Inversion free porn video

As I grew older, so grew the feeling that some portions of the potentials in life were, or already had, passed by me. Before I tell you my story, allow me to present for your consideration the frustrations I dealt with on a near daily basis or in other words, some of my history. I was pretty much your normal geeky sort of kid as a teenager, dealing with all the usual problems that come during that so turbulent period in a young persons life we all call puberty and youth, the time we seek to discover our role and purpose in life. After high school, I found college and I were not suited for one another and left to seek whatever else life might send my way. I eventually found the woman I was to marry and father two wonderful kids with, only to find, after 25 years, that she was unhappy and wanted "a change of life style", which I sadly granted. I had spent the majority of those 25 years trying to figure out what exactly would make her happy and had obviously failed to do so. Our kids were grown and now young adults by this point in our shared lives and so when my ex and I parted ways, I was once again on my own. Sex, which had never been a major component of our marriage, was now totally a thing of the past and I was left to the sad world so many share, that of self-gratification as my only means of affection. With the ever-increasing passage of time, my imagination became my sole means of self-solace and it's growing expansion soon led me into worlds I'd never before imagined. Herein lies the crux of this retelling, how said imagination led me to go through what I have to become what I now am; what might be called for lack of a better description, an inverted she-male. To begin this recounting of all I've been through, allow me to start with the loathing time came to give me for those male parts of my anatomy, my penis and testicles. I was never what one might be called even average in development, stuck as fate would have it with barely 5" of maleness and testicles that hung further from my body than did the tip of my penis when fully erect. As time passed, and as many of those men who read this can attest, erections become fewer and fewer and lasted for ever-shorter periods of time. Boxer shorts were never my favorite style of underwear simply because they did nothing to contain or control the position of my parts sufficient for comfort and I was continually groping my crotch to reposition my privates so they weren't being pinched or in a worse-case scenario, sat upon. Because I have always had something of a pooch for a stomach, Jockey Shorts never fit me properly either and it wasn't until I resumed living alone that one day I decided to try a pair of women's panties and found they did everything I had sought for years, holding my parts in a comfortable position for an entire day without the need for "adjustment". Thus began my venture into the world of women's panties and I soon had a collection of them sufficient to meet my daily needs between washings. As one might expect, I began with simple white cotton that might easily be mistaken for men's underwear but this eventually and almost inevitably morphed into more and more styles and materials until my collection resembled that of almost any woman's lingerie drawer, based only on my memories of my ex-wife's panty drawer. Now, before I go any further with this story, let me assure you who read this that I have never once had any manner of interest in being "gay" or in becoming a woman. But as you will soon read, I did come to loath the parts I'd been born with and did develop an unreasonable and very intense envy of certain parts of a woman's anatomy. And this envy did not and does not include those external attributes most men, including myself, find so gloriously attractive and appealing; their breasts, oh no, not me... Instead I envied those hidden parts that lay secretly nestled between their legs. This envy, as it developed and grew over the years, was not for reasons one might at first imagine. It was not that I might experience penetration. It was instead, the result of the ever-increasing loathing I came to have for my male parts and the deformed nature of them in my eyes and imagination. You see, with the passage of time, I came to love the underwear I had taken to wearing so much that, at least to my way of thinking, my parts deformed their appearance and fit so much that I eventually sought the help of some professional counseling. I knew my thinking on this was quite abnormal and it disturbed me greatly but I simply couldn't help how I felt. I tried everything before finally seeking professional help, too. I tried taping my parts up, in and back, which helped but was, after a very short period of time, uncomfortable beyond description. Utilizing the Internet, ordered a fake vagina which I could put into place and included a tube through which I was able to urinate but this didn't work our either, for a number of reasons I'll not go into. Tucking alone didn't work either because once I had to pee, it was simply too awkward and bothersome to reposition