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My penis is gone.
I'm not sure what happened to it, but its gone. I don't know what is going on, and I hope to God that this is all a dream. When I first realized what happened, the shock and disbelief took on a surreal quality, but that was from the disbelief, rather than any distorted atmosphere one would experience while having a dream. It is my worst nightmare come true, for my penis has somehow fallen off, and I can't even find the severed appendage, leaving behind only a sore, reddened stump by my crotch where my penis should be. My first thought (in jest, to add some levity to the situation in a futile effort to dull the shock) was that now I know how John Wayne Bobbitt must have felt when Lorena Bobbitt had chopped his penis off and threw it in the lawn back in 1993. I can still urinate, and have done just that now, though it was a bit of a painful and unpleasant experience, with the urine burning me as it squirts out this newly reddened appendage, soft, tender, like veal, though with great elasticity.
Up until four hours ago, my penis was there and all was well.
The expression of horror over Patricia McGee's mind when she had first caught glimpse of what had happened, just two hours ago. We were in a room at my apartment, in my bedroom, and she sat naked over my bed.
Before she saw what had become of my penis her vagina was already moist and her nipples hardened, almost fully erect as she sat, patting the bed in a seductive gesture that beckoned me to join her. She brushed a hand through her curly brunette hair as her eyes glistened as the light from the lamp by the window glinted over her face. She smiled warmly, her lips a ruby red shade, her teeth milk white, and giggled almost innocently. "You coming, Jake?" she asked, and giggled once more. "Night's not gettin' any younger."
"Just a minute," I said as I pulled my shirt off. I then kissed the corner of her lip and cupped my hand over her supple breast, moaning and closing my eyes. I could hear her soft moans as well as I squeezed, then pinched her nipple playfully. I pulled off my jeans, pealing off my socks, then took off my boxer shorts before hopping back on the bed next to Patricia and putting an arm over her shoulder. I kissed her again, thinking that I was aroused. I could have sworn that I felt an erection coming on, but I found out only a minute later that such a sensation was only in my imagination. I kissed Patricia, my lips locking over hers and my tongue caressing her own, flapping and probing the roof of her mouth. I closed my eyes, experiencing her full embraced, and she moaned passionately as she kissed me back, wrapping her arms tenderly around my neck, holding me.
Patricia began to tremble in my arms, then pushed me aside. I opened my eyes to ask what was wrong, and her eyes widened in both terror and revulsion as she looked down at my crotch, her mouth quivering. "Oh my God, Jake?" was all she could utter as she now recoiled from my embrace, putting her hands out in a warding off gesture as she stifled a few retching noises.
"What's wrong?" I asked, dumbfounded. "I don't understand--"
Then I looked down, and I could see what had alarmed her, what had brought about that look of revulsion over her face. It was my penis. Rather, it was the lack of a penis or any sexual anatomy whatsoever. What the fuck? I thought, suddenly terrified as I looked down in disbelief at all that was left of my genitals. It was the only words that I could think of, and they ran, echoing through my mind again and again.
In the place of my penis was a shriveled, rotting piece of meat. It was moist. I bent forward, inhaled, and a rancid stench assailed my nose, like that of decomposing flesh soaking in sour milk. The flesh remained still, keeping a dark red tint, with a thin, wrinkled blue vein protruding through the skin. As I examined the remains of my genitals, it was then that I had noticed that my testicles had risen from my scrotum--which had completely vanished and left behind not a trace--and were now nestled snugly in my abdomen. I stroked my index finger over the red appendage and came up with a thin but sticky film over the pad of my finger.
I looked up slowly, in disbelief. "What the hell's going on?"
"I don't know," she murmured, sounding sick as she quickly gathered her cloths and hurriedly put them back on. "But I gotta go, Jake. I'm sorry, but I really gotta go." And with that said, she quickly fled my apartment.
I sighed, knowing that in all likelihood I would never see her again.
I don't blame Patricia for leaving, though, as I would have done the exact same thing if I were in her shoes. But it hurts deeply, and my heart sinks when I think of what happened, for this was not just a one-night stand, but a blossoming romance. We have known each other for several months now, growing closer with every meeting. I was beginning to fall in love with her, I think, and now she is gone for good. But she probably made the right decision in some weird fashion. For all she knew, I could have had some weird disease (and its very likely that I do).
