Author’s Notes
While this does not contain open, blatant sex, it is entirely about sex, what men want for themselves, for their sons, for their imagination. This is about not watching the game on Sunday but being there, playing the game. For every man who has failed at something, this is where that failure is reversed, where they catch the ball, score the goal. It is about the deep affection I hope every father should have for his son. In a way, it’s my wishful thinking about a father who was only a sperm donor for a whore on a pier by the Southern Ocean now almost 80 years ago. I want to show him that, whether he even thought about what happened when he sailed away, he got what many men want, that 2 meter tall, 90 kilo, good looking son who did achieve a great deal but always knew he was playing to an empty house as there was no father to applaud.
Petr-Johan
In my job as an intake consultant for our firm, Uroboco, it’s my task to decide whether we can do anything for the proposed person and, after that, if we should. In general, our services cover “reconditioning”-our word-bodies to make them more available for the person to do what they want to do. In other words, if we get a kid who’s 18, just out of high school, is passionate about football, is a tough little son of a bitch but is also only 5’5” and weighs 142, we do what we know how to do to either prepare him physically for football or find another avenue for his abilities. We do not claim to be able to give people abilities they never had but only to enhance those they have or have the potential to have. At his age, just beyond puberty but not quite an adult, his body has done much of the growing it will do. A graduating Senior should be honest about what he sees in the mirror. He’s 18 and if he’s 5’9” and 160 pounds, there’s not much chance he’ll be 6’5” and 280 when he shows up to try out for the team at college next fall. Nature is quite specific about that but we, however, are not. Rather like the old joke, “A man has surgery and says to the doctor, Doc, will I be able to play piano after you’ve cut me? The Doctor says, Sure, we’re only doing an appendectomy. And the guy says, Funny, I never played before”. Okay, it’s a hoary old story but the kernel of it is absolute, if you couldn’t do it before, you won’t be able to do it after we’ve worked with you and on you. We’re not a teaching facility, we’re an enhancement organization but we cannot do reanimation, leave that to Disney when they remake a picture. We can direct you to coaches, instructors who can teach, or try to teach you the game or sport you want but if when you arrive, all you can do is drool on a court, when you leave you will still only to be able to drool although you may be in a better physical condition to learn to play.
Too many people come to us with grossly inflated expectations and, the ones I hate most, are those men who bring their sons to us to “do something”. They don’t much care what as, anyone can see this, it’s not about the kid, it’s about the father wanting to live vicariously through his son something he couldn’t or didn’t do when he was younger. On the other side of that are the fathers and sons who come to me and, up front, say, “Look, I’m not giving you much to work with but what, if anything, can you do for my son to at least give him a feeling of ability. Shit, I know he has two left feet and wears pop bottle glasses but…he wants to feel part of something so if you could”…..and for that father and that son we’ll pull out everything we know how to do. And not just for the son, we’ll have a go at this good man, this father who unselfishly wanted the best for his child who sublimated his own sadness from his young adulthood of looking but never participating. For him, after I’ve sent the son on what we, internally, call the snipe hunt which ends in the snipe finding the hunter, I lean back smile, put my hands behind my head and say, “Sir, let me tell you what we can do for you…..”
It’s almost as if I spoke to someone else in the room. Do for him? Whom? Him? And I lean forward, smiling and say, “Don, (we shift to the informal to create a bond without bothering to spend the time it would normally take) when a father wants that much good for a son, we kinda feel the kid deserves to find his old man as he never knew him. We want two guys who can hustle, throw the ball, be a pair, be pals, enjoy each other and be envied because they really know what they can do and do it well. Maybe not starters for the Packers (insert laughter) but they’ll be studs of the first water where they are.” Don” is now almost falling off his chair. “You can do that?”….”
“If you want to, here, let me show you some before and after pictures of someone we worked with”.
In my desk I have a couple of pictures of a sad sack who, on seeing them in real time, would convince an ambulance crew to grab him then spirit what looks like remains off to any sort of medical facility on the theory that, given the way he looks, certainly something must be wrong.
I lay them on my desk, “Don” looks over. “So…which one is the before and which is the after?”
