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Vicky was my best friend from the time I was 10 years old on up. She did something for me that I couldn't bring myself to do for myself when I was 11 and a half years old. Vicky was 13 years old when I first told her my secret. She was just a little on the chubby side, and she had a quick laugh and was a lot of fun to play with. No one would have called her fat, she was just a red headed freckled all American girl. Vicky was the person I told first that I wanted to be a girl. When I was 10 years old, I was across the street playing with her in her room. I was a little small for my age, and her mom never thought there was anything to worry about with the two of us playing together in her room. I had been reading in the encyclopedia, trying to learn why I wanted to be a girl sometimes. I found articles on transsexualism and intersex conditions, and I brought a volume across the street to Vicky's. Her mom took one look at it and laughed as we came through the living room on our way upstairs. "Didn't you get enough of the encyclopedia during the school year?" she asked. "I read all summer!" I answered. Vicky just laughed, she didn't know what was up, yet. When we got up to her room, I told her I had a secret to tell her, and I didn't want her to be mad. She reassured me that I could tell her anything. I could tell that she was having a hard time taking me seriously, because sometimes she thought of me as a little kid. I just told her, "I want to be a girl." She thought for a minute, and I was so relieved she didn't laugh out loud. Then she said, "I think you would make a good girl. You look like a normal boy to me, but you like playing with me just like a normal girl would. If I was you, I wouldn't tell anybody else, though. I'm sure Mark and John would not understand and they would probably give you a really hard time if you said that to them." I told her that I had been reading about boys who want to be girls in the encyclopedia, and asked her if she wanted to read about it. She said, "OK," then took the book from me and sat on the edge of her bed and began to read. While she read, I looked around her room and took in the pretty white furniture and the pink curtains, finally taking at furtive glance into her open closet where her clothes hung--wishing all the while it was all mine. At the thought, my penis began to throb and rise, and I quickly tried to think about baseball, and church, Ernest Borgnine and anything else to get rid of it. She sighed, and shut the book. "So do you think you are a transvestite, or a transsexual, or do you think you are one of those intersexes that have boy and girl parts both?" she asked. "I can't tell that anything is different about my body," I answered. "So I think I must be a transsexual." "Would you really want a sex change operation?" she asked. "Yes, I think so," I answered. "You'd better be sure," she said. "Once they do it, you're a girl for permanent. I guess they can't sew it back on." "No, once it is done, it is done," I answered. "What do your parents think?" she asked. "You are the first person I have told," I answered. "Do you think I am crazy?" She laughed. "Maybe you just have a girl brain or something. I know if I woke up one morning with a ... thing," she blushed, "like what you have I would want it off. So maybe you are just a girl in your mind. It's kind of like being deformed or something and not like being crazy." She turned to her closet and said, "Have you tried on girl clothes?" "No," I answered as the throbbing started to come back. "I think mine woud be too big for you, but we can try some on and see how you look. I think that would be fun. Have you done makeup?" "No," I answered. "We'll have to try that too," she said. "I wish we could have two or three other girls over to help, that is so much fun! But I don't think it would work out." "Well, it's time for lunch, wierdo," she said. "Do you want to eat here?" "Ok," I said. And the topic didn't come up again for a while. I think she was glad it didn't, because although she did a good job of hiding it, it made her a little uncomfortable to think about. A few weeks later I was over at her house after lunch and we were playing Atari when without warning she said, "Let's dress you like a girl." I croaked out the words, "OK." "Sit down at that chair" She ordered, pointing at a little white chair in front of her dresser. I complied, and she continued. "I've been thinking abou this, and this is what I think. If I tried to put you in my clothes, like what I'm wearing right now, they wouldn't fit. Look at how I'm built she continued," with a wave of her had towards her 13 year old, slightly chubby body clad in jeans and t-shirt. "My pants legs would be too long for you, my waist is higher and smaller, than yours. But the pants would probably be too big where my hips are. My shirt would fit fine, and if you had a bra on with something