I woke up this morning with a hard-on, hopefully my last one, and wanted to chop it off with an axe so the blood can splatter all over God’s face. The closer I got to my surgery date, the more active my penis got, like it knew what was coming and wanted to jump off my body and hide for safety. If only it could do that, both of us would be so much happier. But God put it on someone to who it didn’t belong, and the only way to rectify the situation is to chop it off and mock God. It’s funny for me to be talking about “God” like this because I never believed in such a thing until I realized a situation like mine could only be done by a cruel and omnipotent being.
Instead of worshipping God, I have to worship Dr. Weiss. And with the prices he’s charging, he may as well be God. I’m walking to the bus stop right now because I had to sell my car to help pay for the surgery and even that didn’t cover the costs. I raised a few bucks online, but I’d be lying if the money I got was more than the shame I felt for having to put myself out there like that. But so what? It helped. And now, as I step on the bus, a backpack over my shoulder with the things I’ll need for the next few days, I’m buzzing with the thrill of knowing that the next time I’m on this same bus, going the opposite direction, this monstrosity between my legs will be gone.
On the way to the hospital, the bus bounces and sways. I soak in each and every vibration it makes on the dick and balls that I will soon get shopped off and, hopefully, discarded forever (I actually haven’t thought about what they do with it until now, but I want them to burn it like it never existed because, in a way, they never did). I do this because I want to relish the experience of being free from that feeling once and for all. All these years, every time I felt something against those disgusting contraptions of flesh hanging between my thighs, I just wanted to yank them off and throw them away.
Since I’ve been riding the bus, I found I like sitting in back the most. I get to look at people and imagine what kind of lives they live, what it feels like to be them. Today I see a young girl, about 7 years old, playing with a Barbie doll. I imagined what it would have been like to be a 7-year-old girl, pretty in pink with long hair and my blood just started heating up, tears welled up in my eyes, my heart slammed against chest. Why does SHE get to play with a girl doll when she’s a girl - and I had to play with a Mr. Potato Head doll? Another example of God’s sadistic cruelty - I got a doll that I could take body parts off of to make it feminine. Even as a child, I was mocked - by a goddam Potato doll. And now, in the back of the bus, I just start BALLING. Each one of my eyes their own mini Niagara Falls. I heave, I gasp from the torrential rains coming out of my eye sockets. People look back at me and I really can’t blame them. I know they think I’m crazy, but that’s not what bothers me. What makes me want to jump head-first into a woodchipper is that they would never understand what it feels like. They will never know what I have gone through my entire life of being in a body that wasn’t supposed to be ME. They will never know and I hate them for that. I don’t hate them as people. I wish them the best because I am not a bad person. But I hate their ignorance. I hate that I know this, I live this, I am this, and to them, it’s nothing but a freakshow flooding the bus with its tears.
And now, for some reason, because the universe is powered by chaos, the penis I will soon chop off gets hard again. The evil little goblin bastard wants one last stand before the fall. I let him have it. I even spread my legs to give it room, let it pop up through my loose-fitting skirt, a small tent between my legs for all to see. And I’m still crying, mascara spilling across my cheeks, and I know what I look like. But I don’t care. This is not my fault. This is real, so I grab my penis, and I stroke it. One last stand, huh? Here we go. I stroke harder than ever before. I cry harder than ever before. Everyone is looking at me now. Let them look. I care but I don’t care. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I know I have to. It makes them angry. So what? Screams and cries and profanities galore! Fuck them Fuck everyone. Fuck my penis and fuck God for giving it to me. I cum harder than I ever came before and it feels great and I hate that it feels great because I was never supposed to have this disgusting fucking piece of flesh o me anyways. I feel people coming near me, but I can’t see them clearly, they’re just blurs getting closer. The bus stops and I run out, my penis still erect, cum all over my skirt. I get off the bus and run as fast as I can to the clinic. They’ll save me. Dr. Weiss will save me. He’s my God. My new God will save me.