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I Missed Myself
By Nom de Plume
As soon as Dr. Griffin returned to the examination room, I
knew that the news wasn't good. I could tell by the way he
avoided my eyes as he studied his clipboard and fidgeted
with his pen that something was wrong, terribly wrong with
me. The ache in my groin that I had been ignoring for so
long was indication enough, and as the doctor cleared his
throat, I tried to prepare myself for the worst.
"The test results are positive for testicular cancer," he
said abruptly. "Unfortunately, the cancer has spread into
both testicles, and neither one of them can be saved. I am
scheduling you for a bilateral orchiectomy tomorrow morning
if the hospital can fit you in. I am very sorry, Jonathan,
but there is nothing else we can do."
'Nothing else we can do.' The doctor's words haunted me as
I walked out of the medical building and started towards
home, knowing full well that it could all have been so
easily avoided. If only I had gone in for a checkup when
that little lump first appeared in one of my balls last
year, I would have been able to save my manhood. Now, in
less than twenty-four hours, I was going to be castrated.
I was determined to spend my last night as a man. Instead
of walking back to my apartment, I turned around and began
to head downtown, towards Rush Street. I would pick up the
first girl I could find, pay her whatever she wanted, and
screw her until my dick fell off. I wouldn't be needing it
after tomorrow.
***
I fumbled for the light on the nightstand and turned it on.
Five o'clock. In less than two hours, I would be wheeled
into an operating room, and when I woke up, I would be a
eunuch.
I looked down at the girl who had given me my last night as
a man. Her long black hair curled in ringalettes around her
shoulders, and she gazed up at me with deep brown eyes.
Without a word, she reached up for me and pulled me towards
her, and once again we began making slow, exquisite love.
She lowered her head and sucked on me until my weary penis
became hard once again, and then she rolled over on her
back and asked me to take her from behind. As I thrust
myself again and again into her tight ass, tears began to
roll down my cheeks and onto her back, and when I finally
came for the last time, I cried out in despair.
She said nothing as I got dressed and pulled some money out
of my wallet. When I tried to hand it to her, she shook her
head, and handed me a card with her name and number on it.
"Call me when it's over," she said. Before I could respond,
she pressed a finger to my lips. "Did you know you talk in
your sleep?" she asked.
I shook my head. "What did I say?"
"You were crying about something. I thought you were
talking about dying at first, but then you said something
about not being able to have sex ever again."
I started to stammer something, but she cut me off. "You
don't have to tell me anything. I just want you to know
that there is another way for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Just call me after it's over. There's a whole other world
out there for you. I know from experience."
I finished dressing in a hurry and left her without another
word.
***
It was worse than any nightmare. I remember waking up in
the recovery room in a paper gown with a catheter draining
my scrotum, a dull ache from where my balls used to be.
When I was able to sit up and pull back the covers, I saw
an empty sac and two bandages along my "bikini line." As
Dr. Griffin explained it to me before I went under, the
surgeon made two 4 inch incisions in my lower abdomen,
pushed my balls up through my pelvic region, and out they
came. A snip here, a stitch there, and I was no longer a
man. I lay my head back on my pillow, and cried myself to
sleep.
I was released from the hospital the following day, and
spent the next week listlessly lolling around my apartment
as my scars slowly healed. The pain soon subsided, and
although I felt better physically than I had in months, I
fell into a deep depression. Dr. Griffin had assured me
that the cancer had been completely eliminated, and he told
me that testosterone injections to restore my hormonal
balance would begin after my follow-up examination in a few
days.
Living alone, with no close friends or relatives nearby, I
had been too ashamed to tell anybody about my loss. Life no
longer seemed worth living. I must have been starved for
human contact. But most of all, I missed myself, the man I
used to be. For the hundredth time, I pulled her card out
of my wallet, only this time I reached for the phone and
punched in her number. She answered it on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Is this Angela?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"Jonathan." It occurred to me that she didn't know my last
name. "We met at Gibson's last week. You gave me your
card."
"Of course. How are you?"
"Pretty bad."
"When can I see you?" Her voice was firm, businesslike.
"I don't know. I don't even know why I called you."
Suddenly all the feelings that I had bottled up came
pouring out. She just listened as I sobbed my story to her
over the phone.
"Where are you now?" she asked.
"In my apartment." I gave her the address.
"I'll be there in half an hour," she said.
I hadn't shaved in almost a week, although my beard was
hardly noticeable. That's what happens when you have your
balls cut off, I thought morosely as I scrubbed my lean
body in the shower and shampooed my long, thick hair. I was
barely finished dressing when the buzzer rang.
