The Clinic

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The clinic was in Bangkok, which made a certain amount of sense. What little I’d been able to find out for sure had been positive, and certainly there were a number of world famous gender correction specialists associated with the place.

They wouldn’t talk to anyone, however. They insisted that if I wished to learn anything about their procedures that I visit them.

I wasn’t wealthy. A trip to Thailand was not a light decision – but it was a desperate one. I had been failed by my parents and failed repeatedly by a health service that prioritised one cis child over a thousand trans kids. While family and professionals watched and waited to see if it was just a phase, my body went through the wrong puberty.

Looking in the mirror every morning and seeing the wrong me was a torment. There was no chance of me passing as a woman. I would forever be seen as ‘a man in a dress’ and not a woman cursed by fate.

The clinic in Bangkok promised something. An illusion, perhaps. A cruel joke. Or more likely a revolutionary treatment so far beyond my means that they would laugh at me for even coming to them.

But I had to try.

“Ms Jenson?” the receptionist asked, gendering me correctly to my great relief. “Please come this way.”

She was an attractive young Thai lady and I felt a little envious of her perfection. I knew there was no way I would ever be as beautiful, but I knew I would be imagining being her the next time I had a little quality alone-time. So poised, so seductive. I felt ungainly and brutish in comparison.

She showed me into a consultation room where an elderly European gentleman, with white hair and a wrinkled but not unkindly face, asked me to sit. “My name is Dr Klauser, Ms Jenson. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“Perhaps you could tell me your history, and not just your medical history – I trust you brought a full medical record?”

“I did,” I said, pulling the folder from my bag and passing it over. Hesitantly I told him of my life, the endless arguments with my parents, the abuse, the gaslighting; the disbelief and delays by a string of doctors. My struggles at work, the stress of keeping my true self always hidden. The constant hatred in the mainstream media.

Eventually I’d said it all, exhausted but also exhilarated. It felt so good to be talking to a professional who actually seemed to believe me.

“Thank you, Ms Jenson.” He sat back with a sigh. “We can of course help you, but the question – as I’m sure you understand – is whether you can afford us. Even our most basic treatments start at five thousand dollars, American.”

I’d come prepared for this. “I can go up to ten,” I said, “but that’s basically everything I own.”

He studied me for a minute. “Why don’t you let us give you a physical examination, and I’ll put together some options. And don’t worry, you won’t be charged.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Dr Klauser.”

An attractive young woman, Nurse Chimlin, who might have been the sister of the receptionist, being similarly possessed of an enviable grace and beauty, spent an hour taking my measurements and drawing samples of blood and urine. The only uncomfortable part was where she examined my penis and I was unable to stop myself getting erect – but she seemed unfazed by this.

Afterwards I was shown the canteen and taken to a small private room with a bed, bathroom and TV. “The doctor will see you tomorrow morning, Ms Jenson,” she said. “Good night.”

In fact, it was still early, but after a very pleasant meal in the canteen, I retired and spent the evening hunting for programmes in English.


“Good morning, Ms Jenson,” Dr Klauser said. “Have a seat. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, though it had been fitful.

“I’ve put together some standard options, including facial surgery and vaginoplasty,” he said and passed me a sheet of paper resembling a menu.

There was something he’d left unsaid. “But?”

“We’ve analysed your DNA and actually you’d be eligible for our experimental programme.”

I frowned. “What does that involve?”

“Everything on that list and more, and you wouldn’t have to pay a thing. But there would be risks. We’re talking cutting edge nanomeds and retroviral therapy – in addition, perhaps, to tests of new surgical techniques.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked.


“And the best?”

He passed me a computer-generated image of a woman. She was tall, attractive, curved in just the right way. In fact, she was a wish-fulfilment version of myself. “Is this me? Seriously?”

Dr Klauser nodded. “Yes. In all honesty, the risk of death is very low, perhaps one in twenty, but we can certainly make you look like that. It’s what we do here – ask any of our female staff.”

I blinked in surprise. “The receptionist? The nurse? They’re all trans?”

“Some are. Some were cis women in need of major plastic or reconstructive altyazı porno surgery. Or both – maybe Nurse Chimlin will tell you her story.”

“I need to think.”

