THE LUCKY SWEATER

I arrived at the hospital and waited in the clinic until I was called and taken to one of the rooms to get my vitals checked. The nurse was a cool older lady maybe late 40’s and opened her binder and began typing my information into the computer.

“Any changes to your address or insurance,” She asked me.

“Nope,” I responded giddily.

“How tall are you?”

“Um, 5, 8,” I answered.

The nurse nodded as she typed and moved the computer mouse, “Ok step up on the scale for me.”

I hated scales because I felt that my weight gave me away as a transwoman. I stood on the scale as the nurse slid the weights across the bars. 140, 150, 160, fucking a…

“Ok you’re 161,” she concluded as she wrote it down in my chart.

“Dammit,” I quietly said, “My goal is to stay under 160.”

“Oh stop!” the nurse turned to me laughing, “You’re so close. Try being older. I’m like 170!” I looked at her astonished. She didn’t look 170 and was attractive. But she had no reason to lie.

“So how are things going hon,” she asked holding my chart with her pen ready.

I smirked this goofy grin. “Well um, I want to tell you, but I don’t know if it’s TMI or not.” I shifted in my chair.

The nurse waved her hand at me, “Oh lord, we’re both women here. Tell me.”

I took a breath and quickly thought of my reply. “I um, self-pleasured this morning and made my sheet wet.” I smiled at the end.

The nurse chuckled, “That’s great!” she exclaimed. “That’s the kind of information we need to know and like to hear. Are you happy with your results?”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded, “Whatever Dr. Burke ate or wore that day, tell him to do that every surgery.”

The nurse laughed again, “Ok, well you tell him when you see him, follow me.”

I followed her to the same room where I had my initial consultation and made my date.

The physician’s assistant knocked and entered shortly after.

“Hi Joella, can you take off your jeans and underwear and let me take a look before the doctor comes in?”

I nodded, disrobed, and laid on the examining bed. She came over and looked at some parts of my vulva and gently moved my labium.

“How are things going?” she asked, “You look at little swollen still.”

I nodded, “Yeah, if I’m moving around and doing a lot of lifting, I get sore but it’s not terrible.”

She nodded back, “Just be careful not to overdo it,” she shifted her attention to my vaginal opening. She grabbed a gauze pad and wiped some discharge from my vagina.

I felt embarrassed, “I’m sorry,” I said softly, “I cleaned after dilating this morning…”

She looked over at me, “it’s totally ok, you’re still healing and will have a little discharge. Let me go have Dr. Burke come in now.” She left the room and a few minutes later I heard a knock on the door and Dr. Burke came into the examining room.

“Hi Joella! So how are things?” he said very chipper.

I chuckled, “Well, I don’t know what you ate or if it was that sweater you wore the morning of my surgery, but you need to do that for every transgirl’s surgery.”

Dr. Burke raised an eyebrow, “Are you happy with your results then?” he seemed pleased with himself.

“Well…I um…self-pleasured myself and ejaculated,” I said.

Dr. Burke smiled a wide grin, “So you ARE happy then. That’s great to hear. May I have a quick peek?”

“Sure thing, you’re the artist,” I teased, “admire your work.”

Dr. Burke sat on a stool in front of my open legs and looked around. He gently poked asking me how I was healing. He also mentioned that he noticed the swelling and that it would go down slowly but surely.

“You’ll probably be all healed up sometime in February,” he finished the exam with. “You can get dressed now, tell them up front to set you up for March. We’ll take another look and discuss plans for a revision if you’d like.”

“Ok, I will,” I replied as I began moving to get off the examining bed. Dr. Burke and the physician’s assistant collected their binders and left the room. I slowly got dressed, made my follow-up for March, walked to my car, and got in to drive home.

The Alpaca Bounce

My sex drive was starting to return the end of November to the beginning of December. Partly was that I was starting to think about how our first time would go and partly was because I was having sexy dreams. Even my self-conscious knew that I was a woman. I’d have lesbian dreams where I had my current parts, I’d have dreams where I was back in high school but the girls knew I was trans and let me in their cliques anyway, and I had dreams where I would walk into the guys locker-room and bolt back out.

