The Final Cut
By Kimmie Holland & Meeah d/Z

***one***
Gillian sat in the doctor's waiting room flipping through a two-month old issue of Elle; he was trying as much as possible not to be nervous, it not being every day that one was castrated...and by one's ex-spouse, to boot.
Judging by the new offices, Dr. Bender was doing very well for herself; that was what he called Judy now--Dr. Bender. She was his physician and nothing more; as it was explained to him, it would be highly inappropriate to call her anything else. 

Instructed to dress comfortably for the "procedure," Gillian was wearing a knee-length print skirt with a floral pattern, a short-sleeve ribbed top, and a pair of flat sandals. A lightweight bolero-style sweater, pink to match his top and the flowers in his skirt, completed the outfit. He was glad to have thought of the sweater. The waiting room, as he remembered, was rather over-air conditioned. The chill made the nipples on his new breasts stand up against the inside of his blouse...another good reason for the sweater...inasmuch as Roy, that was Gillian`s boyfriend, did not generally care see Gillian in a bra. 

Roy had paid for Gillian's breasts and Dr. Bender had done the surgery and what a set they'd given him! As Roy liked to say, "in for a penny, in for a pound," and Gillian had been outfitted with what on some days seemed twenty pounds worth of mammary. "I want my money's worth," he explained to the good doctor, waving aside any talk of "proportion to body frame" or "parody of a woman."  When Dr. Bender had suggested that the size breasts he was condemning Gillian to wear for the rest of his days were a bona-fide pair of bimbo headlight, Roy had simply looked the doctor in the face as if she were a dimwitted child and said, "Duh-uh." 

Dr. Bender shrugged and had her assistant schedule the surgery.

And where was Gillian's Prince Charming now? Out playing golf with his pals. He'd dropped Gillian off at the doctor, gave him a quick peck, a slap on the rump, and a "good luck, baby."  Doctor offices creeped him out and he'd be bored stiff waiting; besides, as he explained it, there wasn't anything he'd accomplish hanging around waiting. Gillian would be in good hands. He'd be by later to pick him up from the recovery room when it was all over; that is, after he officially became a "her."

Well, maybe it was better this way. Really, Gillian didn't think things would be any easier if Roy were there cracking jokes the whole time or flirting with Kaylie, the pretty blonde receptionist who Gillian had known when he was married to Dr. Bender. Kaylie, the ex-cheerleader, who'd smirked knowingly at Gillian when she handed him the clipboard with the intake papers and release forms to sign, keeping her derision and disdain for the sissified, middle-aged faggot just this side of "professional." She'd asked him the most embarrassing questions in a voice unnecessarily loud about the pre-procedure preparations he'd been instructed to make. Had he administered, or had his boyfriend administer, the series of enemas the doctor had prescribed? Were his bowels clean? Were his testicles complete depilated?

Gillian thought he would die of embarrassment; it would probably have been a relief if he had. Instead, he answered Kaylie's questions as matter-of-factly as he could, ignoring the snickers coming from the other patients in the waiting room, and hoping she'd soon tire of the embarrassing game, which, in fact,  she eventually did, but not until Gillian was entirely humiliated and sent red-faced to a seat in the waiting room where half-a-dozen variously amused women watched him.

As it was, Gillian kept his eyes lowered so as to avoid even the chance of catching Kaylie's mocking gaze--or the gaze of any of the other curious patients and office staff to whom she'd whispered...and none too subtly either...who Gillian was and what he was doing there. 

The wait under the best of circumstances would have been excruciating; and these, for so many reasons,  were far from the best of circumstances.  sat, nervously flipping pages of an Elle that he wasn't even seeing, waiting for his name to be called. 

"Gillian?"


***Two***
Looking up from the pages of the magazine, Gillian saw the nurse standing in the doorway leading back to the examination rooms. She smiled kindly at him, maintaining her professional distance, but clearly happy to see him.,

"Gillian," she said, glancing briefly at his medical folder to double-check, but, no, there was no mistake. She tried not to show any alarm--or disapproval. "You're next, honey."

Gillian put the magazine down, gathered up his things, and crossed the waiting room, painfully aware of the eyes that followed him. He followed the nurse's trim white form to one of the examination rooms.

"So what brings you in today?" Debbie asked, after closing the door and turning to face him. Did she really not know? 

