28 Apr 08
The Removal (Part 3) by Xena
Xena - A transsexual giant and Wiccan priest. The charismatic leader of Cult Of Xena (COX). Tattoos include a wasp on his penis and ant trails running up his legs. Recently cut off a testicle, as told in this series, which left off with Xena almost bleeding to death.
I did not want to die. That was not what I was trying to accomplish. All I wanted was to rid my body of that nasty hormone testosterone. All I wanted was to feel like a normal person, one step closer to being a woman. I didn’t want to feel what it was like and then die because I bled out.
The testicle slipped from my grasp. I breathed out heavily. I was exhausted and frustrated. I was afraid that if I were not able to finish the job I would never get this chance again. I did not want to accept this scenario. So I reached into my scrotum yet again with my right hand.
“Godammit! Where the fuck is it!” I exclaimed, as I shoved three fingers as far as they would go into my scrotum. I was searching around and could not find anything which remotely felt like the left testicle, which must have swam away inside my body somewhere.
Slipping my pinky into the wound I shoved my hand up inside my body, searching frantically for that illusive left testicle. I could hear the news report of this inside my head: This just in…Xena the prison giantess, while trying to feel more feminine, opted to remove her testicles using only a razor blade pulled from a disposable razor. During the attempt, and after the removal of one of the dreaded hormone makers, the other testicle decided enough was enough, packed its bags, and left for a vacation somewhere inside Xena’s lower abdomen. The medical term for this phenomenon is retraction. However, it is our belief that given the fate of its neighbour to the right, el lefty tesosteroni’s true desire was to hang around for another thirty-nine-and-a-half years rather than having to swim the septic canal like its dearly departed, el righty testosteroni, is doing now.
I shoved practically my entire hand through the wound in my scrotum looking for the testicle. At one point I could feel my bladder and then something large and squishy, which I believed was part of my intestines. Fed up, I stopped the search and began instead to look for the severed spermatic cord where my right testicle used to be. I searched frantically for almost a minute and then, resolved in my failure, I looked at the clock and it read 2:40.
I removed my hand from inside my body and began to ball up toilet paper and shove it inside the wound of my scrotum. Then I patched up the cut with more toilet paper. I had to name my creation the Bloody Van Gogh Toilet Paper Stucco Nut Sack. I stood up on shaking legs and went to the door. I removed the sheet from the door, and looked out the window.
Two Orangemen were out in the pod. One was inside the porter closet, which doubles as the handicap shower. He was out of sight. However the other was a medium sized man covered with tattoos named Loco. I began to pound on the door and yell for him. He looked once and then began to walk away out of sight.
So I yelled louder, “Loco!”
He came back to within my sight and yelled, “What do you want, Xena?”
“I need your help,” was my answer.
“You sure this isn’t just one of your games?” he replied, shaking his head as if saying no to himself. He walked slowly toward my door.
I thought of the boy who called wolf, standing naked in the woods with a disposable razor blade six inches long screaming, “Wolf! Wolf,” while cutting into his flesh and bleeding all around himself, then asking for the wolf, who sat on his haunches watching, to go and alert the town folk and his family of his self mutulation folly, and the wolf just sitting there laughing, then saying, “Yeah right, dumb-ass. I’m a wolf!”
Loco came to the door. “What, Xena? I swear, if this is another one of your games I’m in no mood for it. I have things I have to do today,” he said, looking exasperated.
“Look, Loco,” I began, then after a second pause, I said, “I’ve cut myself real good.” I lifted up my hands to show him the bloody proof.
But Loco wasn’t buying it. He didn’t even look at my hands. He thought I was playing some kind of sick joke, that I had chose him as my target for playing games with today. “Yeah right, Xena,” he said, turning to go away.
Email comments to firstname.lastname@example.org or post them below
Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood