Wet Dreams

A couple in their early twenties seeks professional help for the 
young man's nocturnal emissions.

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WET DREAMS


Part One: Nocturnal Emissions Without Permission 

	"Eww!" she screamed.  "That's sooo gross!"  
	I had another wet dream and they really seemed to bother my 
wife, Jamie.  She went on again with her rant about my disgusting 
nocturnal emissions, citing her litany of reasons why I "really 
have go seek some professional help for that problem."  This time, 
tired of her nagging, I said, "Sure. Fine.  Whatever you want, 
dear.  Make an appointment and I'll go, okay?  Will that make you 
happy?"  
	She simply said that it would and walked out of the bedroom 
in her pajamas. 
I was thinking that I wouldn't need wet dreams if we had actually 
had sex some time in the past eight months.  We were probably the 
only married couple in their early twenties who had ever gone that 
long.  I hadn't even seen her naked in the past eight months.  See, 
she had been seeing this therapist and our love life gradually 
declined the whole time.  Then, when I went out of town for a 
college friend's wedding, which she refused to attend, she got 
seriously ill with some sort of woman trouble, with her plumbing, 
you know, and had to stay in bed for two weeks.  When she 
recovered, she insisted that she wouldn't talk about it with me and 
that she was  "even better than before."  The problem was that we 
never had sex after that.
I hoped every day that things would return to normal, and in the 
meantime, if she wanted me to see a shrink, that was fine by me.  
She made all of the arrangements and I wondered if the guy who she 
had gone to would be talking to me too.  

Part Two: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

After work one Tuesday, I went to see her psychologist.  There was 
nothing remarkable about the building or waiting room, which 
proudly displayed the sign: Sex Therapist Dr. M. Warren Mitchell, 
M.D. Ph.D.  The offices, however, surprised me as we were escorted 
to a private room. I was expecting to see a leather couch, not a 
series of life-sized pictures of male and female sexual organs all 
over the walls.  It looked like any medical doctor's examining 
rooms, not like a quack's office.  
Jamie quickly assured me that was because he WAS a regular medical 
doctor too and treating physical sexual issues was just as much a 
part of his practice as mental problems.  The doctor was far more 
comforting when he said that my problem was simply that my 
testicles were producing too much sperm, which was common.  It 
would also account for my frequent blue balls, which, he said, had 
absolutely nothing to do with my sexual inactivity.  He told me 
that the issue could be resolved simply with two shots and a 
monthly booster shot.  He assured me that the only side effects 
were some weight gain in the absence of a strict diet, slightly 
swollen nipples and perhaps noticing that my testicles were 
reducing down from this state of hyperactivity to a more normal 
size.  I wasn't totally convinced until he added that, as an added 
bonus, this treatment would reduce my risk of heart disease and 
eliminate my risk for testicular, penile and prostate cancers.  
Having lost my father and grandfather to prostate cancer, I was 
sold.  
Fifteen minutes and two needle-pokes later, I was left with the 
warning to watch my diet as Jamie and I headed for the parking 
lot.  When we got home, Jamie actually gave me a blowjob!  She 
headed off my further sexual advances, but I settled for anything 
after eight months of involuntary celibacy.
That was the ritual for the next five months: the only sex was a 
blow job the day of my shots each month.  And I actually managed to 
lose a lot of weight, except in my hips, thighs and ass.  My 
nipples did swell up, along with the rest of my now blossoming 
chest.  It was distressing, but Jamie said I was not dieting well 
enough and the doctor gave me some exercises that would tighten the 
peck muscles if I could just get rid of those embarrassing pounds, 
but they seemed to force my growing breasts forward and make 
them...perkier.  I ate less and lost more on my arms, legs and 
waist, but couldn't tame my bust.   I figured that it wasn't that 
big a deal.