She was as gorgeous as I remembered, tall and beautifully
built, and she had an overnight bag slung over her
shoulder. I asked her to sit down, and tried to think of
something to say to her as I stared at her beautiful legs.
She was wearing a short skirt and a white shirt tied above
her navel, but I felt nothing.
"I know how you feel," she said at length.
"Do you? Do you have any idea what it's like for a man to
look at a beautiful girl, and to be dead below the waist?"
"Yes, I do."
I stared at her in shock.
"Two years ago, I was raped in prison. A men's prison," she
added.
My head was spinning. What was she? A transvestite? She
couldn't be. After all, I had made love to her five times.
Oh, my God. She used to be a guy. My last night as a man,
and I had spent it with a girl who used to be a guy.
"I know what you must be thinking," she said softly.
"Please don't hate me. I wouldn't have come here if I
didn't care about you, and I think I can help you."
I was completely shattered. "Just leave me alone," I said
weakly.
"When I woke up in the prison hospital, they told me what
happened to me," she said with a faraway look in her eyes.
"It took two of them to hold me down while the third one
screwed my from behind. When I kicked him in the face and
broke his nose, he went crazy and cut off my balls with a
knife. I almost bled to death."
I stared at her in horror. This beautiful girl, the last
woman I would ever know, had been through something like
that, and now she wanted to help me. Compared to what she
went through, my operation seemed like a trip to the
dentist. How could I not listen to her?
"I was released from prison as soon as my stitches healed,
and I tried to get my life back together. I used to work at
a bank before I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
I was trying to find a job when a public assistance lawyer
called me. It turned out that the goon who did this to me
was a major dealer, and he had a lot of money. They went
after his assets, and I got a nice settlement. Enough to
have an operation."
I sat transfixed as she went on. "I'm gay, but I never
thought about becoming a woman. But once I lost my balls,
the doctors told me I could make it as a chick and have a
normal sex life. So I decided, what do I have to lose?"
"You're beautiful," I blurted out. "Nobody would ever
know."
"Thanks," she blushed. "And you know what? I love being a
girl now. And I think you would too."
"No way," I said. "I'm not gay."
"So what? Face the facts. You got neutered, same as me. So
you're not a man any more. You've got two choices. You can
take testosterone shots for the rest of your life and try
to get it up, if your head lets you. Or you can go the
other way."
"I don't want to be a woman."
"Look at yourself. Just like me, you're pretty, thin and
short for a guy. I would never have suggested this if you
didn't have all the ingredients. We already know how you
feel about spending the rest of your life without any
balls. Why not find out what it feels like to be a
beautiful woman? Who knows, you might just like it."
It was all so incredibly bizarre. An hour ago, I was
resigned to a barren existence. Now a total stranger was
opening another door, to a place which terrified me. What
would people say? Yet as I looked at her, watched her move
and listened to the way she talked, the whole notion
somehow seemed less preposterous.
"What makes you think I'd like it," I heard myself ask.
"Maybe you won't. Why don't we find out? I brought some
things with me, in case you'd like to try. Just for fun.
What do you say?"
How could I say no? After a week going stir crazy in my
apartment, a beautiful girl wanted to dress me up in her
clothes. Okay, so she used to be a guy. What did I have to
lose?
"If you want to," I said with a shrug.
With that, she stood up and opened her suitcase on the
sofa. She pulled out a dress and held it up to me. "Just as
I thought, we're the same size. This is going to look cute
on you."
Before I could respond, she started digging through the
suitcase until she found a pair of low heeled pumps.
"The moment of truth," she said. "Try these on."
I steadied myself on her shoulder as I tried to jam my foot
into one of her shoes, but it wouldn't quite fit.
"Sit down," she ordered, and as I fell back into my chair,
she produced a knee high stocking and rolled it part way up
my leg. "Try it again," she said, and this time, my foot
slid into her shoe without difficulty.
"Success," she said. Eyeing the hair, which was matted
under the stocking, she ordered me into the bathroom with
instructions to shave off everything below my neck.
In a daze, I did as I was told. As I sat in the tub shaving
my legs, I tried to get a grip on what was happening to me.
Becoming a eunuch had been devastating enough. Could I cope
with becoming a woman? I never wanted this, I told myself,
but I never wanted to lose my balls either. Was Angela
right? There was something about her, an inner strength and
self-confidence, which had been missing in me since my
operation. Up until my last night as a man, I used to be a
take charge guy. Now I was drifting, and even contemplating
suicide in my darkest moments. Something about her made me
want to live again.