All I can do is see a doctor about this tomorrow. I am dreading the appointment, for tomorrow will probably be the most embarrassing day of my life and I would rather have hemorrhoids or genital herpes and admit to the world that I have such diseases than tell a doctor that I am having this problem with my penis. But what choice do I have?
I will probably go to bed now, though given the circumstances I doubt I will probably get much sleep tonight.
April 09, 2003
9:37 AM
I awoke after six this morning, not from my alarm clock, which hadn't been scheduled to go off until around seven (I was planning on calling in sick to work today, because of my little...problem). Groggily, I reached my hand over to the nightstand, with my eyes still half open, and picked up the phone. I yawned, coughed, and put the phone to my ear. "Hello."
"Jake," said the person on the other end.
My eyes quickly opened in surprise, for it was the voice of the last person I ever expected to call me or to want to have anything to do with me whatsoever. I couldn't believe who I was talking to. Though still sleepy and disoriented, my eye lids dropping, I sat up, the blankets covering the lower half of my body.
"Patricia?" I asked, needing confirmation.
She sighed, then reluctantly: "Yes, Jake, its me." I could hear her breathing heavily and uneasily over the other end. She was nervous, scared, perhaps, but after what had happened, I don't blame her one bit. She was a saint to call me in the first place after what happened. "I'm really sorry about what happened last night."
"I'm sorry, too," I replied awkwardly.
"I feel terrible about leaving you like that, Jake, but--"
"You don't have to explain or apologize," I reassured her. "I completely understand. Hell, it was shocking to me. You can't even imagine what it was like for me to find something like that growing out of myself. And I swear, Pat--I swear to God--I had no idea of what happened until you pointed it out to me. I know it might be hard to believe, but I swear its the truth."
She sighed despondently. "I know. And I believe you. Trust me, Jake, you're a wonderful guy. Its just...weird, you know? I mean, I know sex doesn't have to be everything in a relationship, and you don't seem the type to cheat, so I would hope that it's not some weird sexually transmitted disease."
"I'm going to the doctor later today to get this thing checked out."
"Hopefully its something that's treatable."
I nodded, then realized that she wouldn't be able to see me nodding my head on the other end of the line. "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fine. Anyway, I'm gonna take a shower now. We can talk about this later, okay?"
"Sounds good, Jake," she said, then hung up.
I threw off my blanket, and that's when I saw the changes. My penis was no longer a shriveled piece of red meat, but had swelled. It now looked more like an egg than anything else, and I thought at first that it might be elephantiasis of the scrotum, turned red. My scrotum, testicles, and penis were nowhere to be found. There was only this huge appendage, looking like an egg, swelling, and was half the size of a basketball. The left side was a bright pink, and the right side was a dark red, and the two ends appeared to be connected through a dark blue varicose vein stretched across the oval sphere. It had a leathery surface with an oily texture, somehow leaving behind a sticky resin over my palm and fingers as I lightly stroked my hand over it. And the flesh between my legs that the egg-like structure clung to was a reddish-pink tint and felt chaffed and irritated as this new, distended appendage bore its weight down upon the flesh, stretching it painfully even as I sat up on the bed.
What the fuck is going on? I wondered as I gazed down at the thing in horror and disbelief.
As my heart began racing and the reality of the situation sank into my brain, I fell backward, my head hitting against my pillow. I looked up at the ceiling, beads of sweat secreting from my brow, and began to scream and cry hysterically.
April 09, 2003
4:26 PM
I was barely able to get my pants on with that huge leather "egg" between my legs. It was still a very tight fit when I finally did get my pants on, and I could almost hear and feel my jeans tearing at the seams while the "egg" pressed tightly and painfully against my abdomen.
Walking was a near impossible task. My balance is now very poor and because of this new appendage, my hips are stiff and it is hard to move my legs. Thank God for elevators. My apartment is on the twentieth floor of the building, so if I had to take the stairs in this condition, I'd surely fall down the stairwell and break my neck.
