Null - Anatomically Corrected
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Anatomically Corrected
Submission Date: 2008-05-11 By: Null [Nullification]
How a woman became sexless and genderless.
My name is Ø. Null. I had a different name at birth, but I don't use it now.
I was born in Philadelphia in 1970 to two loving parents. I was a straight-A student, finished high school with a 4.0 average, gained a full scholarship to a prestigious college and graduated magna cum laude with a degree in computer science. I got in early on the dot-com business, got rich in the late 90s, and have been able to live comfortably ever since. That's my background.
I was born into a girl's body. From as early as I knew the difference, though, I never felt like a girl. I was never into dolls, dressing up, or any of the stuff girls like. I was more interested in sports and computers, like the boys. And, yet, I never felt like a boy, either. But, since everyone was telling me I was a girl, I acted like a girl as much as I could.
I lost my virginity at age 14 to a boy, and had my first lesbian experience about a year later. I was unsure which way I wanted to lean, so I had a lot of sex through high school. I think I had a reputation for being "easy", but I didn't care. What I cared about, and found sort of unusual, was that I never had an orgasm. Not once, ever. I got a little bit of a buzz, but it never went any further.
In college, two things happened that figure highly into my life story. First, I learned about body piercing. Lila was a friend of my sophomore-year roommate Tina, and was learning how to do piercings. She practiced on me and Tina, and by the time I graduated, I had been pierced in my ears (three in each lobe), nose, tongue, nipples, inner labia (three in each lip) and vertically in my clitoral hood. I liked the way the piercings looked and felt, but they didn't do anything to wake up my libido.
The second thing that happened was I started to learn more about transgenderism. Sure, I had heard before about "sex change operations" but had not seriously considered the possibility that people could be a different gender than the one into which they were born. I began to think that maybe I had been meant to be born a boy, but didn't really follow through on it.
The high tech industry almost made me wish I had been born male. Smart, good looking women are a rarity in information technology, and I got harassed a lot. Even though I cultivated a very gender-neutral appearance--black t-shirts, jeans, short hair--it was obvious I didn't look like the rest of the men around me. I tried not to let it bother me, but in the end, it did. I cashed in my chips just before the dot-com market collapsed and found myself with enough money to work only when I wanted to, and on what I wanted to.
All of this leads up to the beginning of my transformation. One day, Tina and Lila (with whom I had kept in touch all this time) and I decided to visit a nude beach. I had been introduced to nudism by a friend a few years earlier, and since then had been naked pretty much all the time around my house and in other friendly places. This was the first time Tina or Lila had been to a nude beach, so I led by example and got naked first. Tina was the next to be nude, and finally Lila took it all off.
I had seen Tina naked before (we had been sexual partners as well as roommates) but not Lila, and I was curious. As I expected, she had plenty of tattoos and piercings, but what really surprised me was that she didn't seem to have a clitoral hood. I asked her about it, and she said she had it removed, because it was very thick and hindered orgasm. To this point, I still hadn't ever experienced an orgasm, and I was intrigued.
A week later, Lila cut off my clitoral hood in her studio. It didn't hurt much, and when it was done my clitoris stood out front and center. Lila offered to "test it out", so to speak. She rubbed my newly denuded clitoris with her finger and licked it with her tongue. That was as close as I have ever come to an orgasm; my back arched, legs stiffened, a chill went through my entire body. But still nothing. Perhaps it would need time, I thought.
In talking some more with Lila and reading web sites like BME, I started to learn about people who intentionally amputated parts of their bodies. Like fingers, or toes... or genitalia. I read about men who removed their testes and penises, and women who removed their clitorises. I found it all very intriguing. And I began to think about whether I wanted to do anything like that myself. I decided, at that time, that I didn't want to remove anything else from my body.
But it turns out I didn't entirely have a choice in the matter. After feeling some extreme pelvic pain, I was diagnosed with an acute case of endometriosis. My OB/GYN (who is very cool, and had never given me shit for the piercings or the removed hood) recommended a complete hysterectomy and salphingo-oophorectomy: the removal of my uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes.
