I wish to retain all rights to this story. However, I am delighted to grant permission to any person to publish this story as long as there is no charge to the reader and as long as no changes are made to the story.

Copyright 2006. All Rights Reserved.


CHAPTER 5 – Epilogue

I moved in with Sam and Dottie after that weekend, and never looked back. Since I continued to mow the lawn and do chores for Dad, he didn’t care. He only said one thing. “Don’t be stupid and get her pregnant.”

Those first couple of years were easier on me than on Sam. My love for Sam kept my teenage behavior pretty much in line. Sammy, however, continued to wrestle with just who and what he was, and what he wanted to be. Typical of most guys, Sam didn’t always say what he was thinking, but one January evening in our junior year of high school, he opened up to me. We had just finished a particularly tender lovemaking session, and I was still on top of him, our shared cock growing soft inside him, when Sam put his mouth to my ear.

“I know you always say that you like me the way I am, but what if I could have a cock?” he asked in a whisper. “I’ve been reading… they’re getting better at… you know… that kind of surgery – genital restructuring.”

I lifted my head to look down into Sammy’s eyes. “It can’t be like a real cock, Sam” I said. “Not unless they can graft one on.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think they can do that yet.”

“Why do it then?” I asked.

“They can make me a fake one, you know,” Sammy offered with a hesitant smile. “One you could play with. They could fit it with a prosthetic… a fake erection thingy.” My cock softened enough to slip out. Sam smiled, sadly. “Doesn’t turn you on, huh?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Not like a real cock would, but honest Sammy, I love you just like you are.”

His head rolled to the side, and in the dim light from the window, his eyes glinted as he stared across the room. “If I can’t have a real cock, I wish I could have a real uterus,” he softly said, and then glanced up at me. “I wish I could give you babies.”

I smiled. “I don’t need babies.”

“A real girl could give you… sons,” he said.

“I’d never have anything to do with a ‘real girl’ and you know it,” I told him. Stroking his hair back from his forehead, I smiled. “And no other guy is going to give me sons Sammy.”

Sam nodded and gazed up into my eyes. “I could be more like other guys,” he said, stroking my back with his fingertips. “They have hormone treatments now, and they could take out my breasts…”

“I like your breasts, Sam,” I said. “Do they bother you? Does it bother you that you have them?”

Sam shrugged, and then smiled slightly. “I like it when you have fun with them.”

“Then keep ‘em, Sam,” I said, and with a grin of my own, I slid down his body to ‘have fun with them.’

. . . . .

A month later, the two of us, along with Dottie, sat across from one of only two physicians in San Antonio who had experience with intersex and transgender issues. I had been introduced as Sam’s fiancé. The doctor, a male, didn’t even blink at the fact that we were only seventeen. I guess he saw a lot of unique cases.

“No,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “There really isn’t much we can do for you, waist down. With hormones and a mastectomy, we can give you a more masculine appearance, and you can live life as a male, but I don’t think you would like the options for genital restructuring.” He glanced at me. “If you’re getting married, you wouldn’t want to do that anyway, would you?”

“I’m gay,” I said.

The doctor did blink at that. “Ohhhh K,” he said, and folding his hands, he leaned forward. “I still don’t think you’d like the options.” And when he explained them, we decided that he was right. None were remotely attractive.

“Are you sexually active?” he asked looking from Sam to me, and back. “Is sex unsatisfactory for either of you?”

“We’re active,” Sam said.

“And it’s way beyond satisfactory,” I said, as enthusiastically as I could.

“For you, too, Samantha?” the doctor asked.

Sam smiled, and nodded. “Yeah… way beyond satisfactory.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dottie glance away and blush.

The doctor leaned back in his chair. “Then why change anything?” he asked Sam. “Are you having trouble coming to terms with your physiology?”

Sam frowned, and nodded.

The doctor’s brow furrowed, and he thought a moment. “Have you tried dressing up as a boy?” he asked. “Have you spent a day or two as a boy to see what it’s like?”

Sam and I looked at each other. “Could be fun,” I suggested.

. . . . .

