This story comes via an inspiration I got from glancing at and remembering the story "What a good boy" by Bailey Summers. As Bailey mentioned in the comments for that story, having a male undergoing a vaginoplasty and yet living as a male is quite unusual.

I hope to provide my own look at living a life where one has to live with conditions and requirements like that. I hope I do it justice.

It was also inspired a bit by the story Tommy that Teddie S. has been posting, although mine will be much more from the male side of things.

My legal name is William Andrew Tinker. I'm a member of a modestly sized Ojibwa band living midway between Webequie and Peawanuck. Well, actually, I'm 3/4 Ojibwa and 1/4 Cree, two of my eight great-grandparents having married into the band here about sixty years or so ago.

Those are two communities waaaay up in Northern Ontario, in the huge area known to the world at large as the Canadian Shield.

Peawanuck is not far from the western shores of Hudson's Bay, about 230 miles east from Port Nelson and 300 from Churchill. Those two places are towns on the shore of Hudson Bay, at the point where the big bay begins to turn toward the north and north-northeast.

For those of you who want to know a bit more, Port Nelson and Churchill are in Manitoba, the province to the west of Northern Ontario.

Well, as I said, our band lives far out in the back woods. I guess you can't get much more back woods than where we are, heh?

We tend to try to live in some form of communion with Mother Nature, i.e., we try not to harm the land if there are ways to avoid doing so. One of those ways that we use is to shift our camp every two or three years to one of several similar spots within about a twenty mile radius.

There are untold numbers of rocky hills up here, and countless tiny lakes scattered all over the place, too.

Those little lakes often provide us with our biggest source of food, various types of small to modest sized fish.

Walleye, perch, bass, lake trout are fairly common, but we do catch the odd muskie and northern pike, too.

At other times, a bunch of our warriors will go out on a hunt, sometimes for up to two or three weeks at a time.

If they manage to get lucky, they'll bring back a deer, maybe an elk, very rarely a moose. Mostly, they find smaller game like wild hares.

Heck, up here, you learn to eat what you can get, yeah? As for vegetables, the band has a fair sized communal plot near the camp. We grow mostly soybeans and maize primarily, but also some oats, wheat and tall grass that we cut as hay for our small herd of horses.

There's one section of the plot where we plant various types of squash and pumpkins. They like the long summer days we have here.

That should give you an idea of how we manage to survive in an area where so few people choose to live.

As I said, there are lots of hills up here, all part of the Canadian Shield. There are large amounts of igneous rocks such as basalt, pumice, obsidian, rhyolite with metamorphic rocks such as gneiss, schist, slate, marble and quartzite underlying the igneous rock types.

Some of these hills are great for being able to see for a distance, towering several hundred feet above the rocky ground below them.

There is, or I should say was, one of these that many of the kids in the camp liked to use as a viewing point because it had an overhang. This overhang extended about twenty feet out from the steep cliff side under it, and you could often find us relaxing there.

That was where the bunch of us went on the day that my life changed in a way that I had not, nor could I have, foreseen.

Well, I was obviously there, or I wouldn't be telling you this story, would I?

Johnny Buckhorn was there with his older sister Sammi, Billy Whitefish with his younger brother Thomas, Bobby Blackthorn, James Highnest, Pete Wildwood, Andy Hawkwind, Donny Bearpaw with his cousin Phil, Nate Stormcloud, Tess Riversong, and Lori Windholm.

Yep, that's pretty much all of the teenagers from our camp, all in one place just having a quiet time and enjoying a warm summer day.

Then the first tremor hit. Everyone looked around, then got up and most of us began to move back, away from the overhang.

That first tremor was followed by a much stronger one, the ground shook like I had never felt before. Quakes happen here, but not often.

I was just turning around to move back from the overhang area when the third and largest tremor struck. The ground literally heaved right under my feet, then the overhang part simply vanished and I found myself falling past the edge of the cliff, just out of my hands' reach.

Then... I stopped, or I should say that I was stopped, by my very sudden impact with the huge trunk of an old red pine growing out from the cliffside. That tree, in its effort to get as much sunlight as it possibly could this far north, had twisted this way and that as it grew.

I landed at a point where the trunk suddenly shifted direction, from growing out to going upward parallel to the cliff.

The impact was not pretty, I landed astride that section of the trunk, my legs off to either side of the trunk itself.

To put it bluntly, my pelvis struck that part of the trunk with enough force that it pretty much squashed my manhood underneath me. That wasn't quite the worst of it, though. You see, this hoary old tree had twisted and swerved so many times it had formed ridges all over the place.

Squashed I could probably have handled, I suppose. The mangled and shredded bits of flesh that remained of my manhood? Not so much.

To say that I screamed when I landed there would be polite. No, I shrieked several times in a voice much, much higher than my usual tone.

Then the tree cracked, and a moment or two later, it could have been seconds or minutes, I honestly don't know, it snapped.

I hit the ground hard, with part of the trunk falling under me, and thus received another brutal impact to my already traumatized manhood.

That was all I knew, as I mercifully blacked out from the agony of the injuries that I had received from the fall.