I thought about it briefly. It would certainly end the pain and nearly eliminate the possibility of further disease, at the expense of my fertility. But did I want to have children? I didn't think so. And then it dawned on me: Maybe this was a sign. Maybe this was my body, which had been equipped with female parts, starting to reject its assigned gender. Maybe I really wasn't a woman, and this was a step in a new, more appropriate direction.
I agreed to the operation. My uterus, ovaries, tubes, and a large portion of my vagina were removed. I got hormone replacement therapy to replace the lost estrogen. On the one hand, I didn't necessarily want more estrogen, but I also didn't want osteoporosis, so I agreed to the HRT. After a few months recovery, I was as good as new, just without the periods and without much of anything left to penetrate between my legs.
By this point, sex was not only not enjoyable, but not particularly comfortable. I still hadn't achieved an orgasm, and my clitoris was starting to get numb from the exposure. The last time I had penetrative sex was about five years ago. I came to the conclusion that I was asexual. I liked people, male and female; I just didn't want to have sex with them. And so, I didn't.
It was somewhere around this time that I had my awakening. I realized that I was not a sexual person, and that I was neither female nor male. Not a little of both, but none of the above. And I realized that I had what I needed in order to not live in a female body if I didn't want to. I had connections in the body modification business; I had money to procure their services; I had a lifestyle that didn't require me to fit into a binary gender role.
And so I plotted. I couldn't remove everything that made me female; genetically, I would still be an XX. But I could change my body. My internal genitalia were already gone, but I could remove what remained externally. I could close up my genital area, rendering me nondescript from the waist down. And maybe, just maybe, I could even do something about my very large, very feminine breasts.
The mastectomy would be the hardest thing to do, I thought, so I decided to start small. I went to Lila and told her of my plans. She offered to remove my inner labia and, when I was ready, my clitoris. She wouldn't be able to help beyond that, but she said she could ask around. I had her remove my inner labia then and there, but waited on the clitoris. I also began permanently removing as much hair as possible from my body. I had already had my pubic hair removed some years before, so I followed this up with my legs, arms, and pretty much everything else below my neckline. I shaved my head and eyebrows, and plucked out my eyelashes.
A few months later, Lila introduced me to a new friend of hers, a medical student named Kira. Kira was a tall, gorgeous woman with a gender bend of her own: she had been systematically growing a bigger clitoris, using a combination of pumping and illicitly-obtained hormones. She told me her goal was to have it be large enough for a metoidioplasty, where they would effectively convert her enlarged clitoris to a penis. She wasn't interested in a full female-to-male transition, just the penis. We joked a bit about how she was looking for a larger clitoris and I was looking to remove mine, but we bonded almost instantly.
Not long after that, Kira obtained everything she would need for my clitorectomy. Being a medical student, she had some access to tools and supplies, although we had to keep things very, very quiet. She told me about the BDSM community she frequented, and about other operations she had done: several castrations, a few penectomies, and two prior clitorectomies. I would be the third.
In retrospect, you'd think the removal of what was, by now, a completely desensitized and useless piece of flesh would be a bigger moment in my transition from female to neuter, with some sort of grand ceremony or ritual attached to it. But it wasn't. It was over in a few minutes; a clamp on the base of the clitoris, a quick slice with a scalpel, some stitches, and that was it. My clitoris was gone forever. I felt a huge rush as the endorphins kicked in (like all of my non-hospital modifications, I refused any anesthetic and wanted to feel everything.) Kira's work was amazing; within a few weeks, the area was smooth and nearly spotless, like I had never had a clitoris at all.
A few weeks later, Tina, Lila and I went back to the nude beach. I was ready to show off my new clitless state to the world. I got a bunch of stares, a few puzzled looks, and at least one disgusted gesture, but no one asked me about it. Pity. I was ready to talk about how I was destroying my sexuality and loving every minute of it. Tina and Lila both wanted to touch it. Of course, I let them. I didn't feel a thing there when they did; Kira had eliminated any feeling that was there before, exactly as I wanted.