That summer, Sam got a guy’s haircut, and with the aid of a special wrap to flatten his already small breasts, we dressed him as a boy. Then for two weeks Sam and I went camping in the hill country as two boys; two buddies.

Guys’ johns were a new adventure for Sam, and I had to drag him out a couple of times when he wanted to stare and I was afraid we’d get beat up. We showered late at night and when stalls didn’t have doors, I stood guard.

About the third night, we hit the johns when two guys our age were showering. They had great bodies, and I had to elbow Sam to keep his eyes on the mirror as he brushed his teeth. But then that night in our tent, Sam had a new appreciation for my body. He explored every bit of me, his breath on my skin as he licked, kissed, sniffed, and rubbed his face… everywhere. We had enjoyed each other’s bodies from the first night, but I’d never felt more desirable than that night when Sam made me feel like I had a beautiful, male body.

Whenever Sam had to speak around other people on that trip, they just assumed that he was young and his voice was late changing. Sam did look young; as a boy, he looked like a tall, willowy fourteen or so.

One of the last nights in the tent, when it was almost dark, and the two of us were making love on our sides in a position we liked for taking things slow and easy, I ran my hand over the smooth skin of Sammy’s arm. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to freak,” I said.

“What?” Sam asked, playing with the muscles down at our joining in a way that had earned our private name for his genitals… his ‘squeezer.’

I gasped to let him know I appreciated it, and then waited for him to unclench before continuing. “I don’t want you to be a guy,” I said, “at least not with a beard and all muscled up and stuff. I mean… I like you as a boy, Sam… a young boy… maybe because Jason and I were so young when we started making love and those were my first experiences… you know? As boys?”

Sam nodded, thoughtfully, and then smiled. “Young boys are pretty,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

With Sam dressed as a boy, Dottie took us to Dallas, to a ball game, museums, shopping for boy’s clothes. Dottie got Sam and me our own room, and at the end of each day, Sam and I made love the same ways we always had, and it was just as great as it always was.

Whether Sam was a boy or a girl, we still enjoyed the same things together. Sam never could go shirtless when others were around, and as a girl, we had to hit different johns. But other than that, we weren’t finding much reason for Sam to live as a guy rather than as a girl. And we could see reasons, especially with us as a couple, for appearing to be heterosexual.

Before that summer was over, we went to Houston to visit Jason, and we went with Sam as a boy. We warned Jason and Aunt Ellie ahead of time. We said that it was on a dare and because Sam wanted to try it.

“Holy shit, Sam!” Jason exclaimed when we got there. He walked around Sam, looking him up and down. Sam really did look simply like a beautiful, young boy. “You’ve gotta let me show you guys off to my friends.”

We spent a whole afternoon with Jason taking us around to meet all his friends. Sam got lots of looks, though two guys at one house told Jason they could tell that Sam was really a girl. I got looks, too, and that night Sam twisted my pubic hair around his finger as he thought things over.

“Don’t you ever wish you could be with another boy?” Sam asked.

“Do you?” I responded.

He nodded. “Sometimes, when I think a boy is cute, I wonder what he’d be like.”

“Sometimes I wonder, too,” I said. “But then I look at you, Sam, or I think about you if you aren’t with me; and I know I can’t do any better.”

Sammy smiled and kissed my lips. “What about Jason?” Have you wished you could do him again?” Sam asked.

I had to be honest, so I nodded. “But shit, Sammy, that’d just be steppin’ in it.” I pulled Sam into a tight caress. “When we’re like this, Sammy, I don’t need anybody else.” I smiled. “So if some guy gets me horny, don’t be surprised if I haul you off somewhere and jump your bones.”

Sammy tossed his head back laughing, and he was so damned sexy, so wonderful in my arms, that my gut churned and I had a sudden hunger for him. Sam liked it when that happened, so I always let it show. Rolling him to his back, I moved up over him, and his laughter faded when he saw the desire in my eyes.

Sammy looped his arms over the back of my neck and smiled, pleased. “Oh,” he whispered… just, “Oh.”

The truth was that I did remember the times with Jason… and Brad and Rigo. I remembered what it was like being with another boy who had a cock and balls. But I loved Sam, and I genuinely delighted in his slender body. At night I let myself feel that delight, and I always tried to let Sam feel my delight as well. I knew it was important that he know.

