I spend the next two weeks laying low… very low. I go out into the desert to shoot for a magazine article on spec, I never go to the grocery store before 11pm, I order delivery, but other than that and hanging out with Sarah I have no meaningful contact with others. I do all of this is baggy sweats and a hoodie.
I start to learn more about my body – my curiosity grows and grows until a day or two after I talk to Sarah I find myself in my bed, nude and freshly showered. I start reading some erotica and the prose begins to work its magic on me. I begin fondling my breasts… yes, I’ve come to think of them as mine now as it seems pointless and a bit unhealthy to not take ownership of these parts. My chest and nipples are more sensitive now and they also respond to just thoughts of sex – something I can’t recall my much smaller, male nipples ever doing (though to be honest, the hardening of my cock back in the day would have captured all of my attention). So when I’m just thinking or reading about sex I feel them thicken and harden. I delight in the way my firm breasts feel, the soft, smooth skin and its graceful curves would look great in any of the pornos I remember watching as a guy. As I play with my nipples I feel my vagina… my pussy… start to tingle and grow warmer and wet.
I let my fingers slide down my tummy, across the little pooch that wells up under my navel and down through the thin patch of hair to my labia. I learn very quickly that my clitoris is so much more sensitive than my cock ever was. God, the thought of ‘jacking’ my clit seems like torture given how sensitive it is. I find that spreading two fingers so that they don’t touch it but rub right next to it produces the most exquisitely pleasant sensations – and quickly bring me an orgasm. That’s changed too – my orgasm now is gentler and less like a defined peak. It’s warm and tender, but doesn’t tower above the other good feelings I experience. I also quickly discover that once I’ve climaxed I can continue stimulating myself and climax several times in succession if I’m in the mood. Another glaring difference is that after I have an orgasm I don’t experience the near-instant decrease in my sex drive or the ‘clarity’ that I did after an orgasm when I was a guy.
Yah.. you read it right, ‘when I *was* a guy’. After just two weeks the part of me, of my mind, that was all male has continued to shrink so that it now feels like it’s about the size of pea in the bathtub of my mind. With conscious effort I can recall it and use it to think like I used to, but I’m finding more and more of my experience being colored by what I consider feminine thoughts. For instance, if I see a handsome guy when I’m at the grocery store I don’t envision him just bending me over and ramming me as I used to think when I’d see a sexy woman. More likely than not, I fantasize about what his arms would feel like as he held me close, what his lips would feel like on my neck, or imagine his heavy, warm body on mine.
Sarah gets in touch with me and tells me to show up at her OBGYN’s office the next day which I dutifully do. Since this is only the second time that I’m going to be seen as a woman by anybody else I’m so nervous that I feel nauseous and am sweating profusely, no thanks to the warm and cozy sweat pants that have now become like a second skin. The nurse checks us in and we are led back to an exam room, with the exam table covered by a continuous sheet of butcher paper, and the stir-ups ready and waiting for me.
The nurse starts by looking at the chart and then back and forth between Sarah and I. “So you are Austin Danbury?” She asks looking at me, to which I nod. She then takes some basic health information from me and measures my height and weight – I’ve shrunk a bit in the transition and am now 5’9″ and 140lbs. She asks me if I’m getting my period regularly… and I completely freeze. I look in desperation to Sarah who nods, and mouths “yes” to me.
I parrot that back to the nurse who asks me when my last period was. “uummm… you know… I think I lost track… its been a few weeks at least.” She notes this on the computer.
“Are you taking birth control medication?”
“ummm… no”
“Are you sexually active?”
“ummm… no”
“When you do have sex, do you practice safe sex, including the use of a condom?”
“ummm… no”
You get the idea. It’s a very unsatisfying interview and leaves me wondering just how much I don’t know about my new body. Clearly, my high school sex-ed course and a history of having sex with just two women has not bestowed upon me a comprehensive knowledge base of female reproductive health. The nurse looks at me compassionately, sensing my nervousness though clueless as to why a seemingly healthy woman of 25 would be so nervous for a routine exam and as she leaves she tells me to strip from the waist down and climb up on to the exam table.
