Bboy's Goal Realized

by Allen Baker

I'm not depressed. Nor am I ecstatic. I'm not in pain. Nor am I in ecstacy. At first I was excited, but no longer. I'm just in a state of constant, unsatisfiable arousal. I'm in sexual heaven/hell. Just where I want to be. Where I was meant to be. I am content.

I was twelve when it started. Started small and nearly undefined. Just like my life. My life in a small, Texan nowhere town. On a nowhere street. In a nowhere house.

Looking back, I now know we were poor. Not needy, just poor. But we boys didn't know it at the time. Dad didn't live with us. Mom worked hard at a menial job that put food on the table and a roof over our us. But there were no extras. Dad helped out where and when he could.

It was a matchbox house, really. Little Johnny and I shared a tiny room. Just a small walkway between a chest and a pair of bunk beds. A glorified hall, really. Visitors had to go through it to get to the bathroom. The one and only bathroom had another door into my mother's bedroom. With two doors, it was always a concern to know if it was occupied or not. But then, we had few visitors.

I was twelve when the craving started. It started as a dream, and I didn't know what it meant. Like all dreams, it was tangled, disjointed. I was in the car with dad at the drive-up window of the bank. The teller pushed out the drawer and dad reached in. But what he put in were my bare feet. The drawer grew, and when she pulled it back in, I went in to my waist. My bare waist. The car was suddenly gone. Dad was gone. The lady teller was gone. I looked through the window and saw my lower half trapped inside. But the inside wasn't the bank. It was the doctor's office, and he was inside wearing his surgical mask.

Then I realized I was nude. He reached out his latex covered hand and fingered my little boy balls. He tugged them away from my groin. My tiny dicky got hard and stuck up three inches. I stared at it. It hadn't done that before.

The doctor's fingers on my nuts were giving me a feeling I'd never had before. I thought it felt good. But I couldn't be sure. Then he touched my little peepee, and I just about fainted. I wanted to touch it myself, but the glass prevented me.

The doctor picked up a scalpel while he played with my purple-headed dicky, and I started to squirm and breathe heavy. I suddenly felt like I had to tinkle. Sorta. I was panting and pounding on the glass as the doctor took hold of my boyhood and pressed the knife blade into its base. I opened my mouth to scream in pleasure, but I woke up.

I woke up wetting the bed! I jumped and ran into the bathroom, closing both doors. I was so humiliated! I hadn't wet the bed in years. That was Johnny's trick.

I turned on the light to see the john and stopped in my tracks. Something was very wrong. My urine had turned milky white! And thick! My wobbly knees wouldn't hold. I sat down hard on the toilet. When I pushed myself down inside the rim, my head swam. The touch brought back the feel of the doctor's fingers. It made me throb down there and shoot out some more of the creamy stuff.

I sat real still, hoping I was still dreaming. I wasn't. There was a knock on the door from my mother's side and an inquiry if I was sick.

What could I say? I was too embarrassed to talk about my boy parts to mom. Was I sick? Maybe it would go away. I said I was fine. She went back to bed.

I stared at the thick white juice on my finger. Then I wiped myself with toilet paper and went back to bed.

But not back to sleep. I just lay there and worried about what was happening. Was I sick? Was I going to die? Was it going to fall off? That last thought brought back the dream and the cut by the doctor. Maybe that's what the dream meant. It was going to fall off!

From that night on, I had the dreams. I had the sickness spout out of my hardness every night for a week. The dream varied. Sometimes the bank. Sometimes a fast-food window. Other variations, but the same theme: helplessly watching myself get amputated.

Then one night another revelation. I had become frightened enough by the dreams that I had trouble getting to sleep. As I lay there, my hand accidently scratched at my crotch, and I was instantly hard like in the dreams. Trembling, I touched again. Ah, how wonderful! What primordial instinct made me wrap my fingers around it? I began to stroke. Just a few times was all that was needed. A fountain of marshmallow syrup flowed from me and soaked my sheets. A deep sigh, and I was asleep.

* * * * *

By the time I was fourteen, I'd heard enough alley talk to know what's what. And also to know I didn't fit. I mean, guys were meant to fit with girls. And I didn't want that. I wanted to fit with guys, and I knew that wasn't how it worked. So I just went my own way. The way of nightly whacking myself to sleep.

