I had been watching his progress for weeks. I saw as his shoulders broadened, his calves thickened, and his forearms became ropey, with taut bands rippling under tight skin. I approach and look him in the eyes. Suddenly, the alienation snaps.
Hi. I’m Owen. I’ve been on T one month, and I recognize myself in the mirror.
Later, in the bathroom, I study my groin. My dick hangs down, visible even when I stand up straight. The folds of my foreskin obscure any hint of an opening. The head is only as big as a pencil eraser, but its size belies its incredible sensitivity. When I cross my legs, I risk losing touch with reality.
Hi. I’m Owen. I’ve been on T one month, and I have a cock.
I take my stroker out of its case. The soft elastomer clings to my fingers. I squeeze a blob of lube into the opening. I spread the skin around my cock aside, pushing it forward. The mouth of the stroker fits perfectly over my new growth.
Hi. I’m Owen, I’ve been on T one month, and I crave touch.