Phalloplasty Journey Part 7
I arrived in LA on Oct 11th, 1996. I remember that at the time I didn’t have much money and I literally had to count every dime. Ironically, even though my job at the time was managing people’s money, I was awful at doing it for myself. I would sit on the phone making the case for a client’s twenty-five-year financial plan, while at the same I was living paycheck to paycheck. And with the surgeries(s) and traveling costs, expenses were piling up big time. If memory serves me correctly, the dermal graft surgery totaled about $5, 000 at the time, which was a lot of money (and still is). But who’s kidding whom, I would have basically paid anything to have a big dick. You see, I was obsessed…and with an obsession, things as incidental as ‘money’, become less of a concern but rather merely of an obstacle to a goal. Just like a heroin addict would do anything to get that next fix, I would have done anything to get that big schlong.
The doctor recommended I stay in town (Beverly Hills) for at least four days after the surgery in case there were any ‘complications.’ As everybody knows, Beverly Hills is about as pricey as you can get…and because of my limited finances, my options were very limited. After considerable research, I settled on a small, homey hotel located about 20 minutes walk from the doctor’s office, which was located on Wilshire blvd. The name of the place was “The Beverly House”. An affable Mexican/American guy named Carlos (who was always…always stoned) managed it. When I say ‘stoned’, I mean his eyes were, from morning to night, completely glazed over and bloodshot. He would smoke up in a back room while watching daytime dramas (soaps), and sit slumped over in a chair with only his feet visible from the lobby. When a guest wanted some service, they would have to ring the silver bell, which would in turn startle Carlos into action (like Pavlov’s dog). When he did move (which was rarely), he would do so in slow motion with a lopsided, perpetual grin on his face. Incredibly, I believe that he had the impression that nobody knew what he was up to…when in fact, it was usually the topic of the breakfast conversation among the hotel guests. The room cost about $50.00 a day and was equipped with a bed, shower, TV…and a stoned, oblivious manager who would keep out of my business. Perfect.
I visited the doctor and all the necessary blood work was done. Incidentally, at that time (mid-90s), HIV was a major issue and I was told in no uncertain terms by the doctor that I definitely needed to be tested for that. The doctor even asked me (in a indirect way) if I were “gay”, later explaining that he would prefer not to do surgeries on gay men because the risk of HIV infection (to himself and therefore other patients) was too great. I assured him I wasn’t gay and the office put a rush on the test results (which came back negative), giving me all the all clear for surgery.
My overall impression of the doctor was a positive one. Even though he did have a cavalier manner, and he always appeared too busy and over extended with his patients, he exuded a sense a confidence that I could only interpret as a guy who has had a lot of success in what he did. Plus, he was a board-certified urologist as opposed to most of the other PE doctors, who were ‘just’ plastic surgeons. Truthfully, there was little else I could do other than trust my instincts. The Internet was still in its beginning stages and there was very little information (other than ads) about penis enlargement. I was basically at the mercy of this guy.
The day of the surgery, I took a taxi to the surgery center, located in what looked like a regular, nondescript office building. The surgery was scheduled for 4pm, and I arrived at 2:30pm. I had already been through this (PE Surgery) twice before, so I knew what to expect. I was brought to a room where I changed into the surgery attire and there I waited on a gurney type bed equipped with a curtain for privacy. The time ticked slowly…3:15pm…then 3:45pm…Anytime now…4:00pm…I asked the nurse when I would be wheeled into surgery. She matter-of-factly said, “Oh, your doctor’s running a bit late, but don’t worry, he’ll soon be here”…Ok, fair enough…5:00pm…5:30pm…It was starting to get ridiculous. Finally the curtain on the gurney opened a crack and in popped the head of the doctor,
“Hi Pat, how are you doing?
” Couldn’t be better doctor.”
“Sorry, I’m running ‘a little’ behind, but we’ll be starting shortly.”
“No problem Doc”. Another hour went by and finally at around 6:30pm they wheeled me into surgery: I couldn’t even believe they actually did surgeries that late. I vividly remember the nurses and anesthesiologist busily preparing for surgery as I lay on the operating table. The anesthesiologist rubbed alcohol on my arm and stuck a catheter into it… and in walked the doctor. He seemed to be familiar with everyone in the room and greeted me like an old friend.
