Losses
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I lost my balls at 17. It was a motorcycle accident. I was wearing my helmet and had good shoes on, but otherwise just shorts and a tee-shirt. I lost control and hit the kerb dead in front. The bike rode up but I went forward, over the fuel tank. The fuel cap tore open my scrotum and tore into my penis as well. I flew over the sidewalk and landed in the bushes. Other than the mutilation of my genitals I had only light injuries.

I was still in hospital for over a week. The surgeons repaired my penis and stitched up my empty scrotum. I was offered implant testicles – small plastic eggs that could ride in my scrotum, but to be inserted after the initial injury had healed. I was told that while my penis was heavily scarred, with a course of androgens (male hormones) and Viagra to stiffen me, I could function sexually, although I could never father children.

When I got back to school it was to be as if nothing happened, but the rumour mill grinded on, and it was soon public knowledge that I was an accidental eunuch. Before the accident I had been a regular guy: Good looking enough, sporty without being ripped, not too smart. I had a group of close friends, and a girlfriend Sophie. After the injury everybody pitied me, which drove me crazy. The guys tried to involve me, and Sophie kept dating me, but we never had sex again.

I started on the male hormones to replace what would have been generated by my testicles, but they knocked me around. I got spots and really coarse hairs on my face, not like the soft fuzz I had been developing since puberty. And I got really angry. I ended up starting fights with my friends for no real reason. I felt like the hormones were too strong and were making me a different person.

My parents could see it was tough for me. My father arranged for the whole family, including my older brother and sister, to charter a boat and sail Frederick Sound, Alaska for 4 weeks over spring. I forgot to pack my hormone tablets.

My father had suggested that we could stop off to fill the prescription, but I told him that I was happier without them in my system. I felt sort of peaceful with it. He told me that without replacing the androgens I might not look male enough. I asked him if that would embarrass him, as it would not embarrass me. My father loves me and cares about what my future might be, and he was supportive.

Before the end of the trip I had noticed some swelling in my chest and my mom took me to the doctor about it when our holiday was over. Doctor Jacques explained that this gynecomastia was not uncommon in young men but was normally suppressed by male hormones, and without the pills, I did not have any. He urged me to get back on the drugs I had been prescribed, but I was not keen.

The other changes that I had noticed was that all beard growth had stopped, my skin had cleared up and my hair texture had changed. I had not cut it for some months – I suppose I thought longer hair was more appropriate to who I was now.

It is not that I felt I was becoming feminine, it was just that I knew that I was no longer fully male. It was as if I was trying to find some new ground in the middle. I wore simple jeans and tee-shirts, or looser shirts when my gynecomastia became a little more pronounced.

I felt better for it. I made up with my friends but to them it was obvious that I had changed. I did not sign up with them for baseball at the beginning of term, but I played on the tennis team. I did notice that I had lost some muscle mass, but I was OK with it. I was mobile on the court and had good reflexes, just not the same power in my shots.

Sophie had moved on too, but still caught up with me from time to time. I felt that we had a real friendship. She said that she was thinking about accepting an offer of a date from my friend Chas Blaylock and I said she should go for it. Afterwards she invited me to meet with some of her girlfriends, initially for my advice - inside information on some of the guys I knew. It seemed that it was now accepted that I was no longer fully male, and I might even be one of the girls. They could talk to me, and I liked to be included.

I ended up being invited on a girl’s Saturday outing. We played putt-putt golf. There was a lot of gossiping and giggling, and while I was doing neither, I found it was a really fun experience. It was completely different from being with the boys. It was not competitive – it was just about having fun. After the putt-putt we went to Willa Jackson’s house nearby. Her Mom was away, and the girls decided that we would try on some of her outfits. Willa’s Mom was a real fashion nut. Willa would have liked to try on some of the outfits but they were too big for her. There was a sort of fashion show. Of course I was not interested, but I went along for the fun of it. Fun until the “Little Black Dress” appeared and the girls wanted me to model it. It was fitted and none of the girls could wear it well. On me it was perfect. It was just missing something in the bust but that was easily fixed with the right bra and a bit of padding. I knew that it was just a bit of fun but I really liked the look. Everybody said that I had great legs.

