I Missed Myself


As soon as Dr. Griffin returned to the examination room, I knew that the news wasn’t good. I could tell by the way he avoided my eyes as he studied his clipboard and fidgeted with his pen that something was wrong, terribly wrong with me. The ache in my groin that I had been ignoring for so long was indication enough, and as the doctor cleared his throat, I tried to prepare myself for the worst.

“The test results are positive for testicular cancer,” he said abruptly. “Unfortunately, the cancer has spread into both testicles, and neither one of them can be saved. I am scheduling you for a bilateral orchiectomy tomorrow morning if the hospital can fit you in. I am very sorry, Jonathan, but there is nothing else we can do.”

“Nothing else we can do.” The doctor’s words haunted me as I walked out of the medical building and started towards home, knowing full well that it could all have been so easily avoided. If only I had gone in for a checkup when that little lump first appeared in one of my balls last year, I would have been able to save my manhood. Now, in less than twenty-four hours, I was going to be castrated.

I was determined to spend my last night as a man. Instead of walking back to my apartment, I turned around and began to head downtown, towards Rush Street. I would pick up the first girl I could find, pay her whatever she wanted, and screw her until my dick fell off. I wouldn’t be needing it after tomorrow.

* * *

I fumbled for the light on the nightstand and turned it on. Five o’clock. In less than two hours, I would be wheeled into an operating room, and when I woke up, I would be a eunuch.

I looked down at the girl who had given me my last night as a man. Her long black hair curled in ringalettes around her shoulders, and she gazed up at me with deep brown eyes. Without a word, she reached up for me and pulled me towards her, and once again we began making slow, exquisite love. She lowered her head and sucked on me until my weary penis became hard once again, and then she rolled over on her back and asked me to take her from behind. As I thrust myself again and again into her tight ass, tears began to roll down my cheeks and onto her back, and when I finally came for the last time, I cried out in despair.

She said nothing as I got dressed and pulled some money out of my wallet. When I tried to hand it to her, she shook her head, and handed me a card with her name and number on it. “Call me when it’s over,” she said. Before I could respond, she pressed a finger to my lips. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?” she asked.

I shook my head. “What did I say?”

“You were crying about something. I thought you were talking about dying at first, but then you said something about not being able to have sex ever again.”

I started to stammer something, but she cut me off. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that there is another way for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just call me after it’s over. There’s a whole other world out there for you. I know from experience.”

I finished dressing in a hurry and left her without another word.

* * *

It was worse than any nightmare. I remember waking up in the recovery room in a paper gown with a catheter draining my scrotum, a dull ache from where my balls used to be. When I was able to sit up and pull back the covers, I saw an empty sac and two bandages along my “bikini line.” As Dr. Griffin explained it to me before I went under, the surgeon made two 4 inch incisions in my lower abdomen, pushed my balls up through my pelvic region, and out they came. A snip here, a stitch there, and I was no longer a man. I lay my head back on my pillow, and cried myself to sleep.

I was released from the hospital the following day, and spent the next week listlessly lolling around my apartment as my scars slowly healed. The pain soon subsided, and although I felt better physically than I had in months, I fell into a deep depression. Dr. Griffin had assured me that the cancer had been completely eliminated, and he told me that testosterone injections to restore my hormonal balance would begin after my follow-up examination in a few days.

Living alone, with no close friends or relatives nearby, I had been too ashamed to tell anybody about my loss. Life no longer seemed worth living. I must have been starved for human contact. But most of all, I missed myself, the man I used to be. For the hundredth time, I pulled her card out of my wallet, only this time I reached for the phone and punched in her number. She answered it on the first ring.


“Is this Angela?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Jonathan.” It occurred to me that she didn’t know my last name. “We met at Gibson’s last week. You gave me your card.”

“Of course. How are you?”

“Pretty bad.”

“When can I see you?” Her voice was firm, businesslike.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I called you.” Suddenly all the feelings that I had bottled up came pouring out. She just listened as I sobbed my story to her over the phone.

“Where are you now?” she asked.

“In my apartment.” I gave her the address.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” she said.