The day before we left Houston to return home, we told Jason the truth about Sam and me. To say that Jason was blown away was an understatement. We talked into the early morning, and I could tell that he still couldn’t get a handle around it.

Sam never wanted to tell the truth to Loren Peach or any of our friends back in San Antonio. Sammy was becoming increasingly comfortable with who he was – actually, who we were because who he was, was bound up with me and who I was because of him. But no matter how comfortable he became, Sam never wanted to be a freak to other people. It was just easy to let everyone else keep thinking that Sam was a girl.

. . . . .

We married the summer after our senior year in high school. Jason was our best man, and Loren stood with Sam. And though we were going to keep the wedding private, many of our friends found out and demanded to be included.

Sam and I found out that we were popular as a couple. People liked us, and we liked them… especially guys, and not surprising, gay guys – Rigo actually became a good friend, and we still stay in touch. Though we didn’t tell our friends about Sam’s true gender, Sam and I always felt most comfortable around other gay guys.

For our honeymoon we spent two months backpacking in Colorado and Wyoming. We spent much of the time in back country where we both could go shirtless, or occasionally naked, and just be two guys.

In junior high French class, I had found out that I was good with languages, and in college, I majored in International Studies with minors in German and Spanish. Sam’s love was literature.

College doesn’t have to be difficult if you’re married. Neither does grad school. We were able to get grants and scholarships. Dottie helped. Even my dad kicked in some money; I think because he liked Sam, to be honest. During the summers in college and even into grad school, Sam and I worked as summer rangers at Rocky Mountain National Park, and we made it through to our doctorates with no more debt than most people.

After grad school, I entered the diplomatic corps, and Sam found jobs teaching at local colleges. He also began writing articles for magazines. At first, while we were still in grad school, it was for small literary magazines, but then he wrote an article that Redbook accepted. Soon, he was writing for three different women’s magazines. I thought it was funny that a male had become a popular writer for them.

Sam was a perfect spouse for the diplomatic corps. Men loved him as a beautiful woman, especially when they discovered how intelligent Sam was and that he could hold his own in conversations. Women admired him – I heard one attaché’s wife describe Sam as a queen among women, and I smiled, thinking if only you knew.

We kept up the masquerade, you see, letting everyone think that Sam was female.

Sam and I worked for, and succeeded in landing, a posting to the Ukraine the year we turned twenty-six. We wanted to go there because of a fertility clinic we’d heard of.

We wanted kids, and Sam wanted the kids to be mine… from my sperm. The clinic we were interested in operated under state sanction, and was known for lining up surrogate mothers.

We were honest about it; I explained to my superiors that Sam was not able to have children, and they understood. Everyone loved Sam.

In our first screening at the clinic, we told the doctors the truth about Sam. The director, a rotund little man with a thick shock of gray hair, became interested in us himself. I’m not going to give his name, or the name of the institute. They were very good to us, and we wouldn’t want to create any trouble for them.

“You have still your… testicles?” the director asked Sam, in broken English, during our first long interview with him.

Sam, holding my hand, nodded.

“Doctors tell you to take them out, yes?” he asked.

Sam glanced at me. “My doctors back in Texas told me that I would want them out at some point because they said that they could become pre-cancerous.”

“You did not?” he asked.

“Take them out?” Sam asked. “No, my husband wants me to keep them while I can. Sam looked down. “I’d like to keep them, too, I guess.”

“Why?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I know that they aren’t good for anything,” Sam said, “but as long as I have them, I’m not… “ He searched for the word.

“Neutered?” the doctor asked.

Sam nodded.

“And you?” the doctor said, turning to me.

“I’m gay,” I told him. “I like that my wife is a guy.” I shrugged. “I mean, I don’t want Sam to ever be in danger or anything. But I like that he’s… well, intact.”

The doctor cocked his head. “You are homosexual?”

I nodded.

He chuckled. “World is strange, yes? Tell me how this happens.”

Sam and I told him our tale from when Sam moved next door. He asked questions and nodded, knowingly.