“They’re both before. Full disclosure, you’re going to see the after…”
I stand up and slowly remove my clothes down to and including the jock I always wear, regular underwear won’t adequately contain my donkey dick and bull balls. Slowly rotating so he sees it all, then hold up a close up of the face that, now, is obviously mine back then but is now…what he sees. And I’m no Grecian God. I’m a man in his forties who’s stayed in really good shape. There are no cut abs or pecs that are straight across and tense. No award winning biceps but the package as a whole is firm, strong, is a purpose built body and, of course, the piece d’resistance, the cock and balls that any man would want which, if they didn’t have them, would envy.
I sit down, put my elbows on the desk, plant my chin (with a divot deep dimple in a square, strong jaw) on my clasped fingers then just stay quiet. I can see him drift away from me, actually….. I can see him with his kid, both of them in work out shorts, old gray t-shirts, horsing around on their lawn, throwing a ball or maybe taking batting practice or just out for a run, it does not matter. What I see is a father who truly loves his son who has come to us to prove it. Only thing, we inverted the equation, we’ll do it for him….
He looks up, almost misty eyed, and says, “You know, it’s, your, uh, it’s great, but….I can’t afford it, this is for him, not me, that’s how it is…..” And, to him, that’s that. He looks at me but isn’t really seeing me, he’s seeing another father, himself, disguised as me but then you can see him cave in to what he imagines is his reality, there’s no money, no way to do anything beyond what we might do for his son. He takes a moment, looks down, then looks up…..”If I can ever raise the extra, I’ll be back. Now, about my son…”.
“You’d do anything for your son, wouldn’t you?”
He looks back at me, not sensing what might come but it’s a question he can answer. “Anything”. His face, his body, his whole demeanor says and means, “Anything.” I don’t see it often but here it is, in front of my naked, ball heavy body, he’d do anything and, it’s a no brainer, so will we.
I don’t need to hear the rest, how after his wife died, he was busy, tried to be two parents, tried to be the best father he could but felt he failed… then he saw information about us and thought, “Well, what the hell, give it a try” which brings us to today; A father who has sacrificed everything not just for his son, but for the love of his kid, his buddy, his pal.
“I see no reason why this shouldn’t be a father/son deal, none…what…so…ever. All that’s required is for you to make a few sacrifices, devote more time than you probably have and be willing to go with a program that may, at times, seem alien to you, to your core values. It may be stressful for you, even painful at time but, and I hate to even say this but…’no gain without pain’…..” (No shit, I do hate that phrase if only because I know the agonizing truth behind it…..)
He’s transfixed, almost ready to cross the border but there are a few things he wants-and should want-to know. I can see him haltingly, almost unwillingly formulate questions; I know what they’ll be, I can easily answer them, all but one and it’s one he won’t think of but he’ll need to…however… we’ll get to it.
“How… can you do this?….for both of us? I told you, I don’t have the money for me, just paying for him is almost more than I can do but…I want it for him, whatever’s possible, whatever I can afford but……for me….sorry, but no.” The momentary dream I presented to him goes away, sadly, but away, killed by reality.
“And I’m telling you yes for both of you, I’ll tell you how. We live in a world that is too caught up with money paying for everything, the old fashioned way of bartering is gone, probably almost illegal if you tried it but not here. You’ve seen what they did to me, for me, now you tell me what part of that isn’t something you’d want? We’re about the same age, roughly the same body type so I’m telling you that within certain parameters we can do for you what was done for me, it’s just a matter of bartering some things you may have that we want for giving you the things I think you want. Correct?”
I can see he’s plowing through the swamp of confusion and, just now, the best thing for me to do is sit there, watch him ponder, think, try to reach a decision and, after a few minutes, I stand, hold a “before” picture in one hand, my dick in the other.
“I don’t have anything to barter or trade or whatever. My house……. already mortgaged, no savings, they’re all here for my son, nothing….”
“There’s you.” And I fall silent.
He almost laughs. “I saw something in the paper the other day, said the cost of the body if reduced to chemicals was something like a hundred bucks…..”
“…..Dead. But we don’t want you dead. We want you alive and playing with your kid and you need to be ‘fixed up’ ’cause when we’re through with him, as you are now, you won’t be able to keep up”. And I smile, flick my dick just a bit. It may be the greatest sales tool, no pun intended, ever invented. I can see he’s thinking-and looking-and thinking. I can almost watch him decide what to do, some decide more easily but “Don” is carefully weighing out the pros (many) and the cons (none that he’s aware of or, if he is, he’s rationalizing them away.)