I hadn’t shaved in almost a week, although my beard was hardly noticeable. That’s what happens when you have your balls cut off, I thought morosely as I scrubbed my lean body in the shower and shampooed my long, thick hair. I was barely finished dressing when the buzzer rang.

She was as gorgeous as I remembered, tall and beautifully built, and she had an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. I asked her to sit down, and tried to think of something to say to her as I stared at her beautiful legs. She was wearing a short skirt and a white shirt tied above her navel, but I felt nothing.

“I know how you feel,” she said at length.

“Do you? Do you have any idea what it’s like for a man to look at a beautiful girl, and to be dead below the waist?”

“Yes, I do.”

I stared at her in shock.

“Two years ago, I was raped in prison. A men’s prison,” she added.

My head was spinning. What was she? A transvestite? She couldn’t be. After all, I had made love to her five times. Oh, my God. She used to be a guy. My last night as a man, and I had spent it with a girl who used to be a guy.

“I know what you must be thinking,” she said softly. “Please don’t hate me. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t care about you, and I think I can help you.”

I was completely shattered. “Just leave me alone,” I said weakly.

“When I woke up in the prison hospital, they told me what happened to me,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “It took two of them to hold me down while the third one screwed my from behind. When I kicked him in the face and broke his nose, he went crazy and cut off my balls with a knife. I almost bled to death.”

I stared at her in horror. This beautiful girl, the last woman I would ever know, had been through something like that, and now she wanted to help me. Compared to what she went through, my operation seemed like a trip to the dentist. How could I not listen to her?

“I was released from prison as soon as my stitches healed, and I tried to get my life back together. I used to work at a bank before I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I was trying to find a job when a public assistance lawyer called me. It turned out that the goon who did this to me was a major dealer, and he had a lot of money. They went after his assets, and I got a nice settlement. Enough to have an operation.”

I sat transfixed as she went on. “I’m gay, but I never thought about becoming a woman. But once I lost my balls, the doctors told me I could make it as a chick and have a normal sex life. So I decided, what do I have to lose?”

“You’re beautiful,” I blurted out. “Nobody would ever know.”

“Thanks,” she blushed. “And you know what? I love being a girl now. And I think you would too.”

“No way,” I said. “I’m not gay.”

“So what? Face the facts. You got neutered, same as me. So you’re not a man any more. You’ve got two choices. You can take testosterone shots for the rest of your life and try to get it up, if your head lets you. Or you can go the other way.”

“I don’t want to be a woman.”

“Look at yourself. Just like me, you’re pretty, thin and short for a guy. I would never have suggested this if you didn’t have all the ingredients. We already know how you feel about spending the rest of your life without any balls. Why not find out what it feels like to be a beautiful woman? Who knows, you might just like it.”

It was all so incredibly bizarre. An hour ago, I was resigned to a barren existence. Now a total stranger was opening another door, to a place which terrified me. What would people say? Yet as I looked at her, watched her move and listened to the way she talked, the whole notion somehow seemed less preposterous. “What makes you think I’d like it,” I heard myself ask.

“Maybe you won’t. Why don’t we find out? I brought some things with me, in case you’d like to try. Just for fun. What do you say?”

How could I say no? After a week going stir crazy in my apartment, a beautiful girl wanted to dress me up in her clothes. Okay, so she used to be a guy. What did I have to lose? “If you want to,” I said with a shrug.

With that, she stood up and opened her suitcase on the sofa. She pulled out a dress and held it up to me. “Just as I thought, we’re the same size. This is going to look cute on you.” Before I could respond, she started digging through the suitcase until she found a pair of low heeled pumps. “The moment of truth,” she said. “Try these on.” I steadied myself on her shoulder as I tried to jam my foot into one of her shoes, but it wouldn’t quite fit. “Sit down,” she ordered, and as I fell back into my chair, she produced a knee high stocking and rolled it part way up my leg. “Try it again,” she said, and this time, my foot slid into her shoe without difficulty. “Success,” she said. Eyeing the hair which was matted under the stocking, she ordered me into the bathroom with instructions to shave off everything below my neck.

