Oh my God, what have I done? Mike thought. How could I have done this? What was thinking?
He sat on the bed in his small apartment, trying to piece together the last year of his life. 
Thinking back as far as he could, Mike recalled an argument with his wife. What had it been about? He couldn’t remember, but it had been serious. About a week later they went to some kind of couple’s counseling. Mike remembered being pissed the counselor spent most of the time talking to him, trying to remember a single phrase. In fact, she’d said it over and over again. And yet, now, he couldn’t remember what the hell it had been.
Damn, what was it?
But it was no use. He couldn’t remember anything after that phrase. There were entire months—maybe longer—blocked from his memory. Certainly he didn’t recall shaving his legs, taking hormones, or…or…
Mike gingerly reached between his legs, where he found a smooth, hairless slit. He gasped and moaned in horror, his hand cupped over the thing as if his shame could be hidden.
"She did this to me!" Mike screamed in his apartment. "Linda, you fucking bitch, what have you done to me?"
Somehow, he'd get his revenge. Somehow, he'd find a way to get back at her. He'd make her suffer for what she'd done to him. But first, he'd have to see a doctor. There had to be a way to fix this.
Right?