Half Man More Women - Part 1

Part - 2 | ALL STORY LIST

SUMMARY - An accident causes the loss of maleness and natural hormones after a transplant of female organs causing breast development and other changes. A female co-worker/lesbian lover fosters the adjustment to womanhood.

I lived a very normal life until the age of 27 when I was in a bad industrial accident. I’d been married right after high school and we’d had two kids, one of each a boy and a girl. Then, five years after the birth of our daughter, my wife ran away with another man and took the kids with her. 

I’d dated a few times since our divorce was finalized but I hadn’t been intimate with any of the girls I’d gone out with, maybe out of a fear of commitment. While I maintained a decent social life, my sex life was limited to my left hand, sad to say.

Then came this accident. I’d been consulting with a major manufacturing company on the layout of their newest plant and was watching while one of their largest presses was being lowered into place when a cable snapped. 

The strain this particular cable was under, combined with its sudden release of tension and the place where I was standing meant I caught most of its force when the end of it snapped into my stomach, lower abdomen, and crotch. 

It knocked me a good six feet back against a wall and out of consciousness almost immediately. The last thing I remember, even to this day is seeing the end of it coming straight for me and trying like hell to get out of its way.

When I woke up, it was to find myself in the ER of the local hospital. I was wrapped in all manner of bandages; I.V.’s feeding into both my arms and a doctor standing over me.    

“Paul, do you know where you are?” he asks me.     

“Yeah, the hospital,” I answer.    

“Do you know why?   What happened?”    

“Accident.”    

“That’s right, and it was a bad one. We’re going to have to make a decision quickly Paul, and it’s going to be up to you to decide. First of all, the accident has caused the nearly total destruction of your genitals. You also suffered some fairly severe abdominal injuries that are going to require extensive surgery. The immediate choices you have are these: 

#1, to allow us to do only the most minimal corrective surgery to your genitals which will leave you as the eunuch and unable to have any kind of sex. 

#2 is to let us create what will amount to a Sex Reassignment Surgical reconstruction and give you a 

Functional vagina.   

#3, and maybe the best choice, is to have you flown to Sloan-Kettering where they’ll do the surgery and with luck, be able to transplant all the necessary reproductive organs of a female while doing the necessary abdominal surgery at the same time. 

I know these are hard choices and will be tough for you to make but believe me, Paul, I think the latter choice the transplant – offers you the best hope for anything resembling a normal, natural life where you won’t be constantly burdened with the taking of hormone pills or treatments. I’ll give you a few minutes to decide but we have to choose and act quickly.”    

“No, no time needed, I’ll go with the last, the transplant,” I tell him, my mind foggy with the painkillers they’ve given me. Little did I know then the impact this rash, a drug-fogged decision I’d reached was to have for the rest of my life.

Before they moved me for transport to Sloan-Kettering, they sedated me, and so by the time, I recovered from the move and the subsequent surgery, it was all over and done with. The pain was minimal, thanks to modern medicine and the drugs created. The discomfort, however, was another story altogether. 

I was wrapped in bandages, the tubes coming out of me almost as numerous as those going in. In fact, I was so heavily drugged that it was nearly a week after the surgery before I finally had full control of all my faculties and senses. By this time, I itched down there something terrific and it was driving me nuts. I finally complained to one of the many nurses who were taking care of me and she kind of giggled, explaining. 

“Your donor had to be shaved before her organs were harvested to be transplanted to you, all the itching means is that her, now your, pubic hair is growing back which is, by the way, a very good sign.”    

Well, I guess that makes sense, I thought. Damn shame, here I have a pussy now, one that’s shaved, and with all these bandages I can’t even see the damned thing. What am I saying?   

And with that thought, it finally hit me…my cock and balls are gone forever. 

And instead, I now have, down there between my legs, that which I so often and so desperately wanted access to, a woman’s pussy. 

Now, what am I going to do? How am I going to live my life like this, half-man and half-woman?   Come to think of it, transplant… does that mean I’m going to have periods too? And that I could get pregnant if I have sex like this?  

Shit, what have I done to myself? What are my friends and the people I work with going to think? How will they react when they find out?  

I was in a state of near panic at this point, but finally got a grip on myself and began to think things through more clearly, realizing no one needed tod know anything I didn’t want them to know. 

I can only hope I can manage those few days each month when I’ll have to deal with those sanitary needs without anyone finding out. Hope I don’t get PMS, too, that would be hell to have to deal with as well.

