American Skoptzy

My name is Tobias Saenko. This part of my story takes place when I

was fourteen years-old, the year my family joined the Church of the
Apocalypse.

I believed in God then. Now, I'm not so certain he exists, at least not
the god of the Church of the Apocalypse. You see, I was the one
hundred forty-four thousandth.

My initiation was supposed to bring about the Kingdom of God. It was

to bring about the second coming of Jesus. Five years has passed, and
the Kingdom of God on Earth doesn't yet exist; and if Jesus has come,
he hasn't let his presence be known, not even to the Church.

Reverend Jones later said that they had miscounted, that another
thousand had to be initiated to satisfy God, but I don't think another
ten thousand would do the trick. I no longer believe in Reverend Jones
or in the Church.

My parents still believe, and so does my younger brother, Joshua, just

turned thirteen. I left the Church when I was eighteen, leaving both it
and my parents. I've had no contact with either since.

No one leaves the Church. During the time I belonged to it, I never
heard of anyone leaving, at least not an Initiate. Once one made that
kind of commitment, he couldn't very well leave. He became one of the
Sacred, one of the angels.

I might not have been the first Initiate to leave, but I'm the only one I
know of. According to the Church -- since I left -- I'm condemned to
Hell. Perhaps my sin will require another ten thousand Initiates.
Perhaps Reverend Jones blames me for the delaying the second
coming. Maybe my leaving proves that I was never a worthy Initiate in
the first place.

The church is based in Portland, Oregon, but it has members all

around the world, many coming to Portland each year for a religious
jamboree, a gathering of the faithful. The Church occupies a full city
block in Portland, most of it used as a campground for the summer
jamboree. Thousands from all over the world attend.

For as long as I can remember, my parents never took us to a

mainstream church. We belonged to the Pentecostal Church and to the
Jehovah Witnesses before coming to the Church of the Apocalypse.
My brother and I were home schooled to keep us away from the evil
influence of public school. Every aspect of our lives centered around
religion, the belief in God and Jesus. I never thought to question it --
not before coming to the Church of the Apocalypse.

I remember Reverend Jones's first sermon, one not much different

from the next or from every sermon I've heard since. It was about the
evils of sex.

"Sex and the need for it, separates Man from the angels," he said. "And
man is weak. He can't obtain salvation through will power alone. He
must first be purified. Only through purification can he achieve eternal
life. Only those who have been purified will be admitted to heaven. The
Bible says there is only room enough for one hundred forty-four
thousand in Heaven. Once one hundred forty-four thousand have been
purified, the world will end, all sinners will perish, leaving only the
Sacred, those purified, alive to experience the Kingdom of Heaven.
Only through the Church of the Apocalypse can a man be saved."

There was more, of course, but that was the gist of his sermon:
salvation was only obtainable through the Church and only available to
those willing to be purified. Since that service was open to the general
public, there was no mention of what purification entailed.

We didn't join that first day, but I could tell my father was interested,
and my father wasn't one to consult first with anyone else, not with my
mother, and certainly not with me. If he decided to join, we would join.

The next Sunday we joined. After the service, Reverend Jones met with
us in his office. "You realize," he said to my father, "we don't accept just
anyone. We want only those who love the Lord and are willing to offer
proof of that devotion, because if you join, you won't just be joining a
church, you will be gaining entrance to Heaven. Are you committed?"

"Yes," said my father.

Reverend Jones looked at Joshua and me. "Would you, like Abraham,
sacrifice one of these boys, if God asks?"

My father didn't hesitate, "Yes," he said.

After staring at my father for a moment, the reverend said, "I believe
you would, Brother Saenko, but God doesn't require their lives. He
requires something from them -- and from you as well -- but not their
lives."
I was relieved to hear that, because if my father really believed that God
required my life, I had no doubt that he would have wielded the
sacrificial knife and taken it.

It's not that he didn't love me. It's just that he loved God more, loving
him more than his own life or the life of any member of his family.

