Years and years ago a Hollywood comedic actor, W. C. Fields by name, was in a hospital, on his death bed, dying of cirrhosis of the liver after a life of debauchery as an avowed atheist. A friend came to say goodbye and found Fields reading a bible and said, "Bill, change your mind?"
Fields responded, "Nooo, just looking for loopholes. Loopholes I say."
I didn't know about loopholes, but I needed to start over and figure out who I was figure out how to have the best day and see if I could stack some good days one after another. Although that sounded right, I didn't think I was ready for that.
Although I was twenty I felt like I was an old boat and I needed to figuratively scrape off some barnacles on my bottom.
I woke up feeling dreary and sore. My night was restful, I could not shut my mind off.
It was full of recriminations and disgust. About myself."
I woke up in a very quiet and empty home. I picked up my phone and there were texts, but I turned the phone off.
I sat up and painfully walked back to bathroom. I peed for about ten minutes. I found an enema kit, never used before. You were supposed to hook it up to the shower head and put the eight inch nozzle up your ass. I looked in the mirror and felt some changes had to be made. Daddy I knew would stake me to a new start and keep my confidentiality. I knew I was leaving Seattle. Not sure if it was permanent, but it was going to be for a while. Maybe years.
I took my shower and the enema cleared me out in a practical fashion. It took ninety seconds to fill me up. Water and shit came out of me. I did it twice more and I was clean. I turned on my phone and asked the lady that cut my hair if she could squeeze me in today. Five thirty would work.
I drove an old Isuzu trooper Daddy had bought me. I went to an urgent care clinic and said that I feared I might have been exposed to STDs and could I be tested?
They took my card, I was on Daddy's insurance plan, and took me to this small area, that was curtained off. After a bit a nurse came in and took my blood. She had me lay back on the bed and she examined my cunt and ass for any obvious shit. She observed that my anus was inflamed and I casually remarked that four shemales and a gangster fucked my ass last night for my bachelorette party.
The wedding was off I remarked. She pulled me up to a sitting posture and swabbed the inside of my cheeks. Lastly I had to pee in this cup in and adjacent bathroom. She asked me if I had any questions and I shook my head no.
We should get results by Monday. Other than the inflammation nothing was obvious and then she said that HIV results would take a while and I would need to pay attention to symptoms that showed up. Lastly, she said, "Would you like a referral to a counselor?"
Involuntarily, my head dropped and closed my eyes and started crying. I went on for a bit, then I felt somebody patting my shoulder and rubbing my back. I raised my head and opened my eyes and I saw a kindly older woman.
She said, "I'm Doctor Westby and I'm a psychiatrist and I want to ask you some questions and assess how you are, Okay?"
I nodded.
"Follow me into my office it's just around the corner."
I did that.
"First off, was this consensual sex?"
I nodded yes.
"How often do your sleep with shemales?"
I said, "This is going to sound really, really weird, but they're my real daddy and four stepdads. My mom is a dominatrix and marries men and destroys their maleness.
Somewhere along the way, she flies them to Mexico and starts them on Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) and they are all in. They have plastic surgery including jaw softening and Adam's apple shaving, huge breast and butt enhancements and lastly, as my daddy explained RFF phalloplasty they took some of his forearm and built a nine inch dick that is hyper erogenous."
They're all startlingly beautiful women. If I didn't know them and they hit on me, I'd say yes. I've had a longtime lesbian lover whose husband I met at MIT. Nothing has
ever been inside my vagina.""
"Why on earth were you getting married?"