daunting. I would have to walk the rest of the way.

The road up to Jason's place was very difficult. It was all up-hill and not very easy for a child to trek alone. I hid, crouching in the bushes along the side of the road every time a car passed. I didn't want to get stopped or found when I was so close. I was still afraid my mother might catch me. The bushes tore and scratched my skin. My clothes snagged terribly in the brush, and I didn't care.

When I finally arrived at the gate of his home, I was exhausted. The bruise on the side of my face throbbed ever more intensely. My blackened eye was almost completely swollen shut. All my muscles ached, but I wouldn't let myself stop. I needed to be there for Jason. For all I knew, he thought I didn't care. For all he knew, I had abandoned him.

I ran up the drive, and through the front door. It was unlocked, but there was no one there. There were cars in the drive, so there had to be someone, somewhere. Then I realized. There was only one place they could be.

I walked downstairs, each step like a thousand miles.

I didn't want to go into that horrible room. That room had cost me far too much. A room that was about to cost Jason even more. The worry I was too late pushed me on.

At the door, I screwed up my courage, and turned the handle.

The inside was bright and light. It was as Jason described it. Marble floors, and chrome railings. The art on the walls was colourful, but reserved.

People were there.

Doctor Freidmont stood to one side holding a black medical bag. My parents often took me to him for check-ups. I recognized him. Jason's parents were there. They stood holding each other in their arms. Everyone had looks of concern on their faces.

Jason was there. He was naked and laid out on a leather bench in the centre of the room. A sterile sheet separated him from the leather underneath.

A tall slim man stood between me and Jason. His skin was very dark, and he made an imposing figure. He held out a long thin arm to command me. His hand made a wall in the air.

"Stop," he said with his strange accent. His voice was soft and high, but not to be ignored. "You are not clean."

I froze.

The frightening man was in my way. He was dressed in a paper gown over strange robes. His expression was hidden beneath a surgical mask. In his other hand was a blade. Small and curved, the metal glistened in the light. From the tip, something dark was there. It flowed along the edge of the blade and dripped to the floor.

The colour of it tarnished the white floor with red.

I realized with horror that it was blood.

Jason's blood.

NEXT PART