I woke up one morning super aroused. I could feel this nagging feeling around my vulva extremely like the feeling I would get when I’d have an erection. I felt tingly and my fuzzy blankets were sensual on my bare skin. It was my day off and so I began my dilating routine. My vaginal opening seemed tighter than usual and I twisted the dilator in a spiral to insert it. I felt different while dilating like I was being penetrated instead of performing a medical routine. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. I began rapidly sliding the dilator in out of my vaginal canal and oh my Lord that felt good! I placed my palm on the flat end of the dilator and began bopping it in and letting it slide back out a bit before hitting it back into me. Faster and faster I slapped the dilator in my vagina and began moaning with pleasure. I felt an energy building up inside of me as my muscles quaked and I was ready to burst any second. Finally, the orgasm exploded from my body as I yelled out in ecstasy. My whole body shook rapidly, my consciousness tingled, and I felt a wave wash over me as I panted in pleasure.

As I came down from the rush of the orgasm, I noticed that physically I felt incomplete. I still needed a release. Perhaps a different kind this time? I gently tried to play with my clit, but I yelled out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. I was still extremely sensitive. I noticed that if I had a vehicle with a tight fit at work and bumped myself on a door or seat it would almost hurt with how sensitive I was. I became slightly frustrated as I lay in bed. I wanted to stimulate myself so badly! I grabbed a blanket and draped it over my genitals and tried with my hand. The feeling was still too much to take. I needed something softer.

I glanced over and my stuffed alpaca named Paxton was laid next to me. I grabbed it and began slowly grinding it over my clit to the top of my vaginal opening. Holy hell that felt amazing! I began pushing down a little more forcefully and the sensation increased. I closed my eyes and began masturbating. The energy began building up again and I began gently bouncing the stuffed animal off my clit. It felt fucking fantastic! Mixing in the grinding motion, I felt the energy build up inside me. Faster and faster I bounced the plushy off my clit until finally my body was so tense, ready to explode. My body stiffened and I screamed in pleasure! The orgasm was powerful, and my vulva seemed like it was pulsating as I moaned.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, uhhhhh,” I cried out. I felt a warm wetness dripping down my leg at my inner thigh as if I peed myself a little. “Holy shit,” I whispered as I panted. My body felt exhausted and I laid there with my eyes closed for a minute as the wave of endorphins crashed over me. Finally, the rush ebbed, and I glanced over at my phone. I began shifting and getting up from bed. The wetness was still on my thigh and as I got out of bed, I gently poked the sheet where I was laying.

It was damp.

I was shocked.

I came while masturbating…

***

Since transwomen are born male, we have a prostate and what is known as the Cowper’s glands. The glands sit next to the prostate and produce a clear liquid that travels out of the urethra. This is known as pre-cum in basic sexual vernacular.

“Bottom surgery” or a vaginoplasty for transwomen entails removal of the testes and spermatic cord but not the Cowper’s or prostate. After surgery, the prostate acts as the g-spot for transwomen and transwomen have prostate exams performed through the neo-vagina.

Therefore, the sensation like I had dribbled pee when I came was technically pre-cum (if I still was physically male) yet it was cum none-the-less.

***

Still awash in pleasure and amazement at my self-discovery, I began getting dressed to go to an appointment. Ironically, through all of this, I was scheduled to see Dr. Burke for my follow-up to see how I was healing. I chuckled to myself on how I would inform him of my “progress”.

Golden Splatters

By November, I was very pleased with how I was healing. I had a strip of skin slough where it looked like I had yellow-green putty stuck in between my inner labia. I was only mildly concerned since Dr. Burke uses the extra length of urethra to make a mucosa and the slough is just a result of healing. I changed from douching with Dove soap mixed with water to a solution of gold antibacterial soap and water. It took about a month before the slough finally shed off. It was sort of gross. It reminded me of peeling skin off a chicken. The slough rinsed off like little blups of fat and revealed a rosy red inner labium. 

  The overall pain was mitigating but I was still swollen, and it would feel nagging when I would run around and do a high volume of cars at work. The swelling greatly affected my urine stream. On my days off, I would pee relatively normally. I would just sit, keep my legs closed, and down it went but if I was sore, my urine stream would spray practically straight out, going over the bowl like I was playing a game at a state fair. This resulted in me yelling ‘God dammit’, trying to control my muscles to slow down the stream, and contorting myself to a position where I could make the stream into the bowl. 