Some weeks later Willa told me that her mother was throwing out some of her clothes but that she (Willa) could not bear to see such beautiful things binned. They were my size, so she gave them to me. Of course, I should not have accepted them. But I did. They just sat in a box in the back of my closet.

I would only bring them out occasionally. And then just to put them on and look at myself. Maybe sit on my bed with my legs crossed. I had taken to shaving my legs because skirts do not look right with hairy legs poking out from under.

My breasts were now filling the top part of these dresses. The gynecomastia was becoming obvious and while I could conceal it over winter in baggy sweatshirts, with summer approaching I needed to do something.

For the first time I toyed with the idea of dressing full time as a girl. I spoke to my parents about it. I did not want to go back on the male hormones again. Th drugs just did not agree with me. Without them I was simply much less male, but I did not feel sick and grumpy. People were starting to notice, particularly strangers who did not know my back story. It was not that I was becoming female, I was just looking at alternatives as to how I could get by.

My father was horrified. My mother less so – her only concern was for my safety. She had an idea that I would get beaten up by some tranny hater. But they were both understanding, as they have been all my life. I should try it if it might work for me. My father suggested that I try to wear “uni-sex” clothing – something that could pass for either a boy or a girl.

Sofie and Willa were a huge help. We decided to start slowly. My mother bought me some girls jeans and some tops that progressed from plain in neutral shades to Barbie doll pink with scalloping and lace. I had sneakers and flip flops. I started to test the water.

It was not long before the whispering started. The good thing was that there was no outward abuse, just questions. The official position was that I was “exploring gender neutrality” which I suppose I was. But there is no future in that.

The school asked my parents to come in with me. I wore the pink top and had my hair in a high pony tail. I am not sure why I did that. I suppose I just wanted to push the boundary a little. My father had never seen me in such obviously girl clothes before. I half expected him to turn away from me, but instead he hugged me. I felt that I was lucky to have a father like him.

My mother took me and Sophie out shopping and bought me a summer dress. This was making a clear statement that I was crossing over. We must have tried on about ten different dresses. It was a great day. It is hard to describe why – I just felt as if a whole new world was opening up in front of me. Things had been dark since the accident but now the future seemed to be full of color.

And when you wear a lightweight summer dress, there is a feeling of freedom. It makes you understand just how constraining pants are. When you skip across a field in a dress like that, with the air on your legs, you realize that girl’s clothes are better. A girl can still wear pants, but on a summer day she can wear a dress.

Later that summer I also bought myself a bikini. With an empty sack and so little left in the way of a penis, I found that I could easily tuck in what was left. My figure was still not that curvy but it was definitely a woman’s body.

I also bought a knit dress. It was just a crazy whim. A knit dress is really about showing what curves I had. I suppose I just thought that wanted to show my changing shape. I did not wear it outside for a quite a while. I like to wear it at home without underwear – just some tape to tuck my penis back. I had budding breasts and a bum taking some shape. I had a flat stomach and really good legs.

Then there were the clothes that I had from Willa’s mother. I took them out of the box and hung them in my closet. They were more mature, but probably best described as high fashion. There were stylish dresses, and even a suit, and a fabulous evening gown, all perfectly fitting the shape I had developed.

I started to understand that this was me. I was not going back to live life as a boy. Somewhere along the way I had changed lanes. I was now on the female road for good.

And the next stop down that road was a relationship.

When I started back at school as a girl it caused a real stir. I was lucky that I had Sofie and my old friend Chas Blaylock who was now going out with her, and Willa and her guy Kyle, and also Titus Young, who was on my tennis team. These were the people that gave the best support. By that I meant that if anybody called out “Sissy”, or “Tranny” or “Fag” they would bail that person up and tell them off.

There was talk about transgender people at the time, but I did not really put myself in that group. My situation was that I had become “non-male” by accident, and I was just looking at the possibility of crossing over. I did not want to have a choice, but I did.

