A recent Jezebel post about "One Ball Wonders" like Lance Armstrong and Tom Green made me remember a story:
About two years ago, when I was working as a factchecker at Radar magazine, one of my oldest friends from back home IMed me to share some terrible news.
This brilliant, handsome 20something man had cancer, testicular cancer, and he was going to have surgery to take one of his testicles out.
In the weeks that followed, back and forth he went -- from not wanting to talk about it at all to asking me if I still thought women would still want to hook up with him if he only had half the crown jewels.
Honestly, it's difficult to find the right words to say in this situation. Of course, since he's one of my oldest friends, I wanted to be totally honest: any woman worth his time wouldn't give a shit, but some women might find only one ball, and the very fact he was a cancer survivor, off-putting. Nevertheless, I'm sure I pointed out that Lance Armstrong still seem to score with women. (In the case of Armstrong, lots of women.)
Fast forward about six months. My friend had his surgery, was happily cancer-free and traveled through life as a one ball wonder. I went over to his downtown apartment one evening after work and of course, we got to chatting about what it had been like living with cancer and now possessing half the number of nuts God gave him.
And then he mentioned that he wasn't 100% sure that it "still worked."
Of course it still works, I told him, surely reminding him again of Mack Daddy Armstrong. But my friend insisted he hadn't, uhhhhh, checked to see if his one nut "still worked" at all because he'd been so stressed out. He'd had to deal about his brush with death, money problems, finding a new apartment, and a litany of other things.
That's when I offered to help confirm to him that it "still worked."
And it did.
It was kind of beautiful to see how happy and relieved he was afterwards. Cute, really! I feel good that my spooked-buddy got to figure this out and overcome this insecurity with me, someone who cared about him and wasn't going to put too much added pressure on the situation that it might infringe upon his performance. (Lest you think I'm a super-charitable lady, let it be known I've sorta harbored a crush on the fellow for, oh, a decade.)
So, anyway, I'm writing this to tell you -- or your dude who you email this post to -- that a guy with one testicle works just as fine as a guy with the complete set. He's just as manly, just as sexually capable, and just as fun in bed.
Don't ever think for a second it could possibly be any other way. Trust me on this.
(I'm a little embarrassed to be writing about this right now, and I'm quite sure I will never, ever get voted as Representative or Senator Wakeman after this blog post, but oh, well. Just, for the love of God, no one send this to my mother.)