“We’ll be beginning in a few minutes Pat”
“At that very moment, the fluids that were being pumped into my arm, started to take effect and I was completely stoned in seconds (Carlos would have been envious). The anesthesiologist started counting backgrounds, 20, 19, 18…and I was out.
I woke up on the same gurney with the curtain draped around it. It was about 9:30pm and the last of the nurses was patiently waiting for me to wake up. She leaned over the bed and spoke in a soft motherly tone, “You up Pat? Just try not to move; we wouldn’t want you to fall out of bed”. Her voice trailed off with an innocuous giggle. I was very groggy but because I was already a ‘surgery veteran’, I was able to orientate myself much more quickly this time.
“Where’s the doctor”
“Oh, he’s already left.” We’ve called a taxi for you.”
“From then my memory is a bit fragmented. The next thing I remember is lying on my bed in my 2.5 star hotel room staring at as this unshaven disorientated, bloodshot face eyeball to eyeball. “Holy shit, I look awful”, I moaned and put the fold up mirror I was holding down, clasped my hands together as if in prayer and said, “Please let it work this time”.
I had Tylenol 3s for the pain and they came in extremely handy. The nocturnal erections were excruciating and basically prevented me from being able to sleep for more than 40 minutes at a stretch. Having been through this before, I was at least comforted with the knowledge that the pain was indeed a temporary thing and would dissipate greatly over the next few days.
The next day I arrived at the office first thing in the morning and was soon waiting in a small examination room for the doctor. I could hear the doctor’s booming voice greeting other patients as he slowly made his rounds around the office. Then it was my turn.
“Good morning Pat, how are you feeling?”
“Great doctor”. This was not an exaggeration. Considering I had had a good deal of dermas (fat) surgically lifted from my ass and placed into my penis the night before, I was in great shape. I could walk (albeit gingerly) and had very little pain.
“Let me take a look.”
I pulled down my pants and the doctor proceeded to unwrap the bandages.
I looked down…and there was a…. gigantic penis…. both in it length and girth.
The doctor let out a very sincere gasp and said, “Absolutely beautiful!”
It WAS beautiful. As the doctor would later go on to say, it had both perfect color and texture.
“This is easily the best one (dermal fat graft) I have ever performed!”, he exclaimed proudly, “Let me get my camera”. He then ran off to another room and in less than a minute came back and started taking shots.
I felt very both relieved and excited…but at the same time I was cautiously optimistic. I had been down this road (and heard these very words) before only to be crushed with disappointment. I asked the doctor how long the grafts would last and the chances of absorption.
“Truthfully, it’s hard to say Pat. It’s still a relatively new procedure and there are basically no long-term cases yet. I am counting on the grafts being permanent. The absorption rate will depend on how well nourished the grafts are with regards to blood flow. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed.”
I remember I felt relieved believing that this doctor was telling me what he truly thought as opposed to my previous doctor who told me what I wanted to hear. He also suggested I put a hot water bottle on my penis whenever it hurt, saying it would help with blood flood and skin elasticity. He was absolutely right; it worked like a charm every time.
I had the ass stitches along the inner cheeks, but this area, surprisingly, had little pain. However, because of my tight schedule and the fact that I would only be in town a few days, the doctor and I discussed the fact that I would have to take out the stitches (both the ass and pubic bone ones) myself or have someone do it for me. This was a small but concerning point for me. I was mortified at the idea of actually going into a hospital and explaining to them that I had penile enhancement surgery, so I asked the doctor to demonstrate how to do it as I was deadest on doing it myself.
I left the doctor’s office, and two days later I was off to Hong Kong for my next work contract. The healing process at first seemed uneventful; a little difficult to walk (of course), but not so much pain. The hot water bottle and codeine were my trusty companions, alleviating the pain whenever it would start creeping in. During the plane ride, I actually kept the hot water bottle on my penis…every hour asking the stewardess to fill the hot water bottle, explaining to her that I had a hernia. I have no idea what the lady sitting beside me was thinking for the 13-hour plane ride but she certainly kept her distance.
After arriving in Hong Kong, I kept my penis wrapped during the day and occasionally would unwrap it in the evening to admire it in the mirror. It hung about 6 inches in length and had 6.5 inches in girth (flaccid). I would pretend I was walking around the change room of a gym and try to assess it objectively (as if I were staring at another guy’s penis) in the mirror. Indeed, it looked like I was a freak of nature; reminiscent of adult films I saw when I was a teenager.
