MONSTER

I have had many, many operations to make this dick.

My surgeons have made use of my belly flesh, my leg flesh, and my side flesh in ‘Gilles handles’ suitcase handles carved out and walked down.

the procedures have been complex 

and the recovery tiring.

I wanted a beautiful penis.

My body has been sliced, cut, nipped, tucked,

marked and re-formed.

I have a monster result. 

I couldn’t do a QX magazine photo shoot 

or stand naked in the pool showers.

A new surgeon on the team, Mr Leone, was the first to say, “I can make you a beautiful penis.”

I has never heard ‘beautiful’ and ‘penis’ used together in the sentence at hospital.

“But,’ he continued, “we will have to start all over again.”

They proposed to make an improved version, this time out of my forearm.

Anaesthetic killed my mother.

Each time I went into hospital, I’d argue the case for not being put under and ask for a pain killing injection. 

I has a hungry curiosity about the work and want to be awake.  Transplanted flesh has little sensation.

Under there knife, time and scale gets distorted. 

A two inch cut feels like twelve.

I’d catch sight of my operation in the metal rim of the big overhead light; I’d see my own blood and skin layers.

They washed my cunt and legs in brown iodine.

My senses heightened.

The background noised amplified: generators, fans.

I felt the tug of the scalpel, the pull of the suture sewing.

I gave myself up to their hands.

Mr Leone asked me as he carved my flash.

“Do you have a partner?”

“Yes,” I replied, wondering if he was thinking of making my cock beautiful for her or for him.

Later, Mr Leone told me I was brave.

I didn’t have any fear. After the latest revision surgery, I was pulled back together in a different form.

The polar word for tranny - is a re-mould.

I wish phallo surgery was as simple as having an old car tyre re-treaded into an improved, functional one. 

MONSTER REVISITED

Monster’s long gone,

I even spent a year with it all off - nothing hanging between my hairy legs.  I even missed it!

I went back into the UK surgical team, started all over again.  They knew I would return.

My left forearm skin was sliced off, and grafted to make my new cock: my butt she’s were used to patch my arm.  I had more interesting scars, to add to my collection.

On the first ay of recovery post-op, I had the sensation that my cock was my arm. In my anaesthetical state I found this amusing.  I wondered if this body memory would stay with me, and if id have a lifetime feeling that I was fucking with my hand and arm.

Attempts at dark humour in the face of adversity; this is a puerile side edict of testosterone.

Anyway, we don’t have many jokes about trans bodies, trans surgery, or trans sex.

Maybe we should start.

OBJECT NUMBER MOT000175

This object currently lives in The Bishopsgate Institute.

Photos by Katie Davies, Fashion Space Gallery, London College of Fashion