Debbie had been Dr. Bender's attending nurse from back when Gillian had been the doctor's husband. Slightly older than both of them, still youthful, but growing noticeably more matronly, she'd always been very friendly to Gillian, even after the divorce, when all of their once-mutual friends had gone over to his ex-wife. In fact, if truth be told, there was a brief time, after the divorce was finalized, when Gillian might almost have thought that Debbie was making it clear that she might be interested in him...as a man, that is. 

Of course, that was before it became clear what a complete joke Gillian was as a man. Debbie might not have believed all the stories his ex-wife were telling about him--at least not at first. But as the months went by, as Gillian's feminization progressed, and as he returned to the office again and again with his live-in boyfriend for the irreversible procedures that would erase whatever was left of his flawed manhood forever, it became all-too-clear what Gillian was--and what he was becoming. 

Seeing him now in his skirt and sandals, sporting a large pair of C-cup breasts and flashing painted toes, could she even remember a time when she might have considered him a man?

It was as if she wanted him to say it himself, to declare his complete emasculation, which was, after all, the reason for his visit, even though he was certain it must be written in the chart that Debbie held in her hands. Maybe it was necessary that he say it. That he admit the truth out loud once and for all in front of her. Gillian forced himself to answer. "I'm having an orchiectomy."

"So you're being castrated today. Hmm I see," she said. "Well, I guess it was inevitable and, in your case, certainly no tragedy, I  suppose. That's a pretty blouse, by the way.  Would you please roll up the sleeve so I can take your blood pressure?" Debbie tightened the cuff around his thin, soft biceps. "You know, you don`t have to let them do this. You can refuse."

Gillian's voice was a whisper, hardly audible in that quiet room. "I know."

"You want this then, Gil?"

Gillian nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

"Okay, that's lovely then. Really it is." Debbie sounded like she was genuinely trying to be happy, if only for Gillian's sake, but he thought he could detect a note of sadness in her tone. "Hop up on the scale for me, would you please?"

Gillian kicked off his sandals and stood on the scale as the nurse made the appropriate adjustments. She read the results: "One-o-eight. Lost another three pounds, I see. I'm jealous. How ever do you stay so slender?"

Gillian might have told her about the Pilates classes, the yoga-aerobics and belly-dancing DVDs that were part of her daily exercise regimen, or the severe calorie-restricted diet that Roy had her follow ("There's nothing worst than a fat sissy," as he was fond of saying); instead, Gillian shrugged and smiled shyly. He was fairly certain that Debbie wasn't really interested in the answer.

Instead, she continued with the usual questions: whether he'd eaten anything since the night before, taken any medications, including aspirin, if he'd refrained from beverages that morning, aside from a little water, if necessary...in short, if he'd followed all of the doctor's written instructions for the surgical procedure he was about to undergo. Did he have any questions. No? 

"Then let's get you cleaned out."

Gillian was confused. It was hard for him to have to say it, but even more embarrassing to imagine what would happen if he didn't. "I...you know...I did that...last night." And he had. Three full enemas. His insides felt like they must be gleaming.

Debbie checked his chart again. "Well, the doctor has ordered you to have an enema upon arrival. So I guess there's nothing for it. You can change into that gown on the table and I'll be back in a minute." She paused for a moment before leaving, sparing Gillian a sympathetic look when she saw that he was upset. "I'm terribly sorry,  honey." She shrugged.  "I'm afraid, you've no choice in the matter. Doctor's orders. Make sure you take everything off. Even your panties. There's no cause for modesty here. By now, I've seen it all and then some."

***three***
So that's how it was going to be then? Gillian's ex was determined to humiliate him in front of the last woman ever to think of him--maybe even desire him--as a man. Maybe it was for the best; after all, in a matter of hours, Gillian, to all intents and purposes, would physically stop being a man whether he changed his mind or not. His testicles would be harvested, nothing more than biological waste, no more viable than any amputated or diseased body part, dead and gone forever.

Yes, he might as well get used to it. Because there was really no going back now. Oh, he might chicken out at the last minute, and, though he already signed the consent form, they might even let him leave without performing the procedure. But Gillian knew he'd come back when all was said and done. He might get scared and try to back out a dozen times, but, in the end, he'd always come back. It was true what he told Debbie. As terrifying and final as it was, as much like a kind of death it seemed, Gillian wanted this.

A light knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. Gillian had managed in the meantime to undress and slip on the paper gown, tying it as best he could up the back. 

"All ready for me in there?" Debbie asked, cracking the door open and sticking her head in the room before Gillian could answer. She smiled when she saw Gillian in the gown, his clothes, including his pretty feminine underthings, folded on a chair in the corner. "Good girl," she said brightly, and entered the room with the enema bag and tubing.

