My Gay Shame
Published in Time Out magazine, July 2008

I was on holiday in San Francisco and took a trip to the sex shop, Good Vibrations. Due to my transgender affiliations I was keen to check out the packing dildos - the flaccid ones that pre-op FTM trannies wear to put a bulge in their pants. The thing is, I'm a little squeamish about the male anatomy and packing dildos are horribly realistic.

I had picked one up and was lost in a world of my own, wiggling the limp member up and down with my thumb and forefinger, while poking and squeezing with an air of distaste at the clammy, wrinkled and life-life texture of the ball sack.

At this point a sales assistant appeared at my shoulder to see if I had any questions. I'm ashamed to say I instantly DROPPED IT BACK ONTO THE TABLE with the embarrassed air of a child caught doing something naughty. "Oh erm, no, no thank you, I'm just looking", I stammered while breaking into a nervous sweat.

I couldn't go back to it then so for all I know it's still lying there, awkward and exposed, swaying from side to side from the impact and possibly a little bruised. I almost feel sorry for it.

I've decided I'm probably happier with a cock made from cotton wool and a pop sock at one of our VauxhallVille Penis Puppet stalls. I've never been a big fan of reality.