Please Don’t Touch My Fake Plastic Balls

Relationships may be built on honesty, but I don’t want to discuss my (two) little secrets.

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This essay is written by a verified author using the pseudonym JM Garcia.

Photo by LARAM on Unsplash

When a family doctor on a routine visit tells you you have cancer, on the spot, before sending you to a specialist or even before further tests, it's pretty scary. When he tells you you will lose your testicle it's very scary. When the subsequent specialist tells you you will lose both testicles, well, it just gets worse.

When you tell a gay man that he must remove a vital portion of his sexual organs, and he's unsure of what possible sexual function it may have post surgery, it's downright terrifying. 

The funny thing is, you even feel bad for worrying about it, since you think the first concern would just be surviving surgery, cancer, possible chemo or radiation, and complications… But really, prosthesis?  What will they look like? Feel like? Wait, what do you mean I won't have children and there will be no sperm in my semen? And what do you mean I will be on testosterone for the rest of my life?

See, I don't have the balls to even use my real name for this essay. Literally. They are gone. Both of them. 

“But Lance Armstrong won seven Tour de Frances after testicular cancer,” everyone felt the need to tell me.  (And don't even get me started on that sorry subject, since we know how that ended.) Anyway, Lance had only one removed; he has a fully functioning one remaining. They took both of mine, and there's a world of difference between losing two versus one. Trust me on this.

So after being sent to too many tests that I lost count, and meeting various specialists, a veteran oncologist told me how troubled he was by the results. I learned that testicular cancer almost never occurs in both simultaneously.  (I couldn't believe I was disturbing a man who had dealt with this disease his whole career!)

Once it was confirmed that cancer was indeed in both testicles, they determined both would have to be taken away. I was in my forties and used to having some semblance of control over the decisions in my life by this point. Now, I neither had a choice in the matter nor much time to absorb this fact. Plus, they explained that I'd need testosterone supplements for the rest of my life. 

But what all the myriad doctors and specialists never did explain to me was how this would affect my life as a gay man. No one could tell me that; I'd have to figure that on my own.

And this is the story I want to share with you. It's so insanely personal and private, I hope you can understand the pseudonym. Especially because by having a symbol of my manhood taken from me, I’m still grappling with how to date, hookup and have others value me as more than a less-than gay man.

First, some more gory details (since that’s always what people really want to know). I had no idea testicles are usually removed, not through the ball sac, but rather above the pubic bone, just above where most guy’s pubic hair ends. So I now have two distinct purple scars in that erogenous zone below my belly button and above my pubic line. The keloid ridges are obvious, and something I prefer neither to explain to strangers ogling me at the gym nor to potential sexual partners once our pants are down. 

And what about the replacements? I opted for having prosthetics, so the doctor implanted two. Hard and rubbery and overly smooth, they’re not real-feeling at all, and yes, they were smaller than the ones I had (if that matters).  But that's not the worst part. It’s common, apparently, for prosthetic testicles to settle in unnatural positions. Why?  Don't ask me, I still don't know why. But it’s very common. So with two, I had double the chances. And what do you know, one settled nicely, and the other one, well not so much. Sort of halfway up the ball sac instead of at the bottom, and it protrudes slightly forward. It's weird. Trust me on this; I'm not being paranoid, or sensitive: They are fucking weird. And please don't tell me that all men's balls hang at slightly different levels. I know that  I'm a little obsessed with balls now. I study them. Slightly different levels are normal.  My fake ones are not.  

So, with the odd positioning, combined with the scars, and the fact that they feel unnatural and now look unnatural, perhaps you can understand my reluctance to have people near them. Talk about intimacy issues.

I know I should “own” them. A gay cancer support group I attended urged me to “own them,” and I do. Sort of. I just like to keep them hidden when it comes to sexual matters. 

So, here's where it gets tricky. Like many transgender men I’ve talked to who are faced with a question surrounding their equipment, my big dilemma is about disclosure. What do I tell a prospective date? When is the right time? Turns out the answer, as I've come to understand it for me, at least for now, is never. So how do I have a sex life without someone seeing my scars and without touching my (fake) nuts? Let's just say I have to be very creative. 

Imagine, if you can, what it's like for me. It's so awkward to explain to a potential trick on Grindr: “Hey, yeah, my place is good, I can host. Def versatile; uncut? yes; and oh, by the way, you might see/feel something down there that's a little off, but don't worry, it was just a bit of cancer treatment. And no, cancer isn't contagious. No I do have balls; they just aren't real. My nuts are fake. And I don’t want you to touch.”

Well, you can see how quickly the mood might be ruined before it gets started. Prosthesis and cancer are not sexy, mood-enhancing words. So I've tried to keep quiet on the whole subject and just try to conceal the evidence.  

How? Well I've worked out two ways—neither is perfect yet, but I'm trying. A lot.  With varying degrees of success. It’s important because sex now means the world to me. Honestly, every time I have any sexual encounter post cancer/post surgery (double orchiectomy for those wanting to learn a cool new term), it's a huge event for me. It's such a wonderful mood boost, kind of like a high even. 