"On the table and bottoms up," she said, her pleasant bedside manner alleviating, as much as it was possible under the circumstances, any uncomfortableness between them. "Let's have that cute lil rump of yours in the air."

Still, as routine as she might have made it seem, Gillian felt his race reddening in his arms as he kneeled up on the examination table, the paper crinkling under him. 

"Cold," she said, and chuckled. "I'm sorry. Just relax sweetie; it'll slip right in."

Gillian closed his eyes as if he could shut out the reality of the situation. He'd been fucked in the ass enough times to know how to relax back there and Roy's gigantic member had stretched his anus out considerably. In hardly a moment, the long but well-greased plastic nozzle slipped easily inside him. 

"That's it, honey. Now that wasn't hard at all, was it?"  The nurse loosened the clamps on the tubing and the liquid in the enema bag slowly began filling Gillian's bowels.

It was horribly humiliating, lying there with his tush in the air and the tube snaking out of his bottom, no matter how professional Debbie's demeanor; the fact that Gillian had known Debbie socially, outside of her role as a nurse, only made things worse. 

"Hold tight," she instructed him, just when Gillian already thought he would burst. "I've got to change bags."

Debbie replenished the bags twice more. Gillian was nearly in tears. "Sorry sweetie, but the doctor wants you completely cleaned out." Finally, the third large bag emptied inside him, the nurse patted Gillian on his damp ass. "There you go honey. All done."

She removed the nozzle and helped Gillian to sit up on the edge of the examination table. His cramping tummy was so distended he might have been three month's pregnant. Debbie seemed to be trying to take his mind off the discomfort he was experiencing by making small-talk. All Gillian could do was moan and whimper. 

"Please," he managed to gasp when he couldn't hold the water inside him any longer. "I think...I have to...go...badly..."

"Oh my dear, then please go. There's no need to hold it any longer. Would you like me to help you to the bathroom?"

Gillian was confused. He wanted Debbie to leave, to let him have some privacy, but he could use her help to get down from the table and reach the bathroom. The nurse read his indecision and took control of the situation, helping him off the table, and into the hallway towards the bathroom. Gillian could swear that he was waddling, the enema sloshing around in gut, as he padded barefoot down the hall. He reached behind himself, trying to hold the paper gown closed over his ass and, at the same time, to hold the enema inside him. He was failing, he feared at both, as the seal his straining sphincter made weakened, causing a spurt of liquid to leak down his thighs.

Gillian whimpered, ignoring the looks of pity and disgust from the other female patients. He made it to the bathroom in a nick of time, hardly able to object to the fact that the nurse had followed him inside. "Dr. Bender wants me to make sure you're cleaned out properly," she explained. 

Gillian, in utter despair, was in no position to object. Thinking only of the relief to the intolerable pressure that had built up inside him, he let go, surrendering whatever remnant of dignity he might have thought he still had. Already instructed not to flush, Gillian stood abjectly beside the sink on weak knees while the nurse inspected what had been flushed out of him.

"Very good," she pronounced. "Clean as a whistle."

Gillian was so grateful not to have to endure any further internal cleansing that he forgot, if only momentarily, to be humiliated. He let himself be led to a different examination room, still weak and trembling, without a peep of protest. He felt broken inside and out. He was ready at last for whatever it was they had in store for him.

"Just rest here for a moment sweetie," the nurse said, helping Gillian onto the gynecological exam table. He felt, just as he looked, so small, so lost, so defenseless with his delicate legs, smooth and thin, parted and his pretty bare feet clasped inside the stirrups as if shackled.  "The doctor will be with you shortly."

He was spread open, helpless and defenseless. There was nothing to do but to place his trust in them whether they deserved his trust or not. They would have it their way in any event for better, or for worst. 

***four***
"And how are we today, Gil?" the doctor asked, without waiting for--or expecting--an answer. She'd breezed in, white coat flapping, reading Gillian's chart, apparently satisfied at what was recorded there, and the preparations that had been made. 

She looked, as usual, beautiful. Beautiful and--to Gil at least--perfect inaccessible. Not even the starched white coat she wore could hide her abundant female charms. 

Her auburn hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, a few strands having come coquettishly free. She brushed these off her face with the back of one perfectly manicured hand and examined Gillian with alluring green cat eyes.