In a daze, I did as I was told. As I sat in the tub shaving my legs, I tried to get a grip on what was happening to me. Becoming a eunuch had been devastating enough. Could I cope with becoming a woman? I never wanted this, I told myself, but I never wanted to lose my balls either. Was Angela right? There was something about her, an inner strength and self-confidence, which had been missing in me since my operation. Up until my last night as a man, I used to be a take charge guy. Now I was drifting, and even contemplating suicide in my darkest moments. Something about her made me want to live again.

She broke my reverie with a bang on the bathroom door. “Come on, sister, we don’t have all day!” she shouted. “Get your ass out here.” I toweled myself off, marveling at the sensation as the air cooled my denuded body. All of my body hair was gone except for a tiny patch above my now useless package. I wrapped the towel around myself and returned to my living room. “In here,” she called, and I followed her voice into my bedroom. Arrayed on my bed were the dress, a slip, a bra, and a pair of pantyhose. She was holding a pair of panties in her hands.

She tugged at the towel and it dropped to the floor. My dick hung limply as I stepped into her panties and pulled them up my legs. Before I could finish, she reached down and tucked my penis between my legs. My empty scrotum folded around it, and presto! For all the world, I looked like I had a vagina.

Shaken, I let her put the bra through my arms and fasten it behind my back. I watched in silence as she stuffed the cups with knee highs. When she spun me around to face the mirror on my closet door, my mouth dropped. Looking back at me were two girls, and the one in a bra and panties was me. With her smooth arms and legs and the illusion of breasts, she was definitely female. I stared at myself in shock as Angela began to brush my shoulder-length hair, muttering to herself as she tugged on the tangles. “Ouch!” I said.

“Better get used to it, sweetheart. You have a beautiful head of hair, and without that testosterone in your system, you’re going to get to keep it now. I don’t have time to style it today, but if we can just – get - these – damn – tangles out of your hair, I’ll make you presentable. Do you ever wear a ponytail?”

“Sometimes, when I’m jogging or playing softball.”

“Good. It’s gonna look a little different,” she said as she wrapped a scrunchie around my hair. She pulled it higher up the back of my head than I was used to, and played with it until I had bangs over my forehead and spit curls over my ears. If I thought I looked feminine before, I was really bowled over now.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do with this pretty face of yours,” she said. She sat me down on the edge of the bed and went to work with her cosmetics. I had to close my eyes as she brushed and powdered me, not quite believing that a pretty girl who used to be a guy was giving me a makeover. I stared at her as she applied a coat of lipstick to my lips, and when she was finished, she gave me a big smile. “Wow. I’m a miracle worker. Look at yourself!”

She was right. My face had been totally transformed into a girl’s. And I was pretty. I just sat there and stared at myself in the mirror as she started to work on my nails. They hadn’t been clipped in weeks, and she was able to shape and file them into a presentable shape. After she applied a coat of quick dry polish, she had me hold my hands up to dry as she smoothed moisturizing crème over my legs and arms. In all my life, I had never experienced anything like the sensation of being pampered like this. Finally, after all the trauma of my operation and recovery, I felt like I was beginning to come alive again.

But I was unprepared for what happened next. “Let’s see if you can figure out how to put on your pantyhose,” she said with a giggle. I picked up the flimsy nylons and tried to get my foot into one of the legs. “No, stop!” she laughed. “You’ll put your toes right through them. Here, bunch them up, one foot at a time, and slide them up your legs.” I followed her instructions, and as the stockings started to caress my smooth skin, I began to feel a stirring in my dormant penis. Incredulous, I stared as it stiffened and strained against my panties, until it popped to attention before her startled eyes. “Whoa,” she said. “Where did that come from?”

I blushed furiously as I finished pulling my pantyhose up over my waist, a pronounced bulge now showing. “Good thing I brought you a slip,” she said, and she told me to step into it and pull it up over my shoulders. As the silky fabric brushed against my nylons and the smooth skin on my back, my erection intensified. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, but it felt wonderful to be aroused again, even under such bizarre circumstances.