I was becoming depressed as this situation constantly occurred. How was I supposed to use the ladies room in public if I always wound up peeing all over the place. How ladylike to hear ‘God dammit’ in a “man” voice and pee splattering all over the toilet?! I tried sitting all the way on the back of the seat. That didn’t work. I tried sitting with my left leg open and my right leg normal. Nope. I tried it the other way. Nope. One time when I was at work, I sat down to pee in the ladies room, closed my legs, and splatterpaint the floor. It came out so forcefully like a firehose that I didn’t even have time to react and reposition myself. So, I was like, “Ok this clearly isn’t working with high accuracy. What if I just hover and bend right off the bat instead of doing it as a contingency plan?” That began working for the most part and I would only have to wipe a little overspray off the seat. Until I gave myself a golden shower… I was in my hover one potty trip, bent over at the waist and the overspray misted in my face. 

The fear of never being able to pee correctly and therefore being unable to function in a public restroom caused me to console with James. He came up with an amazing idea. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I bemoaned one evening after a bad day of peeing at work. “How are we supposed to go out on dates if I can’t use a restroom? I just feel embarrassed like I’m a child or something. It’s very disheartening”

    James pondered my statement while staring at the television as most men do. 

Later that evening I announced that I had to pee (as most women do?). James chuckled, “Damn spiro” which was our ongoing joke since I would have to pee 1000 times after taking it. I entered the bathroom and was about to sit down when James came up the stairs.

“Here”, he said as he handed me something from the doorway. 

I looked at the object he handed me. He had taken a one-liter soda bottle and cut it in half creating a curved shield. “What the heck is this?” I said confused.

“It’s a piss flapper,” he answered matter-of-factly with his boyish smirk, “hold it between your legs when you pee.” I looked at the shield in my hand and back down between my legs. “Come on, try it out.”

I stuck the piss flapper between my legs. It fit comfortably and I started peeing. The stream came out forcefully but hit the flapper and angled right down into the toilet. No overspray, no wet thighs, no hovering, and no golden showers. 

James looked pleased with himself and he grinned from the doorway. “Well?”

I smiled and was overjoyed. “You’re so ingenious sometimes. My smart man! It certainly works. It feels comfortable and fits perfectly between my legs and the front of the toilet. It’s nice to have some dignity back. That’s what was causing me the most distress. Maybe this will help me learn the way I need to sit too.”

James looked satisfied. “Well use that from now on, I’ll see about making you a portable one.”

I laughed and I finished blotted myself off, “Oh are we going to patent it and sell it on late-night TV?” I made my voice deeper and acted like a commercial, “Hi Billy Mayes here! Are you having trouble making your pee go in the toilet? Try the Piss Flapper 9000.”

James feigned a serious look, “Maybe”, and he turned to go back downstairs as I finished washing my hands.

Back in Black

I returned to an absolute wreck at work. The shop was a disaster area full of new and old tires, a ton of parts that needed to go back, and the floor needed to be swept in a bad way. I had returned to the start of the end of world aka. Tire Season. I worked 56 hours my first week back, but I noticed that I was less sore the more I worked. I changed my pad and went pee in the ladies’ room instead of using the shop employee bathroom. When I was pre-op, I was constantly wiping piss and pubes off the seat with layers of tissue. I was joking with the boys before I left and I vowed to never sit on that toilet seat ever again unless I purposely wanted to give myself a damn UTI. They thought I was funny. I thought it was gross.

However, the maxi pads were causing me discomfort. Perhaps it was because I had bought ones that were too thick, but they would bunch up in my underwear as if they were trying to make a paper airplane resulting in my vulva feeling squashed and drips of discharge running down the sides. I would get into a cloth adult brief with tapes when I got home, and the pain would immediately subside. Thankfully, James’s mom had some packs of Depends Flex-fit pullups laying around and I made the switch to those. I instantly noticed the discharge nearly dissipating completely and the soreness around my vaginal canal greatly lessening.

I would dilate typically twice a day, though there were a few instances where I could only handle one time a day or where I felt ambitious and would go three times a day. The PA and Doctor Burke said that two times for fifteen minutes each was still ok. It is such a simple task that I fail to understand the misconception about it being some horrible chore or that our neo-vaginas will blast-door seal themselves unless you have a giant dildo in them 24/7. The PA instructed me to start with the smallest dilator. She also taught me that there are two ways to dilate. “Active dilation” is where you insert the dilator and manipulate it inside the vagina. You spin it inside you, or you can place your palm on the flat flared end and wiggle it in circles like an Atari joystick. “Passive dilation” is where you simply stick the dilator in and lay there or go make yourself a steak sub or something (how TIMmy *eyeroll*).