"So I see you've finally come in to have your little problem taken care of once and for all. Long overdue, but better late than never." She flipped through the consent forms and then went through the motions of listening to Gillian's heart and lungs through her stethoscope. Then she leveled a frank and serious look at her ex-husband. "You've come to the right decision, Gil.  You have no idea how much better you'll feel when this is over. It'll make everything so much clearer for you."

Lying there on the examination table, his feet up in the stirrups, legs spread, exposed in nothing but the flimsy paper gown, Gillian felt like nothing more than a victim on a sacrificial altar. And his ex-wife, in her white coat and surrounded by the tools of her office, might have been the high priestess about to dispatch him into the afterlife. 

In fact, that is exactly what she was about to do. With the cut of her knife, she would propel Gillian into the next life--his next life as gelded sissy girl.

Nurse Debbie was back in the room now, handing the doctor a syringe. 

"A local anesthetic," his ex-wife explained. "It'll numb things down there. You won't feel a thing."

To Gillian, everything the doctor said was taking on a grim double entendre. He stiffened as the needle pricked him once, then twice, in his groin. He felt much less than he would have expected when his ex-wife injected him directly in the scrotum. He hadn't been aware that she'd touched him at all when she flicked her fingernail against his testicles and asked him if he'd felt anything.

Gillian felt a moment of sheer panic during which instinct urged him to run. To jump down from the surgery table and bolt before the doctor's knife could touch his flesh and alter him and his destiny forever. Dr. Bender sensed in the rigidity of his body something of the sort. She'd been expecting such a reaction, of course. 

"Relax," she said, soothingly. "It's okay, Gil. Don't fight it. It's all going to be okay."

And the truth was, Gillian wasn't going anywhere. A tremendous sense of exhaustion had washed over him. There was no fight left in him anymore. There was no stopping what was going to happen, what was already happening. Still, tears were rolling from the corners of his eyes as he reflected that what he'd so long anticipated, feared and longed-for was becoming a reality. He'd already lost the feeling in his testicles; he'd already felt the last thing he'd ever feel down there. Already he'd forgotten what it was like to feel anything down there at all. The last thing he could remember feeling there was the prick of the doctor's needle...

Well, the point wasn't that he should feel anything; too much physical pain would only interfere with Gillian's fully comprehending what was being done to him. He heard the clink of the surgical instruments, the back-and-forth between the Dr. Bender and nurse Debbie, sometimes talking about the business at hand, sometimes just making small-talk. Perhaps inevitably, they discussed the men in their lives. Deb had a new boyfriend she was excited about; and Gillian's ex was still enjoying the honeymoon afterglow a year after her marriage to Steve, the super-successful cardiologist she'd been seeing while still married to Gillian.

At one point, the doctor interrupted a description of a torrid sexual romp to inform Gillian: "One last snip and...there! That does it. You're all finished, Gillian. I'm just going to sew you up and you'll be better than new."

So that was that; it hadn't taken long. In fact, the entire operation was over, it seemed, almost as soon as it began.

"Would you like to see them," his ex-wife asked him, "before we throw them out?" 

Gillian was probably in a state of shock; seeing the two little lumps of bloody tissue in the bottom of the gleaming, stainless steel bowl was a surreal experience, to say the very least.

That's my manhood, he thought, trying to make himself feel something. 

He felt nothing at all. 

They must have administered some sort of general tranquilizer because he sort of zoned out at that point and didn't remember anything else until much later. He was being wheeled on a bed through the hall. Someone had tied a pink aluminum foil helium balloon around one of his big toes. "It's a girl!" it proclaimed. Amused looks followed as Gillian passed. "Congratulations," snickered one woman, staring at the gauze packing between Gillian's thighs. 

Resignedly, Gillian closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Roy was there to pick him up. Gillian was already dressed, wearing the skirt and sandals he'd arrived in, but a different shirt, a pink belly-t with the words "I've just been castrated!"  printed in silver glitter across the front. The aluminum helium balloon had been retied to his left wrist. Roy, all smiles, helped him into a wheel chair. Gillian still felt weak and jittery. As Roy received some last minute instructions from the doctor, Gillian took refuge in his semi-drugged state to avoid the snaky comments and curious glances of the patients in the waiting room. He would have to do the same as Roy wheeled him out of the building to the car. 

He'd have to get used to it. People were naturally curious about the castrated new sissy girl. What was it like? How did it feel? Was he happy this way? How could he ever have let this happen to him? 

What could he say? Gillian hardly knew the answers to these questions himself. He would, however, have whatever was left of his life as an emasculated pansy fucktoy to figure it out.  
 

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