my parts back into place again. Over the course of at least a year or so, I told all of this to my counselor, a woman about my own age (mid-fifties) who one day stunned me to speechlessness when she suggested I undergo an orchiectomy and possibly even a penectomy. I had to ask her what these were and when she explained the first meant castration and the second, the removal of one's penis, I was without words for quite some time. I had never once thought of such a drastic act and to have it now suggested to me by a professional was, well, quite a shock. I left her office that day promising to think it over, too taken aback to discuss it further until I had time to think it over. At home and for the next couple of weeks, it's all I could think of when I had time to do so. It led me to go on the Internet and do some research on the subject, most of which dealt with transsexuals, people seeking to fully change their sex physically to satisfy the emotional turmoil that stems from the feeling they're men who should be women, definitely not the case for me. Becoming a woman, wearing female clothing, having breasts and so on held no interest for me beyond what lies between a woman's legs, the smooth flat nothingness that comes with the absence of male parts. And yet, there was a part of me that didn't want to give up all sex and to become a eunuch so I wondered if there was maybe another way. Maybe give up my balls but keep my penis? Or how about some kind of surgery where I could push my penis inside of me somehow and have it remain there until I had to use it to pee after which I could simply push it back inside? Don't ask me why, to this day I don't know, but the thought never occurred to me to have what's called SRS surgery; i.e.: have my crotch surgically remade to appear like a woman's. But during my next appointment with my counselor, after I had presented all the crazy ideas I'd come up with as possible solutions to my inner turmoil, that's exactly what she suggested. We got into a long discussion of all the potential ramifications of any manner of surgery, especially those of my giving up my testicles. Hormone loss and all the accompanying health implications such as bone density loss, loss of muscle mass and so on, all of which can and should be compensated for via HRT, or hormone replacement therapy. She went on to explain the basics of SRS surgery, what was done and how as well as what her research had told her about the post-op satisfaction of those who had gone through the procedure. I was very open in expressing to her my doubts about taking such a drastic step, primarily my concerns about retaining some ability to enjoy sexual gratification and enjoyment. "Let me assure you," she said laughing, "Women enjoy sex, too." And then she went on to explain further how the nerve endings contained with a male penis are used to construct a very workable and functioning clitoris during the surgery, assuring me I would and will be able to enjoy this aspect as much if not more than I have what I was born with. Not being at all ignorant about female anatomy, I then asked her about self-lubrication that in women comes from, among other sources, their Bartholen's Gland. "Such surgeries as I'm suggesting are, these days, fully inclusive. If you wish, transplants can be done of this gland, the so-called G-Spot and can include the removal of your Prostate Gland, which I would recommend." She then launched into a discourse of the innumerable toys available for women to use for masturbatory relief and enjoyment, explaining how many of them can be worn and used during the course of an ordinary day and even while working. I left her office that day with much information running through my thoughts and a huge decision facing me at some point; what, if anything, am I going to do? So distraught and confused was I after this appointment that I called and cancelled my next one with her. For the next month it was all I could do to not think of the dilemma I faced, the decision looming and me not wishing to make it. I became obsessed, however, with photos on the Internet of women wearing panties such as those found on the Victoria's Secret website. I so wanted that smooth, empty look and fit and yet I dreaded the decision it would take for me to have what I so desperately want. Never having had any kind of surgery, I was scared and I'll admit it. I'm also a woozy when it comes to pain and I know there'll be more than a little of that after I come out of the OR. But, even more than this, is how drastic the decision to do this, to go this far would be. And that of the changes themselves, what will it be like? I guess what I'm saying is that getting rid of my hated balls and cock are one thing, but the thought of what I might have in their place just hadn't entered my mind until now. Being rid of my "outies" is one thing, but to replace them with an "innie" is yet another. And yet, the more I think about it, the more feasible the concept becomes. Why couldn't, or shouldn't, I go for it? Over time and between my seeing my Psychiatrist again, I finally reached a