11 Apr 08

The Removal (Part 1) 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.

Waking up on the morning of March 6/08 was nice. I had all the desire, when I rolled out of bed, to remove those unwanted glands which dangle between my legs. The surgery I would perform would test my mind and my ability to tolerate pain. The night before I had done a hydrocolonic so my intestines would be clean. Today I would be fasting and would continue to fast for several days after my surgery. Having to shit with dilated nerves connected to the prostate gland would be very painful. Of course, this was my first surgery.

I made my bed, then a cup of coffee. It was good coffee, made just the way I always make my morning coffee. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and shaved my face. Only this morning, unlike any other morning, I could not make a clean scrape without bleeding. I had so many bloody spots on my face it looked like I’d been hit with buckshot. I remember reflecting on this and thinking superstitious thoughts. Maybe Goddess was trying to let me know that today was not a good day. Had I had the TV Guide I would have read my horoscope. Or maybe I should have laid the cards. But I thought I was just being plain silly!

My cellie, this young gay boy everybody calls Bamby sat upright and asked, “What time is it?” rubbing his eyes and looking disorientated. He did not seem to be focussed within reality.
“Four thirty-seven,” I replied.
After placing his hand to his forehead and pressing for a moment, he said,”Oh.” Then he laid back down and fell asleep again.

I exercised, doing a warm up and stomach crunches. This is beginning to become a habit for me at 4:30 AM. I like it. I feel alert and energized when I am outside doing my yoga. I was just within breath 5 of downward facing dog when my door popped open. I thought this was kind of weird because I was usually done with my exercise before having to leave for the rec field. I looked at the clock but could not read the numbers. They were all jumbled as if the battery were going bad. I picked up the clock, removed the battery, then replaced it and now the screen was blank. I know I had just placed a brand new battery in it. Bad feeling, superstitious, I am getting worried. I had to shake my head and jostle the goosebumps from my body. “Coincidence, plain simple coincidence, that’s all!” I said to myself and looked at Bamby to make sure he did not catch me speaking to myself.

I put on my sweat pants and shirt. I made sure that my penis was properly tucked between my legs so as not to show when I was walking in front of other people. I put on my shoes and laced them then went to the sink and snorted some salt water waiting for me in a small dish. This is my morning ritual. I put on my coat, grabbed my I.D., and left the cell closing the door behind me with aloud clang!

It was time for yoga. I went to the small rec field and out there waiting for me were my other sisters. First was Angel. Angel is what anybody would believe without a doubt was a woman. She has long black hair, brown eyes, freckles, is thin with a very shapely body, small breasts and stands 5’11” tall. She even made the warden question why she’s on this yard and not within the women’s population. When she walks, every man on the yard stops and stares. No matter how long she has been here they still do.
“Hi girl,” I said as I embraced her within my sisterly hug.
She gave me a wink, and looking every bit a fashion model, she turned and began speaking to one of her friends.

Now Amber came up to me. She placed her hand under my chin and pushed my head up. This of course was purely customary. She did it in order to tell me to keep my head up. Smiling, I put my hands out in order to receive a hug. She complied. Amber is a friend I have known for about 12 years. We were lovers once. But now I don’t have any feelings of that sort for her. Amber has long blond hair balding on top. She, like me, is a (GID) [Gender Identity Disorder] who tried for many years to fit in as a man. When one day she decided, Screw it! She got real with herself and came out of the closet. And also like me she is covered in skin art. We are now very good friends.

Now Crystal came up to me, and we embraced. Crystal is tall – blond hair, green eyes, thin and also covered with tattoos. She is very wiry, and talks an awful lot. I, however, appreciate this because my mouth needs a break every once in a while so as to give my ears a chance to work.
She gave me a big hug and I, hugging back, said, “You’re lively this morning aren’t you?”
“Why should this morning be different from any other morning?” she said, flipped the hair from her shoulders, snapped her fingers and walked away from me.
I laughed. She sure did have her moments.

I turned, and standing there was Noonie, Angel’s soul mate but not lover. He’s a short stout Mexican. Black hair, brown eyes, and hairy. He’s a very good looking gay boy pretty boy. In my opinion, a very sexy man. One whom I have wanted to make love to since I met him. Keeping this in check is very hard indeed. I tell myself that thinking about it is not doing it, however wanting to is pretty damn close!

The four of us walked up to the basketball court, and each in turn gave Gina (of the Bon Voyage Balls blog series – of course we all know about her already), a big and glorious hug.

