FSE

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Hello, my name is M____Â S____, and unfortunately, the story I'm about to tell you is true. All I ask is that after reading of my intimate calamity, you think of me kindly.

There, all done. After weeks of overtime, I finally put the finishing touches on my television commercial proposal for SnapTech, the undisputed leader of add-on garages. The commercial stars Vroomin, the cartoon car who has a bad day by hitting every red light, almost running out of gas, and nearly having a run-in with another car. After his misadventures, he finally arrives at his driveway, backs into his SnapTech garage, and breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief. He then proclaims "SnapTech: they make your car feel at home."

After my presentation, I'll be the obvious choice for the "Employee of the Year" award for the third year in a row. I suppose I'll get another raise, but I'm just happy for the recognition. I realized I was a bit sweaty and smelled a bit ripe, so I unloosened my tie knot, took off my dirty shirt and put it in the solid oak hamper in my office closet. I applied some roll-on deodorant, spritzed myself with a little cologne, put on another dress shirt, then tightened my knot nice and tight again.

I looked out my office window and was surprised to see it was dark out. My stomach started complaining, so I decided to walk a few blocks and pre-celebrate by dining at my favorite restaurant, A Movable Feast, the city's finest caterer, but of course it's an excellent choice if you just want to dine in. They make a mean chicken Alfredo- add some snap peas, a Caesar salad on the side, a glass of dry white wine, then finish it off with a bowl of cherry sorbet, and I'm in Heaven.

While I was reminiscing about last year's award presentation, I headed towards the restroom. Before I could open the swinging door, the fox head-waiter rushed over and opened the door for me.

"Why, hello!" His arms flourished as I walked by.

"Oh, hello." I don't know why someone in that position would do that sort of thing. Weird.

I went to the nearest urinal, unzipped my dress pants, then took a piss. After I relieved myself, I heard a "Hey you!"

I looked around, but couldn't't find anyone trying to get my attention, just a couple of men coming in and out, par for a Tuesday night.

"Down here, dip-shit" I looked down â€" just my semi-erect penis "yeah me, what do you think you're doing?" His slit actually moved like a mouth when he spoke.

"Going to the bathroom?" I've never had my member talk to me before, so I wasn't sure what I should do, except answer his questions and possibly seek psychiatric help later. I quickly looked around, and the few that were there quickly finished their business and left in a hurry.

"No, not that, numb-nuts. Why are you still ignoring that hot fox? He's been trying to hook up with you for over a month. You like fucking men up the ass, don't you?"

"I'm bi," I said under my breath. Please, nobody else come in.

"You mean bye-bye, as in ‘so long' to doing it with anyone. You haven't even been masturbating." Did my dick just zing me?

"I've been really busy at work, and you know how the last few were." I adjusted my collar a bit.

"Boo-hoo, cry me a river. Are you going to hunt foxy, or am I going to have to do it myself?"

"Uh, I'd like to see you do that." I cocked my head a bit.

"Oh buddy, I will, with or without you."

"Sure you will," I shook my head.

"I'm going to count to three."

"Hey," I stood akimbo "I make the decisions, not you."

"Not any more, one..."

"I'm in charge here, not you."

"Two..."

"You're going back in," I started to reach...

"Three. Don't say I didn't warn you." He yanked himself hard to the left side of me.

"Ouch!"

His pulling threw me off balance and I fell to the side, knocked the trash can over, and banged my head on the sink, but that was a massage compared to what was happening to my groin: my penis was tearing himself away from me as hard as he could. The pain was so intense, it felt like I was continuously being smashed by a full-force wrecking ball that wanted to escape from the inside. Lying on my side, I started going into convulsions, tears were streaming from my eyes and my tongue hung limp from the side of my muzzle. Surely, the wretched in hell had pity on me.

"You've been doing a piss poor job, bucko. Consider this to be my resignation from you!" There was a loud popping sound; my eyes rolled to the back of my head and I might have blacked out for a bit.

"So long, sucker!"

 When I could finally focus my eyes, I saw that my penis was gone. I wanted to get off the cold floor, but I found even breathing was painful. After about a couple of minutes of being as still as I could, the owner, an otter, who was wearing a black business suit and pince-nez glasses rushed in. Right behind him were a couple of busboys: a muscular brown minotaur and an orange tabby, who were both wearing a new apron.

"Are you all right sir?" The owner offered a hand. I didn't take his offer.

"Should I dial 9-1-1?" He reached into his jacket pocket.

"No, I'll be fine," I rasped. As fast as I could, which wasn't fast at all, I put my hand to my open zipper. I was relieved because there was nothing there to see, but then I became embarrassed because there was nothing there. I zipped up to cover up my "lacking" evidence.

Then I realized ... "Wait, am I bleeding?"

"No sir, we don't see any blood." The minotaur and tabby agreed with him.

"What happened?" asked the tabby. The owner shot him a reprimanding glance, but turned his attention to me.

"That's okay, it was all my fault. I was a klutz and twisted my leg, then I fell over and landed the wrong way, if you know what I mean."

"Oooooh," the minotaur and tabby both said as they winced. I was glad there was the unwritten law that when someone relates a penis related injury, you don't press for details. Speaking of which, I looked at their faces and nobody had that "oh by the way, I saw your little man walk out" look on their faces.

So, hoping he wasn't long gone, I gritted my teeth and held out both my hands. The minotaur and tabby helped me up to me feet. At least I could stand on my own, but I was stooped over like an old man.