My kit contains five pink plastic phalluses with flared ends. She suggested at my first appointment to start with #2 since I had decent depth. After a month being post-op, I noticed that #2 offered little resistance and would slip right in. Perhaps it was because I was doing more “active dilation” versus “passive dilation”. For future sessions I would start with #2 for two five-minute reps and then do #3 for about ten minutes to finish up. It was very difficult, and I was (obviously) unable to fit the entire dilator into the canal but I was creating more girth and depth than with #2. I’d feel my vagina stretching and the resistance as I’d make millimeters of progress each dilation session. Let me dispel another myth about dilation. No, you are not “tearing apart tissue”, you are stretching it. Not much different to when you’re new at vaginal or anal sex. No, you do not bleed all over and make messes. I’d have a little spot of lube mixed with a tiny bit of discharge. Does it hurt? I’m sure everyone’s mileage is different. For me, I would be sore afterwards especially on longer sessions. There were times where I would be reading and lose track of time. Oh? It’s been a half hour already? (Oh my God that’s so disgusting! You sat there with a plastic dildo covered in lube and puss inside your fake vagina for a half hour and didn’t even notice? Gross!) [/r Gender critical]. (It’s such a relief to have humor and not get upset about these kinds of people anymore)

Day 6 (A drain comes out)

James came and visited Saturday afternoon. We watched this show called “Ridiculousness”. I was laughing so hard/trying not to laugh so my area wouldn’t stretch that a nurse came to ask if I was ok. James and I went for four walks down the hall, around a corner, to a large viewing window during his visit. I was on the seventh floor so I had a great view. We watched the show, had dinner, and he left when I started to get tired. I slept the best I had since arriving at the hospital. I was still only sleeping an hour at a time due to constantly having to pee but I totalled more hours.

Sunday morning was full of milestones beginning with my nerves decided they wanted to wake up down there. I woke up to go pee and it felt like someone was playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” off my vagina. It was electrical. Peeing felt intense and caused me to moan. Thankfully, I wasn’t in pain. The urologist Dr. E knocked and entered around 8am. My eyes fluttered and I slowly awoke. “Morning,” he said, “May I take another look?” I looked at his University at Buffalo fleece. It had his name on it. “So where’s your last name from?” I asked brightly. He glanced at me as I was removing my covers. “I’ll give you 2 guesses and then I get to yell at you,” he said playfully. I didn’t realize how quiet and intelligent his voice sounded until today. Doc should do ASMR on the side. I pondered, “Well it should be Russian but you don’t seem Russian.” He smirked and started looking around at my vagina. “What do you mean?” He asked amused. “Oh, I don’t know I always pictured Russian men to be more gruff or stiff,” I answered. “Well you have to consider where I work,” he said as he intently examined me, “I have to be quiet and nicer at a hospital.” I moved my eyes reflexively, “Yeah, that’s true.” He immediately answered, “When I go home, I yell. At my wife. In my Russian voice,” I cracked up laughing. “Ok. So what I want to do is take a drain out today,” he said in thought looking at the two tubes branching off the top of my vagina. I felt like we were about to defuse a bomb. “Which one?” I asked happily. “The right one,” he answered, “I’m hoping it will be easy. It looks like…” he paused and gently touched, “…it is right on top and I can slide it right out. It’ll feel like someone pulling a long straw out of your abdomen.” I stared up at him quizzically. “Not that anyone experiences that frequently,” Dr. E quickly finished glancing at my expression. I laughed again. I took long breaths as he began pulling the tube out of me. I noticed his Ohio State lanyard. “Ohio state eh?” I asked and smirked, “now do you call it Ohio State or THE Ohio State?” Dr. E stopped pulling a second and looked over, “I call it THE Ohio State, as should you,” he answered sternly. I laughed and he resumed pulling the drain out. It didn’t take long and he held the hose off to my side. “That much was in you,” he said with a hand on the lower end. It was over a foot of tubing. My eyes were wide, “Holy shit, that’s going to feel better.” He nodded and connected the left drain back to suction. “Everything looks great, you’re just swollen, but it’s going to look better and better. Get moving today. I’m going to run your labs from today. Your blood count is low and if your blood pressure is still low the way it’s been, you may have to get a transfusion.” I looked upset. “Well don’t worry about it, I still have to check,” he said, “have a good day.” “You too,” I said back.

