I had been fucking frequently since I was 16 years old. At 20, when it all ended in agony, I was getting laid an average of once a week. According to my diary, by that time, I had scored 122 times, not bad, if I say so myself. I was eagerly anticipating another 50 years of this.

   I was home on vacation at the end of my sophomore year in college and working in construction to earn some money for luxuries during the college year, instead of having to write begging letters to my folks. I was mainly a "gofer", carrying things around the construction site.

   I had a date for that evening and was looking forward to laying 8" of pipe in Marilyn's trench. How I managed to maintain a 3.5 average in college, I'll never know. When I wasn't doing sex, I was thinking about it. I daydreamed through most of my classes with a hard-on. I'd hold a clip-board in front of it as I left the classroom.

   I was carrying a window frame and walking toward a man who was driving a piling with a sledge hammer, swinging it above his head and bringing it down with unerring accuracy onto the top of the piling. Suddenly, the head flew off the handle of the hammer and it sailed through the air toward me. If I hadn't been daydreaming about fucking Marilyn, maybe, just maybe, I might have dodged it. I didn't, though. Sixteen pounds of steel rammed into my groin, smashing everything, destroying my pride and joy.

   If you haven't experienced it (which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy) you can have no idea of the pain . Every sensory nerve in my body carried just one message to my recoiling brain:

PAIN !!!

The excruciating agony in my balls and dick was matched by the despairing anguish in my mind. Oh God, NOOOOO! I'll never fuck again. I've never heard my vocal cords, before or since,  make a sound as loud as my scream. I grabbed at the flat spot where my sex organs had bulged a fraction of a second before, puked my guts up and fell to the ground writhing. Although I can't have remained conscious for more than a minute or two, it seemed like an eternity of unendurable suffering. The pain blotted out all other sensations and the horrible realization that I was ruined for life superseded all thoughts but one: "Maybe I'll die."

   When I regained consciousness, I was actually disappointed to be alive, knowing that a sexless and joyless life lay ahead of me. I was still in pain. My thighs were badly bruised and my pelvis was cracked. I couldn't bring myself to reach down to verify the damage between my legs, but waited to be told about it. 

   One Dr. Goldsmith, a shrink and counsellor, broke the news to me. "I guess you know that you've been very badly hurt." I retorted "That's an understatement. I'm ruined." Dr. Goldsmith nodded. "They weren't able to save anything except a very short stump of your penis, about a half inch."  I sighed and said "I wish I'd died." Dr. Goldsmith's conventional and platitudinous reply was, "Now, now, sex isn't everything, you know." No, in fact, I DON'T know that," I snorted. "It's WAY ahead of everything else which is tied for second place. It's the best experience in life."

   Dr. Goldsmith pondered that for a moment and said, "I gather that you are very active sexually." "Were", I corrected. "You'd better believe it! Since I started fucking, I've gotten laid over a hundred times, so I know what I'm talking about. Now I don't even have a dick to jack off with." "Well," said Dr. Goldsmith, "There are other,albeit inferior, pleasures in life which you can still enjoy. Did you have a happy childhood ?" I nodded. "Yes, very happy, as I recall it." "Yet, sex played no part in it at all, did it ?" "BULLSHIT !" I yelled. "I was jacking off by age nine and trying to look up girls' dresses when I was ten. I'd already been beating my meat several times daily by the first time I came at age 11-&- 1/2. I got grounded for a week for trying to put my stiff little dick up under a girl's pantes when I was eleven. Don't try to tell ME sex played no part in my happy childhood."

   I was awarded $100,000 in damages by my employer's insurance, of which my health insurance subrogated over $20,000, so I netted about  $78,000, a paltry recompense for my sex life. Dad invested it for me, and it should prove to be a very comfortable nest egg in time.

   I was faced with an important question: should or should I not accept HRT. If  I didn't take testosterone, I'd lose my body hair (though I'd never become bald); unless I watched my diet VERY carefully and exercised strenuously, I'd become fat; I'd lose about half of my muscular strength and stamina; and I might grow boobs. If  I did take testosterone, I'd have to cope with a libido which I had no way of satisfying. 

   I decided to take a small maintenance dose of testosterone which makes me only mildly interested in sex but, at least, keeps me from needing a bra. I still have rare wet dreams. After all, I still have a prostate gland, so I still cum a little. Dr. Goldsmith pointed out to me that inasmuch as I have a sound prostate gland, I could still have orgasms either by sticking a vibrator up my ass or by submitting to sodomy. I nearly slugged him. That is NOT an option for me. I despise queers and am not going to indulge in unnatural pleasures.

   I haven't really adjusted to my loss. I never will. I want love, narriage, children. All that is denied to me. My life is nearly as bleak and unsatisfying as I expected it to be as I writhed on the ground at the construction site.