The Testicle Experiment
Posted on the 12th of September 2008 at 20:07 by Bodil
Here I was, lamenting the lack of bloggable events in my life, when (as I was just reminded) there has been something very significant, in the transitional sense, going on for the last two weeks. Let me warn you, there will be talk of penises and other gross things, so you may want to stop reading now.
You see, two weeks and two days ago, I decided to stop taking my anti-androgens for a while. Anti-androgens, in case you’ve never heard of these, are substances which counteract the effects of testosterone on your body. Along with oestrogen, which you really ought to know is the female sex hormone, this is a staple of any hormone replacement therapy worth its salt. I’ll try not to get too technical, but you need to know that there are two basic kinds of anti-androgens: the one that stops testosterone production in the testicles altogether, and the one that makes your body sort of immune to the effects of testosterone, without actually removing it from your system.
Both of these will make you sterile, because without testosterone there is no sperm production, but the important difference–at least the medical literature I’ve read on the subject assures me this is so–is that the latter kind, because it doesn’t actually affect the production of testosterone, won’t make you permanently sterile. This is important. Let me take a moment to explain why.
Somewhat unusually, it seems, for a transgendered person, I have no physical gender dysphoria. Well, I do want to grow breasts, and I hate body hair, but the traditional dysphoria of the transgendered person tends to concern the thing between the legs. I honestly couldn’t care less about what’s between my legs, as long as it works. And by that, I mean it needs to be able to make babies.
You might say I believe in evolution, but that’s an understatement. I have this very powerful sense of the unbroken genetic continuity stretching into the past behind me–each and every one of my ancestors, uncounted millions of years back, a survivor and a breeder. Every one of them successfully found a mate and reproduced, and I stand at the very edge of my evolutionary branch, looking into the future. I do not turn to this endless line of successful ancestors and tell them, “sorry, you lot, I’m a bit uncomfortable with my equipment downstairs, so the buck stops here.” The idea that there are people who would, without so much as a second thought, is nearly unbelievable to me.
So, you see, it’s important to me that the equipment is in order. Over the past two years, the effects of the anti-androgens have grown more and more pronounced (and this is where you really need to stop reading if you don’t want to hear about penises): body hair has become less noticeable; male pattern baldness is slowly reversing itself; breast tissue is developing (after two years, it’s visible, but not yet able to fill even an A cup); and downstairs (I warned you, too late now) erections only appear if I really mean it, and even then not very forcefully, and the amount of ejaculate is reduced to practically nothing. I can’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure I’m effectively sterile.
That is, until two weeks ago, when I decided to give the testicles a break and stop the anti-androgens for a bit, just to see if things can still go back to normal again.
Let’s just say they did.
Two days in, I was so horny I could hardly look at anything and not consider having sex with it. This includes a ballpoint pen, my laptop and the O RLY Owl. I kid you not. I used to be rather in control of my testosterone, before I started on the anti-androgens–clearly, this was a matter of practice, and I’m definitely out of practice. On day four, I woke up in the middle of the night with a painful erection. That’s when I decided enough was enough, and started on the pills again.
Problem is, there were only four pills left, and the next batch was late. I should probably explain about the wonders of EEC regulations and Internet pharmacies in Cyprus for bypassing Norwegian prescription drug policies at this point, but I won’t. Suffice to say I can’t get my pills in Norway without joining the state tranny program, and I won’t do that as a matter of politics. I should get into that in some more detail in a later post, but anyway, my pills were late, so I had four days of relief, but for the last week my mind and body have been the tortured prisoners of Mr Testosterone.
As a result of this, ejaculate levels are approaching the male baseline, so at least I know things do start working again down there. Of course, I know nothing about the sperm count, but I’m just going to assume that’s going back to normal too, thank you very much. And how do I know ejaculate levels are increasing, you’ll be wondering? Well, the average human male will, in the absence of sexual intercourse, masturbate at least several times a week–and that’s someone who’s used to a body full of testosterone. Now try living without it for two years, and see if you won’t play with yourself just a little bit when it comes charging back.
Yes, it’s that bad. It’s so bad I’m actually blogging about masturbation, dammit.
And now, finally, we get to the point of this whole hideous story. You see, when I came home from work today, there was a note from my local post office in my mailbox. What it said is basically this: “Hey, we sent you a note two weeks ago about a package from Cyprus that arrived for you. You haven’t been to pick it up yet, so here’s a reminder.”
So. Yeah. That’s enough to turn anyone Buddhist.