Driving to the clinic wasn't too bad.
It was quite interesting in the waiting room, with everyone there staring at the huge bulge in my pants. An old lady wore a sickened, shock gaze over her face, eyes raised and mouth open with a look of disgust over her face. A few kids giggled, pointing and staring, mocking me. Their mother tried to get them to stop and told them how rude they were being, but she couldn't stop from laughing (albeit quietly) and looking a bit shocked herself, though she tried to fight it and keep her composure.
"Jesus Christ, man, what's in your pants?" a man in his mid twenties with a shaved head, who sat next to me asked.
"Its my penis," I told him.
"Pretty big penis."
"Yup. I got the length and the girth."
"Seriously? Is that why you're here? Shit, man, if my cock were swollen like that, I'd be in the emergency room."
"Oh no--I'm just here for my annual check-up."
This whole experience in the waiting room was probably one of the most awkward and embarrassing experiences in my twenty-six years of existence. But I managed to keep my cool, cracking a few jokes here and there, but mostly keeping quiet and to myself and staring at the floor, trying to ignore them as best I could.
And after a while, Doctor Randall called me into his office.
And in his office, the doctor ran all sorts of tests on me, poking me, prodding me, taking blood and saliva samples, hair samples, "skin" samples from my new appendage. And through it all, he remained completely baffled.
"So what's wrong with me?" I asked him when all the tests were taken. "What the hell is this thing on my crotch?"
"It's hard to say," Randall explained. "At first, I thought it was Fournier's Gangrene--"
"Gangrene?" I asked, shocked by the potential prognosis. "I got gangrene?"
"I thought at first that you might have Fournier's Gangrene. Fournier's Gangrene is gangrene on one's genitals, caused by a strain of Necrotising Faesciitis--"
"Do I have gangrene or not?"
Randall shook his head. "It's definitely not Fournier's Gangrene. It looked as though it might be, but the texture, feel, and composition is all wrong. Plus the new...appendage--for lack of a better term--emits no odor. None whatsoever. If it were gangrene, the tissue would be dying, decaying. It would have a putrid odor. This tissue seems to be...thriving."
"So what's wrong with me?"
Randall shot another baffled gaze my way. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it."
"So what can I do?"
"I don't know."
"How can we treat this?"
Randall shook his head again. "I haven't worked that out yet."
I was growing terrified, sweating profusely, nearly panic-stricken. I leapt to my feet, the sudden gust of wind blowing the frolic upward and exposing the red, swelling appendage over my crotch for a second and I felt a rush of air go up my legs, passed my anus, before the frolic fell down once more, covering the bulge. I sat down once more, clasping my hands together. "Am...am I gonna die?"
"I don't know," Randall said, after having backed away from me when I rose from my seat only to sit down once again. "I don't know what you have. But I notified the CDC."
"The CDC? Why?"
"It was the only responsible thing I could have done under the circumstances," he explained grimly. "We still don't know what we're dealing with or the nature of this thing. For all we know, you could have a communicable pathogen. I can't take the chance that you could spread it around to the general population."
"Oh God," I murmured dismally and immediately thought of Patricia. I don't give a shit about what happens to those assholes in the waiting room, but if something were to happen to Patricia--someone I actually care about--I'd never forgive myself.
"We're gonna have to quarantine you and everyone you've come in contact--including myself and everyone in the waiting room, as well as the receptionist--for a little while, while the CDC runs some tests. It could be nothing."
"My penis and scrotum are gone and replaced by some egg-like structure half the size of a basketball between my legs," I interrupted him, appalled that he would even consider the possibility that this could be a minor bug. "That sounds like a pretty big fuckin' deal to me."
Randall nodded in agreement. "That's right. You're absolutely correct. And that's why we have to take precautions. So we're going to hold you in quarantine and run a few more tests until we know exactly what we're dealing with."
I nodded, appearing grim and brooding. "I understand."
"I'll have to be quarantined myself, if it makes you feel any better."
I sighed. "Not really."
