Even when I was trying to be a male hippie/college student or a male athlete I only had a neutral feeling for my testes. I finally emerged (partly) from the fog of denial in '86 and noticed that my hairline was receding. I saw that my upper body muscles, built up in the two preceding years by swim training for triathlons, would look bad with fem clothing. I resolved to swim much less in the future. As I felt a greater need to at least appear to be a womyn, in the next few years, I realized my body was testosterone poisoned.

When I decided in '89 that I would dress frequently whether my spouse liked it or not, I started to really hate my balls. All thru my progress toward surgery, I couldn't hate my penis. I came to see the junk between my legs as wrong and not belonging to me, but I had had a little fun with my penis and I needed it to line my vagina. My balls were a sick joke fate had played on me.

My dialators from Dr. Biber had balls on them. I cut off the balls so I had more length to push into me. After healing I had 8 or 10 guys in maybe 5 years; some were with Kim, we'd have threesomes. I broke up with Kim for a while and went with a transman. I bought a strap-on harness for him (he gave his to his ex-gf) and a dildo. I cut the balls off that, I just didn't like the look of them. Sometime later a dyke told me I should have left them on because they're positioned to stimulate the strap-on wearer. After this I thought back to the guys I was with. I played with all their cocks. Some I sucked off, but I never would touch their balls (and I never even thought about it when I was with them).

I think missing my balls is the opposite of what I've ever thought since surgery.

Hugs and Bright Blessings,
Renee