"Are you willing to be purified?" asked Reverend Jones.

"Yes," said father.

"No matter what it entails?"

By that time, my father was in one of his religious fervors, almost a

trance of sorts. "Yes, no matter what it entails."

"And will you allow your sons to be purified?"

"Yes."

"No matter what it entails?"

"Even if it means their lives -- or mine," said Father.

"Are you willing to set an example for your sons -- today?"

"Yes," said Father, "What do I have to do?"

"As I've said in my sermons, sex separates man from God. Do you think
God or the angels have a penis and testicles?"

"I -- I'd really never thought about it," said my father, "but now that
you mention it, I suppose not."

"Neither will the one hundred forty-four thousand," said Reverend

Jones. "That is the price of purification. You must give up your penis
and testicles. Only without them can you become an angel. Are you
willing to give them up."

My father didn't hesitate, "Yes," he said.

"And are you willing to sacrifice those of your sons?"

Again, no hesitation. "Yes."

Just like that, my father had promised God my penis and testicles. I
couldn't have been more shocked had he said, "Take him out and kill
him." Maybe I would have been even less shocked at that. He'd already
said he'd give my life to God, but my penis and testicles -- I'd never
thought of that possibility. I'd never thought God would want them.

I knew sex was evil. My father had said it before I attended one of
Reverend Jones's sermons. And I knew it was difficult not to give into
sexual gratification. You see, I had masturbated -- more than once. I'm
ashamed to say.

I didn't do it often, especially after the beating my father gave me, after
catching me at it. Although he beat me often to drive the wickedness
from me, that was the worst beating I ever got.

He threatened to cut off my penis then, which is why I shouldn't be

surprised that he'd just told Reverend Jones he could have it. I had
tried not to masturbate, and I'd gone a week without touching my
penis, but then, I'd just have to masturbate. I couldn't help myself. My
penis would be hard, my hand would be wrapped around it, and I'd be
pumping it, without ever intending to do it.

I always felt both guilty and scared afterward, guilty because I'd given
into temptation, scared that my father would find out. I had to be
careful not to any of the juices on my sheets or underwear.

I had a wet dream once and got it all over my pajamas. When my
mother washed them, she saw the stain. I almost got another beating
because of it, narrowly avoiding it by convincing her that it'd happened
in my sleep. She must have believed me, because she didn't tell my
father. He would beat me, if she had, even though I hadn't
masturbated.

In a way, I had to masturbate. If I didn't, I had wet dreams; and if my

father ever saw a stain on my pajamas, he would have beat me.

Well, if the Reverend cut off my penis and testicles, I wouldn't have
that worry any more, would I? Still, that meant I wouldn't ever have a
family of my own. I'd often thought about having a son of my own,
promising myself that I wouldn't beat the wickedness out of him like
my father beat it out of me.

Joshua, only eight at the time, was a little confused about what the
reverend had just said. "What am I going to have to sacrifice?" he
asked.

"Quiet!" said Father. I knew better than to speak. We children weren't

allowed to speak, unless we were spoken to. I had a million questions:
are you really going to cut off my penis and testicles? when are you
going to do it? will it hurt? I was mostly worried that it would hurt.

"Your father will go first," said Reverend Jones. Then to my father, he

said, "One of our members is a doctor. He'll excise your testicles
tonight. Then you'll have your penis cut off a month or two later."

"What about the boys?" asked my father.

"We'll schedule the younger one for tomorrow. Since he hasn't reached
puberty yet, we'llremove both his penis and testiclesin one operation.
It's a much simpler operation on a boy that hasn't gone through
puberty. We'll castrate the older boy the next day, then cut off his penis
a month or so later."

Joshua started crying. "I don't want my wee-wee cut off," he said.

"Shut up," my father said, "It's already been decided."

I didn't want mine cut off either. I promised God that I'd try harder not
to masturbate, if I could keep it. I wanted to keep my testicles, too, just
in case I might someday want to have children, but I especially wanted
to keep my penis. I liked having it.

