Melanie's Story -- Chapter 3 -- Something's Not Right

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CHAPTER 3 -- Something's Not Right

It was in the boys' shower that it started. Tom Prescott, one of the football players and a ringleader of the jock clique, was pointing at my penis, when he shouted, "hey, what's with your dick? It looks like a little boy's dick. Hey, little boy, whacha doin' in high school?" I did my best to ignore him, but that night I looked in the mirror for the first time. My penis was about half its usual length and smaller around, too. My scrotum was shrunk and pinning my balls to my crotch. I also noticed that my nipples were sore.

I started worrying that puberty was throwing some new humiliation my way, then I started worrying that I was worrying for nothing. I actually started measuring it. To my distress, a week later, it was a half an inch shorter. I couldn't even stretch it to the length it was a week earlier. I thought about asking my father about it, but I couldn't imagine him coming back with anything but one of those idiotic man-to-man platitudes. I thought about my mother, but she was uncomfortable with anything that reminded her that I was male. She had trouble even washing my underwear.

I was still seeing the neurologist every two weeks, so I brought my measurements to my next appointment. At first, he thought it was just some adolescent thing, but I insisted he examine me. When he did, he said, "I think we need a second opinion." He gave me a very thorough examination, including blood tests, and set up an appointment with a colleague before he let me go.

It was October by then. Every week, I got sent to a different specialist, each one more eminent than the last, and each one did a thorough exam. The third one noticed that I was a few inches shorter than at my first exam. The fourth one noticed that my nipples were enlarged and my chest had started to develop breasts. By then, my penis was so short that I had to sit to pee, and my scrotum had flattened into my crotch. I had no idea what had happened to my balls. I started wrapping my chest with several ace bandages to flatten the breasts out, but it made the nipples hurt and I started getting backaches.

The fourth doctor didn't set up another appointment. "I have a few ideas, but I'm not ready to say anything yet. I'll have someone call you." Four days later, yet another doctor called -- in person, not through a receptionist -- and asked my parents and me to come in.



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