“You two,” he said, pointing from me to Sam and back. “Umm…” he searched for the phrase, “Marriage made in Heaven… yes?”

Sam smiled. “Tim tells me almost every day that I was made for him, and that he was made for me.”

“You agree?” the director asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Sam squeezed my hand and nodded. “I believe Tim was made for me. There’s no one else like him.”

The doctor smiled benevolently, and then his brow furrowed as he studied us. He scratched his chin as if considering something. “There is no…” he searched for the word, “spermatogenesis,” he said, sounding out each syllable. He pointed to Sam’s abdomen. “In there… no making little…” he wriggled his hands like fish swimming.

We nodded.

He stroked his chin, studying Sam’s face. “Is possible, you have…” he searched for another word and pronounced it a syllable at a time, “spermatogenic tissue, yes?” he asked.

Sam and I glanced at each other, puzzled.

“For making the spermses,” he said. “You have tissue, maybe. Maybe we can…” he said something in Russian and frowned. “Is big chance in hell,” he said. Then smiled. “Two big chance in hell.”

“What are you saying?” I asked. “That you can trigger sperm production in Sam?”

He shrugged. “We try, yes? We give treatments… ummm… one month. And then… we cut,” he made little snipping motions, “and we see. We… remove testicles and see if have spermses?”

Sam squeezed my hand.

“No chance of passing on the androgen insensitivity?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said, waving his hand dismissively again. “That that is on… girl chromosome, yes? We pick only boy spermses. And you,” he said, pointing to me. “We pick boy spermses for you too, yes?”

I squeezed Sam’s hand. It’s what we had talked about – a son. I nodded.

“You try?” he asked, looking from me to Sam. “You try two sons?”

Sam looked stunned, so I answered. “It’s taking all of the money we could scrape up to do one baby,” I said. “We’ll do Sam’s.”

Sam turned my way, still looking like he was trying to take it all in. The director waved his hand dismissively again. “No more money,” he said. “We do Sam too.”

“Two for the price of one?” I asked with a smile.

The director looked puzzled, so I explained the phrase and he grinned. “We give two for one special, yes?” he asked.

They gave Sam four weeks of treatments, most of the last week inside their research facility. With Sam’s delighted help, we gave the clinic several contributions of my semen; much more than they needed from me for a sperm donation. They wanted the extra for Sam. The director explained that since Sam couldn’t produce semen, they would remove the sperm from my semen, and use it as the medium for Sam’s sperm – if they found any.

The morning of the big day came, and I stood at Sam’s bedside with the director as a nurse gave Sam a pill and then took his blood pressure.

The doctor watched the gauge, and then smiled down at Sam. “You are healthy young man,” he said. Then his eyes glinted as he used English he had learned from us. “This operation… piece of cake, yes?”

The nurse said something in Russian, and the director grabbed me above the elbow, turning me toward the door. “They shave Sammy now,” he said, then he looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye. “My idea is,” he said, “you will like him shaved.”

“Shaving Sam’s pubic hair?” I asked as we stepped out into the hall. I smiled. “We’ve tried that before, and yeah, it’s fun.”

The director’s brow furrowed and he stepped us to the side of the hall, against the wall. “Timothy,” he said, carefully sounding out each syllable of my name the way he always did when he used it – “Tim-o-thee.” He leaned close. “I ask you question. Professional question,” he said with a glint in his eye to let me know that his interest probably wasn’t professional at all.

“How you and Sam make sex?” he asked. “Is good sex?”

I laughed, and leaned close conspiratorially. “You don’t know how many years I’ve wanted to tell someone – anyone – how terrific it is and have them really understand. I mean, I’ve seen women in porno movies… you know… sex movies, and all they ever seem to do is make a lot of noise. But Sam, oh damn, you have no idea. When we make love, we both make love. He does as much of the…” I looked up and down the hall, and seeing no one, gave my hips a couple of quick pelvic thrusts. “Sam does as much of that as I do. It’s wild sometimes.”

I grinned and lowered my voice. “And when other men talk about their wives having menstrual periods and being all bitchy – that means bad tempered… you know…”

The director nodded, knowingly and gave me the Russian word for it.