Depression and anxiety overwhelmed me. My genitals were gone--there was no doubt in my mind about that. It was the potential damage the was yet to be incurred. This thing could kill me for all I know. It could be a slow, agonizing, torturous death. Like cancer. It could very well be a form cancer, newly discovered through me. A parasite, slowly draining my life, while I sit in a quarantine cell, slowly and painfully withering away to nothingness, alone and forgotten.
There was also the concern that I might have brought about the next deadly plague, like SARS, only perhaps with a much higher mortality rate (or perhaps even lower than SARS--no way of knowing for sure). I suppose possibility should bother me a bit more than it does. But in truth, while the possibility that this is indeed a communicable disease is a valid concern of mine (as well as being a concern for everyone else that knows about this), it takes on secondary importance to me to the fact that my life as I know it might be over, and that if I don't end up dead, I may very well wish I had died later on. Still, no need to risk bringing anything about to the general public, so of course I'd willingly submit myself to quarantine. Fuck it--they'd get to me eventually, so there's really no use in resisting.
And so, I sit here now, in quarantine, cut off from all human contacts, except for those doctors coming in here in Level 4 Biohazard suits when they need to. They gave me some food a little while ago, but I wasn't very hungry. At least they were able to get my diary, so I can write this. And so I sit here, thinking and writing and awaiting my demise. I still don't know if this is a deadly pathogen or not. I hope its not communicable, though. I honestly hope I didn't pass this thing onto anyone else--especially Patricia--and that this isn't going to become the next big plague. But I guess there's no way of knowing for sure. I don't know what's going to happen to me. All I can do is sit here, in the dark, both figuratively and literally, while they continue to run test after test in hopes of finding out exactly what I have, and how they might be able to treat it.
All I can do is pray for a positive outcome.
April 16, 2003
9:06 PM
A week has gone by already since I've been in quarantine. I would have written something sooner, but couldn't think of anything to say. Its strange; when I first got here, I begged them to get my diary from my apartment, and having it now, I don't use it much at all, except for this one entry, and the one entry I made in the afternoon that I had gotten here.
Up to now, neither Patricia, the patients in the waiting room, the receptionist, nor Doctor Randall have shown any of the same symptoms that I am afflicted with, and despite being distraught and very scared, all appear to be perfectly normal and healthy. They are held here still, just as a precaution. The doctors don't know anything about what I have, so there's no way of knowing how long the incubation period might be.
Thus far, I have not changed at all. The size of the appendage remains consistent, the texture still moist and leathery. The doctors are still no closer to finding out what is wrong with me than they were a week ago, and I sit here, still very scared, becoming withdrawn, and feeling the nihilism set in, wishing only that this thing could kill me or fall off so I could get on with my life. Except for the men and women in Level Four biohazard suits, coming in here to either feed me, clean me, or run more tests, I have no human contact at all, and sit here alone and afraid. I haven't eaten much either and am losing weight. I guess this sort of thing would kill anyone's appetite. Surprisingly, I can urinate, but the urine now sprays all over the place and I can't control it. What little sleep I do get is filled with nightmares of all kinds, though a recurrent one is of an alien creature growing, gestating within me, until finally bursting through me, just like in that movie Alien.
God help me, what's happening to me?
The doctors are still baffled. Every answer raises a dozen more questions. What is this thing? What is it doing to me?
I am otherwise perfectly healthy. My white blood cell count is normal. My blood pressure is normal, as is my cholesterol. Everything about me is functioning perfectly well, and throughout the rest of my body, there is no indication whatsoever that anything could be wrong. The skin around my crotch is still chaffed and irritated and very red, but that's it, and given the circumstances, that's to be expected. The rest of my epidermis is perfectly fine. Every test they run turns up negative. This should bring me blissful relief, but it doesn't, both because of the current circumstances and because there's no telling what further changes my body might endure.
What the doctors and scientists have determined is that this appendage is most likely a life form onto its own. Its DNA structure and chromosomes do not match mine and do not come even close, so this thing is probably a cocoon for an entirely different organism the likes of which has probably never before been seen. This revelation brings even more questions: How did this organism get onto me in the first place? What is it? How is any of this even possible?
