Reading about Dr. Wang's study gentled her. So did 1, in a nonsexual way. But that night, after applying the patches, we made love. I was careful not to get too gymnastic, not wanting to perpetrate any misconceptions. But a wonderful fire burned, even so. I felt 50 again. Ten years down, 25 to go.
DAY FIVE
The directions recommend applying the patch at night, when testosterone production begins to rise in healthy men. I was actually starting to enjoy the nightly ritual, which became both simpler and more complex, like all meaningful rites.
It was simpler because I now opened the patches with no difficulty. Practice, I assumed. Then I read that Joseph Brandt, M.D., a psychiatrist at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, believes that extra testosterone increases men's ability to work with three-dimensional objects. No wonder my dexterity was improving. Next thing you know, I'd be able to thread a needle and sew on some of the buttons popped by my potbelly--which, incidentally, was beginning to flatten.
The application ritual's complexity is spatial as well, but in another sense. The patch's diameter is 21/2 inches, so the daily dose of two covers 5 inches. The idea is to stick the patches onto new hairless areas each night to avoid irritation and assure maximum absorption. But if, like me, you wear dark T-shirts, when the patches are removed, the residual adhesive creates neat rings of lint. The rings can be scrubbed off, but I don't do it since they mark used turf. Trouble is, I'm running out of virgin territory at the moment. I suppose there's always my forehead.
By the way, it doesn't bother me, or Laura, that all the lint circles on my upper torso make me look like a tattooed Maori tribesman. Kind of exciting for both of us, in fact. A lot like sexual ornamentation, come to think of it.
DAY SEVEN
Erections are now a regular phenomenon, sometimes not prompted by any cues whatsoever. Better watch it. My doctor warned me that in rare instances excessive testosterone can lead to priapism, a state of constant erection. Don't want to get into that awkward territory, do we now?
All other signs are positive, though. I feel better, look better, and I'm making lots of eye contact with attractive women around town. Indeed, sometimes I walk to the store or library just for such positive feedback. Meanwhile, Laura and I are a far happier couple. I figure I've taken 15 years off my age by now and can touch my toes again. In fact I can touch a lot of other things, including Laura, more often and tenderly. She even likes it when I swagger a bit.
DAY 14
Our sex life has returned to normal and occasionally approaches monumental. An element of passion, in fact, has returned not only in the sack but elsewhere in my life. For example, I managed to get a full refund on an unopened, outdated but unconscionably mold-infested container of sour cream at a local grocer. The manager resisted, fought tooth and nail. But I stood my ground, cleverly making our dispute more public, and in the end received a $2.99 credit, which I applied to a couple of stalks of celery.
But that was minor compared to something that's taken hold over the last two weeks. Here's what it boils down to. I don't think like God, behave like Him, or know what He knows. But these days I sure sound like Him. My voice is deeper, more resonant and authoritative. Even at my most humble--say, when I'm apologizing to Laura for not putting my underwear in the hamper--thunderous words boom down as though the heavens have opened. Maybe I should get work doing voice-overs.
DAY 30
No, I'm not God. But I'm certainly a new man. The month-long test drive I'd planned may have come to an end, but I intend to continue my affair with the patch for the foreseeable future. In fact, I'm already fantasizing about the far-off day when we'll be able to buy what I think of as the Dick Tracy patch--a high-tech version loaded with an array of hormones and medications, all under the control of a monitoring system that will read what you need and release it into your bloodstream accordingly.
As for now, I feel younger not only physically but mentally as well. I can attest to this because of the unexpected return of one of my old fantasies. Until about 10 years ago, each spring I'd have a yen to take a bus to Florida with my catcher's mitt and try out for a position with the Detroit Tigers. Thanks to the testosterone patch, I'm oiling my glove again, getting it properly supple. I know it's a wistful thought, a complete impossibility. Even so, I've started checking out the bus schedules. The sirens of spring are singing their alluring messages to me once again, and I hear them--or something in me does.
TALKING TESTOSTERONE
Testosterone is, perhaps, the key ingredient for manhood: the beef in the stew, the chicken in the soup. The dish requires additional seasonings and directions for it to turn out properly, to be sure. But without enough of the hormone, you don't get anything like the proper libidinous brew.
Testosterone is an undergone--literally, a "male maker." It's responsible for changing prototypical girls into boys early in fetal development: We all begin life as females, but the presence of a Y-chromosome tells testosterone to kick in around the seventh week and masculinize half of us., Later, at puberty, the hormone presides over a second transformation: the emergence of facial and body hair, muscle growth, libido, a deepening voice, and sperm production.
Tags:
aging,
bloodstream,
body sheen,
euphoria,
going with the flow,
grunts,
inertia,
libido,
male,
muscle mass,
old black magic,
patch,
platonic relationships,
potion,
prowess,
reflexes,
second wife,
sheer desire,
speed endurance,
testosterone,
testosterone patch
