Had surgery on my throat recently, so I'm not able to talk over our watch party's voice chat for the foreseeable future. But I have a webcam and a printer, so these taped to a couple popsicle sticks will get my feelings across
No spoilers please :)
Thank goodness I had my wife to carry them home for me. I don't think I could fit all these wonderful women in my arms.
I recommend every single one of these series. Well, every one except The Conditions of Paradise and Monologue Woven for You. Just haven't read them yet, so I'm sure that'll change
Using a throwaway since my real account name is linked to my work.
I had SRS with Dr. McGinn 8 years ago and I'm still pissed when I remember how I was treated. Starting with some background, but I'll have a list afterwards if you want to skip the insurance non-sense that had nothing to do with Dr. McGinn. It adds insult to injury, though, so I'm going to include it to relieve some steam.
First off: I wanted zero-depth. Insurance being how it is, I figured they'd deny that and reject any appeals outright. So I asked McGinn for the standard issue, dilation-hell, batteries-included vaginoplasty. Insurance still denied it and rejected all my appeals a couple weeks before surgery was scheduled. This obviously had me panicking about how to afford the procedure, but with some cutbacks and a few loans (now thankfully paid off), I was able to proceed with the surgery. Again, this all had nothing to do with Dr. McGinn, so don't blame her for that.
Now onto the meat of it.
- At the final appointment prior to surgery, my asexuality was dismissed consistently by all staff members, including Dr. McGinn. Any time I mentioned not caring what depth they managed to get or my own aversion to sex via insertion was met with skepticism. Due to the earlier insurance problems and my initial desire for zero-depth, I considered using this last appointment to ask if we could do zero-depth instead, since insurance fell through. The response to my prodding throughout the appointment convinced me that bringing that up would be a quick way to get my surgery cancelled. No way I was letting that happen, so I kept my mouth shut.
- The first follow-up where you get dilators, this dismissing of my asexuality continued. When discussing dilation and what size to go up to, I was asked if my partner had a penis. I said they didn't, but it wouldn't matter if they did since I'm asexual and not interested in insertion. Regardless of that, they continued to insist that I could be interested in sex via insertion at some future point and that they would have me go up to the blue fucker that's thick as a bratwurst. Note that I was willing to dilate; I expressed no hesitance to them and proceeded as directed.
- Onto the second follow-up. At this point, I'd been dilating up to one size below the blue bratwurst dilator. I had tried getting the blue up in there, but it was painful to the point that my spirit was broken. That shit wasn't happening and I said as much at the second follow-up. What a mistake. All hell breaks loose and I've got Dr. McGinn and her assistants rushing around, arguing, assuming I'm going to stop dilating (despite me insisting I would continue, just with the lower sizes). They even went as far as to pull my grandparent out of the room and privately plead with him -- in hushed, hurried voices -- to pressure me to cram ol' bratwurst up my shit. I was a full grown adult by the way: 22 at the time. Grandpa was just there to be my ride. Anyway, there was a bunch of insistence that I'd want to accommodate a penised individual at some point, and that I should prepare my sparkly new vagina for that eventuality. Disgusting.
- I don't know what follow-up this was, but it was after I'd went home. The one where they tell you to come back to town to check up on the result after a month or something -- sorry, can't remember the timeline too well. The new parts were fine except for a bit of granulation they had to treat with silver nitrate. Their insistence on dilating with big blue continues; I successfully parry by lying, saying I'm doing so. I thought I was in the clear, but, with inactive silver nitrate oozing down my labia, the conversation turns to masturbation. I'm not interested, of course. I say something along the lines of "Nah, not for me. I'm actually glad I don't get horny anymore. That was more of nuisance than anything." This motherfucker looks me dead in the eye with a look of horror on her face and tells me "Oh dear, that's so sad," like I'd just told her my childhood dog died the day before. She continued on to tell me how nothing is set in stone and I might change my mind one day...
I haven't contacted their office since and I don't plan to ever again. They condescended to me and dismissed my asexuality at every opportunity, thinking they know my sexuality better than myself. We're eight years out now and I dilated for four of them. Since SRS, I've had a total of three partners (none penised due to happenstance), masturbated a total of three times, and had insertive sex once (through my bung hole though, so I suppose that's not very relevant).
This whole sex thing still isn't for me, doc. I wish someone would have believed me and treated me with a bit of kindness instead of steamrolling my sexuality with their opinions. Anyways, thanks for reading.