Flashback (80’s van Halen) music
My buddy had satellite TV back in the 80s (when satellite dishes were the size of a small cars). He had over 500 channels…anything for your heart’s desires. And as a raging hard-on as a teenager, my desire was, of course, adult films. We would all (my friends…all just as dorky as myself) go down and gather around the TV with beers in tow and wait for my friend to flip to the adult films channels. Remember, this was before the Internet…and even adult films magazines were a big deal. I remember the first male adult filmso star I ever saw was John Holmes; talk about a baptism of fire! He was lying on his back on a bed flaccid, and a hot chick was blowing him …I sat there staring in a cold, defeated sweat… gulp. His penis flaccid was enormous. “Holy shit”, I thought…With the guy in Junior High school (see chapter 1) and John Holmes, I was certainly setting up unattainable standards to judge myself by. Now, ten years later, as I walked around my new Hong Kong apartment, and saw that my penis (at least in the flaccid state) was approaching the dimensions of those giants that so psychologically screwed me up as a kid that I had already gone under the knife three times for PE surgery (and I was still only 27 years old).
Healing continued nicely for the next day or so when what I thought was just a small issue, started to deteriorate into something significant. I had popped a stitch from the wound on the pubic bone. When it first happened, I thought, “No big whoop, I’ll put anti biotic cream on it and it will heal in no time”…Wrong! That one stitch soon turned into two stitches…and then three… and before I knew it I had a major mess on my hands. The wound was now gaping open and I could actually see the cavernous reaches of the inside of my body, under the pubic bone. If I were still in Beverly Hills, this would be no issue at all. Basically I would go back to the doctor and he would have been able to stitch it up again in ten minutes. The problem was that I was on the other side of the world. Sure, there were doctors in Hong Kong that could perform this minor procedure with ease, but I was so mortified to ask another doctor…and thus reveal my penile enhancement secret…that I chose not to. Instead, I treated it as if it were just a large cut by bandaging it and putting anti biotic cream on it. Well, as you might guess, this wasn’t a bright idea and it was not only until most, if not all of the stitches had popped out and there was a large hole (the size of a nickel) that I finally relented and sought medical attention.
The first hospital I went to was a small clinic on the side of the road, far removed from both my residence and place of employment. I figured ‘small’ meant there would be few doctors and nurses and therefore fewer people to be humiliated in front of. I walked in and gave my name to the receptionist. She could speak decent English, so I was confident the doctor could too. My name was soon called and I walked into a small room where the doctor was waiting. He was a Chinese guy (not surprisingly), about 40 years old and had a very dower manner. He didn’t even properly greet me; just pointing to a stool and gesturing for me to sit. The conservation went something like this:
“Why do you come here” (Chinese accent)
“I have a wound that needs to be stitched”
“Yes”…I made a sowing motion.
I pointed to my penis area, “Here”.
“eeeee”? He looked disgusted…and I still had my pants on. This was turning out exactly like I had feared it might.
“Should I take my pants off”? I motioned taking my pants off.
He grudgingly nodded.
I took my pants off and then slowly brought my underwear (boxers) to my knees. This doctor’s eyes bulged out, looking like he had seen a ghost (a ghost with a deformed penis). Keep in mind, my penis at this time was absolutely huge flaccid…and there was a gaping wound on the pubic bone. Realizing this was turning bad to worse, I brought my underwear up and tried to cover my penis, so that he would just focus on the pubic area. He was having none of that though. He wanted to see my penis and motioned me to lower my boxers again; so I did. He then, with that same disgusted tone as before but only amplified, asked,
“Is this some kind of sexual disease?” and then moved back as if whatever disease he thought I had was contagious. I was getting pissed off by this point and said, “No…Please just stitch this area here.” I pointed towards the pubic region and did and did a stitching motion.
“Screw this”, I thought, and bolted from the clinic without paying or even looking back. Mission unaccomplished.
I telephoned the doctor in Beverly Hills and explained my situation. He agreed that it would be best to have it stitched but assured me that if I were to do nothing, it would eventually heal up by itself. Was he kidding? I could see the inside of my f’in body!
