Content note: mention of my scrotum, accidentally getting minor cuts and sex
I shave my scrotum both because it increases erotic sensitivity (vs when stimulation is dulled by a layer of fur) and because it’s the courteous thing to do for whomever I may be tea bagging. No one should have to floss while getting me off.
I shave my ball with a scrotal implant carefully but confidently. It’s a single, fairly smooth surface, if spherical.
I’m consistently nervous shaving my ball with the penile implant pump. It’s multipart (the bulb squeezed to inflate, the rectangle to deflate, the tube that connects it to the reservoir), it’s rippled, and an awkward shape.
Most of the time I don’t nick myself, but I also routinely fail to get all the fur. I tried Nair and it doesn’t work well, otherwise it would be a good alternative. None of the times I’ve nicked myself have been significant, nothing long and/or deep. It stops bleeding quickly, it’s never led to an infection and rationally, I shouldn’t be as nervous as I am. But I can’t shake the worry that if I get a worse cut one day, it would expose the implant and then I’d have to get it removed. For whatever reason, I’m not worried of the equivalent with my other ball, though it’s got the same amount of skin covering it. It would be less invasive if I had to get my scrotal implant removed/replaced, but that aside, I’m simply not worried about it.
I’m grateful the awareness of why I have a penile implant, and my fear of damaging it, however probably exaggerated, doesn’t induce dysphoria.
On a related note, as I’ve been dating someone geographically nearby and with whom I share great chemistry, I haven’t had to cycle outside of our sex life. I haven’t deleted the reminder on my phone, though I’ve been tempted. I justify it on account that we always manage to see each other frequently enough to meet the cycle schedule required. But some part of me worries it would kick me in the gut to have to put it back in if we were to spend more time apart, if we don’t have sex as much or break up. That something that hasn’t caused me any dysphoria or resentment in the years since I’ve had to start doing it might suddenly become a chore similar to my hormone shots. I frame the check of it as “done” when the reminder comes up as a reason to grin about the current state of my sex life, but it’s weirdly become a moment of self-awareness in a way it wasn’t before. I’m trying not to over-analyse, but it’s there on my radar.