I wanted to cry, too, but I didn't dare. Joshua had already earned
the look from Father, and the look always meant a beating once we
were home.

I looked over at Mother, but she said nothing. It probably didn't mean
much to her that her husband was about to lose his penis and testicles.
Knowing my father, he probably never had sex with her anyway. He
wouldn't have used birth control, and since it'd been eight years since
they'd had a kid, I figured they no longer had sex.

Still, it wasn't just her husband that was about to lose his genitals, but
her sons as well. I would have thought she could show a little concern
about that, but she didn't. Like me, she probably knew better than to go
against my father's wishes.

"I don't want you boys to be concerned," said Reverend Jones. "You
won't feel a thing. For your operation," he said to Joshua, "the doctor
will put you to sleep. You'll be a little sore for a while afterward, but
you're young. You'll be well before you know it. And you're doubly
blessed. You'll never be tainted by sex. Forever pure, you'll become one
of our angels."
Then, turning to me, he said, "Have you masturbated?"

What was I supposed to say? I couldn't say I hadn't. Both my father

and mother knew better. But I didn't want to tell the reverend I had,
not the way he'd preached against the evils of sex. I compromised by
lowering my eyes and nodding my head.

"Yes, I thought you had," said Reverend Jones. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen, Sir," I said

"Have you had sex with a girl?" he asked.

"NO SIR!" I said. I hadn't, but I wouldn't have admitted to it, if I had,
certainly not in front of my mother and father.

"Have you had sex with a boy?"

"NO!" I said, just as emphatically as before.

"Have you ever touched another boy's penis?"

"No" again. I had touched Joshua's but that really didn't count, did it? I
used to have to change him when he was a baby and we sometimes
bathed together. It wasn't like I ever tried to beat him off or anything.

"If you're telling me the truth, it shouldn't be too difficult to purify you.
Once you're rid of your testicles you should no longer have impure
thoughts. It's just too bad that we couldn't have got to you when you
were as young as your brother. He's the fortunate one. He won't need
further purification."

Just like that, they had decided. My father was about to have his
testicles cut off, my brother would have both his penis and testicles cut
off tomorrow, and I'd lose my balls the next day; and no one had asked
me if it was OK. We walked across the street from the church to the
compound where the church clinic was.

My mother, Joshua, and I took a seat in the waiting room, while

Reverend Jones led my father into the back. "Mother," I said when they
were gone, "are they really going to cut off our penises and testicles?"

She wouldn't look at me. "Your father agreed to it," she said.

That was that. Whatever he said was the final word in our family.
An hour and a half or two hours later my father walked out. Dressed,
he didn't look any different than he had when he had gone in. Possibly
he walked a little gingerly, but other than that, he seemed all right.

"Did they do it?" I asked.

"Yes," he actually smiled. I don't think I would have smiled, if someone

had just cut off my balls. "Nothing to it," he said, "It didn't hurt a bit. I
just wish I didn't have to wait to have the rest done."

My father had just had his balls cut off, and he didn't seem to mind a
bit -- was even happy about it. Would I be? I wondered. Would I be
glad to be rid of my balls. Other than wanting to someday have kids, I
guess I really didn't need them; and without them, I probably wouldn't
need to masturbate.

It would be a relief not to have to do that. Still, I wished I had more

time to think about it. I wish I had some say in it. I wished someone
would ask, "Toby, is it all right for us to cut off your balls?"

If they did, I might say, "OK."

But no one was going to ask. My father had agreed to it. That's all that
mattered to my mother, to Reverend Jones, or to my father.

I didn't go with my father and Joshua the next day. His operation was
going to take several hours and they would keep him for a few days
afterward. When my father came home I asked him, "Did they do it?"

"Yes," said Father, "I'm proud of your brother. He's now an angel."

"They cut it all off?" I asked, "his penis and his testicles." I almost said
balls, but caught myself in time. It would have earned me at least a slap
across the face, if I had said balls.