stuffed in it, no one could tell. Lots of real girls stuff something in," she laughed. "But I don't have to obviously cause I'm a little on the big side. Also, look here," she said, indicating the fly of her pants. "I'm flat here," she said, caressing the curve of her crotch as I looked on. I could not believe I was hearing those words and seeing what I saw. "You would have a bulge there because you haven't cut off your thing, yet." She finished. I was poundingly erect, and glad I was sitting. The way she let the word, "yet," drop casually as though it were matter of factly bound to happen seemed surreal. I had never seen a woman touch her own crotch, though I had made many surreptitious glances at women in the areas of her body that Vicky was casually showing me now. It was almost more than I could stand. She continued, turning to her closet. "I found a dress that fit me when I was about your size. I think it will fit you fine. I think you could wear your own underwear under it and it wouldn't matter, but I also found an old pair of underwear you can wear, unless you think it is gross to wear my old panties. They are clean," she finished. I managed to say, "I think it would be fine." She handed me the clothes in a folded pile and directed me down the hall to the bathroom to change. "Look out for my mom," she said. "She might come up cleaning or something. Oh, and there's an old training bra in there, too." I took the clothes numbly from her and walked down the hall without a word. In the bathroom I took off all my clothes and picked up the pink cotton panties. I slipped them on, and immediately felt a chill go through my body as I look down at them for the first time. My rock hard penis jutted out of the left leg hole, red and throbbing as it never had before. I grabbed it, and yanked it down painfully, and out of view. As I looked down on my now apparently feminine pany clad crotch, I ejaculated hard, shooting a heavy load of semen across Vicky's bathroom floor. I sat down on the edge of the tub, almost ready to faint. As the throbbing diminished, I felt horribly ashamed of what I had done, and what I was doing. It seemed so wrong. What if my friends heard about this? What if Vicky's mom walked in on me? I was embarassed and coudn't wait to get out of there. I quickly picked up a piece of toilet paper and cleaned up my mess. I wanted to take those panties off in a hurry. After I finished cleaning up the mess and then urinated though, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror in the panties. My now limp penis made hardly a dent in the front of the panties, and the sight of my face reflected in the mirror above a figure in panties fascinated me. Slowly, I reached for the traning bra, and slipped it over my head. It was designed for someone who really hadn't started to develop yet, and gave me the slight illusion of breasts. I thought of how Vicky had worn it on her body, before her body had changed to what it was now. Then I thought to myself of what it would be like if my body also changed as her had. The dress was next, a green shiny cloth with a few ruffles and a belt at the waist, slipped over my head and then a pair of white socks with little fluffy balls at the top that no boy would ever wear. Looking back at the mirror, I saw a young girl looking back at me and I was hooked. Vicky whispered loudly throught the door, "Are you about done in there?" "Yes," I replied. "I'll be right out." I straightened the dress and then slipped out into the hallway. I hurried down to Vicky's room. As I came in the door, she said, "Wow! You do look like a girl in that outfit. Turn around!" "You know, it's funny this haircut of yours could be for a girl or a boy. It's pretty short, but it kind of looks like a bob cut a girl might wear," she said. I laughed, "That's no accident! I picked it out on purpose!" She sat me down again on the white chair, this time turned away from her mirror top dresser. "Time for makeup!" she said. I was so glad to be sitting again, because the tension was already pumping my penis to attention again. I could hardly believe I was getting hard again so fast. She pulled up her make-up kit, and after about 15 minutes of painting and fussing, she finally told me to turn around and look right in the mirror. The effect was incredible. No one would have known I was not a little girl! Just then there was a rattle in the door and her mother burst in with a plate of cookies and some milk. "Hey guys!" she started in and then stopped in shock. "Vicky! You've got him all dressed up like a doll! Aren't you a little old for that, Vicky?" She continued. "Honestly, dressing up the little boy next door like that! Honey, you don't have to put up with that if you don't want to." I was blushing furiously, but this was going better than I hoped. I was worried that she would have thrown me out of the house, and called me a pervert, but I guess my age for working to my advantage