Testosterone Transfer

Frankly, the testosterone experience has been far less dramatic than I projected. My lurking in the shrubbery was quite a lot premature, and all I got out of that was a few scratches and a slight sniffle.

do have more energy now after a few days on it. And the last few nights I have had really vivid “action” dreams. Not “that” kind of action, but rather wild physical activity. E.g., in one of them I was brachiating in trees, like Tarzan but fully clothed. First we dream…

I entertained myself a couple of days ago by reading the medical literature enclosed with the testosterone gel, and to answer everyone’s first question, the application site is the torso. Actually, they’ve done a good bit of testing with this stuff. In one test, “the couples engaged in daily 15-minute sessions of vigorous skin-to-skin contact so that the female partners gained maximum exposure to the application sites.” (I get this image of the couples surrounded by white-smocked lab technicians with clipboards and stopwatches rating the vigor.) Unfortunately, all the female partners showed at least twice their baseline serum testosterone concentrations afterwards, which is not good at all. Further testing revealed that wearing a tee shirt to cover the application site would “completely prevent transfer”, which is highly recommended unless you want your wives and/or girlfriends to gradually become more masculine.

And yes, the literature does mention increased libido as one of the effects. But seriously, there are layers of irony here since I have just now reached an age at which I can comfortably view no libido as a blessing. I mean, what would I do with a libido if I developed one again? Join a gay wrestling club to get some of that “vigorous skin-to-skin contact”? Actually, I suppose I’d become very popular at the wrestling club as all the guys gradually noticed that that the longer the match went on, the somehow…strangely…better they’d feel.

No, no, this wouldn’t work at all because then there’d be the spectacle of those out of my weight class pleading, “Couldn’t we at least hold hands?”

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