decision, I'm going to do it, and I'm going to ask her how can I have it done. But, much to my surprise and initial chagrin, the next time I met with her she did everything she could to talk me out of it. I only learned later that this was her professional tactic to make sure I knew what I wanted and understood all the consequences and ramifications of my decision. Once she was sure I knew what I wanted and understood everything about the impact it would have on my life, did she tell me of the number of women she had treated over the years who despised their breasts and wanted them removed, some for preventative measures to avoid breast cancer and some for other, more emotional reasons. "Professionally, I can find no difference in medical reasoning between you and these women, you both seek relief for a profound displeasure with some part of your bodies." Thus she granted my request and sent me on my way until she could makes the arrangements for my surgery. Time passed me by with interminable slowness until one day about two months later when I received a phone call from her asking me to come in to see her again. When I did so she told me of the date set for my operation, it's location and what I would need to do to prepare for it. The day's finally arrived and I'm in the airport waiting to catch my flight, scared to death and having innumerable second thoughts over what I'm about to do, or have done. I'm to check in immediately after I get to the clinic and my surgery's scheduled for the first thing tomorrow morning. Then I face a good two months or more of healing and recovery before I can resume what will then be my normal life... if being a guy with a vagina can be considered anything close to normal. I'm quite surprised to find I fell asleep during the flight, probably because I haven't slept at all well for the past several days. I catch a cab outside the airport and give the driver the address to the clinic. A short half-hour ride and I'm here, scared to death. Giving my name to the receptionist behind the front desk, I'm immediately ushered to what's to be my room where I'm told to undress completely and to put on the proto-typical hospital gown the nurse hands me. Then it's on to the usual hospital procedures of blood draws, blood pressure checks and so on as they check me in medically. What happened next was unexpected but not surprising when I thought about it as one of the nurses came in and shaved my crotch completely. The strangest aspect of this procedure came to mind when I realized this was to be the very last time anyone other than myself would ever touch those parts of me, at least while I'm wide-awake. I got nothing to eat of course, nor had I had anything solid for the past week if only to empty my bowels as completely as I could, per my psychiatrist's recommendation. Since it was already late afternoon and too early to go to bed for the night, I was told I could get dressed again and maybe take a walk around the grounds. I did so and when I came back to my room as shadows from the setting sun began to lengthen, I found the nurse assigned to my section ready and willing to bring me something to help me get to sleep. I don't remember much of what happened the following morning or until I kind of woke up in the recovery room. Pain, lot's of pain is about all I can remember before I fell back asleep. When I woke up again, the pain had greatly lessened although it was still there. I'll not go into all I went through in the recovery process; you can read about what it's like on any SRS site on the web. Suffice it to say I had a lot of second thoughts as I went through the process of healing and recovery as the pain and discomfort finally turned into something resembling normalcy. Learning to pee again was difficult at first, the muscles girls use to control and relax their bladders are different from the ones guys use, as I quickly discovered after they finally removed my Foley Catheter. Dilation was a major pain at first too, and not "in the ass" either, but this gradually ebbed until the pain was non-existent, albeit nothing close to as pleasurable as my psychiatrist promised me it will be. Much as I had thought I wouldn't need one, my 'donut pillow" was my best friend for the first couple of months while my "bottom" healed. I call it this simply because I discovered girls really do "sit on their sex"; this region is that close to their, and now my, butt. I remained in the area close by the clinic while I healed and recovered sufficiently to comfortably sit without my donut. As I had planned to do, I waited to return home until I could wear panties without any bandages or pads. I just wanted to be able to walk through the airports at both ends of my flight home as normally as possible. When the day came that the surgeon who operated on me told me I was fully recovered and released from any follow-up appointments, I booked my flight. I was still somewhat numb and devoid of feeling by that day, but in no pain whatsoever. I still have a road to hoe, however, I have to retrain myself physically before I'll be able to learn to enjoy