I’ve always been fit. Football in high school and competitive lifting in college. My wife has known me through all of this. We married our last year of college after dating since high school.

I recently noticed a trailing off in my physical ability. Didn’t matter if I increased hours or intensity; I just seemed to have hit the ceiling.

One of the other guys at my gym walked up after a particularly frustrating workout offering a solution. Roids. Of course, I turned him down. I didn’t even take workout supplements. He explained that it’s normal to use steroids. Only in America is it such a hot topic. You cycle on and off, and there won’t be issues. He was right; people take them under strict oversight with constant blood work. Of which I had neither when I started taking them. I didn’t even consider my drop-off was just due to low testosterone.

I, of course, didn’t tell my wife at first because I knew she would disapprove. It wasn’t until she commented during sex that my balls felt different as she was sucking my duck. I hadn’t thought about it or noticed since the ballpark hadn’t changed, but she was right. I came clean and explained I was at the end of a cycle, so that was all expected. It would rebound. She was pissed but let it go with a wave.

The following change was more startling. While trying to have set during my third cycle, we noticed one, I wasn’t getting as hard, two, my balls had not rebounded and had continued to shrink from eggs to closer to ping pong balls now, and my once fair five-inch erection was now not even four (3.75 to be exact) when she measured. We wrote off the change in length to me not being fully hard but agreed I needed a Doctor, stat.

I was embarrassed, but thankfully she had an old friend from high school who was a doctor, so she made me an appointment. I showed up, explained my old baselines to my wife to verify, and let him run some tests. He said I was low on testosterone which likely caused the decline I saw. He rubbed salt in the wound by saying that it could have been fixed with HCG or t shots if I had just seen a Dr. He said the steroids while helping my workout were making the situation worse as my body now didn’t think it needed to make any testosterone of its own. He planned to wean off the roids and onto testosterone shots to try to recoup. It would take the better part of six months to wean off. My wife then asked what I was wondering, “Will the sexual performance side continue to decline until he’s off?”

The doctor replied, “His erections will continue to get weaker. That will continue until we have a few months of testosterone. I’d prescribe viagra usually to get by, but with him on steroids, that’s already hard on his heart. The damage to his testicle size will continue for about another month, and then that’s what size they will always be. I would encourage you both to be open to other ways of satisfying each other for at least the next year.”

We left, and I was shaking. About a month into weaning off and I couldn’t take it anymore. My balls were tiny. I barely got any erections, causing my flaccid length to change. What was once a two to three inches soft now turtled in at one inch, and no, I’m not being dramatic, I measured. So I did what any logical person would: quit the roids cold turkey and didn’t tell anyone.

Within a few weeks of my latest dumb decision I learned why I needed to wean off. While showering one day, I noticed my nipples were rather tender. I didn’t think much of it until my wife commented that evening. She said, “Babe, I think you need a follow-up.” I asked why and she said, “Um, those are breasts starting to develop.”

So I made a follow-up. The doctor confirmed they sure were. I came clean about my decision, and my wife was pissed. I said, “So, let’s start the testosterone now.”

The doctor said, “I’m afraid we can’t. You shocked your body with the sudden stop. It still thinks it doesn’t need to make its testosterone and now also seems to be producing higher estrogen levels because of the sudden change. We will have to give your body at least six months to level out, or we could cause damage to your adrenal system.”

“So I just grow breasts for the next six months?”

He replied, “Yes, and you will see other changes, slightly higher voice, facial hair loss, body hair thinning, etc.”

My wife laughed at this point and said, “So his balls are nonexistent. His once five-inch dick is now a one-inch softy. He’s growing breasts, and now he’s gonna lose his body hair and voice change. Am I basically married to a woman for the next year? Let’s go, sweety.” She’s never called me that.

Life trucked on. Our set life had changed. I now went down on my wife, usually followed by using her favorite vibrator or strap-on to finish her. It doesn’t get much more emasculated than wearing a strap-on, especially when I can wear it directly over my dick because it’s so tiny and doesn’t get hard. When it’s my turn, my wife usually plays with my nipples and rubs my ‘nubbin’ like a girl’s clothes until I shoot a minimal, clear load onto her hands.

The next day while getting ready for work, my wife says, “I’m not trying to hurt you, but we’re officially at the point we’re gonna have to do something about those. The wrap isn’t doing much.”