I decided to go to a large, well-respected hospital and swallow my pride (the smidgen I had left that is). The receptionist called my name and I proceeded to the consultation room to meet the doctor. On the front of the old, colonial door was a small, non descript nameplate, “Dr. Wang”… No, I’m not making this up. I was expecting the worst but promised myself that no matter what happened… no matter what humiliation…. I would have to just endure it and get the wound stitched up.
As I opened the door, I saw a small Chinese doctor around 50yrs old with a big smile on his face waiting for me.
“Hello, ‘Mr. Pat’. How can I help you today”
I remember my first impression was the doctor’s disposition was certainly better than the previous doctor; that was for sure. I immediately felt at ease and sat in a chair.
“Well doctor…this is a bit embarrassing to explain”…and I began to tell him my whole story. He was a gifted listener, hanging on every word, complete with sound effects, “eeee, aaaaaa”, and laughter (where appropriate)…He finally said, “OK Mr. Pat, let’s take a look!” So I showed him.
"Wow, that is big” (Referring to my flaccid size), and giggled. He then looked at the wound on the pubic area and said, “Yes, like you explained”. I think I might have to cut off the edges (of the skin) a bit because you have waited a little too long and this skin is dead, but there shouldn’t be a problem”.
And so for the next hour or so I lay on the office table while Dr. ‘Wang’ and his assistant stitched up the wound treating it as if it were a small surgery. In the end the wound looked beautiful and I felt so relieved. He told me to come back in about seven days, so that he could take out the stitches. I asked him if he could take the stitches on my ass cheeks at the same time, and he said, “Absolutely…No problem Mr. Pat’. And so, the following week I went back to his office and had all my stitches removed. I was all set.
After about six weeks, my penis looked amazing. I continued to use an all-day-stretcher to stretch the graft and amazingly I had lost very little length, if any at all. My measurements were:
Flaccid length: 5.5 to 6 inches
Erect length: 7.25 inches
Flaccid girth: 6.5 inches (at base)
Erect girth (base): 7.1 inches
Even thicker than the first girth enhancement surgery!
Needless to say I was horny as hell…and because I was a swinging (no pun intended) single, I decided to hit the bars. Hong Kong’s nightlife was really amazing and it had a veritable smorgasbord of places to choose from. I vividly remember the first night I went to this particular bar. Just like the bar I visited in France, this bar was frequented by mostly foreign consulate and expatriate (foreign) types. I was in “hunting” mode, so I went alone and did what I usually do in this situation, ingest a significant amount of “liquid courage”. So I ordered myself a gin/tonic…then another…then another…and by about an hour into it, I was pretty toasted.
Scouting the bar, I saw a nice looking Caucasian (American), brunette about 25 years old. I stumbled over to her and started chatting her up. I then asked if she wanted to take a “walk” outside, and to my pleasant surprise, she said “yes”. We exited down a spiral staircase and walked towards a small cemetery located across the road. After a little chitchat, we started making out. I asked her if she would be interested in coming back to my apartment for “another drink”. Unfortunately, she told me that she had plans the next morning, but that we could meet the next week. “The ‘ol’ plan the next morning’ excuse”, I thought to myself. Well, I wasn’t going to give in that easy, so I did something that has ever since proven very useful. I leaned my thigh up against hers. Now you are probably wondering what kind of move that is. Well, because of my (original) lengthening surgery, the pad of my penis basically dropped about 2 inches from where my penis originally was rooted before. Therefore if I were to lean up against a thigh of a girl, say, letting my penis touch her leg, it would give the illusion that it (my penis) ‘hung’ 2 inches or so longer than it really does...meaning that it would probably feel like my penis is well over 9 inches (when erect). Plus the fact that my penis had an inhuman girth, when I leaned against her, the girl would definitely come to the conclusion that I had an enormous horse cock (which was almost true anyway).
So back to leaning against her…
I had a half chub and leaned into her as I gently kissed her on the cheek. My penis made firm contact with her thigh and was hanging close to her knee. At first she didn’t know what to make of it, but as the sudden realization of the magnitude of what she was encountering dawned on her, her eyes bulged open and she lustfully kissed me with her tongue. My penis stiffened to its maximum potential and I maneuvered it so penis was actually touching her ass cheeks (while I was standing in front of her). That’s how long it was (or at least the illusion of it was).