Day 5 of GRS (Ella’s clitoris)

It was now Saturday when I was awoken at 6am by the urologist who was on my surgery team. “Hello, my name is Eugene [can’t remember] (I swear it was like Dostoyevsky, or some shit) I was the urologist during your surgery. Do you mind if I take a look at you?” he asked. It was nice of him to ask. In fact, everyone has been so responsive, respectful, and just nice. I was apprehensive at first since I was so sensitive down there. In fact, I was so sensitive that my vagina was the first body part that noticed any sort of room temperature change. I like a cold room, optimally 67-68 degrees for sleep, so I’d fall asleep with just my gown covering me and let her air out. Once my vagina got cold the rest of me got cold in no time. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” I smiled and stretched. I was still laying down from just waking up. The urologist stood over me and moved his head at various angles. He took his first two fingers and lightly pressed in spots on me. I just laid watching and he went to my left labium. Something felt weird. I breathed in quickly. “You ok?” he asked. “Yeah just felt weird,” I responded, “not pain just like nerves.” He nodded, “This labium is more swollen than the other but it all looks good.” He then gently slid the labium over and I squealed out. “Oh my God,” I called out. The urologist looked flustered, “Wh-what did I do? I was already touching there before.” I gasped the sensation away, “I don’t know. It just felt weird like when someone tickles you too much. I don’t know how to explain it. It didn’t hurt, don’t worry,” I reassured him. He shook his head clearly confused. He continued visually inspecting me as he talked, “But I was touching there before. Maybe I wasn’t so ginger on that last movement…” his voice trailed off. “What?” I asked with some concern. He had a look of pleasant surprise on his face. “You know what’s over there?” He asked quizzically. I shook my head and looked like no I don’t Dr. Fingers this is my first vagina installation. He began slowly, “It’s… your clitoris. It’s just slightly angled because of the swelling and you’re not used to things being in a little different formation.” A Cheshire cat grin flashed across my face. “My clitoris? Oh shit. No wonder,” I said shocked. He smiled, “Well, everything looks great. Just some swelling that will continue to get better. I want you to try and hike around. Take it easy, don’t run a marathon or anything but you need to walk around the wing to get good blood flow.” I nodded sagely, “Ok will do!” I answered cheery. He gave me like a “peace sign” wave and departed. I stared at the ceiling with a wide ass grin still on my face.

Day 4 of GRS (moving)

I called for Jennifer a little after 2pm. She got me up and I moved a lot better to the edge of the bed. There was pressure around my vagina as I moved but I was also still stuffed with the packing. I grabbed the handrail at the headboard and pulled myself to my feet. I felt good. I was steady. I did “the waddle” to the bathroom and sat. I wiggled a little and widened my legs. Ooh, that felt better. I felt centered and there was very little pressure on my groin. I began peeing and the stream went straight down into the toilet. I felt super proud. Jennifer came to help after I squirted myself down and gently blotted. She brought me to the sink and I brushed my teeth. She had a little thing of roll-on deodorant and I used some wipes to wipe myself off before applying it to my underarms. I looked into the mirror and loved the woman I was. “I actually look cute,” I said elated. “Yeah, you look good. Let’s fix your hair,” Jennifer said. “Well I can make it to the stupid chair now,” I snarked. Jennifer laughed, “OK let’s have you sit on the bed and I’ll get it ready.” She prepped the recliner with a pad, sheet, and pillow for my butt. I grabbed my hairbrush and my can of dry shampoo. I then eased myself into the chair and she stuck the leg rest out. It jarred me a bit with the pressure change but I relaxed with it. I was sitting! I sprayed my hair and brushed it out. It felt a lot better. For the rest of the evening, Jennifer came when I called to help me make it to the bathroom. We changed my gown at 6:30pm and, for the first time, I was nude and prepared to see myself. I was sitting on my butt on the edge of the bed and looked down at myself. I admired my boobs, my tummy, and my healing vagina. I was a woman. My body was beautiful and the way I wanted it to be.