I went to school in a small town. I went to Edwin Lash Memorial Public School, which ran all the way from Junior Kindergarten up to Grade Eight. The schoolyard was split in half: one half on the south side was for the Kindergarteners up to Grade Three. The other half, on the north side, was for Grade Four to Eight. The distinction will become a bit important later on in the story. But, for now, all you need to know is that I decided to, one day, show off my manhood (however small it might be).
It first started in Grade Three, when I was coming home from school one day on the school bus. I was sitting toward the back of the bus in the seat across from Edna Pacifier, a girl from Grade Four, who was reading a comic book and chewing on some bubble gum. I simply and suddenly got the urge. I can’t say exactly why I did. Maybe I was desperate for attention. Maybe I was bored. I don’t know.
“Hey, Edna, wanna see something cool?” I asked.
She looked up from her comic book.
“What?”
That’s when I undid my pants zipper and button, and simply flopped out my jackrabbit into my hand.
“Pretty cool, eh?” I laughed.
The bubble gum splattered across her face. She looked at me quizzically and then looked away.
“Yick,” she said, cleaning the mess on her face with her fingers.
Behind me, I could hear some of the other students, mostly guy, snickering in their seat. I felt a sense of elation overpower me. I feel cool. Like I belonged, somehow. And, feeling that, I put my penis back into my pants and zipped up. The bus lurched to a stop, and Edna got out of her seat, collected her things and went on her merry way home without looking at me. That was all there was to it. Nothing else happened on the way home for me. I simply put what I did out of my mind, and that was that.
I thought nothing more of the incident, until I was in my class one afternoon not long after, and the principal, one Philo Trout, stuck his head into the classroom doorway.
“Edward Pedal, may I please see you?” he asked.
I was petrified. What did he want to see me about? Mr. Trout was known to be very strict, and only saw students if something was wrong. I got up from my desk, and went to the doorway.
“Follow me,” he said.
“What’s this about?” I asked. He didn’t respond, other than to point his finger down the hall to his office.
I followed him down the long hallway to his domain. He was silent the whole way. Once we got there, he invited me to take a seat behind his desk. His office was very imposing, especially to a young pup like me. He had a suit of amour in one corner, and a collection of straps and medieval torture devices lined the wall behind his desk. One of those devices was for breaking young fingers. Larry Dilly knew all about it. After letting some stink bombs go behind the cafeteria in the junior yard, Mr. Trout put the device to his fingers. He was in a hand cast for weeks.
I cowered. Mr. Trout cleared his throat.
“Edna Pacifier tells me you showed her your penis on the school bus the other day,” he said.
At first, I didn’t know what he was talking about. What was a penis? I’d always heard it referred to be the usual slang terms. Pee-pee was one of them that my parents used when I was growing up. But then it dawned on me what he was talking about.
He then leaned over his desk and glowered at me. I was frightened. I tried to hold back the tears that were now welling up inside of me.
“Did you?” he asked.
I did the only thing I figured would get me out of the situation.
I lied.
“No, sir,” I said, sniffling.
Mr. Trout adjusted his tie, and cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s not what I heard,” he said. “If you go showing your penis to her or anyone else in this school again, I’ll be contacting your parents. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“That’s good,” he said. “You may head back to class.”
And with that, I ran out of that office and headed back to my classroom, trying to hold back tears as I did so. That damn Edna Pacifier, I thought. Oh how I would make her pay for this humiliation!
In the days and weeks that followed, I thought about ways to exact my revenge on Edna Pacifier. I thought about sticking a tadpole down her pants in the recess yard, and doing other nifty things to her, but quickly nixed those ideas, as I didn’t really want to get into more trouble from Mr. Trout. Edna was a snitch, and I was sure she would just go tell the teachers or Mr. Trout if I did anything untoward towards her. I didn’t have to wait long, though, before any thoughts of ill towards Edna evaporated. Her parents wound up moving away to another town, and she became nothing but a distant memory to me.