A few days after I’d flushed all the drugs out of my system, one of the doctors involved with my case came in to see me. 

That she was female was no real surprise, sensitivity is one thing all doctors are supposed to have. They had to know how hard it would be for a male doctor to talk sensibly with me about having what I now have down there, let alone the resulting consequences involved.    

“Hello Mr. Miller,” she said, pulling a chair over beside my bed.   

“Please, call me Paul,” I asked her.    

“Okay, I’m Doctor Carol Ansley, and please, call me Carol under these most unusual circumstances.”    

“Sounds good to me, Carol,” I laughed.  “And yes, these are strange circumstances. I doubt you know of many men who are in the same boat I’m in now.”    

“No, Paul, I don’t. Nor do I know of many women who are in similar, but opposing circumstances as you are. But that’s what I’m here to discuss with you, as I’m sure you have guessed.”    

“Well, I had hoped.   There is a lot I’m going to need to know, that’s for sure.”    

“Okay, let me begin then by telling you everything about what was done for you.   As you know, you suffered a terrible accident that totally destroyed your male genitalia and caused some abdominal injuries as well. 

You’re also aware that nothing could be done to salvage your male genitals and thus you were faced with the decision you eventually made, to have the transplant you’ve received in the hope you could live something close to a normal life. 

Now I realize that too, having female genitalia will not seem at all normal to you at first, but you may rest assured, it’s normal for over half the population of the world and I’m reasonably sure you will become used to it before very long.   

 You will adjust to them as well as to the aspects that come with it, namely having a monthly menstrual cycle. There are some potential side effects I want to discuss with you, too Paul. It is possible but uncertain that you may develop rudimentary secondary characteristics as well, namely breast tissue.    If so, this can be dealt with so let’s not worry about it right now.   First I want to know what you know of a woman’s physiology and monthly cycles.”    

“Well, I was married for about ten years so I do know something about them, what do you want to know if I know for sure?” I explain and ask.   

“How aware are you of a woman’s internal organs?”    

“Why don’t you tell me about them and I’ll let you know when you’re covering something I’m already aware of?

Reaching into the case she’d carried, she handed me a fold-open chart complete with color diagrams of a woman’s internal organs, asking me to name them. I do pretty well until I misname the cervix and then mix it up with Bartholin's Gland, the one that gives a woman her inner moisture. 

After correcting me, Carol said, “Paul, your donor was a young lady of 24 years who was killed by severe head trauma in an automobile accident. She was not a virgin, thus neither are you physically and was in superb health. 

Her medical history indicated she had regular periods, almost like clockwork every 28th day.  It is our sincere hope that you will be equally regular. Now unless you have any questions about your surgery or anything related to it, I’m going to have a nurse come in to go over a woman’s sanitary needs with you.”    

“I do have a question, Carol before you go? Actually two.”    

“Yes?”    

“When will these bandages come off and the tubes come out? And secondly, when will I have my first period?”    

“I’ll be back this afternoon to remove most of the bandages and tubes. You’ve already had your first period, while you were still sedated. If things go as we hope, your next one should start about twenty days from today. Plenty of time to get the things you’ll need and to be ready for it. And you’ll be out of here well ahead of that time.”     

“Okay, thanks,” I tell her.

About a half-hour later, a very pretty young nurse comes into my room and pulls the lone chair up beside my bed.   

“Dr. Ansely asked me to come to explain some stuff to you, okay?”   

“Sure, I need all the explaining I can get.”    

“I know…my name’s Julie, by the way.”    

“Hi Julie, I’m Paul.” I laugh.    

“Nice to meet you, Paul. Dr. Ansely wanted me to tell you about the kinds of problems we have to look out for, like yeast and bladder infections as well as how to deal with your periods.”     

“Great, you have the floor.” I again laugh. About an hour or so later, she’s told me more than I ever wanted, let alone needed to know, about a woman’s sanitary needs and precautions. 

Everything from how to initially treat a yeast infection, what they were like, and how it feels when you get one, to the various types of monthly pads and tampons a girl has to choose from. 

Then, almost out of the blue, Julie asks if there’s anything I want to know about self-pleasuring.    

“Huh?   What do you mean?” I ask her.    

“You know, masturbation.   Toys, vibrators, and the like.”     

“Oh gees, girl.”    

“Hey, we all get ourselves off sometimes. I just thought you might like to know how?”    

“Well, yeah, I guess I might at that. I don’t plan on taking any men to bed so I guess that’ll be about the only way to take care of such needs.”    

