I’m currently growing my own penis.

Just in case you were wondering.

Which I know you were because all people think about when they hear the word ‘transgender’ is their genitals.

I’m not judging you, it’s fascinating, if somewhat inappropriate to ask strangers what’s between their legs.

Growing it myself is never going to be enough though, great as the testosterone is in that area at producing what can only be described as micro-penis from what used to be a clitoris.

From a tiny seed do might oaks grow.

Well, maybe ‘mighty oak’ is taking it a bit too far, but I’m supposed to exaggerate, right?

Call it personal preference, but I want something that swings between my legs.

Something I can whip out and pee with when I want to go.

I want to know that when I’m out with a woman and she slides her hand up my thigh there will be something for her to feel, something I can feel, something ‘substantial’.

Sometimes people ask me ‘when’s the op?’ as if all of this can be sorted out with one quick procedure.

If only.

I’ve just completed ‘top surgery’ – a double incision mastectomy with nipple grafts and chest contouring to give me a masculine chest.

The lower surgery will take at least a year, including all the operations and post-op recovery.

I will need a lifetime of hormone replacement therapy – one massive needle in my arse every three months.

I’ll also get an oestrogen blocker, again another massive needle but this time into my stomach, then a full hysterectomy and a salpingo-oophorectomy – the removal of ovaries and fallopian tubes.

Then, fanfare please, there’s the construction of the penis (phalloplasty).

They’ll flay my forearm to make it and use a skin graft to repair my arm so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the evening with Hannibal Lecter.

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