Or How I Spent a Year and a Half Restoring My Butchered Foreskin
by Rio Cruz
I’d never seen an uncircumcised dick before and was racked with mirth. Bob Ramsey and I had just come into the 3rd grade bathroom at Little Lake Elementary and saw Tomás Sánchez whizzing away at the open urinal completely unconcerned. Bob and I looked at each other, then back at the funny dick and burst out laughing.
“What in hell is that thing?” we asked Tomás.
Tomás didn’t miss a dribble. “Why’rya laughing at me,” he said. “You guys are the ones with half yer dick cut off.” As he said this he reeled in, zipped up and strode out the door without even looking back.
The weird part was that until that moment I had never realized I had anything missing, that an important part of my anatomy had unceremoniously been hacked off. I just assumed my dick was as nature made it and had never known, until that day, what a real intact penis looked like. It was a revelation beyond the capacity I had at the time to understand.
I really didn’t think much about it after that. In fact, I don’t ever recall seeing another normal penis until adulthood. Back in those days, in gym classes and communal showering, every dick looked just like mine: sliced, diced, folded, creased, stapled and mutilated. And when you are surrounded by other guys whose peckers have all been routinely butchered at birth in the same way as yours, and look just like yours, you tend not to give the issue much thought. Of course, kids growing up now will have a brader view of things.
However, as I got older, I noticed that my dick kept getting less and less sensitive so that when having intercourse or beating off, it was hard to cum. I mean the old willy was just not as responsive as once it was. I wasn’t too concerned, though, and just chalked it up to getting older. C’est la vie.