“Of course. But we’d appreciate an answer by tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” I echoed. I looked at the image of my potential self. “Can I keep this?”

“Please do.”

A chance for free to get the body of my dreams? Of course I’d say yes.


“Are you absolutely sure?” Dr Klauser said the following morning.


“Okay then. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and we can start this afternoon. Is there anyone you need to talk to first? You’ll be stuck here for a few weeks.”

I shook my head sadly. No one knew or cared where I was.

“Okay, well, I suggest you treat yourself to a good meal, because it may be the last for a long time.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. Over the following few days, I was injected with stuff that had me nauseous and dizzy in the extreme, and I could hardly bear to eat anything. The television blurred into a constant stream of noise and I was too weak to move from my bed. Several times a day, nurses bathed me and tried to feed me, and kept my IV and meds dripping, and took blood and urine for testing.

Until the day I woke up and actually felt like I wasn’t about to die.


I crawled out of bed and looked in the mirror at a stranger. It was as if all the masculine edges had been shaved off, leaving a thin, shrunken, gender-neutral variant of myself. One that was pale and ill, and nothing like the vision of feminine beauty I had hoped to see.

“Good morning, Ms Jensen,” Nurse Chimlin said, entering the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” I said, a little glumly. “I was hoping I would look… more womanly?”

She smiled at me. “Dr Klauser will be along shortly. He will explain everything. Now, let me wash you, and you must be hungry.”

That I was. While she helped me clean myself and get dressed, I asked her about herself. “Are you really trans? I’d never have guessed.”

She sighed. “I tried so hard to be a boy. I studied hard in school to become a doctor, all to please my parents. The few times I tried to explain that I was kathoey, that I was trans, it didn’t go well. I studied hard, but I was so depressed, and after the accident – a car – I just wanted them to let me die.”

“I’ve been there,” I said quietly.

“Then Dr Klauser visited me, and offered to fix me up, but as a woman, if I would dedicate my life to the clinic. I’ve never regretted it.”

“You look beautiful,” I said, and she smiled brightly.

Dr Klauser joined us in the canteen. “So far so good,” he said, reading quickly through a long list of test results. “Ninety-nine percent, anyway, and I’m sure we’ll iron out the rest.”

“What exactly is happening to me?” I asked. They’d told me before, but there had been such a blizzard of explanations and jargon I had stopped listening.

“Well, essentially, we’ve used nanorobotic surgery to reverse the effects of puberty as far as possible, and retroviral therapy to induce androgen insensitivity. From now on, part of the testosterone you produce will convert naturally to oestrogen, while the rest will get flushed harmlessly.”

“Testosterone? But… Don’t I need, um, balls for that?” I’d been amazed to discover that morning that my balls were nowhere to be felt, and indeed that my penis had shrunk considerably.

“Oh, you still have testicles. They’ve just receded into your body. Anyway, you’ll start to develop properly over the coming weeks, don’t worry.”

And he was right. Day by day I watched myself develop from an androgynous skeleton into the beginnings of a fleshed out woman. It wasn’t simply the thickening of my nipples and the gradual suggestion of breasts, it was a softening of my features and an emotional volatility that had me bursting into tears for all sorts of reasons.

What really surprised me was the awakening of my sexuality, previously limited to imagining myself with a desirable body. Suddenly I could imagine myself, me, with other people. Where once I might have masturbated awkwardly while imagining myself to be Nurse Chimlin, now I masturbated while imagining myself with her. I would caress my budding breasts and pinch my huge engorged nipples while thinking of her hands, and I would rub the swollen remnant of my penis, wishing it were a proper clit.

With so little else to do, I spent hours alone in my room exciting myself, Nurse Chimlin filling my fantasies. But it wasn’t just her. There were so many beautiful young women working in the clinic, and many of the male doctors caught my eye too. It was as if I’d gone sex mad, constantly aroused, and it really didn’t help that the gowns they gave me to wear were so thin my hard nipples made sharp points in the fabric, making it obvious what a pervert I was.

“I thought you might like these,” Nurse amatör porno Chimlin said, coming to my rescue unexpectedly. She handed me a bag full of clothing with a wink I couldn’t interpret. When I rushed to my room and laid it all out, I was baffled to find only high-heeled shoes, only very short skirts, only pink lace underwear (the bras too big), and a collection of touristy T-shirts.