what I now have down there, or so my doctor here at home tells me. I've been told I must continue to dilate but she (my doctor) has suggested I use something other than the stents I brought back with me. When I had my first appointment with her after I got back, she gave me a list of suggested "toys" I might get and try out, laughingly calling them "medical appliances". Among some of her other suggestions were that I start wearing panty liners for the times when my new Bartholen's Gland "leaked", as she put it, and that I strongly consider douching on a regular basis since women do have an occasional problem with unpleasant odors. I followed all of her suggestions, making several trips to the adult bookstores around town just to find everything she had "prescribed" and picking up everything else at the local drug store. All in all, it took almost a year before I had the intense pleasure of my first orgasm and its something I'll not soon forget. In case you're wondering, yes...it was very different but more intense? Not the first one although they have improved greatly. The real question in your minds I'm sure I have yet to answer is was it worth all I've gone through? Yes, most definitely! The emptiness between my legs now is quite satisfying and even rewarding and I love how my panties fit me now. I can even wear styles and cuts I couldn't before, like v-string bikinis and even thongs. Being able to sit down now and cross my legs without having to bother with readjusting myself in order to do so comfortably is worth everything I went through to achieve this wonderful state of being. Having to drop my pants just to take a leak is such a small price to pay and so inconsequential in the larger scheme of things that I pay it no mind at all. Sexually, I'm still learning to enjoy my new parts and it's been a wonderfully satisfying journey thus far. I've discovered multiple orgasms and guys, we have no idea what we're missing, trust me. And the toys, or "medical appliances" my doctor recommended? Again, guys have no idea what they're missing. +++ It's been right about a year now since I had my operation and I have absolutely no regrets over having made the decision I did. I'm quite sure a lot of guys who may read this story will think I'm nuts, and maybe I am. However, my peace of mind is more important by far than what they may or may not think about me. I'm no longer controlled by my "little head" as I once was and yet, on the other hand, my sex drive is as active as ever, if not increased. The ability to have multiple orgasms alone is well worth everything I've put myself through. I thought, prior to my surgery, that I would eventually become used to the emptiness down there but that's not turned out to be the case. Instead, I'm almost constantly aware of it and I'm reminded of it in any number of ways throughout each and every day. For a long time after my operation there was one aspect of life that I sorely missed, however, physical interaction with another human being My collection of sex toys have provided an immeasurable amount of relief in this area but it just wasn't the same. Never having had a gay thought in my entire life, I found this didn't change after my operation although I love the sensations that come with being penetrated. And of course, since there's not a lot I can do for most normal women, I was out of luck there, too. Resigned to this effect of my decision, I felt settled and basically content with my rather solitary life-style, or at least so I thought. It took the last several sessions with my psychiatrist (Yes, I'm still seeing her) to bring this out into the open, my loneliness that is. Mind you, I didn't feel depressed or think I acted that way but she sensed it somehow and eventually brought it out into the open. She doesn't think it's actual depression but that it's instead more a matter of the burden of keeping this secret about myself and feeling unable to share it with anyone. During my last two sessions with her we explored these feelings and my sexual inclinations (gay or straight) as she sought to define a suitable course of treatment. My case is a difficult one, she admitted to me, since I'm not really completely male any longer, for me to have or want sex with another man wouldn't really be considered gay any more than would my having it with a woman. So it's really a matter of which gender I'm more interested in having some manner of physical relationship with. I guess that due to the low-level Testosterone HRT I'm on, my sexual inclinations remain much the same as they've always been, toward women. That this therapy's not interfered with the physical reaction to sexual stimulus in my vagina (I get good and wet very easily) my only concern about having a relationship with a woman is two fold; finding one who won't be at all put off by what I've done and two, figuring out how to satisfy her physically and sexually. I mean, what woman would want to have a relationship with a man who can't fulfill her needs? All of these thoughts and more constituted much of my concept about my situation before my last appointment. My