as was my slight build and young for my age look. "No, Ma'am," I quickly answered. "I don't mind a bit." "Well, OK," she said a little suspiciously. "But, Vicky, don't take advantage of him. He might not like this." "OK, Mom," she answered. "Can we eat the cookies at the table downstairs?" she asked. "Sure," was the answer. I couldn't believe that I was walking downstairs in Vicky's house dressed as a girl. We ate the cookies, then it was back upstairs for the afternoon playing dressed as a girl. As suppertime neared, I regretfully took the dress off, washed my face and went home where I jacked off in the shower like a frenzied monkey. I played at Vicky's house a few times a week that whole summer. I didn't dress like a girl every time, but oftentimes I spent the time at her place dressed like a girl. My playtime with other boys was sharply reduced, and I saw a lot less of my best friends Mark and John. We still played a little, but Vicky was becoming my new best friend. It started to become a confusing time, because I still liked riding bikes and playing ball with my old friends. Sometimes Vicky even joined us on bike rides. Vicky had her own group of friends her age and older, and sometimes I wished I could go out with the girls and Vicky but it just didn't seem like it could happen. My sexual fantasies now often seemed to start with thoughts of a famous actress naked, or having sex or making out with Vicky or one of the other girls I knew. By the time I had an orgasm, they always seemed to change to fantasies that involved being female. Occasionally, the female fantasies came to include boys, but only with me as a female. The thought of contact with another boy as a boy digusted me. I wanted to be a girl, most of the time. I still had times, especially right after I came that I was disgusted by the thought of that, too. As the summer went one and the school year approached, I realized that the long afternoons dressed as a girl were coming to an end. One day at Vicky's, she called me up to her room to show me a package. It was a set of clothes, brand new, that Vicky had ordered from Sears. It was all my size, and after she made me up we celebrated by eating cake and ice cream downstairs. After that, she pulled a box from beneath her bed filled with all the clothes she had left that still fit me. She told me to take it all home, the summer was ending and she wouldn't be able to dress me up anymore during the day once school started. I was elated, but also disappointed to realize it was coming to an end. I told Vicky, "It's so unfair! I don't get to have girl friends and be a girl at all during the school year!" She answered, "Well, if it is OK with your parents, you could go out with my and my girlfriends on Saturday nights during the school year. Since my friends are in high school, they wouldn't know you as a boy, and you could just join in with us sometimes. Sometimes, we might not want a younger girl along, but now and then you are free to come!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could it work? And yet, two weeks after the start of the 6th grade I got a call from Vicky, inviting me out with her and her friends that Saturday night at 6 pm. I was to be at Vicky's at 4:30 to get ready, and we would be home at 9:00 pm. So that Saturday I went in the front door as a boy, and walked out the back as a girl. Getting ready meant two new things Vicky insisted on. We had to boost my bra size and go a little heavier on the makeup, as I was out with the older girls. Second, we had to decide on a new name since her friends didn't know about me. That night was a whirlwind of events. My first trip out with friends (3 girls including Vicky! Four girls including me!) in a car! We went to the mall. That meant, of course, my first trip to the ladies room. That made me a little nervous, but went OK. After all the practice over the summer, being a girl for a night was a piece of cake. At 9 pm, we were back at Vicky's and by 9:30 I was back home in boy clothes. Over the school year, I developed a double life. At school, I was a boy. I played with my boy friends after school just like normal. But in my fantasy life and a couple of Saturdays a month I was a girl. There began to be some tension between the two. I got my ears pierced and my eyebrows done. That earned me a couple of comments during my boy time. Second, I saw people who knew me as a boy out on my girl nights. None of them ever recognized me, but it scared me. Finally, one of my girlfriends from my girl nights had a younger brother in my grade at my school. He wasn't in any of my classes, but I still ran into him a couple of times when we visited her house on a Saturday night. It all built up the stress, but I was loving my girl nights. I was also having a pretty good time in my boy life, but trouble was brewing. For instance, I was learning how to loosen up and express myself during my girl nights. So at school at couple