“What’ll I have to do?”
As was structured to happen his son, (Don, Jr. we’ll call him.) has found the snipe a.k.a the coach and they’re at the stage of the coach’s interview, who is now wearing a jock, socks and an old T shirt, but is intently listening to his new charge, trying to determine what could be done, what should be done then what are the goals, both the kid’s as well as the company’s. We do nothing that does not in some way either reflect us or enhance us because we also understand that money isn’t always the most desired product.
Our publicity has not always been good or flattering or wanted but, in the main, the negative things really only, if subtly, attracted the clientele we wanted. Our reviews said that we charged a large sum of money to flatter the vanity of our clients. Well, of course our intent is to flatter our clients, why would we do otherwise? You hardly walk into a store to buy a coat then purchase one because the clerk says it’s really not good looking on you. We do not tell our clients that we offer them perfection but we do suggest that if we work together we can accomplish something but just what we cannot know until the work is underway. Both the work we will do on them plus the work they will have to commit to themselves. What the harshest reviews avoid saying as it would destroy their righteous indignation is that we do provide what we claim to be able to do. Singularly missing from these “documented” reports are men who we’ve lead astray, took their money but then did…nothing for them. One of the things we are careful and specific about is to not promise or guarantee what the final product will be. Our only commitment to them is make them in some, perhaps many, ways “better”.
And that latter statement is what the coach has to consider, whether he’s really committed to the massive amount of work and pain that’s involved. But what the coach is also hearing is that this is a kid who desperately trying to please both himself and his father. While coach is aware that there is a father involved, until he begins to hear what his father means to his kid, does he have a sense of guidance as to how this may work out. Claiming to need to use the can, he goes to the bathroom where there’s an in house phone and calls me.
It’s an interesting conversation. We’ve had a few of these situations before, where fathers and sons are almost so bonded that to do something for one but not the other is verging on a crime. The coach and I are both convinced that what we have to determine now is the last thing, the test that determines how much we will do, how far we will go as well as tell us how far they will go in pursuit of what they separately and collectively believe or imagine they want for the other….
The decision to ask some very probing, very potentially disturbing questions now is primary to what will or will not happen next. We’re completely aware of the financials of the father, that this will reduce him to almost basic living with nothing but the knowledge that his son has his dreams, their dreams really, but having given him this gift, he also lost him. That’s the question, restated, for the father. The son who knows their situation and were it not for his father assuring him that, “everything would be alright”, convincing him that this was true would never consent but now they’re here and either they go forward-by now it’s a father and son situation, not just a father for the son-or they go home. I’m watching Don, trying to anticipate just how he’ll ask the question that I know he must ask. And he chooses the simplest way possible;
“ How can I pay for all of this?”
The coach has a somewhat more difficult problem in that he, too, wants to know how the son will allow the father to pay for all this but he must also tell him that what we will do for him, we will also do for his father. In a sense, his answer is the restatement of “How can I pay for all this?”. He asks….
“How can I help my Dad?” Implicitly he has also said, “I’d do anything for him”; We believe that. So it all now goes forward. The first day and the last day has come for both of them.
Our answer is the same to both of them only rephrased depending on their age, no one is under 18, their comprehension of basics and what we feel is their level of desire. In both cases the answer to their question is the same….
“We require that you surrender your testicles.”
We expect shock, sometimes anger, always confusion. Some men walk out, some try and punch me out-an error they would find, I’m not just an employee, I’m a well trained, toned product to whom street fighting is second nature-however many of them just sit there not comprehending at one level and yet…completely understanding at another.
“Take them. It’s little enough to ask…I don’t want anymore kids and if that’s all…”
“And you can keep your money.” I add. Plus…”It’s not the only physical part you’ll possibly surrender but we want you to understand that your testes and their ability to produce sperm and become involved in the physical creative process is what we need for research in some cases, for impregnation in others. We can keep them alive and functioning for a very long time but you must surrender them, realize that in certain ways you will now be sterile, but, as a consequence of our work, not a eunuch in the commonly understood sense. At completion you will be fully functional sexually just not able to reproduce. Actually…” and I show him my cock and balls again… “you’ll probably be far better off.” I hand him a high power magnifying glass.
