The Entrapped

“No, girls like you will need good oral skills... so with just a little incision, you’re going to be a much more popular little girl.”

Finished, the doctor smilingly sits at my side, tousles by blonde locks, a token of reward for being a good little girl. Then she snickers, arises and steps to the door.

“Is it not grand to have all this medical care paid for? I do hope you will properly thank your benefactress when the time comes.”

Nurse Sueann releases me... but then it’s tummy down buttocks up on the table for one more brief instant of pain... my hormone injection.

***

Arriving home, I strip, grab a hand mirror and lie legs spread to examine the doctor’s latest procedure. She has locked my newly pierced penis between my thighs, the tiny tip just at my anus. A small padlock connects the two rings, tightly holding my little thing in place, pointing downward. In dressing, I did indeed note that the little pinky sized protuberance at the front of my panties had just about disappeared. In a way I feel heartened, recalling my fear that the bulge would cause the delivery men to unmask the subterfuge of my true gender... my one time gender.

My mouth is sore... under my tongue. Whatever she cut, it was a small incision. The bleeding stopped quickly. My speech was somewhat slurred in bidding adieu at the doctor’s offer, but otherwise not much of an alteration.

Certainly a less traumatic result than losing one’s reproductive organs.

***

Two more days of enduring taunts and mocking looks at the office. My supervisor dares not say a word with all the anti discrimination and civil rights laws and regulations, as I am sure my counselor explained ad infinitum. In a way I am viewed as a very sensitive parcel of explosives... something that can blow up at any time. Handle with care.

Tongue somewhat sore, I am grateful to just shuffle away the mounds of paper, entering my own world. When needing to use the rest room, I must use hand signals to obtain the attention of one of the women who serve as lookout. And of course I must squat to pee due to the doctor’s modification. That does not at all bring concern... quite the opposite for some reason.

Meanwhile, outside the office where my former gender is not known, I find some of the looks I receive on the city sidewalks to be oddly gratifying.

‘What a pretty little girl,’ I imagine the reaction, some repressing licentious thoughts as my age is practically indeterminate.

‘Damn this flat chest,’ I find myself thinking on occasion.

For otherwise, with Miss Lalique’s wardrobe, her training, and a goodly supply of makeup, I am ravishing. And am beginning to relish the attention... however subtle.

Friday comes, my tongue healing to loosen. So after work, it’s time for my weekly counseling, soaking up the looks of admiring passersby as I stroll midtown. I am excited, my counselor has not seen me in full regalia, the last visit was with hair colored and coifed, but in dreary men’s clothing and no makeup.

I am beginning to enjoy showing off.

Sitting in the waiting room, the receptionist no longer has much ammunition to taunt. I am girlish and I love it. She can say what she will. I even accept the mocking enunciation of ‘Renee’, my new moniker.

But then the small talk shifts as she compliments my prettiness.

“Yes, is it not amazing the effect that large doses of estrogen have on the neutered male? You’re not only effeminate... but your psyche has so much come to embrace it!”

“Estrogen?” I blurt.

I am speechless as my counselor buzzes to grant entry and begin my session.

I arise from the waiting area befuddled... thinking about the pill I take each and every day... Nurse Sueann’s bi weekly massive injections... estrogen!

The receptionist notes my perplexed look and opens the door to offer access to the counselor’s lair. As I step past her, she laughs most sardonically.

“You’re now one of us. Enjoy.”

***

“You’re smearing your makeup,” my counselor forewarns.

I am sobbing, more confusing reaction. I am so meek and wimpy. In anger I do not shout, threaten, feel a need for physical response... instead I cry like a little girl.

“All the time I thought you were trying to help... you and Nurse Sueann,” my voice quaking.

“I think we’ve helped quite a bit. You look most alluring, Renee. You’re a head turner. Your benefactress is quite pleased with your response to the treatments... physically... psychologically... and emotionally. You’re blubbering like a child. Is it not wonderful? An almost perfect transformation.”