Civil War Casualty

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

I should never have gone to that godforsaken country, but I needed the money. I signed a two year contract with the National Oil Company at a salary twice what I could earn at home and found myself the only expat in a team of 12 men on a remote drilling rig miles into the desert.

Almost as soon as I arrived, I became aware of tensions and civil unrest. The country had been ruled by a ruthless despot for many years and there had been a series of demonstrations against him. However, the military were backing him, if only because they were some of the few well paid employees.

The demonstrations soon became riots and by the time I had been there three months, had become open civil war. Isolated in the desert, I thought we were fairly safe, but it was impossible to remain neutral when all the other men at the rig were clearly on the side of the rebels and openly flew the rebel flag over the rig.

One day, a lorry drove up with a squad of soldiers. They had heard that we backed the rebels and we were herded into the open back of the lorry and driven for an hour in the hot sun to a nearby town. “Town” is a bit of a misnomer. It was just a collection of houses, most of which were now deserted. The local school had been ransacked but the main hall still had walls lined with climbing bars. It had once also served as a gymnasium.

We were all stripped naked and tied by wrists and ankles with our backs to the bars. The sergeant in charge spoke in broken English.

“You foreigner. Joined rebels. Same punishment.”

I was third in line and watched as one of the soldiers handed him a piece of plastic pipe into which he dropped something from a tube and rammed it painfully onto my colleague's cock.

“Super-glue,” he said when it was my turn, “Never come off.”

The soldier then handed him what looked like a cable tie and grabbed my scrotum while the officer pulled it very tight.

“Soon - no balls, no sex, no kids!”

The pain was excruciating and as I realised what was being done to me, I must have passed out.

I don't know how long it was before I came to. Probably only a minute or two in time to see the same treatment being meted out to all my colleagues. I could see that the plastic pipe had been cut crudely so that each piece was about 2 inches long and not much more than an inch in diameter.

We were left tied to the bars for a long time but were eventually released and moved into an empty room under guard. I was still in great pain. My balls were blue and I knew that the damage was final. I had no means of removing the cable tie. We had to lie on a hard concrete floor to sleep as best we could. None of us spoke. I think we were all too shattered to say anything coherent.

Next day we were once again loaded onto the back of a lorry and taken on a 4 hour journey to the capital city. A large internment camp had been set up on the outskirts where there were already several hundred people. Men and women were segregated.

Conditions were primitive but at least there was running water, small food rations and camp beds. We were able to compare notes with other inmates, none of whom had been mutilated as we had but there were rumours of killings, women raped and men whose cocks were sliced off were left to bleed to death. No medication was available. We had no idea how long we might be kept and virtually no news of events elsewhere.

Over several months, I slowly got used to my status as a eunuch and any tendency to an attempted erection went away. It had initially been frustrating as the tube prevented it. Peeing was messy.

After nearly six months in captivity, I was pleased to see representatives of the International Red Cross and knew that my situation would therefore would soon be known back home. I asked them to try to get a letter to my sister, Alice. She is my only living relative. She is just two years older than me and we were always very close as children. I knew that she would be worried about me but my letter merely confirmed that I was OK. I did not wish to worry her with grim details.

As time went on, I became aware that our ambassador knew where I was and was trying to get me released. But things dragged on interminably.

After nearly a year, some of my companions told me they had noticed changes in their bodies, in particular a swelling of their breasts and shortly after that, I also noticed changes. I knew enough about hormones to realise that this was because we, as eunuchs, no longer produced testosterone and that our remaining hormones were way out of balance. I no longer had any feeling in my cock. It was just a nuisance being trapped in a tube.

Although I had realised the possibility that I might lose my cock as well as my balls, I was worried because I actually rather liked my budding boobs and was afraid that someone would want to cut them off when I eventually got back to civilisation. No way was I going to allow anyone to remove them as well as my male bits even if they did become an embarrassment.

Finally, one day I was told I was being moved, though I knew not where. But I was overjoyed to be taken to the embassy. I was given a thorough medical examination and de-briefed. The doctor did not seem unduly surprised at what had been done to me. Maybe he had seen other similar cases. He promised to arrange an appointment for me to see a top urologist back home. I was allowed to phone Alice and she promised to meet me when I was flown home and offered to put me up while I adjusted to being free.

At the airport, her first words were “My God, Johnny, are you having a sex change?” I had not realised that things were quite so obvious. Apart from my boobs, my hair had grown soft and I had put on weight around my hips. We spoke little in the car. She had prepared the spare room for me and made sure I would be comfortable. The luxury of a long hot bath was something I had missed for over a year and it gave me time to look at my new breasts and what was left of my balls. Tugging at the tube proved pointless.

Alice is a busy doctor in general practice. Her husband, Peter is also a doctor but has a permanent position in the local hospital. They have two boys aged 8 and 10 who greeted me with puzzled looks at though they didn't quite know whether I was an uncle or an aunt.

It was not until well after supper when the boys were in bed that Alice asked if I wanted to talk about what had happened. I decided that I should not hold back. After all both Alice and Peter were doctors and would provide good advice.

“Now I understand your change in appearance.” Alice said. “I'm glad you're going to see Mr Whitwell. He's certainly the best choice.”

I said “There is one thing you should know. I never thought it would be so, but I've grown to like my new breasts and I have no intention of letting anyone cut them off.”

“Well they are getting rather prominent,” said Alice, “I think you are probably a B cup already and they might grow bigger. What then? Maybe you , might find it easier to live as a woman.”

I had not thought about that. “I don't know whether it's what I want or whether it would be possible.”

“Is it something you ever considered? Even when you were young?”

“No, but now that you've suggested it, the idea is not unattractive. It's just that I can see so many obstacles in the way.”

