GITJ Post 440: GRWM Dr. J

Re: Why haven’t you checked this out?

An old subject line from my friend Rich had mocked me in my inbox earlier, the email unable to be read. I now stood in front of the cheap, full-length mirror hanging on the wall in my disheveled apartment with the new phone - my Bebihon - that my girlfriend Melissa had gifted me. I’d just got the alert that she’d…jesus what’s happened to my life?… finally given me permission to open the message. The fact that I was naked and supposed to be getting ready for this grand opening event that was already half-underway downstairs didn’t seem to be registering with me at that moment. The clothes they had rented me still hung in my small closet, and I’d been told to be ready by 7 o’clock…and it was now 7:13. My mind, as it was wont to do these days, had drifted. 

It was, of course, humiliating it was to have to request access to my own email on my own phone. It was kinda ridiculous. I had to wait hours fort Melissa’s consent before I could even open a message. It was for my own protection, she’d said, that she’d bought me this phone, along with all its restrictions to keep me safe. They all seemed to think the world was becoming too big and too dangerous a place for a ‘vulni’ man like me, and any unmonitored communications from the outside world could prove to be risky. After I’d requested access to the message, I’d had to wait for her assent and it had taken her all this time to acknowledge it from her own Mazafon. Maybe she was off preparing the event, getting herself ready, and when she had finally approved it, allowed me to open it, it had come with a text from her, a briefly ominous caveat: We’ll talk about this laterrr. 

The email from Rich, a fellow geriatrician, was a reply to what I’d sent him earlier this week. I’d told him about the changes in my life since we’d seen one another at the conference - changes at work, changes in my love life, changes with my health. It was my shrinking that seemed to concern him the most, and he’d obviously gotten the vibe that I wasn’t doing much to pursue investigating it, or seeking treatment. As I read his email - being a physician himself, it got kinda jargon-y, and he was offering to help - I began to feel a bit funny, lightheaded, even nauseous. I think it was stress. Maybe I was just getting old and needed some reading glasses because as I came towards the part about how he’d done some research and work on his end to find me a local specialist that could help, my vision had become blurry. I was just barely able to make the final bit out, right at the end:

‘I made you an appt with their endocrinology clinic. It’s still run by guys, so you can trust them. It's this coming Tuesday. Be there.’

I felt my world had been becoming more and more insular every day, by leaps and bounds, and the idea of seeking out care away from hom…away from clinic here was making me feel weird. I considered starting to research it myself - what kind of endocrinology clinic was this? Was it just for men? That’s weird right? It gave me an immediate bad taste in the back of my mouth. Why was Rich doing this, anyway? Butting into my life? I mean, I knew he was worried about me, but…c’mon. In fact, when I considered looking up this endocrinologist online I began feeling bad, anxious, even nauseous. This was probably just not the right time to do it; I could search them up later. Yeah, later.

I let the hand that held my phone hang down at my side, and I looked at myself in the mirror. I shivered, seeing the reflection of the naked man that looked back at me. 

Fuck. 

I was…what? 4’7”? I weighed 73 lbs this morning. I looked like a skinny child… well, not like a child. Children had different proportions, and certainly didn’t sport schlongs that hung down to their knees. I looked like a…admit it, dude…like a man that was shrinking, withering. I knew this should be filling me with existential horror, the reality of it, but it didn’t. Well, at least not as much as it should have. It sort of weirded me out that I wasn’t more aggressively afraid. 

There were other thoughts, though, swirling up into my mind, rising from some inner depths. Deep secrets that I had never shared with anyone surfacing, bubbling to life. I’d always realized that society's old definition of masculinity was being strong and confident, and that it didn't include being attracted to taller, dominant women. So I’d played that part all my life, in my career, and in my marriage to Sheryl - the man, the masculine guy, or at least my version of it. In my deep underwater grottos, though, hidden fantasies had always lurked. In the past I was afraid of allowing these to rise and show themselves, knowing I would be judged, ridiculed, or worse. It had actually happened after the breakup of my affair with Rina, four or so years ago, when my whole staff at the time had gotten an earful from her, in her anger, summarizing my, uh, proclivities for all to hear. It was humiliating. It had even happened when I was a young teen, when my uncle (who’d raised me after the death of my grandparents) found my picture stash under my bed. So, I’d learned the hard way to keep my secrets to myself, tucked into the caverns of my inner life.

