My boyfriend started "T" a couple of months ago. Let me tell you, THAT is an Adventure. When MR, my Boyfriend, finally—finally!—got approved to get his testosterone shots, I was very...alarmed to find out that I was to give the first shot. I assumed that the Dr.’s would want it done right and would at least show me how to do it; but, no-no-no, that's an entirely different appointment. MR, being so eager to begin the official chemical part of his “man-ification,” wanted it done that night.
We got the T at a place called the Apothecary. When I heard the name, I could not help but think Romeo and Juliet. You know, the place where Romeo got the poison... I was hoping that this was not a bad omen.
We procured his prescription and made our way to his friend’s house. His best friend is also Trans, and his best friend’s wife (who MR used to date) was going to show me how to administer the shots. She has been giving her hubby the shots for a while now, and it helps that she is in nursing school. So we get to her place, and I'm practically shaking; MR is practically bouncing with giddiness. We go to the bathroom and the first words out of MR's ex's mouth are: "present me with your ass." Now that was both hilarious and alarming. While the ass needs to be present, I am very territorial over this particular ass and would prefer for it to be used for my sole viewing pleasure. ‘You had your chance jerk’, I was thinking; ‘my butt!’ But, these are irrational thoughts. She has a man that she is very much in love with, and I know she harbors no lingering feelings for my boy. So, I try to be rational and learn.
(Let me side note and say that the "my" in front of boy in the last sentence implies that I have ownership of some sort over MR. This is clearly not the case. Saying MY boyfriend, or MY man, just gives me a lovely blanket of false security. I enjoy it. Don't take it away from me.)
So, MR drops trow. About an inch and a half above the ass crack, to the side in the squishy bit, almost to the hip bone, is where you give the injection. There were a lot of technical elements that were covered, but, honestly, it would bore you to talk about how you draw a shot; make sure the bubbles are gone; what to do so you don't kill the shotee...
There I was, on my knees on the cold tile floor of a strange bathroom, (MR's friend/ex had left, because this was an "intimate moment"), trying not to stress. MR is saying, "C’mon, do it!" and I'm having a fairy book moment in my head, being all sentimental. I envision standing up, turning my boyfriend around, and kissing him passionately; saying "I love you" and hearing it back. I think, 'this is the moment that will forever bond us. I'm here for the first big step; I'm administering the first shot that will help you become the man I know you are.' As mushy as it is, that's the way I see it. The love I felt for him at that moment would literally be embodied in his new form. But, none of this translates beyond my mind. The best I can do is whine "give me a kiss jerk, I need to calm down." A peck later and I'm back on my knees, staring down the most intimidating ass I've ever seen in my life, and I remember what my instructor said, "it’s like throwing a dart." Darts I understand.
I plunge the syringe in, pushing the thick, oily testosterone into my boyfriend. I could not believe I did it! MR was not howling in pain, and I had never been more proud of myself. I bandaged the tiny hole to absorb the little dot of blood that oozed out and kissed the band-aid. Honestly, I think it was more of a mile stone for me than it was for him.
Afterwards we ate leftover BBQ. Not very climactic, but isn’t that life?
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