doctor then cleared up many of my concerns and misgivings when she suggested I give some consideration to seeking out bi-sexual women, explaining unnecessarily that their mixed interests might be my solution. It was like a light bulb coming on inside my mind, why in hell hadn't I thought of this before? We also spent some time talking about how I might make such a connection. After all, I can't just walk up to some gal I'd like to hit on and say to her, "Oh, by the way..." now could I? After some further discussion, one avenue she suggested was for me to "advertise" in one or more of the alternative newspapers that are available. Now all I have to do is come up with the wording of such an ad and see if it will work for me. After spending some time on it, here is what I came up with: "Man seeking open-minded, bi-sexual woman. One-on-one relationship sought, meeting requested to determine mutual interest." "Man seeking woman who doesn't want children, preferably bi-sexual for personal, quality relationship. Let's meet and talk." "Non-threatening man seeking bi-sexual woman who is looking for male companionship and company. Meeting will explain further." All of the above ads included requests for photos with a promise I'd provide mine in return to those who showed enough interest to respond to the blind box at the paper containing my ad, if what they had to say in their response letter interested me. The next day, I put the ads in three different alternative papers around town and then sat back, so to speak, to await the results, if any. I began getting responses about a week and a half after I placed the ads, only a few at first but by the end of that week I'd received around 20 or so. I quickly discarded 12 of them after determining they were from out-and-out perverts or wackos. Going through the remaining ones, I picked out four to meet with and put together a response to two of them, including my phone number if they'd not given me theirs, which the other two had. All four of the ones I responded to are reasonably good-looking ladies and in their late 30's to early 40's. I sat down one evening after mailing out the letters to call the two ladies who'd given me their numbers and see if we might meet. I've discussed what to tell them with my doctor and we agreed to hold off telling them everything about me until I decide I'd like to take it further with any one or more of them. As she put it, "seeking personal relationship" said all I needed to say about what I'm looking for and the goal for me is to make them want me. At that point I'll tell them about my operation and what I have now. If they're still interested, we'll go from there. As it turns out, neither of the first two women were quite what I'm looking for, one being an almost blatant man-hater and the other was kind of whiney and bitchy about her life in general. When I got the second letter from the two I'd had to ask for their numbers, I called them and set up a meeting with each of them. One turned out to be less attractive in person than her photo indicated but the fourth was worth investing some time and money in, a lady named Alicia, or as she said she preferred being called, Alli. So we began dating by going to a lot of public places in the beginning, such as restaurants, movies and the theater. As summer approached, we started taking walks and going on picnics, both of which are somewhat more private. I asked nothing of her background beyond getting an early verbal confirmation of her sexual proclivities and later, as we got to know each other better, she told me more about herself and her interests. She had been married for about ten years but her ex left her when they discovered she couldn't conceive. She'd had a couple of flings with girlfriends while in college and found she'd liked it and so had been thinking seriously about returning to the "life" as she called it, feeling somewhat soured on men by her experience with marriage. As our relationship grew deeper but not yet going beyond hand holding, hugging and the occasional kiss, she told me she enjoyed being a girl and couldn't see herself ever becoming what she called a "man-hating butch dyke." This is the one aspect of coming out as a lesbian she said she would probably regret, associating with other women she said nearly dominate that life style. When she told me this I decided the time had come for me to tell her about myself, using a mysterious illness as the cause for my "condition." A couple of reasons behind my decision to "come out" to Alli are her love of being a girl and the statement she once made to me that if she ever did come out as a Lesbian she would be what is called a "lipstick lesbian", one who continues to dress and act very much a lady in public. That she doesn't hate men but is instead just turned off by the physical aspect of intimacy with them also helps considerably. So I decide to ask her back to my place after our next date, explaining that there's something I want to talk with her about it private, nothing more. After taking Alli to a nice restaurant where we had a wonderful meal and