I repeated the word with a grin. “Well when other men complain about their wives, I want so badly to brag – Sam never has periods and he never gets bitchy. Other guys talk about what they have to do to get their wives in ‘the mood’ for sex, but Sam’s wired as hot as I am. Sometimes all it takes is a word or a look from either one of us and we’re off to the nearest bed or closet.’ I chuckled. “When we were still in high school, just after we started making love… there was this one restroom, for kids in wheelchairs, you know? Anyway, it was on a back hall in school. Sam and I would get the urge and go there. One day, we went three times and got caught coming out together by one of the teachers. They almost expelled us.”

“And Sam?” the doctor asked, making a ring with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, and running the forefinger of his other through it. “It fits?”

Some CAIS males have shallow vaginas, but Sam didn’t. “Fits good,” I assured him with a grin. “And Sam has unbelievable muscles down there.”

The director nodded, his brow furrowing. “But you are homosexual, yes?”

I nodded. “You’re wondering how I can enjoy sex with Sam?” I glanced off, composing my thoughts. “I discovered something the first weekend we made love,” I explained,. “I discovered that what makes love making incredible, is incredible love. We were fifteen, and I had never liked girls. I always liked boys and boys’ bodies. But I loved Sam, and we had even done some stuff together. Well anyway, Sam got the news about the CAIS and it devastated him. But it was like switching on a light for me. I loved Sam and he needed me.”

Leaning back against the wall, I tried to put into words, things I had thought about for a long time. “Maybe I am really bisexual,” I said. “I mean, I like Sam’s body… a lot. And all the parts are there that we need for both of us to get a lot of pleasure from our love making.”

“You are…” the director searched for the word, “attracted to females?”

I shook my head. “No. Never. Well, maybe I’ll look at their breasts if they’re small like Sam’s, or if they have slim rounded hips like his, or if they’re thin and willowy like him, but no, not really. I look at guys, not girls.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed as he studied my face. “You have sex with other men?”

I shook my head. “When we found out that Sam was a boy, well, this is going to sound silly,” I said, glancing at him. “And it’s something I don’t think we ever told anybody. But when I found out that Sam was a boy and that he hadn’t gotten his penis and testicles the way he was supposed to – that was incomprehensible to me. It was the most unfair thing I’d ever heard of. I tried to imagine what that would be like, and well, I just couldn’t.”

“Sam was the only person in the whole world that I loved, and I loved him with all my heart,” I told the director. “And, well… I told Sam we could share mine… you know, my penis.”

The director raised his eyebrows and a cockeyed smile spread across his face.

“Well I did,” I said. “And I meant it. I told Sam that if he needed a kidney, I’d give him mine. Or if he needed a lung, I’d give him mine.” My eyes dropped to the floor. “You asked if I have sex with other men. I’ve thought about it, but you have to understand what happened in here,” I tapped my chest, “the night I told Sam we could share my cock… my umm, penis, I told him that I was giving it up… that I’d be just like him, without a cock of my own – we would be two boys with just one cock we shared.”

“Weird, huh?” I asked with a rueful smile. “Sam understands, though.” I looked off, down the hall. “In my mind, when I gave my cock to Sam to share, I think I knew that it meant giving up doing anything else with it.” I glanced at the director. “Or anyone else with it. I couldn’t very well have sex with some other guy if my cock was something I was sharing with Sam.” I grinned. "Besides, I'd have to share Sam's end of it, and I couldn't do that now, could I?"

The director nodded thoughtfully. “You were fifteen?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But I knew what I was doing. I loved Sam,” I said. “I’ll always love Sam.” I had to look away because I suddenly felt my love for Sam acutely, and my eyes filled with tears.

The director reached out and patted my shoulder. “You are good man, Timothy.”

Wiping my eyes, I shook my head. “Why? Because I’m faithful to Sam?” I asked. “That’s not hard. Besides, Sam could be just as tempted by other guys as me – I mean, he’s a guy himself, and with Sammy’s looks, he could sleep with a different gorgeous guy every night if he wanted, and they’d never know that they were sleeping with another guy – but Sam’s faithful to me, just like I am to him.”