I didn’t show my penis to anyone again until I was in Grade Five. At the start of that school year, we got a new principal. His name was Geoff Buttercup, and he was kind of a hippie liberal type. He actually wore tie-die shirts to work on Fridays, which he deemed causal, and one of the first things he did was lead the entire school to the gymnasium for a impromptu concert, just him and his acoustic guitar, leading us all in renditions of old fashioned folk and bluegrass songs. I’m sure there was some Woody Guthrie in there, if my memory serves correct.
But, more importantly, Mr. Buttercup was a bit of a magician, a wizard. Another of the first things he did the fall he took over – the fall of my Fifth Grade year – was that, instead of having the Kindergarteners go off to a petting zoo for a field trip, he somehow magically conjured up a bunch of barnyard animals and let them loose on the schoolyard. That way, everyone in the school could participate. We got a whole afternoon off just to have fun with the animals. I even got to milk a cow!
If there was something wrong with the photocopier in the Teachers’ Lounge, all he would do is simply raise his hand and the problem would be fixed. One day, when there was an unexpected food shortage in the cafeteria, he simply walked in, broke some old loaves of bread and managed to feed the entire school – well, those of us who didn’t bring lunches. He was just like Jesus. The teachers thought he was God. There was nothing that he couldn’t do, so I guess that’s how he got away with the tie-die Fridays. He even undertook a radical transformation of the school, too, making sure we had the top of the line gym equipment, an excellent school yard with the latest in monkey bars and other accessories. He was a real radical. I think he clashed with the school board a few times, but he did it out of the best interests of the school.
But about showing my penis again …. . I was in the schoolyard one recess, and I guess I was feeling bored, or that I needed attention or something. A bunch of girls were all lined up in the dodgeball court, waiting their turn in line. I decided to go up to them. When they all turned their attention to me, I simply unzipped my pants, and let loose my flaccid pecker on the unexpected crowd. A chorus of “ewwws” and “that’s gross” rang out, as I made my way through the line. I made sure that each and every one of those girls got a good look at my cock. A feeling of elation came over me. Finally, I was getting noticed.
I ran off, putting my dick back into my pants, and proceeded to join a group of guys in a game of soccer at the other end of the yard. It didn’t take too long for the yard supervisor, Mrs. Lilydaisy, who was also the Forth Grade teacher, to come up to me.
“Edward, you didn’t just show your penis to a bunch of girls near the dodgeball court, did you?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” I responded. “I didn’t do that.”
“Oh,” she replied, and simply walked away.
I couldn’t believe it! I simply got off scott free! No going to the principal’s office! No phone calls to my parents! I was free to continue on my business. And continue on I did.
The very next day, during a session in the classroom where the teacher had left in order to do some photocopying, I got up on top of my desk. I guess you can imagine what happened next.
“Hey, everybody,” I said. “Take a look at this!”
I let my zipper loose and moved my penis with my hands out of the folds of fabric that were keeping it hidden and safe. I wiggled it around a bit, so that everyone could get a good look. This clearly was to the disgust of Heidi Klunk, who got up from her desk and announced, “I’m going to tell Mr. Buttercup on you!”
With that, she quickly left the room and I was left standing on my desk with my limp dick just hanging in the breeze, so to speak. I quickly zipped up, in case the teacher was coming back, and sat down at my desk and pretended to read. It wasn’t very long before Heidi came back into the classroom and announced, “Edward, Mr. Buttercup wants to see you.”
I was defiant. How dare Heidi Klunk go tell on me?! I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
“No,” I said empathically. “I will not go down to Mr. Buttercup’s office! You can’t make me!”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ll find someone who will!”
With that, she left again, and returned moments later with Mr. Asphalt, the Grade Eight teacher.
“Edward Pedal,” said Mr. Asphalt. “Would you please come with me?”
“NO!” I yelled.
“I wasn’t really asking,” he said. “You’re to come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. She’s lying. Ask around.”
And so he did.
“Did anyone see Edward pull his penis out of his pants?”
The whole class murmured their approval in the affirmative to this question
“That’s enough, Edward,” Mr. Asphalt said. “You’re coming with me.”
He then walked into the room and proceeded to grab me from my desk. I quickly ground my heels, and grabbed the side of the desk and held on for dearest life. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. No siree. I started yelling and screaming. I also tried to bite Mr. Asphalt as he grabbed me by the shoulders and started to pull.