Wearing it would make me look like a stripper. Intellectually I knew this was wrong, but for the very first time in my life I had the chance to not only dress in sexy clothes but to actually be sexy in them. And it couldn’t exactly be worse than everyone seeing how hard my nipples were all the time.

And indeed, seeing myself in the mirror, actually looking like a real woman for the first time in my life, had me in tears once again. When Nurse Chimlin came looking for me, and found me sobbing my heart out, she wrapped her arms about me soothingly and kissed my cheek. “Come on, Ms Jensen,” she said. “Let the world see how hot you are.”

And she led me out, tottering awkwardly on insanely high heels, along to the canteen.


Ever since that day I awoke to find my balls gone – or receded, rather – my scrotum had been a source of irritation, by which I mean a constant itchiness and not merely an ugly reminder of the old me. This got worse and worse until the day I started tearing it off, peeling it away with disgust only to be confronted with the raw impression of a vagina.

“No!” Nurse Chimlin cried, seeing what I’d done. She hurried to swab it clean and dress it, then rushed off in search of the doctor.

Dr Klauser, however, on examining the mess I’d made of it, was anxious for other reasons. “I said the treatment was ninety-nine percent successful. Every day that number has been dropping, and the itching was a symptom.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“We’re running every test we can, checking every line of code. Have a little faith in us, Ms Jensen.”

Three days later when the dressings came off for the last time, my now tiny cock was positioned within what was unmistakably a pussy, with outer labia surrounding all, and inner labia circling my vagina. “Wow,” I said, examining it in delight, caressing the sensitive lips despite Nurse Chimlin’s repeated attempts to brush my hands away.

When I dipped a finger into my vagina, I met resistance immediately. “Is that a hymen?”

“No,” she said, pulling my hand away with a sigh. “There’s no vagina yet. Um… I shouldn’t really do this, but would you like me to use my mouth?”

I blinked at her in surprise. I could feel my penis – my clitoris – responding immediately to her suggestion. “Um… Okay?”

She grinned as she parted my thighs even wider and knelt between them, her breath warm against my skin, her lips kissing softly, deliberately. I had never been with another person like this. I had never imagined how electrifying the touch of a lover’s lips can be. I had never not hated my body before, and suddenly it was perfect because Nurse Chimlin’s tongue was sweeping between my labia and I had a clit that I desperately hoped she would suck until – no, until I didn’t know what but it would be amazing.

“Oh yes,” I sighed. “Oh yes. Keep doing that…” Her tongue was sweeping the length of my pussy and twirling about my clit, sometimes one way, sometimes the other; sometimes with a kiss, perhaps a brush of teeth; sometimes sucking hard, the tip of her tongue seeking out the point of greatest sensitivity. I was in heaven. “Oh yes…”

When I came, it was a climax like nothing I’d known, a fire that ignited in my clit but spread wildly through my flesh. I cried out wordlessly, holding her head in place in a hope of prolonging and intensifying that orgasmic release, until at last I calmed, my breathing and my heartbeat gradually returning to normal. “Oh wow,” I said. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Nurse Chimlin grinned up at me, her chin wet from my pussy. “I could do this all day.” Still, as she let herself out of my room, she put her finger to her lips. “Tell no one.”


One hour later, Dr Klauser was examining my pussy with a magnifying glass. “If I were a man,” I said, “I’d take offence at that.”

He snorted with humour. “Everything looks fine. The nanites are still doing their work, but we need to help them.”


“Oh, I think you’ll find it very pleasant.”

Technicians wheeled in a device not unlike a Sybian – a seat with a vibrating dildo. It wasn’t a big dildo by any measure, but its purpose was clear. “Four times a day, for one hour, you need to sit on this, ah, seat. Line up the dilator with your vagina, but don’t sit too heavily. We’ll gradually increase the size of the dilator as your vagina develops.”

He insisted on being present the first time I tried it. It was more than a little embarrassing to have this old man watching me and showing me how to adjust the amatör porno vibrations, but he seemed very concerned that I wasn’t going to hurt myself. After five minutes, he left, and I was able at last to relax. It wasn’t a large dildo, but compared to my vagina it was huge. There was no way to sit comfortably, but I found a position that worked well enough and the vibrations took my mind off the discomfort.