of times I found myself giving girls compliments on hair, make-up, and outfits that seemed kind of girly. And I had an interest in what they had on that seemed a little strange. My friends obviously thought I was acting kind of girly sometimes. I couldn't help it! I had a fight with a boy halfway through the year who called me gay. I didn't get in trouble over it, but it was obvious that the double life wouldn't last forever. I started wondering if I couldn't get my parents to get me some help. My 11th birthday rolled by (I had separate parties, one with the boys at my house, and one on a girl night--only on girl night I was turning 12 'cause Vicky said they'd like me better if I was older), and then school ended. I told Vicky at the end of the school year, I was going to ask them to take me to a counselor. She was supportive. One night at dinner I tried to bring the subject up with my parents. "You know I had a fight at school this year, and some things aren't going smooth with my friends," I started. "I was thinking that I need someone to talk to about some of my problems, and I though maybe I should see a counselor." "You can always talk to us, honey," my mom said. "Counselors cost money. What is bothering you?" "That's the thing, I can't talk to you about it. That's why I need to see a counselor." "Look, we are willing to talk with you about anything," my dad continued. "Just open up to us and talk." I wasn't getting anywhere with trying to get to see a counselor without telling them the problem, but I thought I needed a counselor to help me tell them what was wrong. Anyway, that conversation ended up with yelling. I don't know why it had to, and maybe it didn't but it did. Finally, I got frustrated and went upstairs. If that wasn't bad enough, the next morning I looked in the mirror and found hairs under my nose. I burst out crying, and scraped them off with a razor. Then I started crying because I was shaving my face. My parents saw me crying, and we had another argument about seeing a counselor. That night, dad and I stopped at the farm store to get dog food and pipe fittings. While he was shopping I saw something on the wall there that changed my life forever. It was a band elastrator, and it was only 20 bucks. I had heard of them, and had seen them used on our neighbor's sheep. But I never had the thought to use one on myself until I saw on the package, "For animal use only." I started hyperventilating, and had to sit down and rest a minute. I crept back up and grabbed them. I also got a couple other things I didn't need and hurried through the checkout line. I put the stuff in the car, and came back in and found dad. He was ready to go. Until they were in the box in my room with my girl stuff, I didn't relax. After everyone else went to bed, I pulled them out of the package and looked at them and the directions. I wasn't going to leave it on until my balls rotted off, that would be gross. I just thought I'd leave it on until it didn't hurt to cut them off. My cock started getting hard at the thought, and then I realized if it would work on balls, why not my cock too? I carefully followed the instructions, then tried putting a band on my balls. The band slipped off the tool as I tried to put it on. It snapped hard around my scrotum, pinching my testicular cords with excruciating pressure. I couldn't stand it, my hard on disappeared immediately and I had to run to the basement for an exacto knife to cut the band off. I felt like my burning my girl clothes and never going out again. By the time I went back upstairs, though, the realization of what I had tried to do started making me horny again. Another session of masturbation and I was asleep. In the morning, I held the new tool in my hand for a long time before I left my room. I was thinking of how to make it work without the pain. About a week later, I was at the car parts store, running another errand with dad. I saw a tool I'd never seen before in the cheap tools bin for $3.99. It was a heater hose cutter. It had a set of jaws like a pair of pliers or scissors. They were fitted with a pointed razor blade in one jaw, and a rubber pad in the other. There was a hole about 1 1/2" diameter to stick the hose through, then when you squeezed the handle the razor blade slipped through a slot in the hole and buried itself in the rubber pad. It cut the hose at a 90' angle with very little pressure. I had something in mind to cut that was a lot easier, I imagined, to cut than a heater hose. I knew I couldn't stand the pain of using the elastrator on my testicles, but if I banded my penis, then put the cutter on my penis a little squeeze would finish that problem for good. Then surely a doctor could be convinced to take the rest of the necessary steps to outfit me for girlhood. I had read that doctors were turning newborn infants whose penis was accidentally destroyed into girls. If a new born who couldn't even consent could be turned