I said to her, “Do you understand?”
She nodded with a mischievous, lustful smirk on her face. She cupped the outline of my penis with her tiny hands.
“Are you still sure you don’t want to come back to my place?”
“Can you just wait a few minutes? I have to get my tennis racquet and tell my friends I’m leaving.”
“Sure, no problem”.
At this point, it was only about 70% in the bag. There was still plenty of time for her to change her mind, especially with the ‘friends’ factor`. Luckily though, a few minutes later, I saw her sexy, slinky figure coming down the spiral staircase with her tennis racquet and a big grin on her face.
“OK, let’s go Pat”
My apartment was about 10-minute drive away and we quickly hailed a cab and we were on our way. By this point, I was starting to get a little nervous. Sure, I was as horny as hell but, after all, I had just met this girl….and the image of the “mastermind Chick” fiasco (see Chapter 6) was dancing in my head.
We arrived at my apartment and I buzzed in.
“Nice place”, she said in a very impressed, genuine way, “I could get used to this.” Little did she know that this was just a company rental, my credit cards were just about maxed out, and I was about ten grand in debt. But I did what I always did in these situations, I rolled with it.”
“Well, I’ve been blessed.”
“In more ways than one”, she undoubtedly was thinking as she continued to cup her hand over my dick as we rode the elevator to the 7th floor.
We entered my apartment… and because I had just moved in, everything in my apartment was still in boxes. I gave her the complimentary tour, saving the bedroom for last of course.
We started making out and in no time were naked between the sheets. I had turned off the all the lights, leaving only the bathroom hallway light on. This (the darkness) had unfortunately been a necessary part of my ‘mating’ process since having been scarred from my first surgery. In fact, due to the (old) scars on my penis coupled now with the (new) scars on my ass cheeks, foreplay was generally restricted to us masturbating each other and me going down on the girl. I enjoyed being felated but that was over with. One ‘up-close and personal’ look at the sides of my penis &/or pubic bone and the girl would definitely know something was up.
I remember that I was feeling very nervous as opposed to horny at this point. This girl had basically been promised a huge dick experience and I had to deliver on it. We lay there with our bodies pressing together, French kissing while she vigorously massaged my penis; her fingers could not reach around the entire circumference. You might be wondering if she were expecting a nine inch penis when I only had just a little over seven inches (in length), she would be disappointed. But I found that with the lights all out and my huge girth taking center stage, no woman ever seemed to be disappointed; at least nobody ever said anything.
“You’re huuuuuuuge.”, she said in a drunk, lustful tone.
I upped the ante, “Do you like big dick? ”Dirty talk always makes me horny (and therefore harder)…
She nodded in a ‘guilty as charged’ manner.
“Really? Have you ever had a really big dick before?
Raising her left eyebrow, she smiled and said, “Once”,
“How was it?”, I asked in a sincerely curios tone.
“With that (and I’ll never forget this), she took her hands off my penis, rolled over, and raised her arms as if trying to reach the ceiling. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as if to fall into some kind of hypnotic state, and wistfully said “ It was…soooooo amazing.” She then shook her head as if to come back to reality (after remembering that giant cock of yesteryear) and started to lock her green eyes with mine once more.
That over the top “sooooooo amazing” cock of yesteryear was not the answer I was really expecting, but I was the one who asked and it served me right. Now I really felt the pressure to perform. Nonetheless, I was still quite hard and after a little bit of foreplay decided it was time to ‘enter’ her.
I had a little tube of KY jelly with me in case I needed it, but she was so wet I decided I didn’t need it. So I started in…Now many of you may wonder what it’s like have sex with such a large dick (at least girth wise). Well, it certainly is a lot different than when I had my 5-inch girth. Back then I actually refrained from foreplay because I didn’t want to loosen up the girl too much and therefore lessen the pleasure for both of us. And with my original girth, initially entering a woman was so …easy; usually very little resistance. Of course intercourse felt good…but now with the 7 inch+ plus girth all these things were amplified. And the reactions you get out of a girl are completely different….more visceral, more wild. Her reactions are often (initially at least) a mix between pain and pleasure. The walls incase your penis as if it is a tight glove, increasing the sensation (for both of you).