“Men are fun, don’t say no yet.”  She laughs. “Would you like me to show you how it’s done?”   

“Right here?”    

“Uh-huh, I put a DND sign on the door.”    

“DND?”    

“Do Not Disturb, silly.”    

“Oh.   Well yeah, I guess, if you’re willing.”    

With these words barely out of my mouth, Julie reached up under the skirt of her uniform and pulled her panties down and off, and then she sat back down in the chair beside my bed, her legs parted and pussy fully exposed. 

She proceeded to give me a tour of her external parts, pointing out her external and internal labia, her urethral opening, her vaginal opening, and lastly, her clitoris. 

She then showed me how she got herself off, starting with a gentle rubbing of her whole genital area, then just her pussy lips including some internal exploration using one or two fingers,s and finally, when she was ready, a rather vigorous rubbing of her clit until she stiffened and came right there in front of me, her juices flowing freely from her vagina as she had an orgasm.    

The musky scent of her filled the room as she wiped herself clean and I couldn’t help but wonder how Dr. Ansely found a nurse so willing to do what Julie just did. After putting her panties back on, her professionalism returned and she asked if I had any questions.    

“Uh, no, not really.

 I can’t say I’m fully ready to face what I have to deal with now but I don’t guess I have many choices.”    

“Hey, don’t let it get to you, Paul.  These things we girls have or don’t have depending on your point of view are fun to have and just think, never again will you have to fear getting hit or kicked in the nuts.”   

“So far, that’s about the only positive thing I can think of about this.”    

“Oh, you’ll find more, trust me,” she assures me.

True to her word, Carol returned that afternoon to remove the majority of my bandages and all the tubing, telling me the next time I had to pee I was to call a nurse for help.   

Once she’d finished, I was able to sit up for the first time, and although it kind of hurt down there to do so, it was a welcome change.  It sure feels different though, much more so than I’d imagined it would. 

Not so much that I was kind of sitting on my sex but instead that there wasn’t anything to really sit on, other than my ass… no balls to get pinched or in the way and no pecker to need to be shifted about.    

Strange, yes, but also kind of nice and yes, even convenient.  

Minus the bandages, I still couldn’t really see anything, just the flatness of my female pubes. 

Carol had explained after removing the bandages but before she left that I should be released from the hospital within two to three days, just long enough for all my incisions to have healed enough to let me go.

 After that and for maybe three weeks, I’d have to be careful and after about a month, and a final checkup back home, I’d be released from all medical care. Well, except for regular visits to a gynecologist since I’d have to add that to my normal medical routine now.    

Sitting in bed alone for the first time in several hours, I can’t help but think of the changes this damned accident is going to cause. 

First and foremost, of course, is the loss of my manhood, for all intents and purposes. Secondly, I’ll have to sit down to pee for the rest of my life now, no more writing my name in the snow, not that I ever did, but that’s the phrase used. 

I wonder, what am I going to wear for underwear now?  No one’s said anything about that aspect.  

I’m sure what I used to wear, plain old Jockey shorts, won’t cut it anymore, nothing to fill them up with.   

Maybe plain white girl’s panties will fit me best and be the least obvious. 

We’ll just have to see, guess I’ll have to do some experimenting in this arena. 

Speaking of experimentation, I’ll have to ask Carol about masturbating and when I’ll be sufficiently healed to try it. 

This does present a few potentially interesting scenarios, though… Think about all the toys that are out there in the market for girls to use. 

You know… dildos, vibrators, and the like?

You know, the more time I spend thinking about what’s happened to me, the more possibilities I can find for making the most of it.   

 Other than not being able to shower at the gym with the guys any longer, I can’t think of very many if any, social situations I could be in where I’d risk discovery and this being the case, the possibilities for adventure are almost endless.  

 I think the hardest part of all of this is going to be my monthly visitor.    

Girls are, after all, brought up to expect the damned things, but boys aren’t. 

I wonder what it’ll be like having to run to the bathroom every few hours to change my tampon?  

More than that, what’s it going to be like to put something up inside me down there? 

What does a vibrator or a big dildo feel like, I wonder? Laughing aloud at my own joke, I wonder how sexually frustrated I’ll be before I’m allowed to find out?    

And what form will that constant arousal that goes with said frustration be like?    

With no pecker to be hard all the time, how will it feel, I wonder?    Will I maybe be wet all the time?  Oh gees, I bet that’s what will happen.