"Yes," said Father, "the doctor made him a pee hole between his legs."

My father had had his balls cut off. My brother had had both his penis
and balls cut off, and I was to have my balls cut off the next day. I
masturbated that night, not once, but five times. It might be the last
chance I had to do it. I didn't know if I'd even want to once my balls
were cut off.

The morning passed much too quickly. My appointment to get

castrated was at 10:00 AM. My mother came into the bathroom with
me and shaved off all my pubic hair and the hair on the insides of my
legs. I was as bald down there as Josh is.

While I was taking a bath afterward, I masturbated two more times. My

mother might have suspected I was doing it, since I was in there so
long, but she didn't say anything. My dad was at the clinic checking on
Josh.

At 9:30, I heard his car pull into the driveway. When he walked in, I
said, "I don't want to go through with it. I don't want to be castrated."

"Didn't I tell you how proud I was of Josh? Don't you want me to be
proud of you, too? It doesn't hurt. Look at me. It's hardly slowed me
down at all."

That didn't mean much. They could have cut off his legs, and if it had
been for God, that wouldn't have fazed him.

"But I might want to have children."

"Children are nothing but a burden. You're fortunate that you won't
have any. Besides the time of the rapture is nigh. You don't want to be
left behind. What is more important: your testicles or your immortal
soul?"

I didn't want to go to Hell, but I didn't want to have my balls cut off
either. "Can't we just wait awhile?" I asked.

"They're waiting for you now. I've given my word that you, too, would
be purified. I'm not about to go back on my word. Now, get in the car."

He said it with that tone, the one that brooked no argument. I got in
the car.

The reverend was waiting for us at the clinic. "Bless you, boy," he said,
"Today, you dedicate yourself to God. I know you're frightened," -- Was
it that obvious? -- "but it won't hurt a bit. The doctor will give you a few
shots that will deaden everything down there, and it'll be all over before
you know it."

Yeah, but I would no longer have any balls. "Can I see Josh first," I
asked.

"Certainly," said the reverend, "I don't see anything wrong with that.
He's a little sore, though, but he had a penectomy, too. That's much
more involved. You're just having an orchiectomy. That's a much
simpler operation. The doctor won't even put you to sleep for it.

"An orchi --?" I asked.

"An orchiectomy," said Reverend Jones. "That means the removal of

the testicles."

"I thought that was castration," I said.

"Castration can mean just removal of testicles or removal of both

testicles and penis. Orchiectomy is just removal of the testicles. That's
all you're having done today."

Do I have to have it done today -- or at all? I wanted to ask, but my

father was standing there, and we'd already had that discussion.
Instead, I followed him into Josh's room.

"How are you?" I asked.

"It hurts," he said.

"What does it look like?"

"I don't know," he said. "There's bandages on it."

"How do you pee?" I asked.

"They ran a tube into me. I pee into a bag."

I looked on the end of his bed. A bag, about half full of piss hung from
it, a tube running from it to under the sheets, and I supposed, to Josh.

I was trying to think of other things to say to postpone my orchi --

orchiectomy, but the reverend said, "The doctor's ready for you
Tobias."

I didn't want to go, but I really had no more choice that Josh had. At
least, I'd get to keep my pecker for a while longer. Josh hurt. He might
not have felt it when they did it, but he hurt now.

The doctor had me lie on a table. The nurse swabbed some brown
liquid all over my crotch, my pecker, and my balls, then gave me some
shots in and around my ball sack. They hurt. They told me it wouldn't
hurt, but those shots hurt. Then I had to lie on the table waiting for the
shots to take effect.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, the doctor came back in, poked
at me some around my ball sack, but I didn't feel anything, so he said,
"Here we go." The nurse had given me a pillow so I could raise my head
high enough to watch.

I still didn't want my balls cut off, but there was nothing I could do
about it. Knowing my dad, he would have strapped me to the table, had
I tried to leave; and the table had straps.