But I couldn't contain myself to nightly. I had to do it all the time. Morning in the shower. The guys' restroom at school over lunch break. After school in the backyard bushes. In the basement. The attic. The garage. Any place I could get alone. And when I couldn't, I had to find ways to hide the erection in my pants.

It became a difficulty to concentrate in school. Luckily, as a good student, I was still able to get A's. But often, my mind was on my crotch, not the teacher. Or sometimes on a male teacher's crotch.

And somewhere in there I tried abstinence. It lasted two whole days and ended in a wet dream. Two wonderfully torturous days. Two days of pretending I didn't know what my fist was for. Two days of loose clothing and jock straps to hide my rigid dick. Two days of constant arousal. Two glorious days ending in a mind-boggling night orgasm. I cried out and heard Johnny rouse some. I had to bite my tongue as I bucked my hips and volcanoed fluid all over my stomach, chest, and face. Johnny went back to sleep. And I whimpered as I kept my hands trapped at my sides, still denying my crotch of their caress. Tears of ecstacy rolled down my cheeks as lightening flashed behind my eyes. I wanted it to never end,

But it did. And I hated it. Hated the devastating nothingness of the afterglow. The limpness. The ho-humness. The lack of feeling. Lack of interest. I vowed to somehow find a way to stop that part of the experience.

For the next six months, I tried to deny myself an orgasm to avoid the afterfeeling. When I failed, when I gave in to masturbating. Even as I pumped my fist and pleasured myself and my need, I was crying. Because I knew I would hate the time after. And I'd vow never again. And I'd fail.

Through all this, I'd somehow kept up my grades. By the end of my freshman year, I was second in my class. That qualified me for special privileges. Special library privileges: computer internet services.

And I became knowledgeable enough get around the school's restricted areas, too.

I knew what I wanted. I just didn't know what it was called. So it took a long time searching medical sites and research sites, to learn the term penectomy. Then it took even longer to find someone who'd perform it for me.

Oh, sure, I found all kinds of chat rooms that even a fifteen-year-old could tell was peopled by blowhards and phonies. Guys who talked big. Besides, they were more interested in fantasy sex scenes than reality. They bored me silly. But I played along in hopes of getting a valuable bit of information I could use. Finally, two guys had heard about a clinic in Mexico City that specialized in male modification. But neither knew exactly the name of the place or how to contact it.

I quit the chats to search again. In the meantime, I knew it would cost plenty. And we were poor. How to pay? Rob a bank? No, I had to find a legal way. And I did.

I had a knack for math and business. For finance. I sapped my meager savings account and bought stock on-line. I played my hunches and went cyber-tech in my choices. The timing was right. My sixty-eight bucks mushroomed. Eventually, I kept my earnings off-shore and so avoided tax returns that I wouldn't be able to explain to my family. Later, I'd earned more and figured a way to help them out. But at the present, I had more compelling motivation.

It took well into my junior year before I located the clinic. And even then it was difficult to get answers and commitment on their part. It was understandably, really. They had to protect themselves. They walked a legal tight-rope between being circumspect and advertising for their business.

Eventually, I convinced them I was a serious client who posed no threat. Finally, detailed information was available to me. Then I met another frustrating roadblock. In spite of my computer skills, I couldn't risk printing out such information at the school. We had no expensive computer in our meager home. I couldn't have anything mailed to the house. How to get the info? Frustration!

A chance remark overheard in the gym locker room solved the dilemma. Two of the jocks were talking heterosexual porn. Not interested, I had tuned them out until they talked about subscribing to a skin magazine. The one guy had just had it sent to him general delivery to be held at the post office for pick up. Wow! How simple!

A week later, I exited the post office with a heavy packet. My fingers literally tingled just carrying it. I sat in the back row of the public library stacks and read. My hands trembled with excitement. General description, then details. And oh, the accompanying photographs! My rigid cock throbbed in my jeans. I had to concentrate to keep from creaming the insides of my levis. My breathing became labored. My goal was within reach. I then knew where I was headed. And had most of the money in the bank. I just had to get a strategy and a cover story for home. I couldn't just tell them I was going to fly to Mexico to have my cock cut off, now could I?

