Half Way.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

Tomorrow will be my 40th birthday. I have a reasonable chance of surviving to see my 80th, so on that basis I am half way through my life. Tomorrow will also be a significant date for another reason. For the first half of my life, I have been male. For the second, I will be female so I have particular reason to celebrate.

40 years ago, my parents were delighted with the arrival of their second child. Their first had been a girl who they named Emma. I was a boy and they called me John. I was a normal baby in every way. 7lbs, brown eyes and a tiny skwiff of dark hair. Of course, I do not remember my earliest childhood but Emma, who is only two years my senior, can remember when I first went to junior school, a typical boy in short trousers. I naturally played games with the other boys with whom she tells me I was quite popular. I was also good at lessons.

Even at that early stage of my life, however, I had one personal secret — I hated my genitals. I knew nothing about girls, except that Emma was “different down there” and I could not understand why I had ugly bits between my legs and she didn't. Sometimes, I would wear my pants back to front and pretend that they had disappeared.

Later, I went on to senior school and reached the age of puberty. I soon discovered in the boys changing room that they all had similar bits and I remember the shock of my first “wet dream”. I have received no advice from my parents, or anyone else, to prepare me for it and it just reinforced my dislike of my male genitals. Being like all the other boys didn't change that.

I was a good scholar and good at sports. We played football and cricket and I was soon awarded at place in school teams.

Despite my attitude to my genitals, I became a compulsive masturbator — a habit which always made me feel ashamed. I enjoyed doing it until I reached a climax and then hated myself and my “bits” even more. I never discussed this with my mates because it was such a personal thing, although we certainly talked about girls and I learned — and was probably misinformed — about their anatomy. And I knew that they didn't have the ugly bits that boys had.

But my problem was just something I learned to live with. It was my thing which I would never talk to anyone about.

With good exam results, I went on to university to study law. I loved the student life and dated a number of girls. But at the least sign of intimacy, I would always back off and avoided any regular dating. This was when the internet was becoming more widely used and I spent a lot of time “surfing”. Inevitably, I found sites which either shocked or fascinated me and one of these was Altairboy — all about chastity devices. This seemed to be an answer to my masturbation problem as well as my wish to hide my bits away. But everything was too expensive for me as a student and the cheaper ones didn't hide things. Full Florentine belts seemed to cost a fortune so it had to remain a hope that one day I could afford one.

After graduation, I joined a law firm and had to serve time before taking my final exams as a lawyer. My pay was minimal — just enough for essentials. Once again, my desire to own a full chastity belt had to wait.

Eventually, as a fully qualified lawyer, I started to earn a proper salary and I was able to start to build up some savings. Sadly, both my parents died within a few months of each other. They were not rich, but the sale of the family home provided Emma and me with a modest nest egg and I felt able to fulfil my long-standing ambition. I ordered a Neosteel “She Male” chastity belt.

I now also bought a small house which became my bachelor pad and where I had privacy. I had some good female friends whose company I much enjoyed, but none was a regular girlfriend. I studiously avoided any intimacy. Thus I had no one in whom I would want to confide about my “kink” and thus no key holder. The belt was very effective in preventing masturbation so long as I made sure that the key was not easily accessible. I lodged one key at my bank in case of emergency and the other I would mail to a “poste restante” address some distance from my home from which I would collect it occasionally.

For the first time in my life, I could hide away my genitals and pretend they didn't exist. Wearing the belt, I got used to having to sit to use the toilet and found that panties were more suitable than Y fronts. I also chose to wear womens' trousers without fly openings — they were either pull-ons or side zip. I had always wanted to wear them and for me they were a constant reminder that my bits were not available but I was never aware that anyone else noticed! The belt proved comfortable for quite long periods and I happily settled into a life of chastity.

I spent a lot of time surfing the net and found all sorts of sites dealing with chastity. One day I entered “penectomy” in Google and was astonished how many sites were listed — including video shots of the operation. Most deal with medical and surgical practice in cases such as penile cancer. There were accounts of castrations and nullification in some old rituals carried out in India and the Far East. But among all these was a reference to a clinic in Thailand where surgery could be obtained on demand. I returned to that site time and time again until I knew every word of it.

Eventually I summoned up the courage to email the Dr Wong who ran the clinic. I was deliberately vague about my wishes but I had a friendly reply with more information about himself and his clinic. He emphasised that he was willing to do surgery for psychological reasons as well as clinical ones. After our second exchange of emails, I asked directly if he could do a full radical penectomy and what it would cost. He told me he had done several similar operations, all of which had been successful. He proposed an overall fee to cover two weeks in the clinic including anaesthetist, nursing care and accommodation. It would be expensive but within what I had mentally budgeted. I agreed and we arranged a date a month later. I arranged to transfer a large sum in US dollars to an account in Bangkok. My employer agreed to let me take a whole year's holiday entitlement of four weeks in one go.

'**********************************

I soon found myself on a plane to Bangkok not really believing what I had committed to. My belt had been left at home in case of problems with airport security and I had shaved off all my pubic hair. I was met at the airport by an attractive young Thai called Kim, who I soon discovered was Dr Wong's wife. She drove north from the city for an hour or so and eventually turned up a driveway through trees which led to the clinic. It was large modern single story building, well away from prying eyes. Dr Wong welcomed me with a friendly smile and gave me a brief tour of the facilities which basically consisted of a well equipped operating theatre and four rooms providing individual accommodation for patients. One was prepared for my arrival, but none of the others was in use.

Dr Wong told me that his wife, Kim, was a trained theatre nurse. He himself had been trained in the USA and worked for a time in a large New York hospital. However, his views on medical ethics had brought him into conflict with the profession and he left to set up his own clinic, well away from officialdom. There were two other nurses and some domestic staff. His anaesthetist worked in a hospital in Bangkok but was happy to supplement his income and did not ask too many questions about the nature of the operations carried out. Altogether, it was pretty much as I expected — modest but technically highly professional.

That evening, Dr Wong spent nearly two hours giving me a thorough pre-operative and psychological examination, going over my life history. He gave me quite a grilling to satisfy himself that I knew exactly what I was going to have done. Having removed my penis and testicles, he would re-route my urethra to exit at a new opening between my legs. I signed consent documents and exonerated Dr Wong from any possible comeback. He would operate the following morning.

Kim tucked me into bed and thoughtfully put her hand down under the bedclothes to my crotch. “You'll never have that again, so you might as well enjoy it for the last time.”

In spite of that, I slept little but finally dozed off before being woken my Kim with my pre-med injection. Of the actual operation I knew nothing, being under general anaesthetic. It must have been late afternoon when I first came round and aware of pain in my groin as if I had been hit in the goolies with a baseball bat. I was still very groggy but Kim was at my bedside and reassured me that the operation had gone well. She gave me another injection to dull the pain and I soon nodded off again.

Much later, I came to and was immediately fully awake. It was dark outside but there was a light in the corridor outside my room. I tried to move but found my wrists had been tied to the bedframe. One of the nurses had heard me stir and was soon at my side. “Don't try to move just yet. We didn't want you exploring before we remove the dressing for the first time in the morning. You can look then.”

I lay awake knowing that I had achieved my ambition and impatient to see the results. The two nurses helped me to sit up to have some breakfast and at last were ready to change the dressing. I was a bit taken aback by what I saw. It was not a pretty sight. There was a lot of bruising but, most importantly, where my cock and balls had been there was now a neat scar about two inches long with a line of stitches which I was told were soluble. From somewhere between my legs a catheter tube led to a bag at the side of the bed. “Don't worry! The bruising will soon go and the catheter should be out in a few days.” All very professional as though they were used to dealing with men who have had their dicks cut off.

