A Story About Listening to Your Body, Claiming Your Voice, and Redefining Masculinity

Why This Story Matters

This article is not just about me. It is about every man whose body spoke the truth long before medicine was willing to listen.

There’s a reason this story needs to be told now.

I recently saw a video — simple, clear, undeniable — about what happens to the male body when you stop using your prostate. When you stop releasing. When you ignore the flow that your body needs to maintain health.

And something in me cracked wide open.

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When the Flow Changed

You see, I didn’t stop masturbating. I didn’t stop having sex. I had a healthy, passionate relationship with my partner. That wasn’t my issue.

My issue began almost eight years ago when I noticed the flow had changed. It wasn’t fluid anymore. I used to joke, “I’m coming in powder form.” We even laughed about it. But the truth was, my semen was nearly dry. My ejaculation felt strained.

What’s strange is that the sensation itself — the force, the climax, the release — was still just as strong as ever. My body still carried me to that edge, still gave me that wave. But the fluid, the visible proof of it, was disappearing. The pleasure remained; the evidence was slipping away.

I knew — I knew — something was wrong.

My body was speaking.

Take yourself seriously. Say it again: take yourself seriously.

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Doctors Didn’t Listen

But for years, my doctors told me I looked too healthy to worry. I was well-built, fit, full of energy. I ate well. I exercised.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” they said. “Go live your life.”

But my body said something different. It said: Pay attention.

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The Turning Point

I had spent years learning to listen to my body. But I was still thrown off by the kind of so-called scientific knowledge I felt I lacked. And between COVID, my ADHD and HSP diagnoses, and an intense period of soul-searching in Suriname, I put sex and my prostate on the back burner. I thought I had more urgent matters to deal with.

It was my masseur in Suriname — a gifted man with spiritual hands — who first voiced the truth. At that time it was 2022. He looked at me and said,

“Scott, your body doesn’t like you very much. I think something is wrong.”

That statement — paired with how often I suddenly had to pee, something that had never been a problem — made me listen. By that time, my ejaculate was nearly nonexistent. I decided to return to the Netherlands. I didn’t trust the medical care in Suriname.

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Back in Rijswijk

I arrived back in Rijswijk on the first of March — my birthday.
Waiting in my suitcase was a suit made by a tailor at Ewald’s Modehuis in Paramaribo, Suriname. Oh my God… he had stitched me into something fierce.

But my body had other plans. I landed with a 40-degree fever, burning from the inside out. Still, I was in no mood to surrender. I had booked an exceptional restaurant for my birthday dinner, and there was no way in hell I was going to miss it.

I popped two strong ibuprofen, slipped into that glorious suit, and headed out with a friend. Before we even set foot in the restaurant, we shared a fat joint — so by the time we sat down, our taste buds were in overdrive.

Oh my holy f***ing Christ — the food was delicious. Every bite exploded, every flavor felt like a revelation. The dinner was a success, the night was ours, and we laughed until our cheeks ached.

When I got home, I smoked another joint, slept like a baby, and went to the doctor the next day.

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Losing My Patience

That day, I finally lost my patience.

I walked into the doctor’s office — mind you, I love my doctor. She’s amazing. But people see what they want to see.

I told her,

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to test my PSA.”

I demanded it. I said,

“Something is really wrong with me. You have to believe me.”

Only then did they test.

PSA: 14.5.

I was referred to the urologist.
The rest? History.

Prostate cancer. Already metastasized in my lymph nodes — but not yet in my bones.

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Not for Pity, But for Power

I’m not sharing this for pity.
I’m sharing this for power.

“Too many men are not lost to the illness itself, but to the silence surrounding it.”

This is the cruelty of dismissal: not only the disease itself, but the erosion of trust. The assumption that because you look healthy, you are healthy. The arrogance that silences what a patient knows in their gut.

It wasn’t just about semen, or even cancer. It was about dignity. About being heard when the body whispers before it screams.