As of yet, no one has any answers, but doctors and scientists from around the world are now studying me, and even the government is getting involved (and things can only get better now that the government's involved--note the heavy sarcasm). I'm not nothing more than a lab rat, a guinea pig to them, to be studied like an animal until the day I die. I tried to kill myself a few times, but failed. Those sons of bitches stopped me every time. I guess I'm too important to them now, and as long as they're curious, they won't let me go.
April 20, 2003
11:45 PM
Last night the incubation of the creature was complete and the shit has hit the fan.
I have finally gathered the necessary strength to write this. I was exhausted before, but now seem to have the necessary energy, though writing is still a tiring, strenuous effort. I will do what I can to record the events of last night, though, because they need to be written, if not for no one else's benefits, than so I can study these entries later and ponder these physical and mental and emotional changes as well as an outsider would and perhaps someday come to terms with what's been happening to me as of late. God knows I can't even begin to fathom any of this right now, no matter how much or how heavily I ponder and muse over recent events.
The appendage was a living, separate entity after all. It was alive, and I believe that it must have been feeding off of me somehow, but I have no way of knowing for sure, nor can I even begin to speculate how my body might have been able to create such a being to begin with.
Yesterday morning the appendage that replaced my penis began to shrivel. It was a slow, progressive process, one that I hadn't noticed at first until a later when it began to darken as well. By noon, it was black and beginning to open. Of course, the doctors and scientists were all too curious about this. Things were changing. I was changing, but the rest of my body remained the same. Only the composition of the appendage was altered. The texture was no longer slick and oily, and when I touched it, it clung to my skin, like glue, and I had to really pull at it to get it to let go. The rotted tissue expanded and contracted. I wasn't sure what was going on at the time, but I realize now that it must have been breathing.
The final changes took place when I was alone. I could hear the thing quietly growling. It had formed a mouth, and had little white stubs for teeth that were well hidden in its lips, but I caught a faint glimpse of them as it yawned into life. Then a few more slits over its head fluttered open like eyelids, exposing my testicles which remained firmly in place in the eye sockets. The testicles swiveled around in the sockets, acting as eyeballs, I believe. They were eyes. They were my testicles, but to this creature, they were eyes, and it was scoping out the room, then gazed upward toward me, catching glimpse as my face contorted in horror and I screamed, looking away in revulsion at that thing, sickened that it had somehow originated from my body.
"Oh God...somebody help me!" I cried out in terror, screaming to the top of my lungs.
I grabbed the pen on my desk (thank God they were able to give me another one, otherwise I wouldn't be able to write this) and raised the pen into the air. The creature hissed, slithered and growled. I shuddered at the noises it made. My heart raced and my palms grew slimy with sweat (though probably not as slimy as the inside of that creature's mouth had probably been) and brought the pen down on its right eye. I heard a popping sound as the tip of the pen plunged deep into my testicle, and green blood shot up through the ruptured testicle and flowed down the creature's black face in teal runnels. The piercing cries of pain emitted from the creature were deafening, its sound shaking up the entire room. I had hurt it badly, but in doing so caused myself a great deal of agony as well. The testicle was the eye of the creature now, but it was still my testicle, still connected to my nervous system, and thus its pain was my pain and my screams of agony blended in with that of the creature's in a torturous symphony as the pen stuck out of the creature's eye socket, its end jutting straight upward as more of that green blood gushed profusely over its face.
About ten scientists in Level Four Biohazard suits burst into the room as I was screaming and my eyes were watering. "Holy shit!" exclaimed one of the men as they hurried toward me. "What the fuck is that thing?"
"Hold him down!"
And then I was being held down, spasms coursing through my body as I writhed in pain and the creature howled and sank its teeth into one of the men's fingers, biting it off. I guess it swallowed the severed finger, though I'm not completely sure, and the man stood there, screaming as blood erupted from the stump where his severed finger had once been. "It bit my finger off!" he cried. "Son of a bitch bit off my fuckin' finger!"
"Goddamn it, sedate him, now!"
I felt something prick into my arm--a hypodermic needle--as they injected the sedative into me. For a while, my body still convulsed, mostly of my own accord, but then I began to stiffen as the world went gray before my eyes. The creature still growled and roared ferociously as I went under, and that was the last thing I could hear before I fell unconscious.