Being without any sexual organs was a fantastic feeling, but I wanted more, or, should I say, less. I wanted my former genital area sealed up smooth, and my breasts gone. The breasts would have to wait, but in the meantime, I wanted to try the Barbie doll look. Kira would remove my nipples, and infibulate my inner labia. The infibulation was always part of my plan; I considered the nipple removal an intermediate step.
As before, I stayed awake and felt every bit of pain as Kira first scalpelled away my left nipple and areola, then stitched the edges together, and then repeated the process on my right breast. With that done, she moved to my outer labia, removing some of the skin on either side so that when pressed together, the two sides would heal together, permanently closing my vagina around a catheter leading to my urethra. Once the labia were sufficiently raw, she slowly and deliberately started stitching them together, in a very straight line from my pubic bone down to the new urethral opening. There would be no more vaginal penetration for me, ever.
These took longer to heal than the clitoris, but again Kira's work was stunning. The infibulation scar was very narrow and faint, and couldn't be seen from a few feet away; with time, it would fade into the rest of my skin, becoming virtually invisible. The nipple scars were slightly more visible, but were smooth to the touch after healing. I would have liked the nipple scars to be less visible, but rationalized that I would find a way to have the entire breasts removed, so this was only temporary.
At this time, I more or less officially renounced my female identity. I stopped using the female name I had used since birth and asked my friends and associates to no longer refer to me as "she" or "her." I thought about new names, wanting something that was unequivocally not a female or male name. Eventually, I settled on a term from my mathematical/computer science background: Null. I filed the paperwork to change my name and wondered what I should check on the "male/female" box. I left it blank. (Although my name is officially Null, I use the Ø symbol in just about all cases.)
As much as I was enjoying the Barbie doll look, I knew I wanted my breasts gone. And the answer came in an unexpected way. My general practitioner, much like my OB/GYN, is an open-minded person, not much older than I am. Like my OB/GYN, she was shocked to see what I had done to my genitals, but declared that I was a sane, intelligent person and would continue to offer her medical support in areas not having anything to do with my genital removal. And so, after a checkup one day, she asked if there was a history of breast cancer in my family. There is; my mother, two aunts and a grandmother all suffered from breast cancer, and it killed my mom and one aunt. My GP asked if I had ever undergone genetic testing for mutations on the BRCA1/BRCA2 genes. I had not.
So, we arranged for the tests, and several weeks later, the results came back: I had a deleterious mutation on the BRCA1 gene, and was a candidate for a prophylactic mastectomy. But I had to think about it first. Yes, I really, truly wanted my breasts gone; however, I wanted a smooth, relatively scarless appearance afterwards, and with the removal of so much tissue, this wouldn't really be possible. Additionally, I did not want my prior infibulation undone by some moral-crusader surgeon; although thousands of women and girls have their genitals mutilated non-consensually, mine were removed with my deliberate consent.
With my GP's help, we established with the surgical team that my breasts were to be removed, as gracefully as possible, and that my ex-vagina was not to be messed with under any circumstances. With my worries satisfied, I went under the knife for the final step of my nullification. After a day or two in the hospital and about two months of followup, my dream was realized: I now had no breasts, although a very neat but still visible scar crossed my chest from armpit to armpit. And, with that, I finally felt what I had wanted to feel for as long as I could remember: I was no longer a woman. I was a neuter human being.
My story doesn't necessarily end here. I am considering some plastic surgery to reduce the appearance of my mastectomy scars. I also still seek a permanent hair-removal solution for my head; I am reluctant to expose it to lasers or radiation because I want my brain to keep working, and chemical depilation may be too harsh. Finally, I am contemplating some sort of full-body tattoo that will emphasize and enhance my outward lack of gender.
But, where I am now is a good place. My sex life is permanently over; I am a sexless person. And enough of what made me female is gone for me to declare that I am also genderless. I have the life I have always wanted, in the body I have always wanted.
I have been anatomically corrected.