then a walk along the river, I asked her the planned question about talking with her regarding something best discussed in private. She agreed, as I'd thought she would, so I hailed a cab and had it take us to my place. After I fixed us both a drink and we were all nice and comfortable, I launched into my explanation as planned. My desire for privacy is based on the fact that my doctor and I had agreed I will eventually have to prove to her what my words can only describe and for this, privacy is a total necessity. As expected, Alli finds what I tell her about myself almost unbelievable, asking my why I'd decided to undergo SRS instead of just having the affected parts removed and maybe surgically replaced with some manner of prosthesis. I explained that my doctor and my surgeon both told me that M2F surgery is far more successful and responsive than reconstruction is at this point based on F2M SRS surgeries. "And it's been successful?" she asks me. "Oh yeah, I'm very responsive and I get wet at the drop of a hat." I answer. "But you don't... uh...you don't have periods or anything, do you?" "No, medical science isn't up to transplants like that just yet, only surgical reconstructions." "Ah... then you just have the playpen and not the baby bed, right?" she asks, laughing. "Exactly!" I respond. Alli asked me a lot of questions over the next hour or so before she finally got the nerve to ask me the big one; if she could see it. Because this is why I wanted privacy when I told her, realizing this question would quite likely be asked, I said sure as I stood up and began undoing my pants. Because I'd planned ahead and worn my sexiest white satin thong, I couldn't wait to let her see me in it so I could see her reaction. As they dropped to the floor and she could finally see me in panties, she asked me to come closer to which I responded, "When's the last time you tried to walk with your pants down around you ankles?" She just laughed and said, "Okay, I'll come to you then," as she got up and walked toward me. "May I... uh..." "Touch me?" I offered, finishing her question. "Yeah" she answered, grinning at me. "If you don't, I'm going to have to use the bathroom and take care of it myself." I laughed as I answered her request. Almost before I realized she was doing it, she had her hand on my pubes and was rubbing me gently as she kind of searched around as though expecting to find I didn't really have a pussy after all and had simply hidden my male parts from easy view. But the dampness she found in the depths between my legs were all the answer she really needed and still gripping me gently, Alli leaned forward and kissed me, passionately, her tongue pressing it's way between my lips and into my mouth. Shortly after my revelation had been made to her, Alli stepped back and I reached down to pull my pants back up. At this point, neither of us really seemed to know what to do next so I just offered her another drink. We talked some more and she asked me more questions, still finding it hard to understand why a man would want to do what I've done and also trying to understand how I've found things different since my operation. I guess women like Alli who are born with nothing between their legs and know nothing else, who then suddenly find someone who wasn't and now is, spurs on their natural curiosity. I spend a lot of time talking with her, trying to explain how everything is so different for guys down there, what it was like having the external parts I now happily lack and what difficulties I encountered and had to go through while making the mental and emotional adjustments I've had to experience in the process. As I had hoped, the conversation then turned to what effect my altered anatomy might have on our budding relationship. Alli quickly reiterated her dislike and disdain of all the "butch dykes" who seem to dominate the lesbian scene and of her wish to remain straight in her outward appearance. "I like being a girl and see no need to express my sexual preferences by trying to look more like a man." "That's good, I like you the way you are... you're to pretty to try looking otherwise." I tell her. "Well, I kind of like you the way you are, too." She adds, grinning. "Oh you do, do you?" I tease. "Yes, I do." She said seriously. "I admire your courage to go through all you've had to deal with and I can't tell you how fascinated I am with you because of it." "Fascinated, huh? How about that, and here I'd hoped for so much more" I tease her again. "Oh really?" she says quizzically. "And just exactly what is it you were hoping for?" Getting up and moving across the room to sit beside her on the couch, I put one arm around and looking deep into her pretty green eyes, I whisper, "I hope to screw your silly." "Oh really?" "Uh-huh. Really." Tilting her head back to make it easier for us to kiss, she softly whispers, "I'd like that very much," as our lips meet and eyes close. The details of all that occurred from that point forward I'll not relate here simply because they're far to personal and between Alli and me. Suffice it to say that it was well past