Friday, June 28, 2019

The Cure For The Male Disease

So a little disclaimer firsthand, this story is unlike any I have posted before as it's darker and not fun. Plus it contains a little gore, so if you aren't into that or are weak towards it you might want to not read it. If on the other hand this has picked your interest be my guest! Also it might be a little on the long side.
(Edit: Thanks Blogspot for being a smartpants and messing my formatting! Also if you saw my first draft, sorry about that.)
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I remember it like it was yesterday, the day I realized I was sick, that something was
wrong with my body, that I wasn’t right. I was twelve, looking at the mirror, at my childish
reflection, staring at my dad’s straight razor, and only one thought springing to mind, to
use that razor on whomever was closest to me. It didn’t matter who it was, my family, 
my pets, or my friends, all I wanted was to use that shiny tool and slice from one end
to the next, feel the hot blood gushing out as they stared at me, eyes filled with fear and 
shock, unable to understand why I had done it. And while I should have been terrified of it,
disturbed by it, my mind was as calm and clear as it would ever be. Yet I didn’t do it, I just
walked away from it, dismissing it as a weird thought, like a kid who tries to touch a 
rabid dog, despite feeling it’s dangerous.

Two years later, the same thing happened, I grabbed the razor and felt it’s edge, how 
sharp it was, how easy it split open my finger, causing blood to drip from it, while I 
experienced the burning sensation from the open wound. It felt good, not in a sexual way
but rather something more, something beyond the confines of my body nerves. And it was
then I could tell this was more than a silly thought, that it was an illness I needed help with.
 But I couldn’t tell anyone, the fact that I had such a perverse interest or rather desire.

When I was sixteen, with the rapid growth of the feminist movement, and their propaganda, 
pointing to the violent tendencies of male chauvinism, how it gets fed to them from early ages,
in the form of toys, stories and television, all pushing them to be the strong patriarchal male
figure that battles others for their claim on the helpless female prizes, who are there to
serve them and should they do otherwise, they are entitled to punish them to rectify them. 
That it was this male centric society  which bred the amounts of hate and anger that plague 
our lives and that should be eradicated from it, by making women stand where they truly belong,
as equals with men. It all resounded true to me and a thought dawned on me. This was it, this 
was the answer to my problem, to my sickness. It was my gender which caused me to feel this
 way and the answer was clear in my head.

It’s name was my gender, and the way to fix it was to become female, but how does one go 
about it? There are modern ways to go about it, but they were too slow and pricey for a now
twenty year old me. As with each year that went by, my craving for mutilation grew bigger, and
if I didn’t do something soon, I would give in to it. With that, I started to search amongst the 
obscure tales and myths which speak of the cure I  required, a way to become a woman.

I read books upon books, articles on ancient civilizations, tales of witches, gods and aliens.
Yet none seem to make more sense, or any factual evidence to make them believable, 
none except one. There were urban myths about an actual witch in the city, one that turned
men into women at the drop of a hat, though each time under different circumstances and for
different reasons. But considering it was my only real lead, I had to find out.

It took me a couple weeks and  lots of asking around, but finally I was sent in the right direction,
to a strip club. Once inside, I was met by gorgeous women, each as attractive as the other, and
in the back of the club was the person I was looking for. A tall blonde woman, wearing a blue
dress and as stunning as the rest, maybe even more.

I approached her and introduced myself, explaining to her that I needed help with my problem 
and that I would do anything if she would fix it for me. She looked me up and down, before 
agreeing to do it. As I thanked her she flicked her wrist and I was engulfed by a cloud of 
grey smoke. It filled my lungs and blocked my vision, burning me inside out, making my chest,
head and stomach hurt as I kept taking the smoke into me. Yet with each breath, the pain 
subsided while my body cooled off. Until it was clear enough for me to look down at my body. 
Quickly noticing it’s new feminine shape, it’s wonderful womanly attire and marking that my 
wish had been fulfilled, I was cured.

The following months after I left the club were spent in bliss, I was happier than ever, 
free from my shackles and enjoying the life of a woman, like I had never done as a man. 
During one of my outings, I met the most wonderful woman her name was Sharon, she
was nice, fun and lovely in every way. We met by chance at a store, with her noticing me 
being rather awkward as I browsed through the merchandise at the store she worked at. 
She was incredibly helpful and genuine with me and after spending some time discussing 
clothes, we decided to keep it going after her shift was over. We became fast friends and
as we spent more time together, love started to blossom between the both of us. It wasn’t 
long before our relationship evolved into one of lovers and we started to live together, 
spending as much time together as we could. 

After watching a movie that blindsided us, with the female lead actually being in love with
a woman, we spent hours at a cafe talking about it before I faced what we both felt and ignored, 
that we both were attracted to the other. By the time noon had come, neither felt like leaving 
the alone as she invited me to her place. I can remember our first kiss like it was yesterday, 
as soon as we walked through the door and closed it we were all over each other, making out
as we undressed ourselves and each other. Our feelings burning our bodies to the point we 
couldn’t wait for the room and dropped on Sharon’s couch, fondling each other’s ass and
 breasts without breaking our kiss apart. 

Two years after dating her, I felt like it was time to take the next step in our relationship. And
so I prepared everything for a lovely evening. A fancy dinner at a restaurant we both
enjoyed, a walk by a visually appealing place we loved to frequent, and finally, a private 
room for us to consummate our love for each other and for me to surprise her. 

The plan went without a hitch, the dinner was as good as it could have been, the walk 
relaxing and enjoyable, and our sexual chemistry was at the peak of our relationship. 
After we both came multiple times, I turned to the nightstand where I had asked the reception
to place a small six inch box. I handed it to her, she was giddy as she opened it, and inside 
was a straight razor, she looked puzzled at me, I smiled while I took it and slashed her 
throat in one single swift motion, opening cleanly from one end to the other, making her 
blood gush out all over me and the bed, making a red pool of blood in mere seconds. 

I had done it without doubting myself, no hesitation whatsoever. I had finally picked
that straight razor and done what it had always asked of me. I gutted my Sharon 
whom I loved so much, yet I felt no remorse, no sadness. Instead I merely covered her 
body, headed to the bathroom, took a shower to clean the blood off myself and then got 
dressed. Placed a “Do not Disturb” sign on the door handle and headed to reception, 
paid in cash for an extra night, letting them know that my girlfriend wasn’t feeling well, before
leaving forever. 

I had replayed the moment in my mind a thousand times, yet felt nothing more than
delight at the memory. It’s funny, after so many attempts at getting rid of it to the point 
of becoming someone else yet the desire remained and grew clawing inside my head,
until I gave in. And I must admit, it felt better than anything else, all those years of hiding
myself, I was now complete. I wished Sharon was still with me, but every time I recalled
the experience I felt she had fulfilled her purpose.

It has been a couple months since, I have long moved to another country, one where they 
aren’t aware of me, so I can enjoy myself freely, meet new people, and find a new love. 
In fact, I have met this young girl, she is lovely and cute, reminds me of my ex, I am thinking
about asking her out this weekend, and if everything goes well, by next week I might have a
new sweetheart to enjoy my time with, until my craving strikes again...

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