That afternoon I was helped out of bed and took a few steps round the room. There was still a dull ache in my crotch and I was very sore and conscious of every movement. Nevertheless, it was a good start and by the fourth day, I was able to walk around unaided, still sore but the aching pain had gone, together with most of the bruising. And I could then see what a neat job Dr Wong had done.

The next day, they removed the catheter and I managed to spend a penny through my new peehole, albeit with an acute burning sensation. I was given incontinence pads to look after the inevitable leaks. I also had to dilate regularly. The nurses helped me with this initially, but I had to get used to doing it by myself and found it painful. Dr Wong had warned me that I might have to do this for a couple of months, or so.

I had arranged to spend nearly a month in Thailand altogether so as to be close by if there were any post-operative problems and Dr Wong recommended a small private hotel by the ocean which proved ideal. I guessed that he often sent patients there to recuperate. I spent most of the time lazing by the pool or on the beach though I didn't strip off to sunbathe! I quickly adjusted to my new status. Bladder control was soon back to normal and clean but I had to get used to the different feel. I had also asked the doctor to recommend a tailor as I wanted to buy a couple of bespoke suits for wear at work. He promised that the tailor would be a model of discretion and there was no surprise when I asked for the trousers to have side zips instead of flies.

Finally, Dr Wong invited me to spend my last night back at his clinic so that he could do a thorough check that all was well. He gave me a large supply of medication which he said I would need to take for the rest of my life. He also gave me a contact in London who was a pharmacist working for a big hospital and who could get replacement supplies when needed. By now all the bruising had gone and I was very proud of my nice smooth crotch. Some pubic hair had started to regrow and would soon largely cover the scar. Although still a bit sore, I was walking easily.

There was one other patient in the clinic that night to whom I was introduced. “J” was an attractive Thai woman, probably about 40, who had come for a routine check. I soon learnt that “she” had had a penectomy operation like mine ten years earlier. She had no inhibitions in lifting her skirt and dropping her panties to show me and explained that she had been a ladyboy prostitute and had had a course of female hormones both before and after her operation. She had a lovely figure with nice breasts and now worked as a bank clerk in the city. Meeting her would haunt me for years to come, though I suspected that Dr Wong had intended that I should take to heart the need to take his male hormone replacement pills regularly.

Next morning, Kim took me to the airport and bade me a fond “Good Bye” with a big hug. Her final words were “Look after yourself, Johnny, and don't forget to take the pills.”

'********************************

It took me a little time to settle back into the routine of office work. When asked, I told colleagues that I had been visiting friends in Thailand. I enjoyed wearing my new suits and no one seemed to notice anything unusual, nor that I never used the urinals in the toilets.

Gradually, the sense of euphoria evaporated and I became sad at the realisation that I would grow old a lonely bachelor. I had realised my life's dream and now had nothing to look forward to. Although I had never entertained the thought of marriage before, the fact that it was now impossible made me depressed. I felt frustrated at not being able to masturbate, although I did get a pleasant sensation in my groin from fondling my nipples and the area round my new pee hole was mildly erogenous.

Socialising did not come naturally to me but fortunately, I was busy at work and had some hobbies.

It was about two years after my op that I first noticed a slight swelling in my breasts and that my nipples had become more sensitive. They felt good. I had never been good at remembering to take medicine regularly and it now hit me that the box of pills had sat on the bathroom shelf untouched for about three months. I remembered my meeting with J at the clinic and wondered what would happen if I took female hormones instead. Would I become a credible woman? Did I want to?

The question began to bug me and the thought developed that it might be an answer to future loneliness. After all, females were naturally more sociable than males and my impression was that old ladies were mostly happier and better able to cope than men. I would have to learn the art of conversation and routine household skills.

