“I got good news and bad news for you, “ my Urologist said
during my semi annual check up.
The good news was the m PSA levels had gone down, indicating
less chance of cancer.
Two years ago, these levels jumped from one to six, and
while not the deadly level of ten that indicated possible cancer. it was a real concern, prompting painful procedures
that included a snake-like camera pushed up into my penis (with only a local that
only reduced the pain at the tip. Later, I underwent an MRI, pet scan and other
similar procedures, topped off with a very painful series of biopsies.
The surgery that I got later was a scraping that allowed me
to pee, but had screwed up my ability to cum. While I could still have sex, the
cum tended to remain in the plumbing long afterwards, oozing out into my
underwear at most inconvenient times.
All that said, the bad news is that my prostate – almost the
size of a baseball – was showing no sign of reduction, and as a result, my
growing prostate began the inevitable shrinking of my cock.
As a teenager, I had accepted the myth said claimed a man with
a nose as big as mine had a large cock as well.
But now with my prostate growing, my cock had gone from a
barely adequate six inches to slightly more than three with every indication I
might watch it vanish entirely. This, of course, affected erections
I consulted my gay friend, Max, who knew as much as prostates
as my urologist, and I asked him what could be done.
He gravely told me not a lot, but with hopeful news, I might
find ways to compensate for my inadequate sex life, and might enjoy a revival
of the pleasures I had when I was still a teen.
It took me a moment to get his meaning, and when I did, I
said, “no way!”
When I consulted my urologist on the matter, he reluctantly
confirmed my gay friend’s analysis, though added I would need to do much more
if I intended to go that way, estrogen shots and testosterone blockers – which would
shrink my penis more and might require the removing on my testicles entirely.
But what I lost down below, I would gain upstairs. Max said this often resulted
in development of breasts – but the process could help me shift my source of sexual
gratification to my mouth and to my ass, which Max called my boi pussy.
I asked Max if I could still masturbate. He shook his head.
“You could rub what’s left, but you’d get more pleasure by
sticking your fingers up your ass,” he said, noting that if I went the drug
route the urologist suggested, I would find my pleasure center shifted to that
part of my body anyway.
I did not consult my urologist about Max’s suggestions for
oral and anal sex. Frankly, I did not want to know anything about it, even
though Max said he would help dress me up so I was in a more receptive mood, by
which he meant wearing women’s clothing 44/7, making me fit the role that my enlarged
prostate appeared to be seeking me to play.
“So, you’re saying you want to turn me into a woman?” I asked.
“As close as you can get without getting extensive surgery,”
Max said. “You’ll never be able to use your winky the way you used to, so why
not go all the way?”
I won’t say I wasn’t tempted. I ached to feel the way I once
did. But I was still attached to my winky, having lived with its up and down
moods my entire life. I would miss it if it wasn’t there.
Max was clearly disappointed when I told him that I didn’t
want to go that way and I would just have to live with the shrinkage.
He proposed a compromise. If I didn’t want men fucking me in
the ass, I could still derive pleasure from sucking their cocks.
“I’m sure you’d make a great cock sucker,” Max said.
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