Although they didn't strap me down, I saw the straps hanging from the
table. I had no doubt that they would have used them, if I'd tried to get
away. They had probably used them on other boys like me.

First the doctor slit open my ball sack from top to bottom, exposing
both my balls. They were all bloody, so I couldn't see them well

While the nurse held onto the cords of my right ball with some forceps,
he tied some sutures around the cords. Then he snipped through the
cords with a little pair of scissors. Just like that. It was gone. My right
ball was gone. It didn't hurt, but I wanted it back. I didn't want to be a
eunuch. That's what they call a boy with no balls.

Next, she held my left ball while he tied off the cords to it. Another
snip, and it was gone. He cut off most of the skin making up my balls
sack, then stitched it together. The skin below my pecker was tight and
smooth. Other than for the stitches, it didn't look like I'd ever had balls.

I walked out of the operating room, stopping in to see Josh on the way
out. "Did they do it?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. I was trying to put on a brave front. I didn't want to cry
in front of Josh. They'd only cut off my balls. They'd cut off his pecker,
too.

"Did it hurt?"

"The shots hurt some," I said, but not when he cut off my balls." I could
say balls. Neither my father or the reverend were in the room.

"You're lucky," he said, "they just cut off your balls. It really hurts to
have your pecker cut off." He lost it. "Why did they have to cut off my
pecker?" he said, crying. I wouldn't care if they'd just cut off my balls,
but I liked having a pecker. How will I pee, now?"

"Father said they made you a new pee hole between your legs. You'll
just have to sit down to pee."
"Like a girl," said Josh.

"It's OK. It won't be so bad," I said, trying to convince myself, as well as

him. In another month, I'd lose my pecker. At least, by that time, he'd
be healed, while I'd be going through the pain he was now.

I was sore for about a week, but it wasn't bad. I was still able to
masturbate. I tried it just to see if I still could. I felt guilty for doing it,
hoping I wasn't going to Hell for doing it; but God had my balls; and
he'd soon have my pecker. Wasn't that enough?

A week from the next Sunday, in a special ceremony my father and I

had to come out in front of the congregation wearing only a white robe;
then we had to take that off and stand naked in front of everyone. "This
man and this boy," said Reverend Jones have earned the right to
mount the spotted horse. They have rid themselves of the Keys to Hell.
They have gone through the first purification, the little mark. In
another month or two they will undergo the great seal. The boy's
brother, who will be presented soon, has already undergone the great
seal."

With that, everyone else, also wearing robes, took them off. No one in
the place had any balls. Most didn't have peckers, not even Reverend
Jones. I felt weird about everyone being naked, but if no one has a
pecker or balls, there's not much to see.

One boy about my age came up to me. He didn't have either pecker or
balls. "I'll bet you can't wait to be rid of your pecker," he said.

"I -- I don't know," I said. "They cut off my brother's and he says it
really hurts."

"I cut mine off myself," he said.

"You what?"

"I cut my own off. Lot's of people do. If you're a real believer, you will,
too."

"But they cut off my brother's in the hospital."

"How old is he? asked the boy. By that time, I had learned his name
was Robert.

"Eight," I said.
"Well, you wouldn't expect a little boy to cut off his own pecker," said
Robert. "But you're what, fourteen or fifteen?"

"Fourteen," I said.

"I was only thirteen when I cut mine off," he said.

"Did you cut off your balls, too?" I asked.

"No," some people do, but I didn't. I just cut off my pecker."

"Didn't it hurt?"

"I don't rightly remember. I was feeling the rapture. All I felt was the
presence of God. I remember holding the knife up to it, but I don't
remember much after that."

What had I got myself into? I was among a bunch of crazy people who
went around cutting off their own peckers. I had a hard enough time
digging out a splinter.

I couldn't imagine cutting off my own pecker. It was bad enough

imagining that someone else -- a doctor while I was knocked out --
would do it.

When I managed to get away from Robert, I walked over to another

boy, one that still had a pecker. I wanted to see if he planned to cut his
own off. "Hi," I said, as I walked up to him, "My name is Toby."