into girl, surely I could if I had already made it impossible to be a functional man. I knew I couldn't wait to grow up for the procedure, and I wanted a teen age girlhood, not to become a man in a dress at 18. I snatched them up and bought them, though at the time dad couldn't imagine why and I certainly didn't tell him. That night my hands were shaking as sat by my room phone, ready to call an ambulance when the time came. I took the band and put it on the base of my penis. It was tight, but didn't hurt that bad. I took the hose cutter, and slipped it over my erect penis next to the elastrator band. My hands were shaking very badly as I looked at the situation. "Good- bye boy life," I thought as I squeezed the handle. Two things happened very quickly as I squeezed. The first was that I found out a penis was tougher than it looked. The second was that I learned cutting on your penis was even more painful than binding your balls. I made a cut, I found, about 1/4" long and probably about that deep. It bled like crazy, and my erection disappeared again as soon as I cut the band back off again. I started crying. Later on that night I found out I couldn't even masturbate with that dumb cut on my penis. I was even more depressed than ever, and not even sure I would have suceeded at becoming a girl if I'd squeezed the handle all the way. The next morning I went to Vicky's. I was pretty quiet, and she asked me what was wrong. I told her to wait a minute and went back home to get a bag. I put the elastrator and the hose cutter in the bag. I went back to her house, and pulled the elastrator out of the bag. "Do you know what this is?" I asked her. "No," she replied. It's a band elastrator," I said. I explained it was a tool used to castrate, to take the testicles off animals, by binding them with the rubber band 'till they fell off. She said, "Gross, what are you doing with . . . . .Oh!" She sat quietly for a moment. "Surely you aren't thinking of some kind of do it yourself sex change?" I pulled out the hose cutter and showed it to her. "Oh, my!" She gasped. "Don't tell me there is a special tool for cutting off penises, too?" "No," I laughed. "It is for cutting hoses. But a penis is a flesh hose. I tried to use it last night." She looked even more shocked. "Did it work?" she asked. I shook my head no. "I'm sure it would have, but it hurt too much and I couldn't bring myself to do it." "Are you OK?" she asked with concern. "It's just a tiny cut. It doesn't even hurt much now," I said. "I think this is going way too far. You should go and see a counselor or a doctor or something," she said. "I've tried to get my parents to take me, but they won't," I answered. "There has to be another answer than to cut on yourself!" She exlaimed. "Are you really sure you want to be a girl? I mean that you'd never change your mind. Have you ever even seen a naked girl before?" "I'm sure, very sure," I answered. "I've only seen pictures in magazines, but that is what I want." "A picture in a magazine isn't the same thing," she said. She sat still for a long time, then picked up both the tools. "I want you to see something," she said. She stood up and unbuttoned her pants. I was shocked. She slipped her jeans down and stepped out of them, standing before me in her panties. She slipped off the panties as I looked away. "No, look!" she insisted. She turned my head toward her body, and said, "Take a good look. Is this really what you want." I looked, and nodded my head "yes" as I took in the sight of her soft white stomach, her small red nest of hair, and her smooth crotch with its lips forming a slit down the center. She took my hand and put it to her body. "Feel it, touch it, honey," she said. "That isn't what you'd have it you cut yourself." I felt it with shaking hands. "I know," I said. "I read where babies who have their penises cut off accidentally get turned into girls by the doctors. I'm sure if they would do that for the baby, they'd do it for me. The baby doesn't even get to ask." She sighed and pulled up her panties and put her pants back on. "I've never let a boy do that before, but in a way I guess you're not a boy so you don't count," she said. I explained to her about finding mustache hairs and how desparate I was. She listened carefully. "Why can't you use the elastrator on the penis?" she asked. "Because it takes days for the body part to dry up and drop off and I couldn't pee through it with the band on," I explained. "No, I meant why couldn't you just leave it on 'till the penis was numb?" she asked. I felt dumb for not thinking of that. "Well I guess that would work," I said. "Look," she said. "I don't know why I am saying this. It is kind of gross and crazy, but if you have to do this, you need to do it right. You think about it all this week. If you are still sure it is what you want, we'll band and cut you next Saturday. We'll even put ice on it to dull the pain, and we'll dress you up like