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The Global Truth

Male sexuality, aging, pleasure, health — they are woven together, yet medicine often treats them as separate, or worse, as unimportant.

And here is the unimaginable truth: globally, an estimated 375,000 to 397,000 men died from prostate cancer in 2020. By 2040, that number is projected to rise to nearly 700,000 deaths every year, especially in low- and middle-income countries. Prostate cancer is already the fifth leading cause of cancer death worldwide — and those figures are likely even higher, hidden by underdiagnosis and poor data collection.

How is this possible? How can so many still die from something that could be detected early, or in some cases not occur at all if only we would change our ways?

This is not just about cancer.
It’s about silence, stigma, and a world that refuses to listen until it’s too late.

Take yourself seriously. Even when others don’t. Especially then.

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Our Generation and Theirs

My generation didn’t talk about sex.

I remember one afternoon at our house, sitting in silence while my mother read her Bible. There was this meditative stillness in the room — the kind that gave me permission to ask serious questions.

I had just turned thirteen. I was starting to feel things, desire things, but there was no one to ask. So I asked her.

My mother, normally someone I could ask anything, gave me that look Surinamese mothers give when they don’t have the words. Then she replied in Sranantongo:

“Go aksie joe pa. Ie ne sjie mie e lees mie bijbel.”
(“Go ask your father. Can’t you see I’m reading my Bible?”)

And she returned to her scripture — even more fervently.

This was not a subject she felt she could help me with.
No one dared say the words.

Everything about sex was either a dirty joke, a warning, or an outright taboo. So we stumbled forward, blind and quiet, unsure and alone.

We didn’t have the language. Everything was hush-hush or behind closed doors.
You learned by doing, by shame, or by accident.

We were denied information and intimacy, but we still found our way — clumsily, secretly, imperfectly.
We learned through the body.

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Porn as Teacher

Later in life, I often tried to talk about sexuality — because I was unsure. It lacked what I needed. But most men wanted to talk about their “dick success.” I called it “not dick failure.”

Again, I was the crazy one. Again, I let it slide. I felt the fear.

And since I experienced the same fear but was looking for a sparring partner and couldn’t find one, I let it go. My mind was crazy enough already all by itself.

And now?

There’s a new generation. Loud. Proud. Online. They claim openness — to all orientations, identities, pleasures.

But what I see is fear.
Fear of real intimacy.
Fear of being truly seen without filters.
Fear that if someone got too close, they’d find the flaws, the softness, the uncertainty.

So people ghost. They swipe. They disappear after one mistake or one awkward moment — because no one taught them how to stay.

I thought the new generation would be different — but no, it’s all surface change. It’s even worse.

Porn is the teacher now.
Not the body. Not the heart.

And porn — let’s be clear — is a lie.

A performance.
Injected dicks. Or pills — Cialis, Viagra — to make sure they stay hard.
Because not everybody is blessed with those extreme hard ones that last. Even porn stars are human.
Scripted moans.
No sweat. No awkwardness. No soul.

A world where sex is friction without emotion, where bodies are plastic, and climax is the only goal.

That’s not sex. That’s not love. That’s not life.

Sex is messy and imperfect — we all know that. But our culture pretends it’s something else.

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The Honest Truth

Let me be very honest again:
I watch porn.
Oh yes — please.

I enjoy it when I jerk off. A quick fix, and there’s nothing wrong with that. A little stimulation is healthy — it’s exercise.

Even though my testosterone production has been cut off, this still keeps the blood flowing. It makes me feel good about myself.

There’s a saying: if you don’t use it, you lose it. And let me tell you — age doesn’t matter here. Because it’s a muscle, and like any muscle, it needs to be exercised.

But then came something else I wasn’t told about:
Peyronie’s disease.

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Educational Visuals

To better understand conditions like mine — and those many men face as they age — here are some trusted diagrams of Peyronie’s disease, a condition where fibrous scar tissue causes curvature during erection.