In time, tradition came to my aid. By midway through our senior year, most in my classmates were planning their graduation celebrations. Those with money were scheduling the country clubs for lavish parties. Some made reservations for week-long outings on South Padre Island. A couple of the really affluent even had plans for a summer in Europe. I hadn't given much thought to graduation until mom half apologized that she wouldn't be able to foot the bill for such extravaganzas. Instant inspiration struck. I told her that I much preferred a solitary back-packing expedition along the Appalachian Trail or the Continental Divide. "Minimal expense, mostly food. It would be a good break from schooling before entering the work world. A kind of rites of passage."

Indeed it would become just that. And so the plans went forward toward my manhood's execution.

My knapsack was packed and at the door awaiting my return form the graduation exercises. Mom sensed my excitement. Little did she know the true reason had nothing to due with finishing school. During the ceremonies, I sat in my robe with my right hand pulled in from the abundant sleeve. Throughout the keynote speaker's rambling, I gently stroked the front of my jeans, carefully teasing the hardness within. Careful, because I was refraining from climax and had done so for three delightfully torturous weeks. I planned to masturbate but one more time in my entire life! Just that thought nearly took me over the brink.

At last the final hurrah, flying caps and all. I was celebrating a freedom my classmates would never have comprehended. I bid Mom and Johnny good bye, promising to call when the opportunity permitted. But told them not to expect me back for at least a month or two, and I hoped longer.

I hiked out of town and hitched rides the rest of the way in to the city. Arriving at the airport with hours to spare, I purchased new clothing and a small traveling case at the shops. For the very first time, I could use the money I'd earned through investment. I bought few things, but went for quality. In the restroom I changed into some new duds and packed the rest. I nearly came when the silk boxers slid seductively across my crotch. It was an erotic caress I had not anticipated and held still with arrested breathing til the near crisis passed.

I put my old things into the backpack, ready to leave behind in a terminal locker until my return. I stepped from the stall and stared into the mirror. The transformation astounded me. From small-town kid to GQ material in one easy swoop. Astonishing! Only the mangy hair marred the image. I left the restroom in search of the barber. I was transforming my image along with the preparation for transforming my body.

It was a totally different person who boarded the plane to Mexico City. The hick kid was not in evidence. I felt the successful stock-investor that I was. And it must have showed. I was treated with respect by the stewardess who showed me to my first-class seat. And with even greater respect by the steward who flashed me an inviting smile along with my drink. It made me swell to be cruised by such a good-looking guy.

Once high into the air on my first and only flight as a complete man, I made my way front to the restroom. Inside, I stripped to my silk drawers and slowly caressed and explored myself, memorizing the sensations. Mapping in braille the feel of my soon dismembered rod. Reveling in the feel of each stroke. Finally, I dropped my boxers and crouched facing the commode, straddling it with my knees. And for one last, final time, slowly and gently surrounded my prick with my fist. My spit-soaked palm stroked my throbbing dick. I wanted to pound away furiously, but refrained. I slowly pulled. Slowly extended the experience. I didn't care if others took note of how long I was occupying the john. This was my time. My moment. My final experience with an object I'd been joined to since birth. Nothing could make me rush this encounter with myself. Mental pictures seared into my retina to last the rest of my life. Those feelings had to residually endure for a lifetime. So I concentrated on the feel, on the look, on the smell, on the sound.

My textured palm sandpapered across the slick smooth surface of my shaft. The edges of my thumb and forefinger teased the sensitive ridge of my dickhead. I heard my breath suck in each shiver of delight. Clear liquid oozed out the slit and slithered down over my fingers to audibly dribbled into the commode. My nose was assaulted with my maleness, my musk perfuming the air. I listened to the slurpy sounds of my fist on my cock. I felt the nearly painful bounce of my over-ripe balls as they slapped against the porcelain rim. And all too soon, my nuts retreated upward. My breathing stopped, my abdomen compressed, my eyes rolled back, and my hand flew.

I was there! The culmination of my final self-manipulation high above the world! The peopled plane flew on, oblivious to the historic event taking place there. Lightening flashed behind my eyes, my leg muscles burned and twitched. My biceps steeled, and my last dick-attached cum flew full-force about the room. Splatter landed on my chest, on the seat, into the water, upon the wall, and down to the floor. Mind-blowing trembles overtook me. I shouted out my ecstasy, not caring who might hear. I celebrated the climax of my life as a complete man!

