Cody Spicer: Part 1 – Parts

Cody Spicer kept his cock in a pickle jar floating in pickling vinegar. He had performed a peotomy on himself in lieu of the gender reassignment surgery that they were making him suffer to be eligible for. So, Cody Spicer was still a pre-op tranny — he had a cock but no cunt and they were telling him that by actually chopping it off he had made the whole procedure more complicated. More complicated was not a phrase that you expected to hear uttered with any degree of seriousness in your twenty fifth year of being a woman trapped in a man’s body. I mean, he thought, just who the fuck are they trying to kid?

He didn’t intend to change his name because he thought it sounded kind of asexual and cool already. Did his dead mum have some kind of inkling of the being she had given birth to? Hmm, maybe she did. Maybe it had something to do with the championing of Tales Of The City by Armistead Maupin and the self-printed t-hirt which proclaimed I am Anna Madrigal.

The acting jobs seemed to be popping up with more frequency recently and that surely had to be a good sign and an indication that he was in the right place in his head at least — the right place to be able to pull a decent performance out of the bag when he needed to. The worrying thing, if it were a worrying thing, was that they were all straight roles and that his agent was telling him that he may have found his niche playing a certain type of down on his luck creative straight guy. Wouldn’t that be a kick to the old stump between the legs?

He picked up the jar and shook it. Fucking thing.

‘The curse of the cock wakes me every morning,’ he said smiling.