To put it bluntly, I did not enjoy even a moment of the slightly more than three hour trip home, all I wanted to do was scream.

The problem was that we kept hitting crosswinds, and every time we did, the helicopter would rock a bit, causing me to shift in the seat. That caused a certain very tender part of my anatomy to rub against the surface of the seat through my jeans and underwear.

Let's just say that, by the time we landed at their home base near our camps, I was in a fair bit of pain. No, make that a lot of pain.

The nurses woke me up twice through the night, then again at 6:30 AM just to make sure I was awake for when they would come to take me down to the operating theater and cut away all of the damaged tissue, then create a vagina and connect blood vessels, etc., to it.

Of course, by the time they DID come to pull my gurney down there, I was half nodding from being woken up so much.

They rolled me into the operating theater, where a well-built thirtyish male leaned down to place the mask over my face.

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.