First off, I should tell you, that yes, I can still get erect (though seemingly with more difficulty because, believe me, this is stressing me out. You try getting an erection with all this on your mind!) And yes, I can still ejaculate. There is no sperm, but there is still semen, thus the whole thing has a slightly different texture/color and seems slightly less voluminous than before.

Anyway, back to the two ways I've devised:

1.  Wear a jockstrap.  A) it covers the scars perfectly.  B) the waistband cups/hides the fake balls quite nicely.  C) It still provide full access to your ass, so that means bottoming is easier than topping, but hey I was versatile supposedly before all this. I can still top, receive oral sex if need be with a jockstrap on (believe it or not). I just pull the dick out, keep the balls in, and hope no one complains. It’s tricky, but I can stay mostly comfortable and in the moment—as long as the jockstrap stays on.

2.  Have oral sex in more public spaces. This is so I can keep most clothes on or, in the case of a gym or bathhouse, keep a towel on. Let me tell you that, while this is perhaps less satisfying, it's just a lot easier than Option 1.

This is exclusively oral, and mostly giving. I stay comfortably covered up and can have all sorts of fun. I may not get off right there and then, but usually they do. I thoroughly enjoy it, plus I've safely hidden what I don't want people to see or touch—so everybody wins! 

Since surgery, I've done this more often than I care to admit (even anonymously), but hey, I feel like you have to do what works, and this just works for me. (And apparently for the guys too, since they seem to enjoy it, and I haven’t received any complaints so far.) 

Did I mention one very important fact? I'm just going to be blunt. The testosterone replacement therapy I'm on makes me hornier than I ever was pre-surgery. Noticeably. I'm no scientist or endocrinologist (look it up if you have to). I don't know why, I just can tell you that it's a big difference from how I was before surgery. It's strange to think that the same person can be so different, but I think about sex and guys all the time. I’m middle-aged but as horny as a teenager. I want it. A lot. I used to think, once you have a sexual encounter, that was great. Pack up and go home. Done for the day (or maybe even a few days.)

Now? Just because I had fun in the afternoon doesn't mean I'm done for the day. I was always amazed by guys that came once and were up for more in no time.  Now I'm not so surprised. In fact, very little surprises me any more. I was always so puzzled by people that didn't want regular sex. It  amazed me to hear about guys that don't like getting blow jobs; guys that have to be taller than the other person; guys that have to cum last; guys that can't cum; guys that can't be rimmed, etc. It always made me think internally, Are you kidding me? You don't like blow jobs? That's not normal! But now, after what I've been through, I'm starting to realize, and hopefully understand and appreciate something: “Normal” or not, that's who they are sexually right now. It's not my world (I still love a blowjob by the way!),  but it's theirs, and I may not know the reasons why you don't like receiving head, but whatever they are, they are valid for them. 

On the one hand, I totally get that gay men can be turned off by even the slightest thing: a dirty fingernail, strange odor, man boobs, acne, nose hair, you name it.  I'm not saying that's not valid.  Since the cancer, however, I do want to say this: We're all sexual creatures and want our needs met. As part of that process, we also have a need to be wanted and desired despite our own imperfections and things we wish were different about our bodies. So, while I think I can handle it if my fake balls and talk of cancer spoils the mood, I'm a realist. I'll live. I mean, they yanked the cancer and my balls right out of my body, and I survived. One gay guy rejecting me isn't going to kill me.  

That’s why I now try to be a bit more understanding of little quirks and sexual habits of others, whether I can understand them or not. ‘Cause OMG, do I have my own peculiar issues now! 

It’s now very hard (pun probably intended) to explain to tricks, casual encounters or (worse) a potential date without ruining the mood. So mostly I say nothing, and I just try everything I can to avoid the subject. Avoid hands near the balls, mouth near the balls, avoid sex in the day time or normal light where you can see the scars, avoid taking off underwear during sex. All of the things that make sex fun and easy and “normal.” One of the nicest men I was lucky enough to meet was so sweet when I wouldn't take my underwear off. He kept thinking I was too shy. Perhaps shy was the right word, but I know he had no idea just why I was so reluctant. He wasn’t mean. He didn’t insist. He was patient and understanding. Who could ask for anything more?

It comes back to respect. You for me and my quirks, me for you and yours. So while this whole cancer experience was terrifying and frightening on so many levels,  I think with a little respect and a little more time and some good support (ha ha, the puns never end with this topic)  I'm gonna make it after all!

I think if I ever become involved in a legitimate romantic/sexual ongoing relationship, I'd be happy to explain everything up front when the time is right. But for now, you may meet me, suck my dick, but I'll push your hand away if you try to touch my balls. I may not explain it, but please understand that I’m not being rude. I can't go there right now, and I literally don't want you to go there. But it's OK: We can do almost everything else. I'll work extra hard to make sure you have a good time and get you off. I have better uses for my mouth than yapping about cancer and fake plastic balls and strange scars at this very moment. Really, I'm getting quite good at it. References available. Just please don't squeeze the prosthesis.

Each week, The Queer Love Project publishes an original essay. Want to submit your essay and add to our growing archive? Find our submission guidelines and more here.