After about 10 minutes of slowly, incrementally moving my penis in, we were screwing like rabbits. Even though I was still a little drunk, my erection quality was very good. The sight of a hot size queen getting off on my dick was extremely erotic…Kinda like watching a adult films movie, only I was in it! We spent the next hour making love (screwing each other’s brains out) before we both collapsed in a pool of sweat and fell asleep.
The next morning’s sun burst through my window (I still didn’t have any curtains) as my head laid squashed against my pillow. Out of the corner of my I saw the sexy brunette getting her clothes on.
She bent over the side,
“Last night was great…Here’s my number”, and reached out to hand it to me…But before I had the chance to take it, she quickly took the piece of paper back and wrote “Louise” with a heart beside it. Good thing she did because I had completely forgotten her name. ‘Louise’ was apparently off to that “plan” she had told me about the night before; I guess she had been telling the truth after all.
I never saw Louise again; we played phone tag a couple for a little while afterward but I never really pursued it. Truth be told, I wasn’t very interested. ‘Been there, done that’ and there were plenty of fish in the sea in Hong Kong. I was 27years old, good looking, working for a prestigious company and had a big dick; I was in heaven. My job was time consuming and intense on the weekdays, but on the weekends there was plenty of down time. Most of my colleagues/friends were all in their twenties too and just as horny as I was. So I got into a routine of heading down to clubs and bars with my buddies and picking up a different girl pretty much every weekend. I would do the same thing every time: Chat the girl up and get her to take a walk with me outside to get away from the music. Then I would lean over to give her a kiss on the cheek but at the same time lean my body so that my penis would be pressing against her leg. Once the girl understood that what was pressing against their leg was my (huge) penis, it was just a matter of what time that night we would be going back to my apartment. It was unbelievable. Who would have thought that young women were so…horny? Indeed, my penis had come a long way since its “rolos” days.
Always in the back of my mind though there was the dreaded fear that my new graft was going to experience the same absorption as the first one. So I would obsessively measure every night and every morning. In fact I even had a tape measure at work and would sometimes do a quick check there. I also made sure I kept a very healthy diet and took a regiment of vitamins, including Niacin.
So…I guess you are wondering how all this unraveled and came crashing down on me. Well…simply, it didn’t. Over the course of the next two years, my girth only shrank from 7 inches to 6.75 inches…and then very incrementally for the next 10 years until it finally shrank to (and leveled off at) 6.25 inches. Still a very impressive girth to be sure.
In retrospect, the graft had completely changed my sex life. I went from being the self conscious, unconfident dud in bed that you read about in the first chapters of this story, to a confident stud who had more women than he could handle. Frankly, the surgery was one of the best decisions I had ever made in my life. So much so that in 2008, I intended to pay the Beverly Hills doctor who performed the graft a visit to update him on my progress and personally thank him for all the great years of sex I had had as a result of it.
I had not contacted him in years and had lost his email address, so I gave him a quick search on the Internet. When I did, the first thing that popped up on my screen was a page of testimonials about a new “Implant” he had been using with patients. Hmmmmmm, what’s this? So I started to dig further. I soon found myself on a website completely dedicated to Penis enlargement called “Mynewsize”. “Wow, I wish this site existed when I first started my journey”, I thought to myself. Then I started to voraciously read all the ‘glowing’ posts this new implant was receiving by several satisfied patients. The posts were structured into different threads (topics), but it was this one thread that particularly intrigued me. It was in journal form and basically detailed, almost daily, the progress of one implant recipient. He was extremely articulate and glowingly wrote about how pain/complication free his recuperation was. But what was even more fascinating was the results. A permanent 1.5 to 2 inch permanent increase in girth with a zero chance of absorption.
At this time I was 39 years old and in a relationship. I was happy with my sex life and my penis size for that matter, which incidentally was 7.5 inches X 6.25 inches. But…then I started remembering how that 7-inch girth felt like and thought how it would be nice to have that again. And by the looks of all the glowing comments on MYNEWSIZE, it was basically a simple, risk free procedure. Perhaps the crowning beauty of it was…if I didn’t like the implant, I could always have it easily removed with no problems. Why not do it?
Chapter 8 will be divided into two parts and detail my implant surgery and the following nightmare that would ultimately become the worst experience of my life.
Thank you very much for reading,