Yes, the words of the doctor regarding the orchiectomy return to mind... ‘it will transform. In some regards you’ll be more free than ever’.
The door opens, Nurse Sueann always defying any sense of privacy. She enters, seeming to gloat even more.
“Well, well, it’s Mr. Warren... or are you answering to something more apropos. Miss Warren, perhaps?”
With the mocking words I console myself by imagining those talented fingers coaxing what my male organ now so reluctantly gives up. Her words anger, but still I blush... just like the school girl I appear to be.
“Renee,” I meekly offer.
“Well, then we have a new patient... Renee. Let’s get you introduced to everyone, Renee. We so much enjoy having pretty little girls visit us.”
Her arm extends and I know to arise and take her hand.
Tonight’s march to the examination room will be particularly slow and emotionally toiling. I will be reintroduced to all, the receptionist again, other nurses, a highly amused and intrigued patient waiting to see the doctor... my blushing nakedness turning from pink to crimson. I no longer bother trying to cover my plundered scrotum. There is now nothing which needs to be hidden.
***
Nurse Sueann does her thing. I am weighed, measured, photographed for my benefactor. At last it comes time for heels in the stirrups and I begin the long slow trip to nirvana... the only sexual joy left to me... the milking of my prostate.
On this occasion her handiwork changes. More kneading and caressing of my emptiness, the scrotum, so delightfully gaining in sensitivity. Plus my nipples, and with her touch such spring to life, crinkling and standing as a puppy sitting up to beg for attention. I seem to have new erogenous zones... and Nurse Sueann knows it.
In time, again comes the combined joy and frustration of being milked, Nurse Sueann laughing softly as she feels me desperately trying to ‘pull the trigger’... to ejaculate, to achieve the vaunted male orgasm never again to be felt.
Of course it never comes... I just meekly drool out the remaining clear and sterile male essence... to be collected... to be tested. I then lie in the strange sexual trance of near achievement.
Depilation follows, Nurse Sueann unraveling the straps about my calves, the smelly, burning lotion liberally applied then swiped away just as the chemical heat becomes unbearable. We both note the results... very little stubble removed despite the two week interval from the last application.
Expecting my booster shot, I am surprised when the doctor enters. I have not seen her since my operation many weeks before.
“I understand we have a new little girl patient,” she mockingly gushes as if greeting a child. “Welcome, Renee.”
As she speaks, I note that Nurse Sueann adroitly straps my wrists to the sides of the examination table, my heels remaining secured in the stirrups.
“Just a couple things suggested by your counselor. She says you’re making great progress... and looking at you I must agree. So wonderfully effeminate. Your benefactress will love the latest pictures.”
Watching her move about, preparing stuff, I become fearful. The last time I saw her my testicles had plunked into a waiting metal basin!
“Now just some pin pricks and a little cut... that’s all we’re going to do tonight. Stay calm...”
The doctor steps between my raised and well parted feet. I am defenseless... not that effective physical resistance is any longer within my purview. Still I am concerned when gloved fingers begin working about my penis and empty scrotal sac. Then I feel sharp pain at my penis tip. When I cry out, I am chagrined to hear the sound of a squealing girl. Next comes more sharp pain about my rectum. I squeal again.
“This will make you look better in tight panties. Plus you’ll have to squat to pee... just
like a real girl.”
I feel tugging on my tiny manhood... measured, by the way, at a sickening three and one half inches. Then I hear a click and see the doctor hand a small key to Nurse Sueann. The tugging sensation at my penis remains.
“A very modest Prince Albert ring and what is termed a guiche piercing near your little butt hole. When connected, locked of course, it will keep that offending little remnant of your prior life out of the way. Your counselor will control the key... initially.”
With her words she steps from my feet and approaches my head and shoulders.
“Open wide. Just a little cut.”
Have I a choice? Her gloved left hand covers my nose. I must open my mouth to breathe and when I do she pinches firmly my tongue and lifts. I utter a muffled moan.
“Just a little cut to the frenum... a useless fold of muscle connecting the tongue to the jawbone. It for some reason restricts tongue movement. And our little girl wouldn’t want that.”
More sharp but quick pain as she talks.