When I awoke, I was groggy. They had brought me back into the room that I was being quarantined in. I lifted my head, feeling my head throbbing, and saw that on my crotch, there was nothing but reddened, chaffed skin. There was no egg-like appendage, nor any monster. There was nothing. I groaned as I lay back down, massaging my fingers against my throbbing temples.
"How are you feeling?" someone in a biohazard suit who sat by my bedside asked.
"About as well as any man that's just been Bobbittized ought to," I muttered. "What happened?"
"That appendage of yours...I guess you could say it hatched," the man explained. "We had to put you out, but even when you were unconscious, that thing remained awake. It was pretty pissed off, that's for sure. Not sure what happened. Finally, someone came in with a knife, and we managed to kill it and get it off of you. Its dead now, thank God. We're still running some tests on it, doing some kind of autopsy. I must admit--we're all a bit baffled."
"Don't look at me," I said, shrugging. "I know even less than you."
"Wilcox will have to go into quarantine now, too, I'm afraid?"
"Who?"
"Wilcox," the man answered. "The man who got his finger bitten off." The man rose to his feet. "Anyway, get some rest. You've been through a lot. We all have, I guess, but you in particular. If we find out anything more, we'll tell you." And then he left the room, and I eventually fell into another restless, but thankfully dreamless slumber.
April 22, 2003
7:23 AM
I don't anticipate doing a lot more diary entries for a while, as not a lot has been happening during the past couple of days. Other than my increasing depression and anxiety, my fear that it might somehow grow back like a malignant tumor, I've been fine. My body has remained normal, and physically, I'm perfectly healthy, aside from not having any penis, which totally sucks, but I guess things could be worse. And I'm sure I'll get used to having my urine removed from a syringe after a while, though right now it still seems very weird. And the days continue to blend into one another, each one going by as slow and tedious as the last, as the scientists, doctors, and government agents continue to run tests on me and get nothing.
The creature's head (actually, all it was, was a head) disintegrated somehow last night. They had taken all the precautions to make sure nothing happened to it, keeping it frozen so it wouldn't decay, and keeping it locked up so no one would steal it (I don't know why anyone would want to steal it). None of these precautions were good enough. The parasite's corpse is gone now, and they have nothing left to study. I wish I could feel pity for them, but in truth, I honestly couldn't care less.
And the others in quarantine have yet to show any of the same symptoms that I had. They all remain completely intact, with no indication that they are afflicted with whatever I was afflicted. I have the feeling that after all of this is done, Patricia will probably break up with me, but regardless I hope that she's okay. I still haven't talked to her. I'm worried, but still glad that at least there is yet to be any indication that anyone other than me has a creature growing out of their crotch.
And through it all, the tests continue.
May 20, 2003
8:00 PM
Last time around, I figured that I wouldn't have much to write about, and I was right, as all it was had been tests, and more tests, and how many times should I write about the tests that doctors and scientists perform on me before it gets to be tedious and redundant.
As of today, I have good news and bad news.
I guess I'll go with the good news first, and the good news is that we were released from quarantine. After some consideration, the CDC has decided that none of the others have shown any symptoms of what I had, and that from the looks of it, I was cleared as well, thus we were finally set free after a long month and a half of quarantine. I still have to report to these guys every once in a while for a check up to make sure I am completely in the clear, but whatever. I don't care. I'm just happy to be free and it couldn't have happened sooner.
And now for the bad news first, which is that Patricia broke up with me. I guess going out with a guy that has no penis was just too weird for her. But I don't blame her one bit, and hope that everything turns out all right for her. I might not like it, or anything else that's happened thus far, and I am pretty sad to see our relationship end. But I'll try to move past all of it.
For now, all I want is to enjoy my newly regained freedom.