Two AM before we fell asleep, pretty much exhausted and definitely well satisfied sexually. Hungry when we woke up around Noon the next day, a Saturday per my plan, we first fulfilled one hunger before getting out of bed and getting dressed to go deal with the other hunger our efforts had only served to exacerbate. After a late breakfast at a nearby diner, we took a walk instead of returning immediately to my place as we both really wanted to do. The idea being we had all the time in the world for sex now that we've found each other and besides, wanting it is almost as much fun as having it. Holding hands as we walked slowly through the park, we talked of the toys we each had acquired over time (when there was no one within earshot), and of the fun we were going to share using them together. Sometime toward the end of our walk together, Alli mentioned something to me that caused my heart to swell; she told me she'd finally met the man of her dreams, me, and that my being of both sexes was why. Because on the outside at least, I remain the virile man I'd been prior to my elective surgery, anything Alli and I do together we do as a normal couple. It's only behind the closed doors of our relationship that my changes came into play, and play with them we do. I learned from Alli the true joy a woman experiences where her lover takes her as though in a normal couple's sexual encounters only after she talked me into buying us a strap-on dildo device with a very realistic-looking penis and testicles. Of course it also allowed me to take her in the way that had once been totally natural for me, also much to her delight for as she once said I have since found to be very true, sometimes you just need a good, hard fucking and nothing else will satisfy you quite like the feeling you have when it's all over. Another addition to our toy collection that often gets a good workout is the double-ended dildo we got soon after she moved into my apartment with me. +++ It's been a few years since I last made an entry into this diary-like recounting of my experiences before, during and after what I went through to get rid of my cock and balls that I'd disliked intensely since I went through puberty. Alli and I were married about year after we met and have been insanely happy together for the past six years. We remain very much in love, still can't keep our hands off of each other and yes, we're just as crazy about sex as we were right after we first got together. Looking back from the perspective of today to all I've gone through over the intervening years since my surgery, I'd do it all over again, in a heartbeat. It was the best decision I ever made. I can now admit, especially to myself, that I had some initial misgivings for a few weeks after the operation, feelings that I might have made a huge mistake. But, the more I became used to having the empty crotch I'd so long wished for, the less I regretted my decision and the more satisfied I was that I'd made the right choice. Since those early days with Alli, as we became more and more convinced my choice might be right for other men and even some couples, we've teamed up with my psychiatrist who has since worked with other men like me who wish for the removal of their male parts to help her counsel them. I've become such a passionate proponent of this sort of life- style for the men who have little use for male parts, that if they can prove to me that they're truly and sincerely serious; I go to bat for them with the doctor. I've even thought about Alli and I starting up some sort of a business wherein we seek out recruits if I can figure out how to make a profit out of it. Alli, on the other hand, might be able to find women who would love it if their men had pussies instead of their male parts; for example bi-sexual women like Alli as well as women who might prefer their men to be less aggressive, as Alli says I've become over the years since we first met. Personally and in spite of the risk of `exposure' I would open myself up to with such a venture, I'm willing to do it if it means I can share the happiness I've found with other guys who might be in the same boat I was. Every time Alli and I "get it on" and almost every time I cross my legs I think about what I did when I made my decision and of how happy I've been ever since. It was definitely the right decision for me to have my cock and balls cut off and to have a pussy surgically created in their place. I love the feeling of emptiness and yet of there being a major part of my sexuality still nestled down the between my legs. As to the underwear I now wear as a matter of course; I pretty much stick to thong bikini's most every day, they're just the most comfortable. But I also have an extensive collection of other styles, too, and all of them are in every color, pattern and material under the sun although I do prefer satin and nylon to cotton. So, to sum my life since surgery up in as few words as possible, I have no regrets whatsoever and yes, I've had a blast ever since and I recommend it to any guy who is thinking about doing it, no matter how remotely.