“Here, look, the slightest scar tissue here where the penis joins the body, under the corona, in the urethral opening….just very tiny stitch marks that without my telling you and you having the ability to look very closely….they don’t exist. Look at these balls, look at the bag they hang in. Stitches, very fine ones but if you look you can see this was created by surgery, micro-surgery but, if you remember the pictures, this isn’t how I started….if you want…something similar can be done for you….” There I stop speaking; He has a lot to think about.
The coach does have to deal with a slightly different reaction. The son is shocked, maybe horrified, but he feels a commitment to his father that is stronger than his future sexual prowess-he doesn’t yet know what he’ll be offered in exchange-and it’s on that he’ll act. He’ll take the deal, no questions asked, coach tells me later he was glad there was no sharp instrument at hand, the kid would have cut them off right there…which isn’t what we had in mind. However it may sound, this is no soda-masochistic ceremony where the donors are brought in, stripped, tied to a rock altar on a high place while a priest of the Mayan/Incan persuasion takes an obsidian knife then slashes off their cocks and balls, holds them on high to the great god whoever asking that their crops be fruitful. Again, we have inverted the equation; To follow on a stupid metaphor, after we’ve taken our ‘Obsidian’ knives, there will be no fruitful crops, not from these guys. Ever.
Bear in mind that, at this point, neither father nor son knows that they have agreed to an identical course of action so when the coach, finally fully dressed, brings the son to his father and me, it’s a genuinely touching if interesting reunion. Obviously, they’ve decided that what they’ve done won’t be told to the other, the fiction that “things have been worked out” is still in play for, as they sit there, coach and I have some bad/good news to share jointly with them. Up to this moment beyond verbal agreements, nothing has been offered to be signed or any form of document committing them to what they say they’ll surrender been produced. This is the time for that. And, I must say, coach and I rather enjoy these infrequent moments of knowing we’re going to genuinely make two guys very happy; It all starts with my producing a single sheet of paper, two pens, placing it in front of them then saying….
“Gentlemen, please sign here, where indicated, surrendering your testicles as well as other associated genitalia to UROBOCO, hereafter known as the “company”. In my mind I make a bet as to who will speak first, it’s usually the kid as they’re not sufficiently sophisticated to hold back.
“Dad, no, I’m gonna give mine but… not yours, no.”
A good father reaches out to his son grabs hold of him, “It’s okay, it’s what I want. What I want for both of us. I just didn’t know that you….” his voice trails off as he realizes that while he has paid for his son, his son has returned the price to his father and paid for him as well. They sign and the next stage begins.
On these days my job is fulfilling, even heartening. I make a note to follow father and son with an eye to helping us recruit more fathers with their sons; We know they’re out there, we know they would do this if they could find the path to our door agree to make a similar, perhaps greater, sacrifice if asked. And I think, I wonder what Don and Don Jr. will do when the next surrenders start? The ones after they’re gelded (my favourite word for castration), when they begin the transformation of which they now only dream but we are already planning.
Although we can never tell Don and Don Jr. they’ve actually seen the zenith of what we can do as well as proving that we do our work to improve men, make them capable of what they are intrinsically able to do but need us to lead them to that. It’s a job we do surpassingly well. Coach, formerly an almost dead Marine we rescued from a VA hospital and me, a failing law clerk…paired as we had the same blood type but now….the show pieces of the company. Objectified? Hell, yes, proud to be….as I scratch that place behind your balls that always itches. May be good for the company but…it’s great for me.
Standing by the coach, my hand on his shoulder, “Well, Marine One, two more men that deserve what they’ll get.”
I often wish we could do a show and tell with Marine One, nothing, no one more exemplifies the after part of before and after.
Standing next to the guy I do not mention my gift; I insisted we wait to graft his cock and balls back until a set that was obscenely large came in. For what he’d been through, it was at once the least and most I could do.
He found out, of course, felt badly but, luck is an ambulance chaser, some unlucky man, hung like a horse, didn’t make it through the intersection but, I can still see Marine One’s face when he stuck his head in my door, “Got some things for you….hustle, not every thing keeps, you’re do in surgery pronto.”
I don’t get it until he slips down his jock then proudly lifts something that once belonged to me.
“Really?”
“Haven’t been dead an hour. Go…..”
And I do.
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