“Maybe we could help.” Alice looked at Peter who nodded. “No one around here knows you or are even aware you are here. You could live with us as a female for a month or so without commitment.
I can help you with clothes and make up and make sure you're presentable. We're about the same size. I could lend you clothes. You will need a name. We could not go on calling you Johnny if you're wearing a skirt. How about Mary? I'll invent a long lost cousin who has come over from New Zealand.”

Bless her! Alice was always practical and ready to help. I was left slightly stunned at the prospect but did not really want to refuse. Besides, she was probably right about my boobs getting even bigger and I couldn't hide them for ever.

We talked about the practicalities and with her help I was sure I could do it. She even started to put flesh on her story about a cousin. Our father must have had a brother who emigrated before we were born, married out there and had a daughter, Mary, about the time I was born.

Two days later, I was sitting in Mr Whitwell's consulting room after he had spent nearly two hours giving me a very thorough examination.

“Let's deal with the easy bit first. We need to remove what's left of your testicles. They've been dead for over a year. That's why you've started to appear rather feminine. You're not producing any testosterone. Removing the tube is not so easy. We must assume that all the skin on your penis has fused with the plastic, so cutting the tube off may leave you with a skinless cock. It might be possible to do a skin graft but it would be difficult and you would be in great discomfort for quite a long time, even if the graft took. Realistically, your penis now has no sex life and is only a channel for urine. I'm going to suggest that it should be amputated, together with the remains of your scrotum. There is a good chance that your urethra is intact and we would reroute it to a new exit point between your legs. Its a fairly standard procedure for men who have advanced penile cancer. Bladder control should be al-right but cannot be guaranteed. You would have to sit to urinate like a woman.”

I think his prognosis was not unexpected and I just nodded. He went on “The other thing we have to
look after is your appearance. A strong dose of testosterone would stop further development but you have indicated that that may not be what you want. Although we should not delay surgery much longer, your sister's suggestion, which you seem anxious to try, may solve the problem. In that case, you may then be seeking a sex change operation. We cannot know whether that is possible until we know how much of your penile skin will be available. You probably know that that sort of operation involves inverting the penis into the abdomen to create an artificial vagina.”

“And if it is not possible?”

“Then at least you would have a smooth crotch which would look superficially female. If you're sure its what you want to try, go away and live as a female for a month. Then we can decide exactly what we will try to achieve.”

Back at Alice's home, I told her what Mr Whitwell had proposed.

“That's what I expected so I have been busy while you were out. You are going to become Mary today. Come upstairs.” I followed her up to my room where I found that my few male clothes had been tidied away and neat piles of new things had been placed on the bed. I could see at a glance that Alice had bought me a couple of bras, a pack of panties and a pantie girdle, all of which were in their original packaging. She had also put out what I suspected were some of her own clothes and a small collection of cosmetics.

“Strip off and go and get in the shower. I'll spray you with this” - she held up an aerosol marked “Depilatory Spray” - “We need to remove all your body hair from the neck down.” Ten minutes later, I was like a newborn baby and carefully blotted myself dry. It was a far cry from my appearance in the prison camp.

We went back to the bedroom where Alice told me to put on a pair of panties and the girdle. “The girdle will make sure that ugly tube is kept out of sight between your legs.” She then helped me to put a bra on and adjust it to fit. I shall always remember that first time. More than everything else, it was what suddenly made me feel feminine. She had to show me how to put on a pair of tights without laddering them but the feeling over my hairless legs was lovely. A blue patterned knee length skirt was paired with a white blouse through which the outline of my bra was just discernible. My hair, although fairly soft, was still quite short for a girl but Alice managed to shape it to look feminine. I also needed some tuition in the use of make up which she used very sparingly.

I was shocked when I saw my self in the full length mirror. It wasn't me but I liked the girl who looked back at me and I could not resist doing a little twirl.

“Just like a girl! Are you ready to meet the family, now?”

We went downstairs. The boys were doing their homework and Peter had just come home.

“Hi, Guys! Time to meet Auntie Mary.” The boys had a slightly puzzled look but just said “Hi!” and went on with their work. But Peter was clearly impressed. “I'd never have believed it. You actually look much better now than you did yesterday. I'm looking forward to having the company of a new sister-in-law.”

I was relieved that Peter was supportive. It made me feel more at home in my new persona and I was just amazed how right it all felt.

It was a day or two before I ventured out and then only with Alice as “guardian”. She took me shopping and spared no expense — which was just as well because I had few funds and little prospect of getting any payment for the last year. “You can't go around in my stuff indefinitely. You need things you have chosen which you can call you're own.” I think at that early stage, we both knew instinctively I would not be reverting to being male again.

One of the items Alice bought for me was a red sleeveless pencil dress, about 2 inches above the knee. It suited my inevitably rather boyish figure, but what really impressed me was how the dress fitted my still modest bust as if it had been specially tailored. I just loved it.

I found it a steep learning curve. Clothes and make up, even softening my voice, were the easy things. I had to discover an entirely new personality. How to walk, stand and sit like a woman. To remember that I carried a handbag. How to think like a woman. How to socialise, talk to and be accepted by other women.

The four weeks passed quickly. I became increasingly confident of myself. Peter and Alice introduced me to several of their friends and I went out alone occasionally. My only concern was that I might meet another New Zealander who knew the district I claimed to be from and that my story would be blown. Fortunately, I never did.

I could not wait for my operation and finally the day came. As I lay in the hospital ward awaiting my premed I realised that I would not know until I woke up whether my future would be as a female with an artificial vagina or a nullified eunuch in drag. I didn't really care as long as I could get rid of my now useless cock and balls and live a new life as a woman. Who could have guessed a month ago that I would have transitioned so quickly?

That sadistic sergeant had actually given me the most wonderful gift for which I remain profoundly thankful.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2011

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