June 01, 2003
5:50 PM
After over a week of consideration, I have now finally decided to get a sex change. My main reason was that the more I thought about it, the more I decided that I would probably be a lot happier as a woman with all of her sex organs intact than a man with no penis. So now, after extensive surgery, I am a woman. My name, instead of being Jake Miller is now Jacklyn Miller. I suppose I don't look half bad as a woman, and a few men have hit on me (though if they knew that I used to be a man, I doubt they'd find me so attractive). Unfortunately, even as a woman, I have no sexual attraction to men, so I'll probably wind up being a lesbian, but I guess its all well and good. I'm definitely not looking forward to menstruation, but I suppose I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
My name (or rather, the name I went by as a man) is also now in the Weekly World News. I guess someone leaked out the news of my little penis monster to get some extra cash, and now Weekly World News and other various tabloid newspapers are having a field day with my story. Its rather embarrassing to say the least, and after all is said and done, I have no idea how I'm going to live this down.
But I'm going to try and get on with my life. It's all over now as far as I am concerned. I'm back at work (though its a little bit weird for everyone now, with all the changes I've undergone) and I'm a new man...well, woman, actually. This is going to take a lot of getting used to. For one thing, I'm definitely not used to urinating while sitting down. Still, having multiple orgasms now is definitely a positive aspect.
And through it all, I'll survive.
June 08, 2003
10:03 PM
If I didn't know any better, I would swear that I was an alien that somehow crash landed here on earth as an infant, and then my parents adopted me. The theory would be perfectly plausible under the circumstances, and would certainly explain everything that's happened to me and is happening to me still. Except this morning I confronted my parents with this theory and they only laughed and denied what I had said. (My relationship with my parents has been shaky as of late. They don't really support my decision to get a sex change, even in light of all that has happened). They also had records and my birth certificate to back up their claims that I am indeed their child, so I guess I must be human.
In any case, the mutations have begun again.
They started last night, only this time, it was a much faster process than it had been when all of this insanity began two months ago. I guess that's because the creature had already gestated and grown once before, and the tissue needed only to regenerate to bring the monster back to life. Or perhaps the seed had been incubating all along without my knowledge. Maybe it's different for women than it is for men. I don't know. In the end, it doesn't matter, for the results are the same.
My vagina is now the horizontal mouth of the monster. It opens and closes on its own accord, just like any other mouth. It hisses, inhales, exhales, and salivates. And along the vaginal lips are teeth. They are thin, but sharp as razors.
When I was in the shower this morning, in curiosity--though very reluctantly and flinching a couple of times--I put my left index finger along the moist interior lining of my vaginal wall, only to have those vaginal lips snap shut like a bear trap, the teeth cutting through the skin, scraping against the bone. I screamed shrilly as I pulled my finger away, shredding the flesh and exposing a few tendons. I screamed and cried as bolts of stinging, fiery pain pulsated throughout my hand as blood gushed from my tattered finger.
The vaginal mouth growled, yawned, and hissed as a runnel of blood dripped down between my legs.
I screamed again as my eyes began to water.
In terror, I jumped out of the shower, water dripping off of my naked and shivering body. I trembled and the vaginal mouth hissed again. I tore the medicine cabinet open and hastily yanked out the first aide kit, inadvertently knocking over my razor blade and shaving cream (which were from the days when I was still a man--I have yet to dispose of that stuff), which fell into the wash basin of the sink. With the bandages in hand, I slammed the medicine cabinet shut and got a good look of myself in the mirror.
On my breasts, my nipples were gone, replaced by human eyeballs with dark brown irises. They were sunken into the flesh, which acted as eye sockets. They were complete with eyelids and eye lashes and the eyes blinked a few times, gaping into the mirror as I was. I cringed and the eyes winked at me, causing me to shudder in revulsion.
Through it all, I managed to bandage my wounded left index finger and stopped the bleeding. I suppose I should get stitches, but I can't go outside like this. With cloths on, my vagina might find a way to eat through the fabric. What would I do if that were to happen? And what's the point of proper medical attention anyway?
Consider this my final diary entry and also my suicide note, for anyone who might actually read this later on after I'm dead. For those wondering why I'm killing myself, to make a long story short, I'm fucked whether I'm a man or a woman and the monster inside my will continue to thrive. Therefore, death is the answer. In death (I hope) the monster will die as well. Thus, after I'm done writing this, I am going to jump out of my apartment window, fall twenty stories to my death, and end it all.
Weekly World News, have fun with my story.
The End.
April 27, 2003
May 02, 2003