I cleaned up, redressed, and exited. The steward stood just outside wearing a lascivious smile as he whispered, "If you'd just asked, I would have been more than willing to assist."

I smiled back in my new-found self-assurance. "I'm sure, but this time I was able to handle it myself." He chuckled at the double-entendre and handed me his card with a phone number on the back. I pocketed it, knowing I'd be too occupied in Mexico City to call him.

I took a cab directly to the address the clinic had given me and was pleasantly surprised. It actually looked as nice as the brochure I'd been sent. It was a walled enclave. The main building housed the actual clinic. But dotted throughout the lush gardens were small cabanas where post-operatives spent time recuperating.

Doctor Miguel showed me around. Some of the cabanas had their own wall-enclosed terraces. At others, men openly sunbathed in the nude. All had been altered and exhibited the results. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by men who understood and shared my deepest feelings, urges. For the first time in my life I was truly relaxed and at ease with myself and my surroundings. I was nearly overcome with emotion.

Dr. Miguel ushered me into a cabana sheltered among the shrubbery. "Here you go. This will be your home for the next few weeks." I had only been in one cheap dive motel in my life. This, by comparison, was a palace. It was one big open area with a king-sized bed in a platform nook, a TV, VCR, sofa, snack bar. The bath was only half-wall separated. And through the open patio door was a private sunny garden with its own hot tub.

"I want you to soak in the hot tub for twenty minutes, shave your crotch, and then shower off. My assistant will pick you up in half an hour. Just use the robe," he indicated one hanging on the bedpost, "if you feel the need for any covering – but it is truly optional here. I'll do the preliminary exam in my office, and then we'll move directly into the surgery. That is, if you aren't having any second thoughts."

"Oh, hell, no! I can hardly wait."

"Ok, then. Four or five hours from now, you'll be coming out of recovery and put into an observation room. By mid-day tomorrow, you'll be back here taking it easy."

After he left, I rushed to ditch my clothing and bag in the closet and headed to the patio. On the way by the TV, I noticed a stack of ‘educational' videos. I could see that the TV was visible from through the french doors of the patio, so I pushed a tape into the slot and went on to immerse myself into the steamy water. I set the timer and eased into the bubbling liquid and sat allowing it to work its relaxing magic on my travel-weary body.

Finally, I looked in to the TV. It was obviously a tape made on the premises. I saw Dr. Miguel scrubbing up and being assisted into surgical gloves and mask. The view turned to the center of the room where a sheet-covered man waited on an operating table surrounded by assistants. I audibly groaned, realizing what I was about to witness.

The doctor was handed a syringe as he drew aside the cloth drape from the man's mid-section. There rose a thick and very rigid six-inch cock. The doctor chuckled in response to the man's aroused state. "I see you are eager to get started." Dr. Miguel grasped the hard pole and warned, "Hold on, this is the worst part." He pressed the tip of the needle to the base of the prick and sank it a good inch into the man before pressing down on the plunger. The man gasped and clutched the side of the table. His face became a mask of taut grimness. Dr. Miguel repeated inserting the needle four more times with a similar response. Beads of sweat popped out on the man's forehead, but he never went limp.

Dr. Miguel chatted with the man as he proceeded with his preparations while the anesthesia took affect. From the conversation, I realized the modification was not to be a complete removal, but a major reduction. The man was to be left with a half-inch stump. He'd still piss like a man. Would still become erect, albeit in petite form. Still be able to masturbate. But he would not have a dickhead, nor enough length to penetrate.

The hot tub timer went off, and I regretted having to move to the shower and not see the tape to the end. Oh well, maybe later. Right then, I needed to get ready for my own main event.

In the shower, I scrubbed my crotch and lathered up for a shave. I had never shaved there before and found it very awkward to do. I only nicked myself a couple of times, but my cock jumped each time. I guess in anticipation.

I had barely dried off when there was a knock at the door. I grabbed at the robe as the door opened.