Another teacher, who happened to be walking down the hall, appeared at the door. It was Mr. Grimm, the special education teacher. I guess he heard all the commotion.
“What seems to be the problem here?” Mr. Grimm asked.
“Would you mind helping me extract this student from his desk?” Mr. Asphalt replied. “I need to take him to the principal’s office.”
And so Mr. Grimm came in and helped Mr. Asphalt take me out of my desk. It literally took the two of them, as the entire class looked on, to remove me forcibly from the desk. It was horrible. They carried me out of the room like a cheerleader carrying a football hero, and carried me all the way down to the office. Once I was there, they explained the situation to Mr. Buttercup – while I twitched and turned in their arms – and then put me down and left me writhing there.
Yep, I was now in the domain of Mr. Buttercup, who was at his desk glaring at me. His office was much different than Mr. Trout’s office. His office had pictures of unicorns and other mythical being lining the walls. A poster of a rainbow, along with all sorts of certificates from wizardry schools, was behind his desk. It was totally fruity, but that was Mr. Buttercup for you.
One of the first things I thought of and did try was to tear at the phone lines leading out from Mr. Buttercup’s desk so that his couldn’t call my parents. But Mr. Buttercup beat me to it. He simply waved his right arm and then pointed it at me. I froze. I simply couldn’t move. I couldn’t even talk! What was happening to me?
“Edward Pedal,” he said. “I have cast a magic spell on you so you can’t move or speak.”
I tried to budge but I just couldn’t. I was simply locked in place.
“You know, if you’d only just shown your penis in class, that would have just been a phone call to your parents,” he sighed. “But, now, for being so disruptive I have no choice but to call your parents and suspend you from school for a week.”
He looked at me with nothing but pity. I suppose if I had a knife in my hand, and wasn’t held under the sway of a magic spell, I would have lunged at him.
“Luckily, I know that your mother will be here in another half hour or so to bring your sister to her first day of Senior Kindergarten,” he said. (Kindergarten always started a little later than the rest of the school year.) “I will explain the situation to her and will recommend that you undergo some therapy from a good psychiatrist I know in Pottersville.”
I guess I knew I was in deep shit now that my mother would be involved. She always freaked out whenever something bad happened to me. That was a worse fate than having to explain things to my father. Mothers were always worse when it came to being in trouble.
“One more thing, Edward Pedal,” said Mr. Buttercup, who was now staring at a mug at his desk that was at one moment empty, the next brimming with hot coffee. “If you show your penis to anyone at school again, I will have no choice but to transform you into a flat-chested girl. Heed my warning.”
And that was that. I stayed frozen until my mother sauntered into the office to pick me up to take me home. What happened next is all a blur. I cried during the car ride home, while my mother yelled and yelled at me for being a stupid idiot. My dad even took time off from work to come home to deal with the mess, and we took a long walk behind the woods behind our home in the country. All I can remember saying to him was that computers wouldn’t take over the world. I simply was blathering a lot. And crying a lot. I don’t think I cried so much in my life.
And then there were the trips to the child shrink in Pottersville. We had to drive an hour out there in the evening just to get there. The shrink was in an old Christian hospital, and was as dark and imposing a place as Mr. Trout’s office. I did a lot more crying in those sessions I tell you. I must have gone through 10 tissues of Kleenex each time I went. That shrink was one cold and calculating bastard. The thing is, I don’t remember a lot about those sessions. The times I visited the doctor are just a blur to me now. All I remember is the tears.
Eventually, life returned to normal. About a year later, I no longer needed to see the therapist, and by the end of the Fifth Grade, my report card had noted a radical change in behaviour. There was a section of it dedicated to the things one did at school that weren’t schoolwork-related, stuff like being conscientious of others and so on. I had nothing but a series of S’s for “Seldom” during the fall term of my report card – in part for showing my penis off, in part from hitting Becky Floss when she tried to put my name down, which guaranteed me a session in detention when I entered the classroom talking to my friends one day (but that’s another story altogether). When it was time to graduate to Grade Six, those S’s had changed to AL’s for “Always”. In short, I no longer showed my cock to the world. And it stayed that way. Until Grade Seven.
