First off – hi there, I'm Michael – Mike, I prefer. I'm now in my early 20s; I'm 6'1" tall and I weigh in at about 170 pounds. I have two parents as usual and a sister who's three years older than I am and who is currently living away from home near her university. Nowadays, I'm a fitness trainer – with a sideline studying computer programming that had been brought about by being a bit of a recluse and nerd in my early years. And this story is why.....
When I was about six, something happened that was a) the most painful thing I can ever remember and b) was the turning point.....for the rest of my life.
I'd been playing in the garden with our boisterous German Shepherd dog. It was mid summer and we were having one of those so-rare English heatwaves, so I'd taken my shorts off and was bare-arse naked, all the better to enjoy the cooling water from the hosepipe my dad had connected up and turned on for me. At six years old – so what!
In between splashing water around, I'd been chucking the dog's toy bone for him and he'd been fetching it back to me endlessly. Eventually I started to get bored and refused to throw it. Instead I held it above my head while he jumped at me to try to get it – and then I lowered it and held it close to me and spun around, trying to confuse him. Unwittingly at one point, I held it near my groin as he lunged for it – and then whipped it away.
I don't really remember much about what happened next except to say that I was suddenly in intense pain, covered in blood and was screaming. My mum ran out, screamed as well and ran back indoors, reappearing a moment later with a large towel. She grabbed me, slammed the towel into my groin, picked me up and raced back indoors, calling out to my dad to get the car out.
Seemingly hours later (probably just moments) we were racing towards the local hospital – dad driving; me on my mum's lap and her doing her best to cuddle me, control the blood flow and phone the hospital to alert them. I heard the words "dog bite" but the pain was too much to let me concentrate on what she was telling them.....and anyway, it wasn't long before we were screeching into the A & E parking bay, to be met by two nurses who lifted me away from mum and hustled me into a cubicle where my 'care' began.
Anyway, to cut a long introduction short, after an operation and almost a week in hospital, they let me go home but only after a long talk with the urologist. Basically, the dog had bitten off well over half of my little penis. It wasn't his fault and at least it had been a 'clean' bite – no tearing or ripping – so they were able to do a basic rebuild to what was left. I could still pee, although I had a catheter for another week or so. And at six, there wasn't much else for me to use my penis for.
The worst part, I think, was that they told me that they couldn't do any real restorative plastic surgery until I'd fully grown up – I was going to have to put up with what I'd got until I was perhaps 18.....
Obviously my parents and sister knew everything that there was to know and, to their credit, they were very supportive. Not only that, although my mum occasionally talked with me about 'my problem' it never became a major talking point, so my embarrassment was kept to a minimum. I do know that my parents occasionally spoke to the urologist and even met him a couple of times, but my involvement wasn't needed at that stage.
Oddly enough, the delay in dealing with 'my problem' was a blessing in disguise even though I had to undergo many years of teasing and ridicule, but I could cope with that.
The week after I became 18 I returned to a different hospital; one that specialised in bionic limbs and the blessing was that in the intervening 12 years, what I had of a penis had at least grown in all the right ways and was now suitable to be the base of my new cock. The other blessing was that electronics, medicine and bionics had moved on enormously and they were now going to try out a (hopefully) brilliant new plan. The stump of my penis was to be removed and a donor organ would be grafted in place – fair enough. But since, in penile surgery, it's often impossible to restore all the normal sexual functions, they were incorporating (and this was the really clever bit), a micro-computer which would be placed in a soft sack inside my scrotum, like a third testicle. Its tiny battery would need to be replaced about every ten years. To save my embarrassment at having three balls they would remove one of my testicles, while doing some stem cell treatment to the other one to make it produce more sperm in compensation. And in addition, the computer 'bag' would contain ten years supply of slow-release anti-rejection medication.
The computer would deal with everything my new penis couldn't handle; in particular it would help it to become erect and it would stimulate the nerves to produce an orgasm and ejaculation.....all automatically. But one thing they did warn me (and my parents) about was that as this was somewhat experimental, they didn't quite know what else the computer could do for me!
At 18, this was all a real "Wow!" moment. Until now I hadn't even been able to wank properly but now I was about to have a genuine penis so I'd be able to shower without embarrassment; I'd fill out my swimming trunks properly and I might even be able to get and hang onto a girlfriend. To me the possibilities were endless – there was just so much to take in. Mind you, sitting there with my parents and the specialist, talking about "my penis" was probably as embarrassing as anything I'd had to put up with so far and tended to overrule any exciting thoughts.
Anyway, the operation was approved and we awaited news of a donor.....and we got 'the call' less than a week later. My dad drove us back to the hospital where we were shown to my private room. I undressed and put on my horrible hospital gown. My parents and I all met the surgeon. He had some great news – the donor organ was a remarkably close genetic match to me and he was very optimistic of a totally successful operation and outcome.
Then my parents hugged and kissed me and departed and I was left to await my fate.....in the form of a couple of cheerful nurses who soon added to my embarrassment by shaving me and who then gave me my pre-med jab. Soon I was at least half asleep and before long I was being wheeled down the corridor to the operating theatre.
And that's about as much as I remember of that. I seem to remember going to sleep and then waking up again back in my room. A nurse was holding my hand and talking to me – and then I drifted off again.
I'm not going to bore you with all the details of my recovery because everything went even better than they hoped and when I went back for my six month check-up I was told it was my last visit, except for some clinical tests and examinations which they wanted to perform over the next few weeks.
And I had to agree that there was little more they could do. I now had a nice 'normal' penis and if you ignored the stitches near the base, you wouldn't know that it was grafted in place. I thanked the surgeons and also the donor, whoever he'd been.
So, the following Wednesday (it was around the end of August, from memory) I was back there again. I'd caught the bus in, because my dad was off on a business trip and my mum had to drop the car off for its annual service, but since the bus almost passed our door and took only 15 minutes to the hospital, it was no real hardship. My visit was to a different part of the hospital and as you realise, I was alone this time, thank heavens! Thank heavens, because of what happened!
At the reception desk I was told to go down a corridor to the third door on the right, which I did, with some trepidation. 'Bionics' the sign on the door said. It was ajar but I knocked anyway.
"Enter!" came a young man's voice and so I went into the room – well more of a laboratory, I reckon. "Hi – I'm Paul" he said, "Come and make yourself comfy. I'll be with you in a minute."
As I moved from the door, I heard it shut behind me and there was a gentle click.
"Automatic door lock" said the man, "Because of the, shall I say, "delicate" nature of the work here, we have total privacy, so please feel free to completely relax."
There was an easy chair near his desk and I sat down and cast my eyes over him as he finished the task he was doing. Paul must have been perhaps 30 at the oldest. He was a clean-shaven guy, slim and healthy-looking, probably a little taller than me and he looked to have long slim fingers, I noted. 'Surgeon's fingers', I thought.
Soon he turned to me and shook my hand.
"Mike – great to see you. So glad everything has worked out well – how you getting on with it?"
I was a bit taken aback at the quick and direct approach to a delicate subject and I sort-of stuttered my reply.
"I-I-I'm fine. It's great, thanks," not really knowing what else to say.