a girl so the hospital understands why you did it and even take you to the hospital, OK? But you have to tell them you did it yourself. I don't want to get in trouble." I couldn't believe my ears. Here was my ticket to girlhood. Not years in the future, but now while I was still just 11 years old. With luck, I'd celebrate my 12th birthday as a real girl. I took my tools and went home practically skipping. Later on that night I got a call from John asked me if I wanted to go ride bikes with him and John the next day. I said, "Yes." Then I thought I should savor every moment of my boy hood this week because this would be the last of it. The week flew by, and Saturday I went early as arranged to Vicky's. "Are you sure you want this?" she asked. "I can't believe we're doing this, but OK here goes. I think we need to do both in one shot, penis and testicles. We need to save some skin to give the doctor something to work with, too. He has to move your pee hole and stuff so we can't take you right down to the crotch, we have to leave a little hose to use, if you follow me? I can't believe I'm saying this. You're right, though. You really are a girl inside. OK, right to work." She ran the sentences together, never leaving me a chance to answer. Reaching under her bed, she pulled out a box of supplies. She asked me for the tools, and then told me to take off all my clothes and sit on the bed. As I was getting undressed, she spread a piece of plastic on the end of the bed along with a piece on the floor. "Sit on that," she told me. Then she went downstairs. I finished undressing and she came back up with a big bag of ice and a bowl. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, covering myself with my hands. She kneeled in front of me, and gently took my hands away from my crotch. My penis was hard. "Oh my," she said. "I've never seen one before except for a babies. I thought yours would be bigger." Then she added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to embarass you. I guess by tonight it will be a lot smaller." "Yes," I agreed nervously. "Here, take a Tylenol," she said. "That should help with the pain, at least a little. I took the Tylenol and washed it down with a little glass of water. "Did you pee?" she asked. "Yes," I said. "Cause you won't again until tonight at least, and hey I just realized you'll never pee standing up again! Are you sure? Last call!" she laughed. She seemed to have a lot of enthusiasm for this, but I didn't know why. "OK," she said. "We're going to ice you while we do your makeup. So sit right here, while I put some ice on." She dumped a couple of handfuls of ice on my crotch, which made me jump, then brought over her makeup kit and started making me up. I could see the red head of my penis sticking up out of all the ice. "Did you bring an outfit for tonight?" she asked. "In my duffel bag with the tools," I said. "Good," she replied as she put on the makeup in a businesslike way. By the time the makeup was finished, my penis was turning blue and red, and my balls were shrunken up to my body. The whole thing looked like it was about to disappear inside me on its own. "Gosh," she laughed. "I didn't know they shrank when they got cold!" She grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and asked me to stand. She splashed my crotch with rubbing alcohol, which burnt, catching most of it in the bowl while the rest dripped onto the plastic on the floor. I complained and jumped. She joked, "You sound like a girl already. This is going to hurt worse before it's over. Are you sure you're ready?" I said I was and she picked up the elastrators, handling them uncertainly. After she prepared them, she reached down and stroked my penis with her hand, bringing it back up to attention. "I can't work with it all shrunk up like that," she explained. She placed the first band about an inch and a half from the base. "That will give the doctor something to work with," she said. Then she placed a second band about 1/2 inch higher. "And that will keep the blood in your penis from running out," she said. The ice was working, I could barely feel the bands. Then she loaded a third band, flipped up my penis and reached for my scrotum. Pulling the balls down, she slipped a band over them and slid it very gently off the tool. I braced myself for the pain I felt before, but felt only some pressure. The ice was really helping. Sitting up, I looked down at my penis and testicles, now marked with the light green bands of the elastrator. The thought ran through my mind that very soon, both would be gone, and it set my banded penis to throbbing up and down with my pulse. She asked me to lean back, and once again covered my crotch with ice. It was now about 4:30, and the girls would be coming by at 6 pm. "Let's let that ice and numb up for a while," she said. While I sat, once again with my crotch covered in ice we chatted about all kinds of things. It was strange how