She broke my reverie with a bang on the bathroom door.
"Come on, sister, we don't have all day!" she shouted. "Get
your ass out here."
I toweled myself off, marveling at the sensation as the air
cooled my denuded body. All of my body hair was gone except
for a tiny patch above my now useless package. I wrapped
the towel around myself and returned to my living room.
"In here," she called, and I followed her voice into my
bedroom.
Arrayed on my bed were the dress, a slip, a bra, and a pair
of pantyhose. She was holding a pair of panties in her
hands.
She tugged at the towel and it dropped to the floor. My
dick hung limply as I stepped into her panties and pulled
them up my legs. Before I could finish, she reached down
and tucked my penis between my legs. My empty scrotum
folded around it, and presto! For all the world, I looked
like I had a vagina.
Shaken, I let her put the bra through my arms and fasten it
behind my back. I watched in silence as she stuffed the
cups with knee-highs. When she spun me around to face the
mirror on my closet door, my mouth dropped. Looking back at
me were two girls, and the one in a bra and panties was me.
With her smooth arms and legs and the illusion of breasts,
she was definitely female. I stared at myself in shock as
Angela began to brush my shoulder-length hair, muttering to
herself as she tugged on the tangles.
"Ouch!" I said.
"Better get used to it, sweetheart. You have a beautiful
head of hair, and without that testosterone in your system,
you're going to get to keep it now. I don't have time to
style it today, but if we can just - get - these - damn -
tangles out of your hair, I'll make you presentable. Do you
ever wear a ponytail?"
"Sometimes, when I'm jogging or playing softball."
"Good. It's gonna look a little different," she said as she
wrapped a scrunchie around my hair.
She pulled it higher up the back of my head than I was used
to, and played with it until I had bangs over my forehead
and spit curls over my ears. If I thought I looked feminine
before, I was really bowled over now.
"Okay, let's see what we can do with this pretty face of
yours," she said.
She sat me down on the edge of the bed and went to work
with her cosmetics. I had to close my eyes as she brushed
and powdered me, not quite believing that a pretty girl who
used to be a guy was giving me a makeover. I stared at her
as she applied a coat of lipstick to my lips, and when she
was finished, she gave me a big smile.
"Wow. I'm a miracle worker. Look at yourself!"
She was right. My face had been totally transformed into a
girl's. And I was pretty. I just sat there and stared at
myself in the mirror as she started to work on my nails.
They hadn't been clipped in weeks, and she was able to
shape and file them into a presentable shape. After she
applied a coat of quick dry polish, she had me hold my
hands up to dry as she smoothed moisturizing cr?me over my
legs and arms. In all my life, I had never experienced
anything like the sensation of being pampered like this.
Finally, after all the trauma of my operation and recovery,
I felt like I was beginning to come alive again.
But I was unprepared for what happened next. "Let's see if
you can figure out how to put on your pantyhose," she said
with a giggle.
I picked up the flimsy nylons and tried to get my foot into
one of the legs.
"No, stop!" she laughed. "You'll put your toes right
through them. Here, bunch them up, one foot at a time, and
slide them up your legs."
I followed her instructions, and as the stockings started
to caress my smooth skin, I began to feel a stirring in my
dormant penis. Incredulous, I stared as it stiffened and
strained against my panties, until it popped to attention
before her startled eyes.
"Whoa," she said. "Where did that come from?"
I blushed furiously as I finished pulling my pantyhose up
over my waist, a pronounced bulge now showing.
"Good thing I brought you a slip," she said, and she told
me to step into it and pull it up over my shoulders.
As the silky fabric brushed against my nylons and the
smooth skin on my back, my erection intensified. I didn't
understand what was happening to me, but it felt wonderful
to be aroused again, even under such bizarre circumstances.
"Okay, Missy, let's get this dress on you before we both
change our minds," she said.
I was about to ask her what she meant when she started to
lower it over my head, and when I could see again, I could
only stare at my reflection in the full length mirror as
she zipped me up from behind. My dress was blue with little
white flowers, and it had a high ruffled collar and a
gathered waist. The hem fell just above my knees, and she
tugged it down to make sure it covered my slip. Then she
put the pumps down on the floor in front of me, and once
again I steadied myself on her as I stepped into them. I
actually gasped when I saw the total effect. My legs looked
sensational in heels and stockings.
