Thursday, May 23

Eunuch Improved

THE DAY AFTER I chopped my testicles off was a good day.
At first I forgot that I’d committed such an alteration to my body, so when I went to urinate I leapt back in shock. Then I laughed. It was a good day because I found time to grind coffee beans when usually I would use the stuff from the supermarket. I had an omelette and half a grapefruit – saving the other half for the next day. They made friends in my stomach while I sat on the patio, feeling between my legs at the nothing that had once been something. Chopping my testicles off was certainly the right decision, I had no doubt about that.
Though ‘chop’ may not be quite the right verb. I’ve spent days of my life looking for the right verb, something that snuggles right in there; snuggles like the blade did between my right thigh and right testicle. I had an uncle who, before he killed himself, spent months in his workshop calculating the perfect angle for sharpening a blade. He never told me the angle – he never told anybody – but I think I sharpened my blade just right.
The skin on my testicles was like the outer skin of an onion; dark; it fell away easily and all the good stuff was underneath. My right testicle had always been my least favourite of the two; slightly smaller; I got the feeling it was just along for the ride. The left was glorious. It was a real fine specimen. It must have done all the work because it always looked very pretty and drew the most attention from girls.
A man called at the door. I put some underwear on and went to see to him – ‘Good morning. Did you know that house no. 52 has put planning in to build four new houses on his land?’
‘No.’ I really didn’t know that.
‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’
I didn’t know that, either.
‘Well, I’ve put together this petition to stop him from doing it. Think of all the traffic it’ll create!’ I thought about some cars of many different colours. ‘Would you like to sign here?’
I thought about it – ‘No, thank-you.’
‘Are you sure? You’ll be the only person down this road who hasn’t signed my petition.’
‘O.K.’ I could live with that so I bid him good-bye and closed the door.
After showering – taking care to clean between my legs – I went into town. Boredom often drove me into town, where I would sit outside the cafĂ© and drink coffee and look at the people as they passed me by. A young girl brought me my coffee. I sat there. Oh, what had tormented me before! now I could watch young couples in love holding hands and as they approached a lamppost they’d let go, then reform. I didn’t feel a thing. I watched it all and felt nothing. When I had testicles that sight used to tear me in two. What was the old woman reading next to me? I thought maybe I would ask her but my breath smelled of coffee & cigarettes.
In the evening I prepared my dinner and ate it before a large window that allowed me to see out into the garden.
When I was eighteen I cut most of my pubic hair off and wearing trousers felt strange to me; that was how having no testicles felt. Also, there were large parts of my day when no thoughts occurred to me; blank; just staring into the space between objects. Something that had been going on for years – since Leanne pinned me against a fence in primary school – faded out and I was peaceful. So much sadness that had fell my moods into black & white was now gone.
I put the television on. None of it interested me.
In preparation for sleep, as well as brushing my teeth and washing my face, I thought I would masturbate. A porno with a beautiful girl who was pushing a gigantic dildo into her very beautiful vagina. By the end of it she was doing an impersonation of a wave, rocking up & down, shrieking and squirting all over her own ankles and the upholstery.
Nothing.
Memories might do it. So I thought of a particular evening I spent with a virgin who may have been lying to me about being a virgin. She wore wonderful underwear that was tied together by silk ribbons. She enjoyed it when I sprayed my come on her dark nipples.
Nothing.
My left hand needed something to hold on to, but was left unusually unused.
Eventually I remembered a rollercoaster I went on that made me feel sick. I got off the rollercoaster and stumbled around until I found a bench to sit upon. I put my head on my knees and gasped for air. Then I looked beyond my feet, between the wooden slats, and the sun was dancing playfully on the water underneath the pier. I came. Nothing shot out of me but I knew I had come because I pulled a muscle in my back and my neighbours banged on the wall for me to quiet down.
In bed I found no one to think about or anything to pretend. It had been a good day. The ceiling was a cheerful enough scene for me. Then sleep shimmied over my bones.

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