normal we were talking while I was sitting naked in her room, my crotch banded and covered in ice, and she about to un-man me. She looked nervously at the clock several times. Finally, she said, "I am very nervous about this, but the girls will be here soon and we need to get this done. Are you still 100% sure?" Vicky asked. I said, "Yes," and she said, "OK." Her hands were shaking as she pulled out a towel, the hose cutter, and a fish filet knife. "I brought that up in case we needed it, and I think we will for the balls," she said. "Oh, I don't know if I can do this." She sat down on the bed next to me and gave me a hug. "My hands are shaking and I keep thinking this is wrong, but you really need the help. If you can do it, I guess I can," she finally said. She asked me to stand up, and dumped the ice into the bowl. Then she splashed me with alcohol again, and told me to sit down and lay back. While I was laying back, she put the hose cutter onto my penis, which had turned all kinds of strange colors. "I don't know if your penis would live if we didn't cut it off," she said. "It is some strange colors." I agreed. She asked one final time, "Yes or no?" I said, "Yes." I heard the squeaking sound of the hose cutter operating, and she gasped. I felt something bounce off my thigh and heard it drop with a light thud on the floor. She stood up and dropped the hose cutter, took a couple of steps, and bend over and started sobbing. I looked down at myself and saw that there was only a stub from the green band down where my penis had been. I gasped myself, and sat up. There is it was, lying on the floor between my feet. My penis, looking as it never had before. The only pain I felt was a mild burning sensation. I didn't think it could be real, and yet there it was between my legs, a little stump and my penis lying on the floor. Vicky seemed to recover. "I didn't think I could do it." she said. "Are you sorry? Are you mad? Does it hurt?" She asked. I said, "Not much. I'm glad." Then Vicky said, "Good. I don't know if I can do the balls, but I guess I have to. You look kind of funny with just a little stump like that. I guess the doctors will take that little stump off now." "Yeah, I hope so," I answered. "I don't want to go around forever like that." "Ok," she said. "Lay back again." She reached below the stump, grabbed the scrotum, and with a sawing motion took off everything below the band in just a couple of seconds. "Oh, that's gross," she said, dropping what she cut into a bowl. I hardly noticed. I had felt a burning pain the whole time she was sawing away, and now it seemed to get worse. "Oh, no," I said. "That really hurts." I looked down and saw about 1/2 my scrotum in the bowl. Now she dropped my penis in with it. Looking down at myself, I saw the ragged edge of my scrotum below the band. It was a little open and it made me feel a little sick to my stomach along with the pain. Lying back, I complained a little. She looked at the clock and said, "We have to get you ready. It's almost time." I was starting to feel pain, and didn't want to move but I knew we had to get out of there. Surely at the hospital they could give me something for the pain. Vicky got a sanitary pad from her box and a roll of duct tape. She told me it might hurt, then taped the sanitary pad over my altered crotch. I looked down and saw no bump under the pad. She slipped on a pair of panties onto me, then helped me to my feet and pulled a dress over my head. She had to really help me down the stairs, and as we got to the door the girls pulled up in their car. Vicky called out to them as we came out the door. "She is really sick, some kind of female trouble." She winked at me. I was having a hard time walking and was starting to feel dizzy. As we pulled up in front of the hospital, an attendant saw the girls helping me out of the car and came quickly with a wheelchair. I sat down in it, and then passed out. Although I didn't know it for a long time, then all hell broke loose. Vicky demanded to go home immediately, but the other two girls wanted to stay and check on me. Vicky couldn't, because obviously she had a cock and balls in a bowl on her bedroom floor at home to deal with, plus she didn't want to answer questions. She just told them, "IF we don't leave now we are getting in a lot of trouble." For the short-term, that was good enough, so they left. As soon as I passed out, the attendant rushed me in and paid no more attention to the girls behind him. On my arrival to the ER, there was a big commotion, and it took them a while to figure out what on earth was wrong with me. Apparently young girls don't show up that often with the stump of a penis and a sawed off scrotum, so that was confusing to them. As soon as they did figure it out, the question they had on their minds was who was I and did someone do this to me, a pervert or something. All of which had to wait an hour until I came to. When I came to, I didn't