Yoga was fun as usual, we always seem to have a blast. Yours truly never seems to have enough sense to shut up. The whole time I kept talking about my titties vs Angel’s titties vs Noonie’s man titties. We were doing breaks in routine, feeling one anothers breasts and saying how much more we appreciate our own mams than the other while of course we were accentuating our bodily movements to look as seductive as possible for all the other Orangemen who were on the yard enjoying our display. Five firm and sexy asses all lined up and bouncing up, then down, up then down, then up where they would swing to and fro coupled with our combined oohs and ahs. This of course was completely unfair to all the Orangemen who share the yard with us every morning. Their hands rubbing their crotches and their eyes bugging out. It leaves me to wonder, Can a man get cancer from rubbing so much lotion on his penis every day? If this is true then every Orangeman here is susceptible.

After yoga we separated. We all live in separate pods and have our own cellies. Mine, Bamby, was waiting for me when I got back to my cell. He was sitting on his bed drinking a cup of coffee.
“So how was yoga?” he asked.
Before answering him, however, I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was working again.
“Is that the right time?” I inquired, while reaching over and picking it up.
“It should be,” was his answer as he pushed the up button on his TV, looking for a channel which displayed the time. CNN as usual had their display on and our clock was spot on.
I asked, “Did you do anything to this clock this morning or last night?”
“No. Why?” he said, looking thoroughly confused.
“I was just wondering,” I said, not wanting to talk about it any longer. I changed the subject and answered his first question as I began to get undressed and ready for a shower.

I showered and when I made it back to my cell the officer in the tower announced that we should standby for breakfast.
“Just in time,” I said to myself as I walked into the cell. I brushed my hair and put on my clothes. While I was tying my shoes all the other cells began to pop open, and the officer in the control room was yelling, “Chow time. Chow time.”
I went but did not eat breakfast.

During these times I often wonder how my friend Shaun Attwood is doing. He is one person in my life I truly miss as much as my own family. If he were here he would be holding his pad of paper and his pen going willynilly from line to line jotting down all the spirited hijinks I display on a daily basis. He would be commenting on things I say, laughing and saying how spontaneous I am. Now, however, those times are over. I usually just eat my meal and like most Orangemen just keep to myself.

However today was certainly beginning to jump off as a strange day indeed. When I left the chow hall, there was this young and good-looking Mexican named D-Boy.
“Hey Xena. What’s your name is!” he yelled from the rec field when he saw me exit the chow hall.
“What’s your name is!” I yelled back to him, shaking my hips and bending forward blowing kisses Marilyn Monroe style.

This of course was not unnoticed by the rest of the yard. Orangemen began to line up on the fence, and began yelling, “What’s your name is!” They looked like a chorus line of rough and tumble half dressed and tattoed men with their arms over one another yelling things like, “Xena, I want to be your man! Xena, I just want to live on your floor and serve you! Xena, you are my queen, and I love your country or none!”

The officers at this point were trying to establish some order by yelling onto the yard, “All inmates step away from the fence. Inmates leaving the chow hall must leave in single file including Xena.”
At this I looked up to the gun tower and said, “You will never be a cultist, nor know the reality of being free within your own mind.”
One officer said, “Since when do you know anything about being free?”
“Better than you’ll ever know anything about being free,” I replied.
“Yeah, and just how is that?” he asked as he began to hold his rifle in a menacing way.
“Because I am a prisoner, and yet I am free,” I replied and looking away I began to walk outside the line as was ordered.
The officer just watched not wanting or caring to repeat his order.

The Orangemen kept chanting and professing their undying lust and service to me while the guards had to listen. Things were beginning to become quite chaotic when an officer asked if I could ask the chanters to leave.
I began to blow kisses to one and all. Raising my hands into the air, I said, “My admirers, my children, my lovers, any and all of you are worthy of my devotion to your slavery and promises to me, your queen. Now you must dispense and lust me from afar. Your brave devotion to me this morning will be rewarded and my lusts pacified.”

At this point the Orangemen began to dispense and the guards could only gawk with awe at the sheer magnitude of representation.


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Copyright © 2007-2008 Shaun P. Attwood

5 comments:

Chris said...

Type fast, Shaun! I'm glad Xena survived to write the letter - and I want to know the rest of the story!

Chris

joannie said...

"What's your name is?" That's a keeper.

Anonymous said...

Get to the bit where she lops the ball off!!

JL said...

What a fascinating, painstaking description of the day of a very thoughtful decision, and of the celebratory/trepidatious thoughts and feelings of Xena.

It's so rare to read and/or witness such an open work of honesty.

Valuable stuff. Thank you.

Anonymous said...

Hooray! Xena lived to write the tale! Thanks for typing it up for us, man. Does it mean I'm crazy that I'm looking forward to the rest?