About two hours later, it felt like I had to pee, so I hit the nurse's call button, and in came Julie a couple of minutes later, asking what I needed.   

“Julie, I think I have to use the john.”    

“Paul, girls don’t use the john, we use the ladies' room.”    

“Ahh, okay, I’ll have to remember that. But Carol, I mean Dr.Ansely, told me to call for help when I had to go.”    

“No problem.   

You’ve been on your back or at least in bed for a couple of weeks so you’re going to feel dizzy when you first get up. Come on, I’ll help steady you.”    

So I got out of bed and found she was right, I was really woozy at first, but with her help, I made it into the bathroom and thankfully sat down on the commode before I wet myself.  But when I tried to go, nothing happened and in telling Julie, she giggled and said, 

“Of course not, you have to learn how all over again.   You see, we girls use different muscles to hold it in and so you have to learn which ones to relax.”   

After a few minutes of trying, I finally found how to do it and let loose a very noisy and quite messy stream. 

At least it seemed messy, but Julie told me it was normal for girls to splash up against the butt cheeks if and when they had to go really bad.    

“You see Paul, guys have a small opening from which to pee, the tiny little hole at the end of the penis. Girls don’t have that, we just go through a comparatively large opening within the vagina, thus the difference.”     

“It felt funny, too, Julie, a lot different than before,” I tell her unashamedly.   

“I bet it did.   I think as you get used to it, you’ll find this way neater and cleaner. Now, don’t forget to wipe it back to the front.   

And when you have to defecate, wipe from front to back.   

The reason being we have to keep that stuff from getting inside our vaginas to prevent infections.”   

She then helped me back to the other room where I insisted she help me regain my sea legs for a few minutes before I got back into bed.

True to her word, Carol came back and removed the rest of my bandages a couple of days later, giving me my first look at the new me. 

There is a lot of bruising lefts and the incision from my navel down just above the start of my feminine slit is still fiery red as are the two on either side of the inside of my thighs where Carol said they had attached the external skin and the internal structure of my donor’s organ to me.  

I asked her what had been on my mind for the past several days, about masturbation and toys, and she said, 

“I would think you could manually experiment if you do so very gently, but I’d hold off using any toys until your doctor at home releases you, just to be on the safe side.    

But once they do release you, Paul, I’d strongly encourage you to experiment with such things. You see, I feel. 

strongly that to do so will help you adjust all the more easily to that part of you.”    

“Carol, strange as it might seem to you, I kind of agree.   I think what I‘m going to do is try to search out all the positives of what’s happened to me as a result of the accident, instead of dwelling on it having made me something of a freak.”    

“Paul, I think you’re going to do just fine, I really do.   So much so that I’m changing your orders by removing my recommendation that you see a psychiatrist when you get home. I think you’re going to make this traumatic adjustment just fine.”    

I gave Julie my credit card and a note authorizing her use of it, along with my sizes, so she could get me some clothes to wear for the flight home, the ones I’d been were totally ruined when the accident occurred.    

She asked me about underwear and I told her to use her best judgment but that I’d prefer plain white cotton and simple, without anything fancy.   What she returned with about two hours later wasn’t surprising.  

 A pair of men’s slacks, a short-sleeved shirt, shoes, and socks, but when it came to my underwear, she’d surprised me after all. 

What she’d picked up for me to wear was a girl’s tee shirt and matching panties in a soft nylon-like material although the panties had a cotton inner liner in the crotch.    

“Paul, forgive me if you’re offended but I really want you to experience some of what we girls enjoy in our undergarments, the soft silkiness of nylon. Please, for me, give it a try? 

As you can see, neither item has any lace so no one will know they’re meant for a girl to wear.”   

Since I had to be out of the room within the hour, I decided to go along with Julie, and picking up the panties stepped into them, and pulled them up.   

Other than the obvious snugness against my crotch, they felt pretty much like my old underwear.   

But that snugness was nice. 

Dropping the tee-shirt on over my head, its nylon material cool against my skin, I finished getting dressed much as I always had until I pulled the slacks up and on, the emptiness of my crotch against it again making itself known to me, albeit pleasantly.

Within about fifteen minutes I found myself walking out the front door of the hospital and getting into a waiting cab for the ride to the airport for my flight home, armed with an envelope filled with my medical records and a letter explaining my “condition” to whomever I decided might have a genuine need to see it. 

Beyond some mild soreness and slight tenderness, I felt no different than I always had, at least as to who I am. What lay hidden inside my pants is for me and my doctors alone to know.