“Okay, Missy, let’s get this dress on you before we both change our minds,” she said. I was about to ask her what she meant when she started to lower it over my head, and when I could see again, I could only stare at my reflection in the full length mirror as she zipped me up from behind. My dress was blue with little white flowers, and it had a high ruffled collar and a gathered waist. The hem fell just above my knees, and she tugged it down to make sure it covered my slip. Then she put the pumps down on the floor in front of me, and once again I steadied myself on her as I stepped into them. I actually gasped when I saw the total effect. My legs looked sensational in heels and stockings.

The next hour was a blur as she instructed me on how to walk in my heels, and gave me tips and pointers on how to sit down in my dress, cross my legs, and hold my hands as I walked. I remember her putting clip-on earrings on my ears and fastening a pendant around my neck, and surprising me with a few spritzes of her cologne. As I started to get used to the strange sensation of wearing woman’s clothing, the arousal in my panties reached a plateau, as if the exquisite moment before orgasm could last forever.

The spell broke when she filled a purse up with a lipstick, compact, and tissues and told me it was time to go. “Go where?” I asked.

“It’s time for a late lunch and some shopping.”

“I’m not going anywhere like this!”

“Do you think I went to all this trouble for nothing? You are taking me to lunch, and then we girls are going to do some shopping. Understood?”

What could I say? Angela had been so nice to me, and I did desperately want to get out of my apartment. But looking like this? What would people say?

“Don’t worry, nobody is going to recognize you,” she said, as if reading my mind. “You are 100% girl now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got picked up. Only kidding!” she added when a look of panic came over my face. “I’m not about to share you with anybody. Now let’s go.”

My knees were shaking as I put my keys into my purse and slung it over my shoulder. I followed two steps behind her as we walked down the hall and waited for an elevator. When the elevator doors started to open, I must have jumped. “Relax,” she whispered as we went inside. There were two guys in it, who I knew casually from the health club, and I stared at the lights indicating the floor numbers as we rode down in silence. When the doors opened, Angela stepped outside, and I stood for a second before I realized that the guys were waiting for me to leave first. I hurried after Angela and caught up with her as another guy was holding the front door open for us.

“Didn’t you used to wait for the ladies?” she asked as I fell in alongside her. “It’s nice having guys open doors for you. Almost makes up for having to stand in line at the ladies room.” I tried to keep up with her in my heels, gradually taking shorter steps as I got my rhythm. “Don’t look at your feet,” she scolded me. “You’re a beautiful girl out on the town on a lovely summer afternoon. Swing those hips a little, and make like you’ve been doing this all your life.”

She spied an Italian restaurant with out outdoor seating area and disappeared inside the door. When I caught up with her, she was asking for a table for two outside. We were escorted to a corner table under a market umbrella, and I waited for the maitre’d to pull back my chair and hand me my napkin. “You’re catching on,” she said after he left us with our menus. “Better let me do all the talking. You haven’t had a chance to work on your voice. Don’t worry, it’s okay between us girls, but if you’re like I was, you’ll have stage fright the first time you try it out on a stranger.”

She ordered chardonnay and salads for each of us, and for the next couple of hours we were just two ladies at lunch, talking about nothing in particular as we sipped our wine and got to know each other. She obviously missed intimate human companionship as much as I did, and as she related her checkered past, I could feel a strange bond developing between us. When did she discover she was gay? How did her family react? What made her decide to steal from the bank?

“I’m not sure when they finally disowned me,” she sighed. “By the time I went to prison, they had written me off completely, and they have no idea what happened to me.”

The sweet feeling in my panties spiked when I crossed my legs and felt the delicious nylon rub against my smooth skin. “When did you become a hooker?” I asked.

She actually laughed. “The nerve of you! Trust me, the job market for transsexuals with felony convictions is not so hot. Besides, how else would I get to meet nice people like you? Speaking of which, we need to give you a name.”

“A name?”

“How many girls do you know named Jonathan? Let’s see, how about Jennifer? You won’t have to change the initials on your towels.”

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