"I'm James," he said, "So you just got your balls cut off?"

"Yes, on Wednesday a week ago. When did you get yours cut off?"

"Almost a month ago," he said.

"Isn't it almost time for you to get your pecker cut off?"

"In two or three weeks," he said, looking no happier about it than I was.

"Are you going to cut it off yourself?" I asked.

"NO," he said, "I'm not that crazy. If they want to cut mine off, they'll
have to knock me out first. It wasn't my idea to have my balls cut off.
They had to strap me down to the table. I'd run away, if I could, but
they watch me all the time."
"You don't believe you're saving your soul by giving up your pecker and
balls?"

'Hell no!" I was shocked. I'd never heard anyone in the Church cuss.
"Do you believe that crap?"

"I -- I don't know. My father believes it."

"So does mine," he said. "That's why I no longer have balls."

"Why are you telling me this? Aren't you afraid I'll tell someone?"

"I don't care if you do. Everyone knows how I feel. Besides, I think you
feel the same way. Tell me," he said, "did you want them to cut off your
balls?"

I looked around first, then said, lowering my voice, "No."

"I didn't think so. Are you going to cut off your own cock?"

Cock? I'd never called my pecker a cock. It was a wee-wee when I was
younger and a pecker or penis now. I could just imagine the beating I'd
get from my father if I ever said cock. I said it to James, though, feeling
somehow deliciously wicked. "No, I don't even want them to cut my
cock off?"

"What are we going to do about it, then?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They watch me too close, but you could get away," he said.

"Where would I go?"

"To the cops. Tell them what's going on here. It's against the law to
castrate a kid, even if he's your own."

"But would they believe me?" I asked. I knew a few weeks ago I
wouldn't have believed such a thing possible.

Reaching over, he touched me where my balls had been. "Just show

them that," he said. "They'll have to believe you then." Then, looking
around, he said, "Oops, here comes the rev. He won't like that I'm
talking to you." He walked away, in the opposite direction.

"I saw you talking to James Whitley," said Reverend Jones. "What was
he talking to you about?"
"Oh, nothing," I said, "We were just talking."

"James is undergoing a little crises. His faith is being tested, but he'll
come around. In the meantime, I'd rather you stay away from him."

"Yes, Sir," I said. It didn't look like I was going to get the chance to talk
to James, anyway. Two men hustled him from the hall.

Josh came home from the clinic; and I got to see what he looked like
without a cock or balls -- I called it a cock in my mind now. He had
stitches down his front, and a little hole below them, down between his
legs. I showed him what I looked like without balls. "Weird," he said.

I guess it was a toss up which of us looked weirder, me with a cock, but

no balls, or him without either. I wasn't really missing my balls all that
much. It was kind of nice to be able to sit down without worrying about
getting them squished.

I didn't beat off any more. There just didn't seem to be any point in it;
and I hardly ever woke up with a boner. Being a eunuch wasn't as bad
as I thought it would be. But I still didn't want to lose my cock. I wasn't
about to cut it off myself.

There was a great seal ceremony the following week, but not yet for me.
James was in it, though. One man and two boys lost their cocks in that
ceremony, James being one of the boys. I expected him to fight it, but
he didn't. I think he'd been drugged. He didn't even seem to know
where he was.

He didn't cut off his own cock, though. His father cut if off for him. Just
as he did, James must have realized what was about to happen,
because he screamed, "No."

It was too late by then. His father had already sliced through his cock.

There was a lot of blood. Some men put ice on his bloody crotch and
rushed him a to the clinic, where the doctor would finish what James's
father had started.

I felt guilty because I had done nothing to save James, but what could I
have done? If I had gone to the police, they'd have taken away my
mother and father. Then where would Josh and I be? We'd be freaks
anywhere else -- him with no cock or balls and me with no balls.

