Carefully take hold of your clitoris using a pair of long nosed pliers. Stretch, not all at once, just a fraction of an inch at a time. A little peaked cap, numb now from all the pressure on it. Still, keep stretching. At some point you will make an incision and put a small bullet inside. At the end of a week you will take the bullet out and replace it by a larger bullet. This process is repeated every week or so. It lasts three months, four if you get an extention. Your urethra has become a part of the project stretched as it is to the size of a penis. You pee standing up. For a time it may make you feel powerful. You can fuck your boyfriend if you like, not with a blunt instrument like a small dildo, but with your now sizeable clitoris.
I forgot to mention what you had been eating, Batailles, Sontag, Ponz, several essays from the huge hard backed two volume Encyclopedia of Erotic Literature. Growing fat with all this eating and sitting in one spot at your computer. A fat little hunched gnomic girl now with a huge extended clitoris to fuck with and pee from.
Of course these books are all indigestible. They sit in your belly like a bastard. What you don't know, fat and one-eyed and blind to the rest of the goddamned world, is that sooner or later that information has to come out, and when it does it will slide down your urethra, thick-spined, bloated with theory. You will hold that bulging length of clitoris and it will be agony. Weeks and weeks of agony, and then that final, blood-clotting push over the course of three long days when you think your faux-cock will tear.
And then there it is, suddenly. The bastard. Its references embryonic and unformed, its commas all misplaced, its linking sentences like malformed stumps of arms and legs. It opens its mouth and a small sound comes out. Not words yet, but some form of communication.
Ah stage bloody two PhD document. Now I just have to gender reassign you as a PDF.