Four times a day. Never enough to make me come; more than enough to make my thighs ache, although I guessed it was a good workout. Every day, Dr Klauser examined my vagina and selected a new dildo, sometimes increasing the length, sometimes the girth. Day by day I watched it grow almost like a house plant, a very phallic house plant.

By the end of one week, it was the size of an average cock. (“We can stop whenever you like now,” he said, “but I recommend completing the course of treatment.”) By the end of two weeks… well, between my stripper clothes and the huge cock I was riding four times a day, I was feeling a lot like a slut in Slut Heaven.

It wasn’t just my vagina that was growing. My breasts were filling out too, and every day I looked more and more like the woman in the photo. Beautiful and sexy, and increasingly confident in heels. Increasingly confident too in the pleasure I could give Nurse Chimlin, who seemed as helplessly in love with me as I with her. I could not have been happier.


Except for one thing. Though he tried to conceal it, there was an anxiety in Dr Klauser’s eyes that deepened every day. Though he did not say it, I knew that ninety-nine percent was still falling. The more perfect I became, the more clearly something was wrong with me.

“Just tell me,” I said.

He sighed wearily. “Look closely at your skin. Do you see faint white lines?” I nodded as I examined my hands and arms. “There are so many populations of bacteria that inhabit the human body, and we can’t predict all their behaviours. In effect, your new body is rejecting your old skin.”

“Is there nothing you can do?”

“Short of a full skin transplant, which probably won’t work? No. We have a synthetic skin, but it hasn’t been trialled on humans, and certainly not as a full body solution.”

I laughed mirthlessly. “So my options are certain death, probable death, and who-the-fuck-knows?”

“Succinctly put.”

“I think I’ll go with Option Number Three, please.”

It certainly put a downer on things. Even as I achieved my dream, it was being snatched away again – except, if I were to die, I was glad to do it with a body that matched who I was inside. “If I am to die,” I said to Nurse Chimlin, kissing the tears from her cheeks, “I’m happy because I found you.”


Two days later a rash spread across my body that itched like crazy and they put me in restraints to stop me scratching. It was pure torture. “There’s no good choice here,” Dr Klauser said. “Only three bad choices.”

“I understand,” I said. “Synthetic skin…”

I spent the next three weeks in an induced coma, without any interesting out-of-body experiences or even a light at the end of the tunnel. I just… awoke.

Sitting up was an effort, but was something I made myself do, even as I noticed my bizarre new skin. The colour and gloss gave it the appearance of honey, and the texture was smooth and plasticky, almost like a skin of liquid latex. In the mirror across from the bed, I saw a woman with long blonde hair and very red lips. They’d given me blonde pubes too, in a neatly trimmed pattern above but not around my pussy. I slipped a finger between those lips and shivered at the rubbery sensation. I sucked on the finger, tasting myself but also feeling against my tongue the unmistakable texture of latex. My lips too felt unnaturally smooth as I ran my tongue over them.

My nipples were a reddish brown and my areolae a darker honey. As with my red lips, the colour was permanent. I looked like a latex doll with bits coloured in. Which was bizarre, because I didn’t feel like I was coated in latex. My skin felt bare, exposed, sensitive. My hair, on the other hand, was just something sticking out of me.

“You’re awake!” It was Nurse Chimlin. She rushed over and hugged me hard for a full minute before pulling back and kissing me. “Oh that’s weird,” she said, startled.

“Too kinky for you?”

She laughed. “No. I’m looking forward to kissing the rest of you…”


“The good news,” Dr Klauser said happily after a brief examination, “is that you’re fine. No reason you won’t live to a hundred. The bad news…”

“… is that I look like a sex doll.”

“Well, yes. But I have a solution. I’d like you to stay here at the clinic, in part so we can continue to study you, and in part as an advertisement for our capabilities.”

“I see.”

“Also, since you and Nurse Chimlin will be colleagues and not nurse and patient, I won’t have to keep pretending the two of you aren’t being unethical.”

“That obvious?”


“I’m going to need a bigger room.”


“And I think my vagina could use a bit more stretching.”

“As long as you don’t overdo it…”

“Then yes, I think I could like it here.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

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