Short non fiction stories from my life
memoir
I sit in the waiting room, calm, relaxing music playing over the speakers. Next to me are racks of various creams that promise to do all sorts of things to my skin. “Helen won’t be long,” a passing beautician tells me, “She’s just finishing up with another client.
memoir
After years of slowly destroying them with estrogen and testosterone blockers, I have finally made the decision: my testicles have to go. It’s nothing personal; just they continue in their persistent attempts to try and flood my bloodstream with horrible, horrible androgens. The surgery is booked in, and in