The director rubbed my arm. “Peoples like Sammy is,” the director said, shaking his head sadly, “many times… not happy, peoples. But Sammy is happy,” he said, squeezing my arm. “You are good man, Timothy.”

And then tears streamed down my face because I wasn’t a good man; I just loved Sammy. I loved him so much… and I was worried for him; worried about the surgery, worried about Sammy being crushed if the doctors couldn’t find sperm in his testicles. Sammy always wanted a child of his own.

I wiped my eyes and the doctor patted my shoulder. “We take good care of your Sammy,” he said.

. . . . .

“Spermses!” he proclaimed, coming into the waiting room, still in his surgical gown. “One chance in hell!” He slapped my back like a doctor congratulating a new dad and then he leaned close. “Sammy’s testicles are healthy, yes? We took only one out… for spermses – and for you, I put it back.”

“And Sam?” I asked. “How’s Sam?”

“Perfect,” he said, grinning. “Perfect!” He grabbed my bicep and leaned close again. “But Sam… he feel like someone kick him in testicles.”

. . . . .

“Sam,” I whispered, holding his hand when he finally began to awaken. “They found sperm, Sammy. They think it’s viable.”

Sam smiled, tiredly, and then winced.

I squeezed his hand. “The doctor says you’ll feel like someone kicked you in the balls.”

Sam groaned.

“You’ve still got them, Sam, honey. They didn’t take them out.”

“I can tell,” he said with a groan.

. . . . .

“They are sisters,” the director said, offering a photograph of two attractive, young blond women. “Sisters are better, yes? You want sons look like brothers. Sisters,” he held up the photo, “sons will be cousins… maybe look like brothers.”

“We put your spermses,” he said, pointing to Sam, “into this one.” He pointed to the girl on the left. “We put yours,” he pointed at me, “In this girl. Same time… you will have twins, yes?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “And we save rest of spermses.”

“And the sisters?” I asked. “Will they know about us?”

“No,” he waved me off. “They know American couple wants two babies. They think you,” he said, pointing at me, “father for both.”

. . . . .

Just over nine months later, we named Sam’s red-haired son Max. And my little blond son, we named Sam, after his mom. We didn’t tell Dottie about the boys until after the babies came, and then we didn’t tell her the whole story; that one was Sam’s, until after Dottie was with us in the Ukraine. Dottie cried off and on for days, out of happiness.

We left the Ukraine almost a year later for our next posting in Madrid. However, just before then, the director of our fertility clinic came to us with a photograph of a little girl who had hair the color of mine.

“This little girl… three years old… a girl like you,” he said, pointing to Sam. “A little boy inside. We know now… ummm, because… he had a… blockages… here.” He held his hand over his abdomen, “and we find little testicles.” Then he shook his head. “Is sad. His family not want him.”

“You’re kidding!” I demanded angrily.

“No,” he shook his head sadly. “But I think maybe you take him?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.”

Natalie is four years old now and can wrap his daddy around his finger just as easily as any four-year-old girl in pigtails. Someday, maybe soon so that it won’t be a shock later, we will explain to him that he is actually a boy… a very special kind of little boy, made especially for another boy that some day he we hope he will meet.

Nate is my special name for Natalie; one of the special things between me and him – there are special things between me and each of the twins as well, just like between Sam and each of the kids. And when we do tell Nate how wonderfully unique he is, I will promise him that if Nate does meet that special boy he is made for, well Nate will make that boy so happy, that boy will sometimes just stop and cry from happiness. I could guarantee it.

Oh, and Sam’s mom, Dottie, lives with us now. She’s a wonderful grandmother, loving both twins and Natalie equally. Dottie was always good with boys, and she’s the perfect mom for our family of all males.

We’ve talked about having a daughter. The director of our clinic calls or writes from time to time because he likes us, and he often reminds us that he still has some of each of our sperm. And he always offers, “Two for the price of one, yes?”

But I don’t want a daughter, and really, Sam doesn’t either. If we have more children, they will be boys.

And every night, after the daily masquerade, Sam and I share our hearts and our bodies and we are what we really are – just two guys who were made for each other, deeply in love.

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