Indecision meant that the pills stayed on the shelf but I held back from buying female hormones. I emailed Dr Wong partly for advice and partly because I wanted to contact J. I told him that I had not been taking his pills and rather expected an “I told you so” reply. He wrote “You will soon have to decide which life style you want. Reverting to the male pills will stop further development but not undo what's already happened and you would have to live with that. If you really want to cross over and live as a female, then you need to take oestrogen pills which will speed things up. I've had patients who have done that and been very happy, including J who you met. Be warned, however, that the process is not reversible other than by surgery. Its up to you but doing nothing is not an option. You would just finish up as a nobody! Anyway, good luck and let me know how you get on. P.S. I have attached a prescription for the female pills in case you decide to go that way. My pharmacist friend can get them for you.” I suppose I should not have expected him just to say “Yes! Go for it!” - he was too professional for that — but at least he hadn't said “Don't do it!” Even so I was no nearer a decision.

However, a few days later I had an email from J. “Dear Johnny. It was good to meet you at Dr W's clinic. I'm not sure that I can really tell you what to do because our circumstances are so different. But hopefully what follows will help. I was orphaned when I was quite a young boy and when I left school I had to find a way to earn a living. To cut a long story short, I ended up as a “ladyboy” prostitute. I lived as a girl. I was given hormone pills by my “minder” which started my breast development. I was a “chick with a dick” and business was good. But I hated it and felt trapped, and decided that the only way out was to have my dick removed. Then I could pose as a real girl but as I would have no vagina, I would be useless as a prostitute. I managed to save up enough to get help from Dr Wong and persuaded him to do the surgery. I continued to take the hormones and they have given me the figure I have today. My only regret is that I didn't have enough money to pay for a full reassignment operation and the operation we've both had virtually precludes that now. Do please keep in touch. I would love to know how you get on. Love, Jan.”

I loved her email address: [email protected]!

I needed to experiment and started to buy some female clothing on the internet. I knew nothing about fashion or make up and my early efforts were sadly unconvincing even to me behind closed doors. So I signed up with a lady who advertised discretely as providing services to transvestites. She ran weekend courses in a pleasant country house where I realised just how much I had to learn. I went four times which was not cheap, but finally gained the confidence to venture out dressed. She had a vast wardrobe of clothes available to try out for a few hours and they were available to purchase at the end of the weekend if I so wished.

Very early on, I discovered the delights of wearing a bra. My boobs had not developed enough to fill even the smallest of cups, but with falsies I could experience the feel of the proper shape that my bust might one day achieve if I decided to go that way.

It did not take long to decide. Part of my earlier depression was that I was now a “nobody” - no longer a complete male but no nearer a female either. I wanted to be a “somebody” and the possibility of having breasts would give me a new identity. At least I could look female with boobs and a smooth crotch even if my internal plumbing didn't match.

I made contact with Dr Wong's friend who was able to provide exactly what had been prescribed. This time I managed to remember to take the pills regularly and in a few months, results had become very apparent and I definitely needed an A cup bra. I also needed to hide my new assets when in male mode — particularly at work. My hair had become softer and I let to grow a bit longer, tying it in a pigtail which could be shaken out when I was “dressed”.

I knew that eventually, I would have to “come out”. My 40th birthday was then three months away and it seemed it might be an auspicious occasion.

Those three months proved difficult. There seemed to the 101 things to set in hand, quite apart from trying to ensure that I would be 100% convincing as a woman and never just look like a man in drag. I deemed it wise to confide in my local doctor who, after some “tut tutting” proved surprisingly supportive. There would always be some things that I could not legally alter, like my birth certificate, but I needed to change my identity with my bank, credit cards, driving licence — the list seemed endless. I left telling my employer until last. He said he had noticed how I had changed and actually guessed what I was going to do. He promised to smooth the way with all the office staff.

And so tomorrow is the big day. I'm ready and anxious to face the world as a 40 year old woman. I've booked a hairdo and facial for early morning. I've developed a nice figure. My breasts have
grown to a nice B cup and I've managed to lose a little weight around my waist.

Oh! And I almost forgot to tell you that I have asked everyone to call me Mary.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately.

July 2011

[email protected]