For a gay man, or any man, that's such an existential question. Though for us as gay men, sex is intricately intertwined with our identity. At least for most of us.
Who would I be if I couldn't have sex anymore? I was faced with all those questions and many more, two years ago, so I started documenting my thoughts and experience, so I could share it with other gay men who'd been through a similar experience or facing it now. And to potentially get wisdom from those who'd come to terms with it and created new lives, despite the impact to their bodies and sex lives.
Sex seems to be such a huge part of gay culture. Gay men seem to be measured by the size of their cocks, the size of their loads, their number of loads in a night, etc. etc. All measures of quantity. And not enough on quality.
It's been comforting and inspiring hearing from men who've had similar experiences, especially those who've never talked about it before. I’m honored to have been the first they opened up to about their experience, but sorry they never felt they could have before seeing my post. I know it feels good to finally express the emotions brought about by this kind of isolating experience. It did for me, and that's why I'm continuing to do it, because I know it takes time to process and heal the impact and unresolved feelings.
The biggest emotional challenge for me, and probably most gay men, was not knowing if I'd be able to perform sexually post-radiation. You have to go through a limbo-like phase wondering how you’ll end up. And how you’ll deal with whatever that happens to be. It made me wonder who I'd be as a gay man if I couldn't perform sexually. Especially since that's such a big part of gay life, and of being a man. It also made me think about who I was as a human, because I knew I was much more than just a man who could be counted on for sex. If you're struggling with this, let's talk.
Unfortunately, we're measured by our perceived, or actual, sexual prowess, performance, popularity, and penis. Then when we lose any of those things, which is inevitable, we suddenly don't know who we are, what to do with our lives, or where to turn for answers.
I'm still dealing with the emotional aftermath of cancer at times. I think it's a journey that never really ends. I continue to learn more about how this experience can impact gay men, but also continue to feel better about myself and who I am as a whole person. Not just a gay man with a working penis, because at times it still doesn't work.
If you've been through this, are going through it, or know someone who is, I hope this gives you something to hold on to. And if you're lucky enough to still be healthy, well... get your prostate checked, bitch!
This book isn't just my story, it's an invitation to a conversation long overdue in our community. It's about breaking the silence around prostate cancer among gay men, reclaiming our sense of worth beyond sexual performance, and discovering that even in our most vulnerable moments, we are never truly alone.
Join me on this journey as we learn to connect beyond the penis!
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