Part Three: Point of No Return

The morning of my sixth set of shots, however, Jaime went down on 
me, but I just couldn't do it.  I was only 22 years old and 
couldn't get it up.  After five minutes of trying to suck my limp 
cock, a costume change to a black lace teddy and stockings, and 
another five minutes of VERY good effort on her part, she broke 
into tears.  I calmed her down and reassured her that it had 
nothing to do with her.  She turned on me, dragging me to the 
mirror, saying, "Look at yourself!  You don't even look like a man 
anymore!  You have tits for christsakes and now that pathetic joke 
you call a dick isn't working.  Look, your little balls aren't even 
half the size they used to be.  Maybe something went wrong with the 
treatments.  You have to get him to fix this."  
That afternoon, I found myself with an IV in each arm, strapped 
down to keep me still for the IVs, with my feet being locked into 
stirrups like a damn woman at the OB/GYN.  The doctor and my wife 
were poking and prodding between my legs, trading whispers.  
Suddenly, the doctor rushed out of the room and my wife 
said, "Don't worry.  He says he'll take care of everything and 
you'll be better than before."  With that she left the room.
Just then, a young pretty nurse, maybe 18 or 19 at the tops, 
probably 34D-22-34, in a short nurse's uniform with white stockings 
entered.  She went to a cabinet and bent over at the waist to 
retrieve some supplies out of the bottom, giving me a good look up 
her short skirt.  She was wearing garters with a white thong!  God, 
she was sexy!  She came over with a tray of needles and placed it 
on my stomach.  She said, "Dr. Mitchell wants me to give you these 
shots.  These are going to help correct your problems with 
impotence and breast growth."  Oh great, she knew about that, of 
course.  She proceeded to lean over me, rubbing her crotch on my 
right hand where it was strapped down, and injected me in both 
nipples.  She moved between my legs and lifted my penis.  I felt 
the burning sting and pinch of a needle in the base of my cock.  I 
yelped.  The sexy, young nurse said, "Oh, stop being such a pussy!  
You don't like having a little shriveled prick that doesn't work, 
now do you?  Well the doctor's going to fix you up.  Now brace 
yourself because these two are really going to hurt."  She held my 
scrotum, manipulating it until she located the vas deferens leading 
to my left testicle.  I never knew how bad one little injection 
could possibly hurt until that moment.  She then proceeded to 
inject the other vas, which hurt just as bad.  "Now, the pain will 
wear off soon as they numb up."
She returned to my side, where she returned her warm crotch to my 
hand.  She said, "These will help relax you.  The doctor will come 
back soon."  She then added something to each IV.  
I started to relax immediately.  "So," she asked, looking my naked 
body over again, "how did your wife talk you into this?"
"Well, I couldn't go on being impotent, you know?"
"Yeah, but don't you think this is kind of drastic?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if my foot falls asleep, I don't get it cut off, right?"
"Of course, but this is nothing like that.  That's disfiguring; 
this is just a radical treatment."
"That's amazing that you're taking this so well.  I was terrified 
last year when I was where you are right now. "
"You were a patient here?"
She cringed.  "Yeah, my mom brought me in against my will before my 
eighteenth birthday."
"She was probably just looking out for her daughter's best 
interest, like my wife is with me."
"Don't get me wrong," she said, "you have nothing to worry about.  
He did a very good job.  Wanna see?"
I was dizzy but managed to nod.  She unzipped her uniform and it 
dropped around her ankles revealing her big, beautiful, perfect, 
perky D-cups and the tiny garter belt and thong, each white with a 
little red cross on it.  "Cute, huh?"  she asked, giggling.  "Dr. 
Mitchell makes me wear them in case one of the patients, wives or 
mothers wants to see the finished result of genital nullification."
"Genital what?"
"Castration and penectomy, or for girls, clitoridectemy and 
infibulation.  What did you think you were here for?  They're 
removing your equipment because they don't work anymore."  I was 
shocked and even more so when she pulled down her thong to reveal a 
smooth, featureless, bald, empty groin!  
She grabbed my hand and put it on her crotch as I began to slip 
away into unconsciousness.  "Feel that little hole near the back 
down there?  That's how you'll have to pee afterwards too.  It took 
me a long time after the doctor cut off my cock and balls to get 
used to it...but once...really you don't even...and you can 
always..."  Darkness flooded over me as my mind attempted in its 
slowed state to make sense of that very young, very gorgeous 
bombshell being a completely castrated boy.