The next hour was a blur as she instructed me on how to
walk in my heels, and gave me tips and pointers on how to
sit down in my dress, cross my legs, and hold my hands as I
walked. I remember her putting clip-on earrings on my ears
and fastening a pendant around my neck, and surprising me
with a few spritzes of her cologne. As I started to get
used to the strange sensation of wearing woman's clothing,
the arousal in my panties reached a plateau, as if the
exquisite moment before orgasm could last forever.
The spell broke when she filled a purse up with a lipstick,
compact, and tissues and told me it was time to go.
"Go where?" I asked.
"It's time for a late lunch and some shopping."
"I'm not going anywhere like this!"
"Do you think I went to all this trouble for nothing? You
are taking me to lunch, and then we girls are going to do
some shopping. Understood?"
What could I say? Angela had been so nice to me, and I did
desperately want to get out of my apartment. But looking
like this? What would people say?
"Don't worry, nobody is going to recognize you," she said,
as if reading my mind. "You are 100% girl now, and I
wouldn't be surprised if we got picked up. Only kidding!"
she added when a look of panic came over my face. "I'm not
about to share you with anybody. Now let's go."
My knees were shaking as I put my keys into my purse and
slung it over my shoulder. I followed two steps behind her
as we walked down the hall and waited for an elevator. When
the elevator doors started to open, I must have jumped.
"Relax," she whispered as we went inside.
There were two guys in it, who I knew casually from the
health club, and I stared at the lights indicating the
floor numbers as we rode down in silence. When the doors
opened, Angela stepped outside, and I stood for a second
before I realized that the guys were waiting for me to
leave first. I hurried after Angela and caught up with her
as another guy was holding the front door open for us.
"Didn't you used to wait for the ladies?" she asked as I
fell in alongside her. "It's nice having guys open doors
for you. Almost makes up for having to stand in line at the
ladies room."
I tried to keep up with her in my heels, gradually taking
shorter steps as I got my rhythm.
"Don't look at your feet," she scolded me. "You're a
beautiful girl out on the town on a lovely summer
afternoon. Swing those hips a little, and make like you've
been doing this all your life."
She spied an Italian restaurant with out outdoor seating
area and disappeared inside the door. When I caught up with
her, she was asking for a table for two outside. We were
escorted to a corner table under a market umbrella, and I
waited for the maitre'd to pull back my chair and hand me
my napkin.
"You're catching on," she said after he left us with our
menus. "Better let me do all the talking. You haven't had a
chance to work on your voice. Don't worry, it's okay
between us girls, but if you're like I was, you'll have
stage fright the first time you try it out on a stranger."
She ordered chardonnay and salads for each of us, and for
the next couple of hours we were just two ladies at lunch,
talking about nothing in particular as we sipped our wine
and got to know each other. She obviously missed intimate
human companionship as much as I did, and as she related
her checkered past, I could feel a strange bond developing
between us. When did she discover she was gay? How did her
family react? What made her decide to steal from the bank?
"I'm not sure when they finally disowned me," she sighed.
"By the time I went to prison, they had written me off
completely, and they have no idea what happened to me."
The sweet feeling in my panties spiked when I crossed my
legs and felt the delicious nylon rub against my smooth
skin.
"When did you become a hooker?" I asked.
She actually laughed. "The nerve of you! Trust me, the job
market for transsexuals with felony convictions is not so
hot. Besides, how else would I get to meet nice people like
you? Speaking of which, we need to give you a name."
"A name?"
"How many girls do you know named Jonathan? Let's see, how
about Jennifer? You won't have to change the initials on
your towels."
"Is that how you came up with Angela?"
"No, I chose Angela because I came back as an angel."
I reached over the table and held her hand. "You are an
angel. For what you did for me that night, and for what you
did for me today."
"Your new life is just beginning. After lunch, the next
best thing is shopping."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that?"
"Today we'll just concentrate on essentials. Like shoes."
She motioned for our waiter to bring the check, and reached
into her purse for her wallet.
"Let me pay for this," I said, realizing as I said it that
I had no money with me.
"That's okay, my treat. Besides, you've got to get used to
other people picking up the check. One of the many
advantages of being a woman."
She showed me how to fix my lipstick in my compact mirror,
and then we were back out on the sidewalk. She stopped at
the window of a smart shoe store on Michigan Avenue and
started to point out some styles to me.
"You weren't kidding," I said.
"Jennifer, we have to get you some shoes that you can wear
without stockings. You're lucky it's not too hot out
today."