"Hi, I'm Juan." He could only have been a few years older than myself and was a real hunk. He was barefoot and only wore a skimpy Speedo. And even though he had a gorgeous face, fantastic muscular chest and washboard abdomen, what held my attention was the swim wear. It was obvious by their second-skin tightness that Juan didn't bulge in front as most men would. The front of the suit was absolutely smooth. Nothing existed inside. I knew it was rude, but I couldn't look away.

Juan chuckled. "Just a taste of what you're in for. Come along, Dr. Miguel is ready for you. And don't bother with the robe, you really don't need it here.

* * * * *

Because I had requested a complete removal including the root, I had to be completely out for the event. And so, I wasn't able to watch any of the proceedings. Juan had promised, however, that he'd make a video of the entire event for me to see later.

I awoke in the recovery room with a dull head and an aching groin. I smiled to myself. It was done! I wanted to feel myself, but knew that wouldn't be possible until the bandages came off. I'd waited years for this, a few days more wouldn't matter. I dozed off again.

Dr. Miguel and Juan were there when I came around again. My head was clearer, but my crotch was now very painful. The anesthesia had completely worn off. Juan was going to wheel-chair me back to my cabana and stay with me a few days as my private nurse.

Dr. Miguel gave reassurance, "The operation went perfectly. Eventually, there will be no scars whatsoever. I redirected your urethra to just behind your testicles. So you'll have to sit on the commode and hold them out of the way when you urinate. Once Juan has you settled in, he has some pain medication for you. Just do what he says. I'll check in periodically."

The wheelchair ride was not pleasant. Even though Juan tried to be careful, every bump jarred throughout my abdomen. By the time we were back, I was exhausted. Juan helped me to bed and gave me some pain killer. Then he stripped and slid into the sheets with me. He cradled me in his arms and crooned in my ear. As I drifted off, I was vaguely aware that my hand had slipped between his smooth thighs.

I don't know how long we slept, but brilliant moonlight flooded the room when I next roused. Juan was sprawled beside me. The sheet had slid away and the moon outlined him graphically. I got my first good look at his naked beauty. My eyes were drawn to his lower torso. In that light, he looked to be a marble carving from a Victorian era that refused to depict genitalia. Smooth, devoid of any detail.

I couldn't resist. I gently placed my palm just below his navel. His warmth startled me – this was no stone statue. Slowly I slid my hand lower and encountered . . . nothing. It was so erotic, so exciting. And that's when I realized that my operation had definitely taken place. I had no erection! I was aroused, totally turned on by this guy, and there was no visible sign of it. Well, maybe hard nipples and heavy breathing, but that was all!

Juan awoke and smiled, holding my hand in place. "Don't stop. Go ahead and explore. It feels great!"

It did to me, too. Soon, I was lying between his legs, exploring with my tongue and being accompanied by his crooning groans of delight. This was my first ever sex with another person. I started to think ‘with another man', but Juan wasn't a man any more. This was truly a unique event: two altered persons pleasuring each other. Wow!

We ended up necking and gently caressing ourselves back to sleep.

* * * * *

I had great misgivings about leaving the clinic and returning to the outside world and my family. But having been released by Dr. Miguel and saying my somewhat tearful good-byes to Juan, I boarded the flight home. Of course, this trip I had no need to spend extended time in the airplane's restroom.

It wasn't until I was on the plane that I began to contemplate what to do with my life. I had concentrated so completely on my penectomy over the last year that I just hadn't given the future much consideration. Suddenly, with my present physical condition, I didn't find returning to my hometown and living with my family very appealing. By the time the plane landed, I had a vague idea of what I would do.

I retrieved my old knapsack from the locker and took a cab into the city. A large metropolis better suited my unique condition than a backward town where everyone gossiped about his neighbor. It took two days to find just the right loft apartment. I had money and income. I just needed a place to set up my computer to monitor it all. I had no need for another job, my career was set.

The place was ideal. It was a converted factory loft in the trendy gay community that bordered the seamy red-light district of the city. It was actually a two-story area with landings and balconies and lots of window looking onto the city and sky. It really spoke of openness and freedom.

It didn't take me long to get it furnished in an eclectic mix of antiques and modern. But of course, I spent the most on the computer components that would be my livelihood. Within two weeks, it was home.