"Anything else we can do for you, sir?" the owner held open the bathroom door, and the minotaur offered to help me out, but I politely declined.

"No, I'll just pay my cheque and go home," I started to reach for my wallet.

"It's on the house tonight. We can prepare a ... take home bag if you didn't finish your meal."

"No thanks, I'd still like to pay."

"How about you pay next time, then?"

"Don't strain yourself" added the minotaur, who held his arms out in case I would fall.

"Okay" After some slow shuffling, I was finally out in the dining area. Lucky for me, the outside door wasn't far away.

"Shall I call you a cab?" The owner had his cell phone out.

"No thanks, I live nearby. I think I'll walk it off" I looked around as inconspicuously as I could. No signs of any penises, well, none of the detached variety. He's probably long gone by now.

The otter very gently put his hand on my shoulder, "I'm truly sorry for your misfortune, and don't hesitate to call us if you need anything."

I thought of asking "Can I have my manhood back?," but just thanked him. I recalled that my presentation was tomorrow and hoped I would be in a better condition than this when I give it.

By the time I got to the door, the pain subsided from agonizing to horrendous. After walking a block, it was down to awful. When I got to my apartment building, it was just pretty bad. After a few flights of stairs, taken one at a time, the pain was finally tolerable. I walked down the hall for a bit and I was never so glad to see my apartment door in all my life.

I slowly untangled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door. I decided a hot shower would be best. I headed straight to the bathroom and turned on the hot water, then carefully took my pants and boxers off in front of the full length mirror hanging inside the door. My junk was really all gone, balls and all, but there wasn't any gaping hole where my member used to be. I probed around gingerly with my fingers, but I couldn't even feel a slit anywhere, just some smooth black fur as if I were always that way. From the front, I looked like a trans-kendered doll. I turned my bottom half around- my ass, anus, and little tail (that I wagged a bit) were all still there. I was going to command them to "stay," but doing so might give them sentience; one body part pulling itself off me was more than enough.

Speaking of which, I had to get to the bottom of my johnson's disappearance, but what should I do? Put a picture of my member on a milk carton? Hire a private di... detective? Is there some support group out there, like Penisless Anonymous? "Hi my name is..."

Maybe a hot shower would give me some ideas. I finished undressing, straddled into my porcelain tub, then closed the curtains. I put myself under the running shower head, shampooed and rinsed my scalp, then soaped up my washcloth and cleaned the rest of me. When I got to my pelvic area, the pain had just about gone away; I just felt silly when I actually tried to wash my "phantom limb."

_Why would he just off and leave? _ I replayed the whole day and couldn't find anything else different from any other day, except I almost bumped into my downstairs zebress neighbor, Mrs. Ludlow, but that couldn't be it. Was it because I finished my commercial proposal? No. Maybe the fox at the restaurant put a curse on me? Highly unlikely, but that long shot was the best bet so far. I let the warm water hit the back of my neck and relax me for a while. When the water started to turn cold, I tightened the faucets off, got out, and dried off. For some reason, even though I live alone, I wrapped the towel around my waist when I went to my bedroom, where I put on fresh boxers.

I was still a bit unnerved and restless, so I went to the kitchen and got from the cupboard one of my dozen or so SnapTech mugs and a tin of Earl Grey relaxing white tea. I dropped a tea bag in, ran some hot water, microwaved it, then drank it sans any sugar and cream. I was walking towards my bed to have my dream date with Mr. Sandman when I realized I had to go to the bathroom. So I got in front of the toilet, trying to go, but well, couldn't. I strained and pushed as hard as I could, hoping the piss would come out of some hole or slit I didn't know I had or maybe a new penis would pop out. No such luck, and my bladder was still protesting. I even sat on the toilet, hoping my "plumbing" got re-routed:Â that didn't happen, for all that came out were a couple of small and mostly dry turds.

After I wiped and flushed, I stood up and headed back towards the kitchen. I opened the knife drawer and decided that a medium sized non-serrated blade would be best. Soon, I was standing in front of the toilet again and readied myself the best I could for my impromptu self-surgery.

I pulled my boxers down a bit and put the blade to where I thought my new piss slit should be. I took a deep breath, then feebly jabbed the knife into me. I drew a few drops of blood, but I didn't cut nearly deep enough to strike gold. I tried closing my eyes, but stabbed myself in the belly button. I tried poking myself softly, then stabbing myself harder with each blow, but after the fifth weak hit in a row, I stopped. I tried counting to three, but didn't even connect on three. I even held the knife blade firm while I planned to rub myself into the blade: that just made me feel stupid and frustrated, so I threw the knife as hard I could into the bathtub, where it clanged a bit. I yanked my boxers up, stomped to my bed, and plopped on it face first. Big, hollow, empty tears made their way to my pillow.

I pondered suicide. Wouldn't that be easier than whatever you die of when you don't go to the bathroom? Jaundice? Drowning? But who am I kidding? I couldn't properly cut myself in the pelvis, how could I slit my wrists? I thought of hanging myself, but could only see me, at best, putting one foot on and off the chair, unable to properly get on it. Sleeping pills? Yeah right, I'd go to the pharmacy, take the bottle to the check-out counter, then run away. I'd never call a doctor, let alone honor an appointment.

I figured I had at most a week. Then I would get all bloated and die a coward's death. Alone.Â

"And it don't breathe and it don't bleed" Afghan Whigs: "If I Were Going"