I looked longingly at her bare legs and midriff, and
wondered if I would ever have the confidence to go outside
like that. Then I looked at my reflection in the plate
glass window. Here I was, standing on Michigan Avenue in a
dress and high heels, wondering whether I could wear a
belly shirt.
She caught my smile and gave me a hug. "I think you like
this," she said.
Before I could answer, she went inside. She asked to see a
pair of black low heeled pumps, one size larger than the
ones I was wearing.
When the salesman returned with them, she pretended to try
them on, and then said, "They're too big for me, Jen, but
I'll bet they'd be perfect on you. Go ahead and try them
on."
I sat down nervously and pulled my dress down over my knees
as the salesman, a young man with long hair and an earring,
slid one of my shoes off and slipped Angela's selection on
my foot. It fit perfectly. He put the other shoe on me, and
I minced around the store, practicing little turns before I
returned to my seat.
"How are they, Ma'am?" he asked me.
I nodded and smiled, and he took them off and boxed them up
for me. Ma'am. I had just been called Ma'am. I looked over
at Angela, who had a huge grin on her face. She paid for my
shoes, and we went back out onto Michigan Avenue, laughing
as we walked along. We spent the next few hours poking into
shops, spending the most time at a large drugstore where
Angela helped me select a complete assortment of cosmetics,
sponges, brushes, and hair accessories. Finally, laden down
with packages, we headed back to my apartment, and this
time I strode up to the elevator with confidence and smiled
at the people inside as we rode up to my floor.
After we went inside, I kicked off my heels and collapsed
onto the couch. She sat down next to me and started to rub
my sore toes through my nylons. The sweet feeling between
my legs was turning into an ache of desire.
"Did you enjoy being a girl today?" she asked.
"More than anything I've done in a long time. You know,
it's funny, but I'm almost glad this happened to me."
"Almost?"
She took my face in her hands, and kissed me on the lips. I
responded instinctively, and the next thing I knew she was
reaching up my dress and pulling down my hose and panties.
My aching penis throbbed as she took it into her mouth, and
she caressed my empty ball sack as she sucked on me. When I
was a man, a blowjob never failed to get me off almost
instantly, but now I rocked back and forth as the feeling
of pure ecstasy went on and on. Suddenly, I felt the old
familiar spasms, and I cried out as I ejaculated weakly
into her mouth. My penis went limp before I was done, and a
wave of revulsion swept over me as I fell back onto the
couch.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
I was crying as I tried to explain. "I hate this! I'm a
guy, not a girl. I want my old life back."
"Yes! Thank you, God," she said as she fell down onto my
chest.
"What did you say?" I asked her as I fought back my tears.
"Sit up, Jonathan, I'll tell you what just happened." She
waited while I adjusted my panties and stockings, then she
pulled off my scrunchie and began stroking my hair as I
stifled my sobs. "I spent a lot of time with shrinks and
doctors before I had my operation. There are two ways a guy
in your situation can react to what you just went through.
If he is a transsexual, like I am, he wants nothing more
than to stay a woman forever. But if he's a normal guy, or
sometimes even a transvestite, once he has an orgasm, he
feels ashamed of himself. Sorry, Jonathan, but you're not
girl material."
There were so many things I did not understand. "How was I
able to get off?"
"Your body still has a residual amount of testosterone in
it, just like a transsexual on hormone therapy. You've seen
those porno videos featuring chicks with dicks getting
off."
The thought did not appeal to me. "Why did it take me so
long to come?"
"Because you've been emasculated, silly!" She could see
that this cut me to the quick, and she took my hand. "I'm
sorry, Jonathan, but don't you realize what this means? You
haven't lost your mojo! You had your balls cut off, and you
were still able to have sex, great sex. Once you start
taking testosterone shots, you're going to be a stallion."
"How about what you said?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said 'Yes, thank you God.' What did you mean by that?"
"Guys really are dense sometimes," she sighed. "I love you
as a man, can't you tell that? I may be a lot of things,
but one thing I'm not is a lesbian."
"Then why make me go through with this charade?" I asked,
pointing at my dress with a manicured finger.
"I took a calculated risk. I knew that you would never want
me once you found out I used to be a guy, unless you had a
taste of what I went through. So I took a chance. Did my
girlish deception succeed?"
This time I took her face in my hands, and when I kissed
her, the old familiar feeling came back once more. Slowly,
lovingly, we undressed each other, and when I took her, it
was as a man, face to face, her beautiful breasts against
my smooth chest, her long legs wrapped around my back. Like
before, my erection seemed to last for an eternity, and
when I finally came, it was a whisper of things to come.
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