After she leaves I look at Sarah in desperation, “Please… let’s go! I can’t do this. It’s too fucking weird. Periods? Am I going to have to deal with those? Birth control? Can I get PREGNANT?” I feel my vision beginning to tunnel.
“Woah… slow down their Aussie…” Sarah has taken to calling me that, saying that she doesn’t feel right calling me Austin any more. “You are going to be fine. I’ve had many of these and its no big deal. She’ll just check you out and tell you to use condoms when you fuck around.”
I just roll my eyes at Sarah and then comply with the nurses orders. I climb onto the exam table and try to sit modestly, though Sarah seems to delight in both the awkwardness I’m displaying as well as my attempts to hide myself from her. A few minutes later the doctor comes in and something about her is instantly calming to me. She appears to be close to 60 and her long grey hair, rounded and healthy body, and complete lack of cosmetic adornments signal that she is an earth mama – a strong, centered woman who has completely mastered her domain. I see her acknowledge Sarah with a smile before she turns her attention to me.
“I’m Doctor Finch, Austin, but you can call me Sue. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends out her hand and shakes mine, all the while looking me over with a practiced eye. “So what brings you in today”?
“Ummm… uh… well, my friend here, Sarah, thought I should come in and have an exam as I’ve never been seen by an OBGYN before.” My voice sounds higher pitched and more nervous than it ever has.
“I see.” She glances at her chart. “So you are 25 and you’ve never had a gynecological exam? Not even with your pediatrician?” Her face appears concerned and it seems like she’s working on a puzzle in her mind.
“No. Ummm. It’s a long story Doctor, and to be honest I’m not really sure I want to tell it right now.” I can feel emotions welling up in me again, but I try really hard to tamp them down. I don’t want Dr. Sue here to call in a psychiatrist.
“Hmmm.” She looks at me with a compassionate, motherly look. “I can respect that, but only if you answer a few questions for me, ok? Are you being hurt or abused by anybody?”
“No.” I’m finding it difficult to look her in the eye, casting my gaze down at my bare legs.
“Is anybody threatening you, or anyone you know?”
“Besides Sarah telling me she’d kick my ass if I didn’t come to this appointment? No, no threats.”
“Oh fuckin’ grow a pair, Aussie!” Sarah mutters, bringing a smile to Sue’s face.
“Ok. So I see you aren’t sexually active and don’t recall when your last period was?”
“That’s right.”
“Ok, could you remove your hoodie and everything underneath please?”
“I’m going to exam your breasts now Aussie.. mind if I call you that?” and starts to palpate my breasts. She’s the first person other than myself to touch them, but it’s a very clinical, dry touch – not intimate in the least, though I guess it isn’t supposed to be.
“Well, they appear to be in great health. Have you experienced any pain in them or anywhere else in your body?”
My chest and hips haven’t been in nearly as much pain in the last few days as they had been, but there is still some tenderness. I contemplate denying any pain, but realize that if the pain is signaling something is wrong with me, that not telling the doctor may have negative consequences down the line.
“Ummm.. well, my breasts have been tender but that has been getting better. I’ve also had some pain in my hips, which was worst, but that also seems to be getting better.” I say, still avoiding eye contact.
“I see. I’m going to examine your abdomen now.” She tells me as she starts to press deeply enough into various points on my belly.
“Well, no problems there. Can you put your feet in the stir-ups for me?” She asks as she actually start to just put my feet in position anyway. “Any history of problems with your cycle?”
“I don’t really ride it anymore, it’s got a flat.”
Sarah bursts out into a braying laugh in a classic ‘spit-take’, it’s really obnoxious, but instantly communicates to me that I’ve made a mistake of some sort.
“No Aussie, not your bicycle, your menstrual cycle.” She says compassionately and without a hint of laughter, casting a slightly disparaging glance at Sarah who’s clearly having a tough time regaining her composure.