No matter what sex I chose to present myself as, I could not be a parent. That was a sad fact, but it was inescapable. Without balls my sex drive was not even worth thinking about, so my friendships were not dictated by sex. I liked being with girls for some things (clothes and hairstyles) and boys for other things (sports and gaming). The only negative thing about boys is that they cannot get over a guy like me having no nuts, let alone coping with the fact that (in summer at least) I preferred girl’s clothes.

It was Titus who changed everything for me. He invited me out for a date.

I told him that I was not sure if this was where I was headed. When I had my balls I was attracted to women, and all medical advice was that this did not need to change. Titus agreed, but he suggested that I just needed to try the experience out. I figured “why not”. He suggested that we go to a movie and then have a meal after that. He suggested that the meal should be a restaurant that I knew was quiet and without kids like us to embarrass me.

Sophie and Willa got very excited when I told them that I was going on a date, and they suggested that I should dress properly for it. I had quite a bit of hair and they arranged to style it. I would wear my knit dress with a stylish little jacket from Willa’s stuff, and I would wear makeup. I had never used it before, so I was given a crash course. But on the night, they did all the work, plucking and brushing and painting.

I have to say that I was surprised at just how good I looked. But not as surprised as Titus. You could have lifted his jaw off the floor when he saw me. And to emphasize that I was a girl that evening I had all the moves rehearsed as well, after some instruction from Sophie and Willa. The tilted head, thing, the hands, the playing with the hair. The whole thing.

Over dinner Titus told me that I should definitely be a girl not a nut-less boy. That is not what he said, but what he meant. As if to put an exclamation point on that, he kissed me when he got me home. Not just a peck on the cheek, but a full one Hollywood face suck.

I have to say it bowled me over. Before that kiss, I never would have said that I was anything other a heterosexual male, even though I lacked a vital piece of equipment. As I said, the advice was that the loss of your testicles cannot change your sexual orientation, nor can putting on women’s clothing. I suppose that it was the fact that I had become attractive to boys that changed the way I thought about them.

It was not just Titus who was attracted to me. After that date I learned that being pretty and acting girlish, drew the attention of boys, even if they tried to resist it, fearing that they were turning gay. And drawing that attention felt good. All my girlfriends did it, including Sophie and Willa, and the others. I suddenly realized that I was a member of the pretty girl set at school. Boys admired us, and girls wanted to be as pretty as we were. We all felt good.

But Titus was my guy. It was because he took a chance on treating the girl with a dick as a real girl. I loved him for that. I really did. He took a ribbing early on, but the truth is that all the guys who had been my friends (and still were in a way) only wanted me to have a life, and a relationship with Titus hinted that was possible. I was lucky to have such friends among the boys, as well as my girlfriends.

And I was lucky with my family as well. My parents looked into sex reassignment surgery. I had not even thought about it, but my father had asked our accident insurer to look at this as part of treatment for the injury I had suffered years before, and they agreed to pay part. My parents took out an additional mortgage to cover the difference.

Titus was very happy. Sex between consisted of really heavy petting, and him playing with my tits, and me playing with his penis, including the occasional blow job – if he was particularly nice to me. The prospect of man on woman sex was exciting for both of us.

So, I had the surgery and went through all the post-surgery stuff. To be honest, I felt so wrecked down there that I had no real discomfort with any of it, although the surgeon did say that he had been able to construct a clitoris with some nerves preserved. I had no real hope that I would have enough feeling to orgasm, I just knew that I would have thrill enough if Titus ejaculated inside me. There is no clitoris in your hand or your throat, but there is still the joy of sex.

So, you can imagine my surprise when we first made love, and the sensitivity almost blew the top of my head off. Not just once, but I was just screaming for him to keep on plunging into me so that I could feel that again and again.

But a girl cannot get slutty. It is best that he knows that you enjoy it, but that you let him make the call. As it is Titus seems to have an appetite that fits me perfectly. And he is a good man, and a good provider. And I am sure that he will be a good parent to the children that we intend to adopt after we are married.

The truth is, that when I look back and think how bitter I was when I lost my manhood, all those years ago, I smile. If it had not been for that, I would have missed the life I live now, and the contentment that only a happy woman can feel.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2017