But now things were different.

Society had started to change, and I had started to change. I could see it in the mirror, in the thin, shrunken man looking back at me. He seemed to recede further and further away from those old notions of masculinity, more “vulni” every time I looked, and maybe it wasn’t horrible. He was different, he was new. 

I took a deep breath. 

Everything was different…but was it actually worse? I mean, before…had it really been all that great? What was it about my old life, the old ways, that were better? Did I really miss it? Being responsible for all my patients? Organizing the practice, taking care of a home? I missed what I’d had with Sheryl, maybe...but the times I missed were from years gone by, ancient history.  Really, the most exciting thing to me from the old days had been the women. The affairs with the younger women - Rina, Deanna before her - had been intoxicating. Equally so, just having women all around me at work - back then it had been Marisela, Lakshmi, even Hilda and the others that had quit - being surrounded by females had always been the only thing I truly loved about my old life. My new life, and in fact this new world, now had so much more, more of them. Not just here at work, but even outside. In government, in business, seemingly everywhere, female authority was eclipsing the old ways. The new world was being filled with, and run by, women - and my world was being filled with her. 

Melissa.

Oh my god, Melissa. 

My heart fluttered, my throat caught as I thought of her. I was flabbergasted by the fact that we were together, in love in fact. She was utterly gorgeous, getting so tall, becoming some sort of superwoman and - look at me, naked and pale, dick the size of my forearm -  I was becoming this.

I’d been telling myself that finding a diagnosis, finding treatment and putting an end to my shrinking was the rational choice. That, though, would put an end to this dark thrill I got waking up every day and finding myself sunk another inch deeper into the stygian depths of my old fantasies. I was being pulled down in their slow vortex, their warm, swirling pool - couldn’t I just let myself sink? Give myself up to it and drown in pleasure? What was rational about fighting it, making myself miserable for no gain? I knew, full well, that the smaller I got, the bigger Melissa seemed. And the bigger Melissa became, the more enraptured by her I felt. When I was able to push all these existential fears out of my mind, I knew that a life of getting littler in Melissa’s strong arms could be the greatest bliss I’d ever known.

Barely even realizing I’d done it, I’d brought my phone back to life, and swiped to an old picture of her...

Nnngh. Oh god.

Along with the gift of my phone, Melissa had filled an album on it with pictures of herself, old and new, to…what had she said?…”keep me company”. Where before I’d had to hide them from my wife - and they’d been the eventual undoing of my marriage - now pictures of the tall, busty brunette were something I was obviously being encouraged to ogle. 

Christ. She is so perfect. So fucking perfect. 

I looked up, into the mirror, and then down. I took a step back, so I could watch.  My cock, the monster of a thing that lived between my legs and increasingly ran my life, was stiffening. I’d always had a large penis, more than nine inches, the most impressive thing about an otherwise nondescript body. Back when I was nearly six feet tall it was a stirring sight when erect, but now…my god. Watching myself harden was a total spectacle, something between a horror movie and a circus freak show. I had shrunk, it had not. Rising from my withered frame to point up to my chest, it was nearly a fifth of my total height, thick and snaked with pulsing veins. It was becoming iron strong where I was more and more increasingly brittle.

Aside from the dread of it, though, there was something secretly rousing about the idea of becoming progressively smaller while my manhood did not. I watched in the mirror as my erection grew and grew and grew, impressing even myself, and I imagined it ballooning further, soaring in proportion to my still shrinking body. Suddenly I found myself gripped by the notion of being totally overwhelmed by my own sexuality, my legs failing, my entire self being pinned to the ground helpless underneath it as it throbbed, thicker nearly than my entire torso. And then, from above me, a huge, elegantly female hand reached down to-

The door to my apartment <clicked>. 

“Dr. J? Are you in here?”

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thx to RiF for help in editing