Then of course, the time had arrived for me to visit my family and tell them about the new job I had gotten in the city. That I had happened on a great computer job – partial truth – and even had an apartment. I would be making enough to even help out with the family and maybe even college for Johnny.

Mom was happy for me, but tearful, too. Her first was leaving the nest for good. It was a difficult time for her, but I had expected it would be. What I hadn't counted on was Johnny. He had suffered at my absence during the last three months and was devastated that I wasn't coming home to stay. I hadn't realized he depended on me so much.

I also hadn't realized how he had grown in my absence. That hit home the first night I was back. In our shared room, I heard the trashing movement of his flailing hand in the darkened bedroom. My little brother had become a man while I was away. I listened intently as Johnny moved from furtive strokes to frantic flogging as his excitement outgrew his caution. He tried to stifle his climactic groans as he bucked and spouted into his sheets, but could hear and feel the bunk beds shudder. Then slowly he breathing became more normal, and he fell into a contented slumber.

No sleep for me, though. Listening to him, I experienced what I had hoped for: extreme arousal with no means to extinguish it. Hearing Johnny pleasure himself, made me horny as hell. I quietly fondled my nuts, stroked my empty groin. My own excitement grew and grew. But I experienced no release as Johnny had. It was torturously delicious. Every night, my over-sexed brother pounded his meat. Every night, Johnny would drift off to contented sleep while my inner fire was stoked and fed and continued to burn undowsed. I was in heaven at last.

All too soon it was time to return to the city. Johnny was only partially consoled by the promise to allow him to visit me there some weekends. I'd send bus money for him. In the meantime, I drifted into a routine in the city. With no need to rise early for work, I developed the habit of working late and sleeping in. It was such a pleasant feeling to lounge in bed and listen to the bustle of the morning outside as others rushed about. I'd leisurely rise mid-morning and shower. Sometimes I'd bother to dress, but more often sat nude at my computer to oversee my investments and chat on line.

By evening, I'd be ready to quit the apartment to go out for diner and cruise the bookstores and bars. It was fun to watch the maneuvering of the prowlers for sex. It was exciting to sit with my beer and observe who was playing for whose attention. Which hand drifted to which thigh or rested on which shoulder. Which set of eyes followed another's movements. Who followed a hunky guy into the men's room. All of this made me squirm and ooze a bit from my repositioned piss hole. I'd smile at the shocked looking faces these guys would have if they could see into my jeans.

But I'd always return home alone and unsatisfied and smiling. When I just had to have an intimate touch with a man, I'd visit the booths at the book store down the block and hook a finger through the glory hole. It didn't take long to have a juicy dick pork its way through to my side. It was heady to caress and lick and suck on that object I no longer possessed. I found myself fantasizing that it was really my own dick that Dr. Miguel had transplanted onto another's body. That I was sucking and pleasuring my own cock. That always excited me. And then I'd return to my apartment even more sexually frustrated. Those were the times that usually found me waking in the middle of the night with thick cream shooting from my newly placed groin hole at the climax of some wet dream. So on an average of about once every 10 to 15 days I would experience the pleasure of cumming. A far cry from the four or five times daily that had been happening just six months previously. But oh, what orgasms. They were a combination of shooting stars and fireworks. And all the more fantastic for not having been planned or consciously produced. My mission had accomplished its desired results.

I joined a health club and worked out at least five times a week. That's where I'd been on a particular Saturday morning when Johnny was at the apartment for a visit. I'd was in the habit of wearing my gym outfit and waiting to shower until I got back home. Many of the guys did that, but I did it to avoid stripping down in the locker room. That day, I decided that Saturday mornings were less populated and I would chance taking a shower there. I had been in the shower only a few seconds when I heard another one come to life behind me.

A glace over my shoulder showed a guy slipping into the steamy water and reaching for the soap. He lathered up his behind and turned to rinse it off. I couldn't help but gape at what I saw hanging between his thighs. He was enormous even limp. And his nuts were nearly lemon size in a pouch that stretched half way to his knees!

He caught me looking and just grinned. He reached down and soaped his beauties and wagged them a bit in my direction as he rinsed the soap away. "See something you'd like to chow down on?" As he spoke, his beauty began to lengthen and stand up.