“Oh… ummm. No?” I don’t want it to sound like a question but it certainly sounds like I’m questioning something.
“Aussie, at what edge did you start getting your period?”
“oh… you know… um… I can’t really remember, I think it was like, you know… the normal age” Technically this is a truthful and valid answer, though only by omission of the fact that I’ve never had a period.
I feel the doctors hands palpate the area around my vagina, then gently spread me open. I’m looking at her face and see a flash of surprise that is quickly replaced by a wrinkle in her eyebrows that suggests that she is contemplating some deep problem.
“Aussie, you’ve never had sex? You’re a virgin?” Everything about Sue’s presentation prompts me to trust her, to feel like there is nothing I could say to throw her off her game and for a moment I’m tempted to blurt out my secret, but I keep it hidden, trying to be stoic.
“I’ve never had sex, that’s right. How can you tell?”
“Well, your hymen is completely in tact and is large enough so that its presentation is consistent with being a virgin. Although some women still have partial hymens even after they’ve had sex, yours appears to be fully formed still and without the wear and tear that I’d expect even if you were a 16year old virgin.”
I just sort of nod at her, clueless.
“Please wait here a moment Aussie, I’m going to go write a few notes down and I’ll be back very soon. You can go ahead and put your clothes back on.”
When she returns to the exam room I’m dressed and she’s holding a sheet of notebook paper folded in half. She hands it to Sarah and says. “Don’t open that up until I tell you to, ok? And I’m assuming that you know at least some of Aussie’s ‘long story’?”
Sarah nods eagerly at the Doctor, looking like she’s just about to burst and start spewing my story like its a bottle of diet Coke that’s just been spiked with a handful of Mentos. I glare at her, trying to make my eyes seem like daggers that will prick her should she say even one word.
“Aussie, I think I know what’s happening here. In order to prove to you that I know what’s going on I’ve written a list of…” she pauses, looking for the right words. “words that are likely to be very salient to you and your experiences in the last two or three weeks. I’ve found that if I do it this way” she gestures at the folded paper, “that my patients instantly understand that I really do know what’s going on.”
I look at her, completely befuddled. I can feel the short hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I wonder if another psychiatric interview is in my immediate future.
“Sarah, open the paper and read the list please?” Sue asks Sarah.
Sarah opens the paper and I see her scan it, her eyes grow wide and she looks to the doctor, then to me, then back at the doctor with something akin to astonishment and love before she returns her focus to the off-white paper.
“Desert, Wiccans, mushrooms, chanting, dancing, sleep for three days, change.” Sarah’s voice starting to crack at the end. I feel my own emotions bubble up out of control and hot tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I look at Sue’s kind, weathered face.
Sue does the unexpected when she sees my reaction. She steps closer to me and wraps her motherly arms around me, hugs me tightly and whispers, “I’m sorry Austin. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
I burst into tears at her words, though the catalyst is the hug and the acceptance and love conveyed in that simple human act. I sob for several minutes and Sue doesn’t flinch or pull back. I’m sure that the support she’s providing me helps me end my water-works and when I stop blubbering she steps back and hands me a few tissues. “Want to tell me the details, MISTER Danbury?”
My jaw drops open as my ‘secret’ seems to have been spilled and this wise, old doctor seems to know my story. I steel myself and tell her the quickest version of the story, starting out at my decision to go see a band to Sarah taking me here today. As I tell the story I’m more able to look Sue in the eye, sensing only complete acceptance and support from her while I do. She nods frequently and is never surprised by anything I tell her.
After I end the story, I ask, “How did you know?” As I ask the question my mind jumps to a conclusion that is immensely frightening and equally provoking of a burst of red-hot rage. “Are you a Wiccan?!” I demand accusatorially.
“No… Aussie… Mr. Danbury. I’m most certainly not one of them. I am, however, familiar with your story as you are not alone in your experiences. Over the course of 40years in my practice I’ve had…” she pauses… concentrating, “five.. no, six other patients come to me with basically the same story you just told me. I’ve spent many hours researching various aspects of these stories and looking for commonalities between my patients. I can’t tell you how this happened, though I fully believe that it has happened to you, and many more people than you might otherwise guess. There were 9 other people dancing with you around that bonfire, right?”