It causes the penis to curve when erect. It can be painful, and in my case, it came from scar tissue — likely from my surgery and the abrupt stop of testosterone.

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Why This Matters

• Bodies Speak: Subtle changes can signal deeper issues — they must not be ignored.
• Early Diagnosis: Conditions like Peyronie’s or prostate cancer can be managed better if caught early.
• Medical Listening: Dismissing a patient’s lived experience is dangerous. Symptoms aren’t just numbers; they’re warnings.
• Emotional Impact: Sexual health is not vanity. It is dignity, intimacy, and identity. Ignoring it leaves scars deeper than the physical.

When I went to my urologist after reading about it online, she told me,

“You’re one of the lucky ones. Most men can’t even get hard anymore.”

I was baffled.

“What? Bitch, I’m one of the lucky ones, so I shouldn’t complain?”

And again — she was one of the nicest urologists I met. She took me seriously. But still — she made a remark like this and didn’t think twice about it.

What I want to say here is: don’t just accept the silence. When you start noticing changes — curvature, pain, or anything that feels off — there are things you can do.

In my case, the urologist told me my Peyronie’s wasn’t severe. She recommended a vacuum pump to keep the tissue stretched and healthy. A regular intake of a low 5mg dose of Cialis helped keep the blood flowing, so things didn’t get worse. And yes — stretching my penis every day, like exercising a muscle, made a difference.

And let me be blunt: jerking off regularly also helps. It keeps the blood moving so it doesn’t get worse. It reminds you that this part of your body is still yours, still alive, still part of you.

Remember, guys: it’s a muscle. And it’s part of you.

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A Healthy Mind Knows

Everything starts with a healthy mind. Everything.

And a healthy mind begins with knowing who you are — early.
Learning to hear your body.
Learning not to be ashamed of your desire.
Learning how to protect your heart.

Saying,

“I matter. My experience matters.”

Take yourself seriously. Say it again: take yourself seriously.

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The Taboo of Sex

But we learn algebra and science. We learn history and geography. We learn how to calculate the slope of a triangle, how to parse Shakespeare, how the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. At universities, we debate politics, philosophy, economics, even the ethics of artificial intelligence.

We learn about birth — the biology of reproduction, the miracle of labor.
Yet the thing that precedes that birth — sex — is taboo.

My God, what is wrong with us? Why don’t we talk about the things that actually shape our lives — desire, intimacy, pleasure, bodies that change, health that falters, shame that silences?

If you could see me now, I wouldn’t just throw my hands in the air — I’d fling them up like a man surrendering to madness, palms wide open, head tilted back, a groan torn out of my chest. My whole body would be shouting the question: Why? Why are we still so afraid to talk about SEX?

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Dissolving Shame

Most of my partners really didn’t want to talk about it.
And I get it.
We were made to feel ashamed.

But how do we change this? How do we loosen the grip of shame?

• We start by speaking — even when our voices shake.
• We start by listening — really listening — without judgment.
• We teach our children that sexuality is not dirty, but human.
• We remind ourselves, and each other, that pleasure is not sin, that intimacy is not weakness, that bodies are not enemies but companions.

That’s how shame begins to dissolve: in truth, in tenderness, in the courage to name aloud what we were taught to hide.

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A Call to All Generations

Just this week, I spoke to some friends about all of this.
One agreed — deeply, honestly.
The other was quiet. Not shaken. Just quiet.

Talking about it in truth has a way of doing that.

But this isn’t about making people uncomfortable.
It’s about waking up.

To all generations:

• Your body is sacred.
• Your desire is not dirty.
• Your health is not a joke.
• And your story — like mine — is worth telling.

Take yourself seriously. Say it again: take yourself freaking seriously.

You might just save your own life.

If this resonated with you, talk to someone.
Share your story.
Ask your doctor the hard questions.
Don’t wait.

Because you are worth it.

— Jules Scott