I didn't answer, but just turned to kneel in front of him, totally forgetting what effect seeing me might produce. He gasped, but didn't flee. Before he could respond farther, I placed my hands oh his hips and guided his hard rod to my lips. By the time I had his cockhead, his attention was back on his own pleasure. In no time at all, he was buried down my throat, and I was massaging his nuts as he emptied then down my gullet.

I was still on my knees when he finally asked, "What happened to you dick, man? A bad accident?"

I shook my head, "No, but it's ok, I still have great sex." He surprised me by reaching out to stroke the area where it had been. "Wow, what a turn on."

His words still rang in my ears as I returned to the apartment. I had expected all the normal world to find me a revolting freak. It was a magnificent revelation to learn that not to be the case. I felt a new freedom, an empowerment to be myself without worry who did or did not wish to criticize.

That glow surrounded me as I reentered the apartment. In my absence, Johnny had risen and was watching TV. He didn't answer my greeting, but just stared at the fly on my jeans. With trepidation, I moved to where I could see the TV screen. There was Dr. Miguel holding my severed prick up to the camera. Johnny had located the tape of my surgery. My knees nearly gave way.

"Oh, shit. Johnny, I . . . I don't . . . I'm sorry you saw . . . damn!" I stuttered and floundered and shuddered to a half, not knowing what to do or say. The euphoria of just seconds before evaporated in mental shock.

Finally, Johnny reached a shaky hand out and punched the remote to turn off the tape. Cartoons filled the screen and canned laughter broke the silence. The inane contrast made me giggle. Johnny shot me an unbelieving look, and I clamped my hand to my mouth to stop the noise.

"It's a trick tape, right? A joke? What I just saw, couldn't really have happened could it? . . . Please say something!"

His voice bordered on hysteria. That got me back to the reality of the situation. Here was a young teen who idolized his older brother and had just been confronted with an adult situation he wasn't able to fathom. I sat on the sofa with him. "Look, Johnny. I can't explain why I'm different than other people. I've just always been this way. It was a need that I had to fulfill."

His eyes continued to show confusion. They stared at this alien that used to be his brother. I wasn't getting through.

"Johnny, I don't know if I can explain. At least not in a way that will make any sense to you. It just isn't something that is logical because it isn't. I didn't just happen on this idea and decided it seemed like the thing to do. I've always somehow known I shouldn't have a dick – that it was a frustration to me that I needed to be rid of. So I found a way to make it happen, and I'm much happier now."

The confusion was still there.

"Look, Johnny, I know you masturbate in bed every night. I hear you." His eyes blinked in surprise, and his face reddened. At least I'd gotten some response from him. "I expect you've experienced wet-dreams, too?" At first just the stare, then he looked down and gave a slight nod. "Well, you know how mixed up dreams are. And how they are often tied in with something that actually happened or we'd thought about. My very first one, had to do with a doctor and what you saw on the TV. The first one. And all the rest were, too. So from the very beginning of my sexual awareness, I was focused on losing my cock. I admit that isn't normal. That it's rare. But it's me, Johnny. It's who and what I am. I was frustrated being the way I was before, and I'm happy now. I don't ever expect you to understand. But please, don't condemn me for doing what I couldn't be happy avoiding."

He just stared at the floor for a long time. No movement, no looking around. Just quiet breathing. I could tell he wasn't even quite aware of his surroundings. I was just about to break the silence, when he finally spoke. "Do you think all wet dreams are wish fulfillment?"

He stunned me. He had leaped from condemnation to introspection in a two-minute span. "I . . . I don't know. No, I don't think so. And I don't think wet-dreams are any different than other dreams that way. Some are just flights of fancy. Some play upon our fears. But, yes, some do reveal deep desires. And my wet dreams were definitely that. Why, are you thinking about your own?"

He nodded his head, but didn't elaborate.

"Well, don't dwell on it. I was tortured by mine. But if yours make you feel good, just accept them."

After a couple of seconds, he nodded again. "Guess so." Then he turned to look at me again. And my heart thumped when I could tell he saw me as a brother again. "Are you really happy?"

The sexual excitement and euphoria of the hour before returned. Now it was my turn to just nod my head. I couldn't speak because of the lump in my throat.

"Good." And he smiled.