I’ll start by clearing the air in case you’ve not read my profile: My name is Rachael and I have a pair of bollocks (for the moment) as I’m a Trans, or to be more precise, Intersex female. I was born with both sets and the bollocks have dictated my life so far.

I was brought up a boy. The problem was that I was never mentally a boy. People assumed that bollocks equals boy, the other bits were inside and not an issue.

Bollocks. God, I hate them.

I hated them as a kid. They reminded me of everything I wasn’t but reflected everything I was expected to be. A man. So, to avoid any issues I listened to the bollocks and tried my best. I tried so hard to be a male that at 16 I joined the UK military and did what I thought men were supposed to do. I used to don my military makeup (think black camouflaged face) and go and do my thing. It was a struggle being surrounded by all these Alpha males with their bollocks driving them as mine were frankly, an embarrassment to me.

I hated and still hate them passionately. I get out the shower and they’re there, flapping away like a redundant miner expecting to jump down a hole at the next opportunity yet there’s nothing to do. They served their purpose as I’m a Trans Lesbian in that I am attracted to women, my wife in particular, and they helped keep her happy. It wasn’t a natural act, using a set of bollocks that aren’t mine. They gave me a wonderful daughter, amazing as I am one of the 1% of the 1% of intersex people who can have kids, so I guess there is a small mercy to having had them.

I lost a lot of my female bits when on a military exercise and a sudden medical crisis left my bollocks the size of watermelons. The medics had to cut away my combat clothing to allow them to expand to a size that took blood away from my brain. Only in my case it became critical. I woke up minus my female bits that I didn’t know were in there, a few nasty scars and a load of very tender, pointless old bollocks. See, it’s true that having bollocks leaves less blood to enable the brain to think properly. The bigger the bollocks, the greater the threat.

Bollocks represent everything that’s not great about being a male. They drive behaviour, lust, and ambition in a way that’s frankly ridiculous. The idea of saying ‘Wow, he’s brave, he must have huge bollocks to do that’ just to me shows how ridiculous they are. I have a pair of bollocks, so I must show other men how big they are. Guys, look in the mirror, fuck they’re an ugly bit of flapping pointless skin as wrinkly as an old ladies’ breasts after three hours in a hot bath. Sending dick pics so show other women your bollocks is frankly just that, a load of old bollocks.

Yet I was disappointed when seeing my surgeon about my reassignment surgery when he commented that they’re not very big and building depth may be an issue. I hate the things and yet I was disappointed when told that they’re a little, small. Why was I bothered when my goal is to get rid of the damn things anyway? I guess if you have them you at least think that they’re ‘normal’ size but being Trans, on HRT and with the complications of being Intersex, what else were they going to be?

I’ve shown others over the years when trying to be a man that I had that pair of ‘bollocks’ that others admired when I taught deep and free diving, when I rode my motorbike too fast, when I joined the military and wanted to do the stupid stuff to prove that I owned a pair. You see, bollocks make for irrational behaviour. Behaviour that threaten ones very existence. I guess bollocks are a way for mother nature to manage the population growth. Give someone a pair and there’s a good chance that they’ll help reduce the population with no real effort.

I’m trying to be careful to not sound like a radical feminist when I say that bollocks are the root cause of all evil in men. You see, I get it that the bollocks are directly linked to the brain. Like a hotline between Donald Trump and Putin just before the US elections. They drive irrational, self-centred behaviour through the very need to prove that your dangly, hairy walnuts are more dangly and hairier than the next person’s walnuts. Urgh. And yet it’s obvious from our political actions that the decisions that are being made are just that, a load of bloody bollocks. The decisions are pointless, empty and no one likes the look of them. There’s a clear connection.

Now, I am awaiting my surgery date. I still have my bollocks. I know they’re temporary, I know they’ll be gone soon. I can’t wait. They’re attached to me, but I am in no way attached to them. If you need a pair drop me a message, they’ll be sat in a jar soon like two pickled onions and an old hotdog on a shelf looking as pointless as ever. If you want them, they’re yours. No payment needed.

But, be careful if you believe that having a set of bollocks is the answer to everything. They’re just a load of old bollocks after all.