know where I was or what had happened to me. I don't know if I was on painkillers or what, but I was confused. The nurse asked me for my name, my parents names, contact info, etc. I gave her my girl name, appropriately enough, but she asked some more and then I also gave her my boy name. Suddenly I remembered why I was there. A shock went through me and I tried to sit up and look and see if it was really true, but I was fastened down to the bed. The nurse asked me, "What happened to you?" I answered, "I want to be a girl so I cut off my boy parts." "You did this yourself?" she asked. "Yes," I answered. There followed a lot of other questions, which I refused to answer and after a while they left me alone. My parents came. They were shocked when the doctor told them my condition. They told me later they almost didn't recognize me. My face was white, and I was wearing makeup which they'd never seen me in. They were certain that some pervert had done this to me. Sadly, it was true, but really the pervert was me. It was very hard for them to accept that I had done it, that I had wanted to do it, and that I had refused to talk to them about. 100 hundred times over they said that they wished they had sent me to the counselor. But what was done was done. It took a few referrals, couple of interviews with a psychiatrist, and a couple of days, but finally I was looking up from my bed at the surgeon who would take the wreckage of my male parts and make it female. Vicky and I had torn up the raw material considerably in our childish attempt, but he was able to work wonders with what was left. After a week, I sat up and looked down at myself. I wondered that what I saw there was essentially what I had seen between Vicky's legs, and in the magazines. And as I healed, I wondered at how I felt without all that stuff between my legs. My panties fit smoothly, when the swelling went down I was destined to put on a pair of tight jeans like Vicky had that first day so long before. After the bandages came off, I walked shakily to the bathroom with a nurse on one arm and my mom on the other. I peed like a girl for the first time. My mom said, "I hope this is what you wanted." I said, "Yes, it was." And I smiled. My first day home, Vicky came by for a visit. We sat in my room and talked for a while. The official story was going to be that I was intersexed, and that my assignment as male at birth had been a mistake. I was to start 7th grade in the fall as a girl, and that was to be that. She reached into her bag, and pulled out a card and a little gift for me. After I read it she reached in again, and showed me something else. It was my penis in a plastic bag, frozen solid. "I kept it," she said. "They asked me a hundred times where I put it. I wouldn't tell them," I said. Looking at it it didn't seem real. In a way, now that I'd seen what I had between my legs I didn't think of myself of missing anything, and yet at times I could fool myself into thinking it was still there until I looked. "What are you going to do with it?" I asked her. "Well, I can't keep it in the fridge," she said. "But I do want to keep it. Where am I ever going to get another one?" We laughed. She told me later that she took it out of the fridge many times over the years and just stared at it. She couldn't hardly believe she'd done it, but it was proof that she had. Not many teenage girls have their own real boy penis in the freezer. About a week later, while I was resting on the couch downstairs John and Mark came by. They came in and saw me there, not believing their eyes at first that I was dressed as a girl. I explained there had been a mistake at the hospital when I was born, that I had been deformed, but now it was fixed and I was a girl. "A girl all the way?" asked John. "Yes," I replied. "And I like it." The two of them didn't stick around long and seemed pretty uncomfortable. Three weeks after I got home, I went over to Vicky's to get dressed for a weekend with the girls. This time, we dressed together, in her bathroom, in front of her mirror. When we were both naked, I looked at our bodies side by side as we stood in front of the mirror. We were two girls! "Thank-you," I said to Vicky, kissing her cheek. "You are welcome, sweetie," she replied. Another new thing I had to look forward to was hormone therapy. A little pill everyday soon started to put curves on my new girl's body, and by the time I started showering with the other girls in PE class that fall I had little bumps on my chest. Before long, they were more than little bumps. My girlhood wasn't without rough patches. Everyone knew me as a boy until 7th grade, but by high school most of them had accepted me. Young people are pretty accepting. I had dates in high school, went to prom, and the year after college I married a man who never knew anything but the official story. Vicky is still my best friend, and still has a very odd Tupperware container in her freezer!