So I bought those workout shirts male athletes wear. Of course, to my horror, it would not fit. I broke down and cried right there in front of my wife. She comforted me and said, “I have a solution. We will need to buy you training bras, but you must go, or we’ll keep having this problem.”

I knew she was right.

The following day I got around to going bra shopping. My wife stopped me and said, “So I’m down, either way, know that. Do you want to go bra shopping as a guy? Keep in mind we will need to have you fitted by a professional. Or do you want to go as my girlfriend, so you don’t have to explain the past six months to some 20-year-old college girl?”

I started to cry again and screamed, “This sucks! Argh, you’re right. I don’t want to explain this, but how am I supposed to go as a girl?”

She replied, “I’ll do your makeup and hair, maybe paint your nails, and with the physical changes, you look about the same size as me.”

So my wife applied makeup, straightened my hair, and painted my nails. To my horror, she gave me some boyfriend-cut jeans (she said she couldn’t help the irony), a graphic tee, and a pair of her panties. Before I could object, she explained that my boxers would not fit inside the jeans and would likely show through.

When we got to the store (Victoria’s Secret, of course, because ‘they do the best fitting’), she asked an associate to help with a bra fitting, explaining I was her best friend but a late bloomer, so I’d never needed a bra until now. The college girl working there acted like that made complete sense and took me to the changing room to measure with my wife accompanying me. She said I was a 36, a close to B-cup. My wife, playing the bestie role, said, “See, you’re only one cup size away from my C’s. You’ll be there in no time.”

Despite saying I only wanted training bras, the girl returned some options (pushup, demi cup, ‘day bras’). She also brought matching undies as it was Victoria’s Secret. I tried the training bra, told my wife it fit, and asked her if we could get a couple of those and leave. She said, “Absolutely not. This girl went through the effort to get there, she works off commission, and you’re not gonna chicken out just because you’ve never worn one, bestie, or I’ll send her back out after lingerie, won’t we,” looking at the associate.

They were officially teamed up against me. She told me to slip on the next bra and panty set they had recommended for daily wear.

“We will start with just you and me, so you can get comfortable before you model the others for both of us.”

She shut the door and said, “Strip, bestie.”

I took off the training bra and pants and had her help me put on the daily bra. It was a soft cotton bra that shaped my breasts. I whispered, “How am I supposed to model undies?” pointing at my dick.

She snorted. She laughed so hard. She said, “Just slip them on, and we’ll go from there.”

As I was slipping on the matching panties, she was typing away and giggling.

I asked, “Who are you talking to?”

She said, “Just giving Dr. Harris an update.”

I freaked out. “What? Why? What are you saying?”

She said, “Calm down. He just needed to know how you were progressing, so I shot him a quick picture.”

“A pic of what?” I exclaimed.

“Your new outfit from earlier and the pic I just took, he’s your Doctor. It’s not inappropriate at all. He even had a solution for your wardrobe issue. Hold on…” as she left.

I could hear her talking to the associate but couldn’t make out what they said. She came back in with some tape. I said, “I’m not sure I’ve got enough to tape it back anymore.”

She replied, “Drop those panties, girl, and hush. I’ve got Dr. Harris on FaceTime to ensure I do this right.”

Just when I thought this couldn’t get worse. So he walked my wife through how to tape me up. She did and pulled my new panties up and turned me and the phone toward the mirror so we all could see her work. I was floored. It looked like a girl’s mound in the panties. I immediately reached into them only to discover I’d been taped into a false vagina using my mostly empty ballsack.

My wife said, “I know you look hot, but maybe don’t do that here. Thanks, Jarrod. I mean, Dr. Harris, we got it from here.”

The doctor said, “Make sure she cleans up good when she uses the restroom or if you guys have fun later. See you at six, Sarah.”

“Why will you see him at six?”

“Oh, we’re getting dinner. To catch up. We’ve been so obsessed with you that we’d forgotten to catch up. He asked today when I called about your little problem. Now let’s slip on the pushup bra and matching lace undies to show the sales associate.”

Overwhelmed was an understatement. I got dressed, and my wife pulled back the curtain. The sales girl loved it and insisted we get this set. My wife agreed, popped the tags off, and said, “We would wear this set home. Slip on your clothes, and I’ll check us out. You can do a fashion show at home for the rest.”

 

Great, so this embarrassment will continue…

 

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