I nod eagerly. “Yes. And probably 30 or so Wiccans surrounding us.”
“Its always a group of 10, five women and five men. And it only happens once a decade. I’ve had female patients book appointments with me, describe the exact same set of experiences, and then show me their very male bodies. I’ve also had patients like you, men whose bodies transformed after the ceremony and eventually show up in my office looking for answers and reassurance. The Wiccans do this to five men and five women every 10 years, transmogrifying them from one sex to another. The transformed always maintain their original orientation. If they were gay before then they are gay after, if they were heterosexual before they’ll only be attracted to the opposite sex after the transformation.”
I nod, and with every bit of analysis that Sue provides to me I feel a weight lifting from my psyche.
“What’s most amazing to me though, is that of the six patients I’ve interviewed and examined not one of them has had any negative, long-term consequences associated with their alterations. I should also tell you that not one of them has ever changed back. All of the women are still my patients, and I hope you will continue to see me as well.” She puts her arm around my shoulder when she says the last part, probably in expectation of another bout of tears. To my credit I don’t fall apart, though I do feel a few tears trickle down my face.
“I’m going to be like this…” I gesture at my body, “forever?”
Sue smiles at that. “Oh no… you are going to get older and those wonderful breasts of yours are going to sag, you’ll get wrinkles, you’ll be just like every other woman on earth.” She looks at me to gauge my reaction. “But to answer your real question, yes, you are now a woman and will be for the rest of your life. You should also know that you are as fertile as any 25 year old woman – so you really need to be careful!”
At this point I basically tune out and don’t remember anything else that the doctor tells me. Sarah takes me home, makes me dinner, watches trashy TV with me and then puts me to bed, telling me she’ll be back in the morning.
I sleep so soundly that night that I’m startled awake by Sarah’s knocks on my door the next morning. She comes in with coffee and scones and sits me down at my two-person kitchen table.
“So Sue told me everything she knows about this.. and you. She’s going to ask one of the six others to get in touch with you, sort of as a mentor, if you want that.”
“She also told me that you have got to start living your life again. One thing she realized with the others is that the longer they hid their new identities and fought against them, the longer they were unhappy. Though she also said that none of the six ever fought against their change for longer than a year.”
“Does she know how to find the Wiccans? They CAN reverse this, I KNOW they can!” I desperately want to hear these questions confirmed.
“I’m sorry Aussie. She says that several of her patients spent years and years looking for the Wiccans, even hiring private detectives and they never found anybody. She thinks that the coven probably isn’t located anywhere near Tucson, they just do their ceremonies here.”
“Oh…fuck! This sucks ass.”
I’m feeling dejected, but somehow know deep-down that Sarah, and by extension, Dr. Sue are both telling me the truth. People with magic powerful enough to transform people at such a fundamental level can probably use magic to hide themselves when necessary.
Sarah perks up. “So the good news is that Sue ORDERED me to take you shopping and get you some proper clothes. She also has a friend at the county records department, we can contact him and he’ll set your records straight so that at least from a legal standpoint you will have a birth certificate and driver’s license that is consistent with you being a woman.”
“Sue said you should pick a new name, something you really love and can take pride in to help you with your change. She also gave me a thousand dollars to spend on helping you get new clothes and stuff.”
“But why? Why would she do that?” I ask, confused by these acts of kindness from a stranger.
“She knows how difficult this is! It only happens to young, relatively poor people. She says she doesn’t need more money at this point in her life and wants you to move on so you can just live instead of being all wrapped up in the emotions you are experiencing.”
So, I’m taking you shopping and we are getting your hair done too!” She seems far too giddy about all this, as though I’m a guest on her talkshow and todays’ topic is ‘total makeovers’.
I sigh, never rebellious by nature, replying “So what I’m I going to do with all my boxer shorts?”