Ah yes, Grade Seven. A time when girls started to be interested in boys, and usually not the other way around. A time of deep maturity. Zits started appearing. Underarm deodorant began being applied. A few boys at school would even start shaving. It was a time of change, I guess. A time when girls probably wanted to see a little trouser snake action. So it should come as no surprise that I was approached one day out in the schoolyard where I was playing shortstop on the baseball diamond by two Grade Eight girls, Anita Tupelo and Samantha Mouse.
“Hey, Edward,” purred Anita. “Remember that time in Grade Five when you showed your thing to the classroom?”
Both Anita and Samantha were in another grade entirely, and were not present for the incident in question. My exhibition of my penis in Grade Five had become something of folklore around the school, I suppose.
“Yeah, what about it?” I asked.
“Well, me and Anita here were wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing it to us, right now,” said Samantha.
“Right now?”
“Yeah,” both girls chimed.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “I kinda got into a lot of trouble the last time I showed it.”
“Pretty please,” said Anita. “If you show us yours, we might show you ours.”
Now here I was flattered. Not only did they want to see my cock, I was willing to get a look down into the flowers of Anita and Samantha. Who could resist that kind of deal?
“Well, okay,” I said, pulling my baseball glove off my hand. “We’ll do it behind the garbage bin in the junior yard. That way nobody else will see.”
The garbage bin in question was beside an old portable unit in an area of the junior yard that nobody else really played in. You could get to it by following a long, tight corridor of land that ran from the senior yard all the way down to the junior yard. It was quick and easy to get to, and it was in a kind of secluded area. We wouldn’t be caught, I was sure, unless someone happened to be looking down the corridor from the senior yard.
When we got to the dumpster, I dropped my baseball glove on the ground and reached into my jeans to grab my cock. It was a little hard to get out, simply because it was, well, hard. I gripped it in my hand and pulled it over the fabric of my pants. Anita and Samantha just ooohed and ahhhed. They were like cooing pigeons. I loved it! What’s more, I felt a sense of excitement. I was practically throbbing as I held myself in my hand.
“Can I touch -- ?” Anita began.
She was interrupted by a voice from the edge of the senior yard. It was Becky Schmirtz. Another Eighth Grader.
“Edward Pedal, quit showing your penis to Anita and Samantha!” she yelled.
She yelled it loud enough to get the attention of the Sixth Grade teacher, Mr. Dipstick. I think you can guess what happened next. Within minutes, I was down sitting in a chair in front of Mr. Buttercup’s office while the principal in question was busy interviewing Anita and Samantha. Somewhere overhead the recess bell rang. I was in deep shit again, and I knew it. How could I have been so stupid!
I have to say I found out later that those little bitches lied to Mr. Buttercup – made it sound like it was my idea to show myself to them. That probably got me into more trouble. Considering what happened next and all.
While sitting in the chair, I suddenly felt my testicles curl up and descend inside me, becoming ovaries. My penis suddenly shrivelled up and became a small clitoris. A slit grew where my scrotum sack used to be. I was transforming. Becoming a girl. Right there in the chair, just as Anita and Samantha came out of the office grinning.
“You can go in now,” said Anita, as she whizzed right past me.
And went in I did, in a snap. I wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening to me, what changes were occurring in me. I waltzed in and saw Mr. Buttercup behind his desk with a huge smile on his face, as though he were happy to see me or something.
“What did you do to me?” I yelled, hearing my voice go up a few octaves as I spoke.
“What did I tell you two years ago?” said Mr. Buttercup, still grinning like a Cheshire cat behind his desk. “Show yourself to anyone at school again and I’d transform you into a girl. Now, at least, you can’t go around getting yourself into trouble so easily. You have nothing you can yank out of your pants.”
I stood there slack-jawed, feeling the rest of the changes starting to take effect. My hair was growing long. My ass was filling out. My fingernails were getting pointy.
“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Buttercup, reaching for the phone on his desk. “I’ll be notifying your parents and your teacher of the changes. Everything will be taken care of. You may go to your classroom when you’re ready.”
I didn’t go to the classroom right away. I simply wasn’t ready. I froze and I could feel, slowly making its way down my cheek … .
A single tear.
