My name is Drew and I have PMS

Afternoon, folks.  Time for a quick entry while I wait on my laundry to dry so I can pack for the week.  Anyway, today was a day of discovery with an unexpected blood test, a realization, and a delicious quote from Thumper.

So, about four years ago around my 40th birthday, I wasn’t feeling good.  I was tired, not making any improvements at the gym, and was just unfocused.  I went to see my physician and it turns out that, due to whatever factor in my genetic pool, I had stopped producing enough testosterone to keep me at a constant level.  Normal for someone my size and age would be in the 700-900 range (give or take) and I was at 133.  At that point, I started taking weekly injections and before long it was like I was 17 again.  Aside from acne at 40 and the irritation of having to get the shots and prove them needed to Aetna, it’s been a great ride that has helped me lift more, be more active, and have what has been described by several people and one rabbit as “awesome, frequent erections”. I’d also like to point out I did this prior to it becoming so trendy now.

All that to say, one of the side effects is that men taking artificial hormones kickstart other places in their body and they can start to produce more estrogen than is needed. While this is usually monitored every two to three months, with my travel and the fact that I already have to be very creative to get my shot within clinic hours or sometimes around them, I have not had mine checked for eight months – shame on me and my clinic.

So, this week, I have just not felt right and, as we have discussed, wasn’t sleeping.  I have also been an emotional wreck. I have been  irritable, moody, hot, cold, sweaty, and sentimental to a point of scaring even my sappiest of friends.  I honestly thought it was all the repressed emotion I have discovered the last few weeks with this new journey, but popped in the clinic yesterday to get some blood work done and today went by to have them say, “sweetie, you have a huge case of PMS”.

You see, on whatever scale they use, I should be at a 20 something and today I was at 91.  So, women friends, now more than ever, I feel your pain.  I got a new pill and a shot that should reverse this very quickly, but, wow, now I FINALLY understand all those sitcom jokes.

Finally, the best quote to come out of this came today from our friend the rabbit who, upon hearing my news said, “Fuck, wow, well, Sir, to be honest, you have been a bit needy this week, even from my point of view”.

The First Orgasm Post Submission Agreement

So, this morning about 3:53 I felt the hand on me from across the bed.  THE hand.  You know, the one that is not just the accidental brush in the middle of the night, or the “stop snoring you jackass”, but THE one.  THE touch you just feel deep in your core that it’s going to lead to something probably pretty good with a side of sticky.

However, this time was different for me.  While, don’t get me wrong, my nether regions did not want to say no even though it was also the first night I had really had good sleep in weeks, but suddenly my mind went into the “fuck, if we fuck and I finish am I still going to want this or am I going to want to run down the stairs and go hide in my warm office” kind of thought.  We have discussed this before either here or in one of Thumper’s blogs or comments that I have always had a slight need to run away from the person or, especially the activity, if it involved kink of some capacity.  I know this is not uncommon and have never thought about it until a few weeks ago. That side of me is generally a “that was nice but let’s pack up the gear and this kinky mindset and not discuss it again for a bit and, oh, what about Mexican for dinner?” kind of thing.

So, all that to say, I worried that I would feel that way again after the “deed”, but me being me and nasty thoughts being what they are, I decided I would just deal with it later and enjoy the moment.

And, oh, did I enjoy the moment.  Frankly, it wasn’t a porn style fuck fest and it wasn’t just a moment, it was mostly about 60 minutes of a deep, 220 pounds of muscle on top 180 pounds of muscle tight, heavy, intense cuddle, some touching here and there, a mouth here and there, and then, the moment times two.  At that point I was slightly terrified that my vanilla mind would wage battle and I would run downstairs naked erasing the chalkboard in a mild panic that pretending it never existed.

However, you know what, I rolled over and went to sleep.  One of those 5am deep sleeps with non-conflicting dreams of what I plan to do for the husband and to the boy.  It was a lovely nap leading to a lovely feeling of true switch success.