Part Four: The Finished Product

I awoke slowly through the chemical induced brain-fog to medicinal 
smells and cold air on my skin.  I could feel pressures, but no 
pain; it had just been a bad dream, thank god.  I heard Jamie's 
voice: "Doctor, the anesthetic is wearing off."  How could I have 
thought my sweet little wife would have me castrated?  What a weird 
dream, right?
"Jamie," I said through the darkness.  "I can't see, is there 
something over my eyes?"  
"Yes, dear, wait while the doctor removes the wrapping."
"Oh, Jamie, I had the worst nightmare."  I could see the light as I 
began to open my eyes.  "I know this is going to sound crazy, but I 
dreamt that you brought me here to have my genitals removed.  Can 
you believe that?"
She was standing over me, smiling.  "You're so silly.  I would 
never have you nullified ... without having you feminized too."
"What?!"  My head cleared instantly and my eyes focussed.  Jamie 
was next to me in nothing but a tiny white thong with a little red 
cross and white thigh high stockings and her breasts now looked 
like extremely perky D-cups instead of her old B-cups.  I wasn't a 
dream at all; it was very real!
"After Dr. Mitchell treated me...I knew I had to have him fix you 
too."
"Yeah but he didn't cut your nuts and dick off!"
"I know it's not really the same," she said, slipping her fingers 
into her panties and beginning to peel them down, "but at least now 
we match!"  As the thong came down I could see she'd been shaved, 
something she adamantly refused to do for me when we were in 
college.  The thong came all the way down and... nothing... 
literally, there was nothing there!  Her slit was gone.  Her groin 
was just as a smooth and featureless and bald and empty as the sexy 
nurse's was.
"What happened to your pussy?" I screamed.  
She reached for my hand and put it on the smooth spot where her sex 
used to be.  "You got a castration and penectomy, I got a 
clitoridectomy and infibulation."  After those words, I started to 
zone her out.  She rambled on explaining how she got done just over 
a year ago when I went out of town for that wedding and so on.  I 
slowly worked up the courage to turn my head and look down past my 
new C-cups to find...flat bandages over my groin.  It was true.  
She had that crazy doctor cut her clit off and sew her vulva shut 
permanently and now she'd had him remove my testicles and penis.  
While I was too stunned to move, the young nurse came over and 
whispered, "It gets easier over time, just enjoy being the 
beautiful feminine person you are now." Then she injected something 
into my IV line.  
As I grew more and more relaxed, the doctor hypnotized me and began 
to prompt me with suggestions like being happy to be nullified, 
feeling feminine, and being thankful to and cooperative with him.  
He went on like that until I dozed off.

Part Five: If You Can't Beat Them...

	I prepared the last injections.  "These are going to hurt 
for a minute or two until they numb up, okay?" I said in my very 
soft, mezzo-soprano voice.  I felt around for the young man's vas 
and injected both.  Then I stepped back and said, "You know, you've 
been such a good boy for me, do you want to see what your mamma 
brought you to Dr. Mitchell to help you look like?"  The 15-year-
old nodded his head, weakened by the anesthesia.  I tossed by long 
blonde hair back, unzipped my short white uniform and let it fall 
to my ankles revealing my recently re-enlarged D-cups, tiny white 
thong, garter belt and white stockings.  I lowered the thong and 
watched the boy's eyes bulge.  I put his quivering hand on my 
smooth groin and said, "Now don't I look pretty?  Don't you like 
what you see?  The doctor's going to take away your nasty little 
boy parts and make you as beautiful and feminine as me.  Now that 
won't be so bad, will it?"
	He mouthed the word "No" before finally falling asleep.  I 
wasn't sure if he was saying that it wouldn't be so bad to be 
nullified and feminized or if he was just objecting to the 
procedure, but it didn't matter either way.  His mom was fed up 
with her difficult son and wanted him cut, so he'd soon be her 
docile daughter.  It's always a shame to see virgins lose it, 
though.  As I left the sleeping soon-to-be-eunuch to his fate, I 
wondered how Jamie was doing in the next room assisting the doctor 
with another infibulation.