Besides, if Reverend Jones was right, I would be forfeiting my soul. At

least here, Josh and I had status for having given up our genitals, Josh
more than me, since he already had the Great Seal and, having never
reached puberty, knew nothing about sex. Since he'd become
accustomed to peeing sitting down, he no longer seemed to miss his
cock and balls. Of course, as young as he was, his balls had never done
much for him anyway.

I wished I'd been done at his age. Then I would have never had to feel
guilty about masturbating, and I wouldn't be having my cock cut off in
the Great Seal Ceremony, because that's what I'd learned to expect. The
doctor wasn't going to cut my cock off. Either I would, or my father
would do it for me.

My father cut off his own the following week, giving me a reprieve,
since I hadn't agreed to cut my own off. He would need some time to
heal before he would be able to attend my ceremony and cut mine off.

James wasn't at the ceremony, but he'd only had his cock cut off the
week before. It would be some time before he would be well enough to
attend one.

My turn came three weeks later. I was the only one being cut that week.

"This boy," announced Reverend Jones, "is the one hundred forty-four
thousandth to receive the Great Seal. His cutting will usher in the
Kingdom of God." He handed me the knife. "It's only fitting that you
cut off your Key to the Abyss yourself."

I looked down at the knife in my hand -- then at my penis. It wasn't

that big. It'd shrunk since my balls had been cut off. The knife was
razor sharp. Just a quick slice and it would be over. I placed the knife at
the base of my cock, holding onto the head of my cock with the other
hand. One quick flick of my wrist, and it'd be over.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't make my hand move, no matter how

hard I tried. "Do it," people began chanting. "Discard the Key to the
Abyss." Over and over, they chanted it. Somewhere music played.

I began swaying in time to the music and the chants, "Do it," I heard
over and over. "God wants you to do it."

Then, without realizing it -- without making any conscious decision to

do it -- I cut it off. One moment it was attached to my body, the next, it
was loose in my hand. Shocked, I dropped my cock onto the floor and
stood staring at the blood gushing from my groin. I couldn't tell you
whether it hurt or not. It hurt later. That's for sure.
Someone put ice on my groin and rushed me to the clinic, where the
doctor started two iv's, one of plasma and one containing an anesthetic,
which knocked me out almost immediately.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in a bed in my own room

at the clinic. I hurt. Apparently there's a lot more to a cock than what
sticks out; and the doctor had cut it all out, making me a little pee hole
like Josh's.

I missed my cock a lot more than I missed my balls. I kept reaching for
it whenever I had to pee, just the habit of fourteen years I guess.

James disappeared.They said he'd gone on a mission to another

church, possibly to another country. I wonder, though. They watched
him too closely for him to run away; and I didn't believe they'd send
him on a mission -- not with his attitude.

If you ask me, I think he's dead. I'm not saying who killed him, or for
sure that someone did, but I think he's dead. Nothing else makes any
sense. If he'd run away, he would have brought the cops.

The Kingdom didn't come with my receiving the Great Seal. Nor did it
come with all the castrations that followed, that continue today.

I don't know what the excuse is now. I left in the middle of the night
when I was eighteen, without a word to anyone, not even to Josh. He
would have told, if I'd said anything to him. He's an angel, after all. He
believes.

Maybe he's right, but I no longer believe. I'd cut off my cock to bring
about the rapture, but it didn't happen.

I never went to the cops, like James said he would. What's the use? I've
already lost my cock and balls. Going to the cops won't get them back.
Certainly, it might save other boys from losing theirs, but the church in
Portland is only one of many all around the world. Even if it was
stopped here, it would continue elsewhere.

Besides, my parents would have gone to jail, if I had. Then where

would Josh be? He's happy being an angel. What would he be without
the church? He'd just be a thirteen year-old cockless, ball-less boy, that
had never gone through puberty.

Besides, they could be right. Maybe God does require the cocks and
balls of the faithful.
I never tell anyone about the church, afraid that I'll run into a member
of it, and that what happened to James would happen to me. This is the
first time I've ever told anyone about it and about what goes on there.