***
I like to say I am an accountant, but am really just a clerk. Four years of college and I shuffle paper. If I work hard and show myself to be promotable, at some point I’ll shuffle receivables in place of the humdrum shuffling of payables.
So as my body transforms and for some reason I decide to let my hair grow, no one notices in the ‘cave’ of the accounting department. Still, my counselor’s demand that my hair be styled can turn heads... probably will turn heads.
So I decide to make the required appointment for late in the week, offering the weekend to counter any undue presentation which can potentially affect employment status. I call the salon and attempt to make an arrangement for late Friday afternoon... in the world of beauty and fashion apparently the busiest time of the week.
“I’m sorry, sir, all booked for Friday.”
I mention my counselor’s name and the tone immediately shifts.
“Warren, did you say? Yes, the doctor had us put a note in our scheduling calendar. Possible special treatment. The back room has been made available that afternoon at her request. 3:30 p.m. don’t be late.”
My counselor seems to wield some authority at the salon. So I spend the week doing my shuffle, and in not having a doctor’s appointment the only comparative mental, emotional trauma is showering in the morning... when I wash... down there.
Something about the combined sensation of soaping/kneading the empty scrotum plus the complete hairlessness that drives home my alteration. I so often recall the doctor’s words as she sutured the small openings, my testicles resting in a metal dish.
‘Left lots of puffy skin for you. Some girls... ah, rather boys... enjoy playing. If you find it distracts, is found to be counter to your desired presentment, it’s easily removed. We can gather the skin, band it to curtail the circulation and within ten days to two weeks it will merely drop off. It’s how they do cattle,’ she pedantically explained.
Having piqued my curiosity I later did an internet search. The device is termed an elastrator and I was quite chagrined to see such available for as low as $12.00. I sat mesmerized. The models used on smaller livestock such as goats or lambs could perfectly circle the scrotum of a human male.
I can just about recite every word of instructions as to its use...
Restrain the kid.
With the prongs of the elastrator facing the kid, expand the band by squeezing the elastrator.
Place the band over the scrotum and testes, close to the body, making sure that both
testes are below the ring.
Release the elastrator and pull it from the band, making sure that the band is close to the body and that the teats are not trapped in the band.
The scrotum and testes dry up and drop off in about two weeks. Check them regularly after that if they have not fallen off. Check them for infection and spray with antiseptic, if needed. In a few cases, they may be hanging by a small amount of tissue, and you can cut them off with a clean scalpel or sharp knife.
For some reason I stared lengthily at the website. Intended for farmers, both the number and sizes of elastrators was disconcertingly impressive along with explicit instructions for use by the novice.
Guess I should be thankful to have something left there. Quite gracious of the doctor.
‘So if you want to be a smoothy, as some of my boys like to reference the removal of all this excess skin, just let me know,’ the smile beneath the surgical mask broadening with the suggestion.
Her eyes twinkled and I imagined her smile to match the gloating look of the nearby Nurse Sueann.
I shudder again thinking about the offer.
Tons of office paperwork can offer remedial distraction until one needs to use the men’s room. Then, like it or not, I must feel down there, my penis indeed seeming to shrink.
Yes, along with the photos taken for my South American benefactor, Nurse Sueann measured my entire anatomy, chuckling in a most irritating manner as she stretched out my flaccid member and held a ruler.
‘Four and a half inches. The feminine world is not going to miss your prowess,’ she proclaimed.
And so the pre operation standard was set. I have subsequently not achieved such ‘robust’ length with any follow up visits to the doctor’s office. Though once I did become erect. Yes, a few days after the pain of the scrotal openings subsided, I awoke one morning with nocturnal penile tumescence. I stroked myself a bit, but knowing the ultimate result would be disappointingly anti climactic, I decided that endeavoring to arrive at work on schedule was a better use of my efforts.
I have since not again achieved full erection.
Friday arrives. My superiors know I have had recent surgery, no embarrassing details offered. So it’s facile to announce a need to depart at 3:30 p.m. for a doctor’s appointment. Not a complete prevarication, my counselor is a doctor... a PhD in psychology... and I will eventually be in her office.
But first it’s to the beauty salon to endure what I suspect will be a test of my remaining masculinity.