Synthroid & sex

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My penis and I seemed to have fallen out of our usual good fellowship a couple of weeks ago. Not that either of us was regarding the other with wintry disdain. The poor thing just laid there limp link a wino passed out in an alley and I looked on like a concerned nun.

You may understand that I felt a little disheartened. The jolly fat fellow may have gotten me into no end of trouble when I was young but I've always been appreciative of his ability to enliven an evening. (Or when I was a teen add intermittent luster to an entire day.)

The notion that I might become someone who needs Viagra was a mite frightening. I've always felt a cock is best employed on the spur of the moment. Not when you are watching the clock waiting for activation and then needing to get everything in motion before some deadline.

Then it hit me that in a dispirited moment I'd forgotten to have get my synthroid prescription refilled. While in the midst of trying to repair a romance that was just stupid. I called my doctor's office and went to Eckerd's. 175 mcg on an empty stomach for a few days and my phallus and I had reestablished our slaphappy relationship.

I have no idea when my thyroid started underproducing. Some years back in the hospital for the first time since a kid I discovered it had and that changed my life. My thyroid's failure may have shaped much of my life.

It may have cost me the best lover I ever had. And after she was gone I spent years without thoughts of sex and romance. Not that I didn't periodically manipulate myself to orgasm some nights. But it didn't carry over into the day. I had no urge to meet anybody, to have sex with anything more than the images I could summon in the dark.

When my newly found physician told me I needed to take the little pills I complied. And my sexuality reawaked from a long, long sleep.

Not that I missed the sex I wasn't having. My hobbies consumed me. I had a good time. You can only wonder what culture and technology have been created by men and women whose needs were wholly met by their work.

When my sexuality slapped me back awake I did feel like I'd missed out. It wasn't that sex is better with another body than with just a hand. Partly it was a regret at lost variety: while you can imagine anything some things, very kinky things, aren't as powerfully felt in the mind as in the flesh.

More sorely missed as all the experiences I would've had with people in a more general sense. I'm not social at all. Sexual hunger has always made me more likely to have dealings with others. In forgoing those others I'd missed not just joy but pain, confusion and an incalculable range of experiences that would've made my days more interesting.

When I rediscovered my sexual self I discovered potentialities my younger self didn't know was in him. And I do regret having missed some of my chances at living them.


Ah, how much larger is sex than simple orgasm? You sound like an unintentional case study of the central role of the sex drive, showing that sex is far more than who we fuck.

I was always more social when I was wanting to find people to have sex with. It wasn’t that clear-cut but I caught the pattern years later. I don’t regret my antisocial nature - that’d be tantamount to regretting my life. But I figure I missed many interesting experiences in my thirties.

I’d really meant to note more clearly in that entry the severe lesson of how much a product of our biology we are regardless of our intelligence and creativity.

I’ve just discovered your various blogs and am enjoying them all immensely . First blog post I have ever read in which a man discusses his penis so eloquently.

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