Jay wrote
I think for me it started with curious friends at swimming lessons who made me realize I was different. I had to ask my parents what was up, and they told me I wasn't circumcised. The first girl I got intimate with thought I didn't have a dickhead at all until I showed her. I remember a lot of ignorance about it. They didn't cover it in sex-ed in school at all either. The diagrams were all of circumcised men, so I kind of felt like a freak.
I guess when I discovered that there were other guys like me it was pretty exciting. I remember being surprised at how varied uncut cocks could look. My foreskin didn't look like the next guy's. I started to like the idea that I was a rarity, in North America at least.
A couple years ago I finally shook off the rest of my "shame" and started proudly NOT retracting at the gym. I got stares, which I actually liked, and even a few compliments. Plus, it was sort of a bonding experience to discover a close buddy was also uncut. Though I'm a tad envious of his longer overhang. Along with not retracting in the locker room, I stopped retracting with girls as much too. Unfortunately, I did get some mildly disgusted responses, but I eventually did find a girl who had a pretty decent foreskin fetish, and I only found out after I admitted to her I was uncut, because she'd only seen me hard or semi before that. I guess being with her is what really made me realize I get aroused by talking about my foreskin, and having it studied and a lot of attention given to it. Since her, I've been getting off talking to other uncut guys and women who love uncut guys. Though, there are some aspects of the fetish that still make me a little uncomfortable.
My experience felt a lot like yours.
I was born in a small Southern town. But by age 2 we had moved to the suburbs of a major city.
My deal with circumcision started when I was four or five years old. I was sitting in the bathtub, when my mother came in.
I knew what was coming, so I stood up. This was the time during my bath that she or my father would slide my foreskin open and clean it with a soapy washcloth. The aggressive rubbing felt so intense it caused me to jump and giggle, but they didn't seem to take any pleasure in it.
This time, as she cleaned my glans, my mother started talking to me about my penis. She called at my "tallywhacker." For the first time, she told me that all the other boys I knew were "circumcised." I had no brothers, nor had I ever seen another boy's penis, so I didn't grasp what "circumcised" meant. She was not giving me much in the way of physical details in this talk.
But she said when all the other boys were born, they were circumcised at the hospital. Our small town's family doctor had told her it wasn't a good idea. He said I would need that skin there to protect my penis. Also, she said a circumcision hurt, and the boys cried when it happened.
She told me I would need to make sure I kept my penis clean, the way she was cleaning it now. If I didn't keep it clean, the skin might grow together, and my penis would have to be circumcised anyway.
This was pretty overwhelming, as I recall. The only question I had for her was, "Are all the other boys circumcised?" She nodded yes.
So I knew, even at that age, that I was different. And her tone told me I had a secret to keep.
But I still didn't get exactly what a circumcision was. I just knew it hurt and all the other boys had had one.
Naturally, at the first opportunity, I wanted to see what the difference was. We had those trough-style urinals in elementary school. The first time I used one, I stood at one end and looked at the other boys' penises. I saw that their glandes were exposed, so I rolled my foreskin open to make it look like theirs.
But then I noticed they didn't close their foreskin when they were done. That looked like it would hurt, to have my glans exposed all the time inside my pants. So I closed my foreskin, and then it occurred to me what the difference was: they didn't have that soft, sensitive skin covering their glans, keeping it protected, like Mom had said. It must have been cut off. No wonder they cried.
Well, once I'd seen how I was different, I could imagine what would happen if anybody outside my family ever saw my foreskin. I'd be singled out in that cruel way kids can do when they're feeling insecure. So from then on, I always used a stall to urinate at school. I couldn't risk being found out as the only uncircumcised boy.
This wouldn't come up again as an issue until middle school, when the prospect of communal showers loomed. Naturally, being exposed like that terrified me. Fortunately, we weren't actually forced to shower after gym class. Hardly anyone ever did, except the football players, so I made a point of not going out for the team. But the chance that the coach might change his mind on a hot day and send us to the showers anyway heightened my sensitivity to possibly being exposed.
As my anxiety over my foreskin increased, I went to confide in a girl I knew. She was very kind, pretty, and gave me the impression there was nothing she couldn't talk about. So in a private conversation, where we started talking about our "secrets," I said mine was being uncircumcised. She asked if that "bothered" me. I said no, which of course was a lie. I think she detected that, and she asked if I would ever want to "get it done" so I could be like the other boys.
That's the same phrase my mother had used when she warned me about what would happen if my foreskin grew together. We would need to just "get it done." Hearing this girl say the same thing, I began to feel as if my foreskin's days were numbered.
In fact, around age 12 or 13, I did get an adhesion on my foreskin. The inner foreskin got stuck to the edge of the corona. Knowing this was wrong, I forced the membranes apart. It stung, as any kind of exposed, raw membrane would, for several days. And just then, my mother again brought up the possibility of the "skin" growing together, seemingly out of the blue. Perhaps she noticed my scratching the itch. And again came the warning, if the skin grew together, she would just take me to the doctor to "get it done."
Well, that just made me more guarded about my foreskin than ever. (The adhesion healed by itself.)
You are probably seeing the pattern here: A female knows my secret and vaguely threatens me with circumcision. And if you have read my stories at Literotica, now you know where they came from.
The first girl I was with, at age 18, seemed indifferent to my foreskin. Our sex didn't go all that well because I was so nervous. So she got out a bottle of lotion to give me a handjob, since I couldn't finish. I was not used to that feeling, so I got a towel and wiped the lotion off and invited her to pull on my foreskin instead. I explained that I wasn't circumcised. She said nothing about it, but went about trying to make me ejaculate. (She was unsuccessful.)
My next sexual encounter took a different turn. As soon as we both had our clothes off, we were standing in front of each other and she reached out and grasped my erect penis, whose foreskin was fully retracted. She pulled, like an expert, so that the foreskin popped shut over the glans. Then she retracted it, and pulled it over the glans again. It felt absolutely thrilling for her to do that. But then she quit, and we went on with our encounter.
When I went to go down on her, she stopped me. Then she said, "I could go down on a guy all day, but I don't like a guy to go down on me." I thought, great, she's going to suck my cock now. But she didn't.
When the sex was over, I asked if she noticed that I wasn't circumcised. I don't remember what she said, but we didn't have a conversation about it. In the back of my mind, I knew she had tested me in the beginning, found my foreskin, and decided she didn't want it in her mouth. But I consciously denied that. I didn't want to face the possibility that I might never get a blowjob because I wasn't circumcised.
I had sex with five or six more girls after that. I mentioned my foreskin, after sex, to maybe half of them. Two of them asked why I wasn't circumcised. They asked innocently, not disapprovingly, which was a relief. I hooked up with one girl who blew me for more than an hour. So, no foreskin problem there.
Eventually, I married a girl who had previously been married to a circumcised man. She noticed the difference almost immediately. When I educated her about circumcision, I could see a lightbulb go on. Sex with her ex, she said, always felt uncomfortable. Mainly, she just wanted it to be over. And, she said she felt like she could continue "forever" with me.
So I finally felt OK with being intact.
As for experiences with other guys, I didn't have any in person. My first year in college, I came across a copy of Uncut magazine at a porn shop. It was made for gay men, but I bought it anyway, and found it intensely exciting to see other intact guys up close. I remember setting a record of jerking off six times in one day, looking at the pictures. Those foreskins looked so velvety, and I imagined how hard their cocks would get if their 'skins were toyed with. Guys like me: we had a secret to share.
But I still loved women. I never had any sexual contact with another guy. Although the idea of playing with another uncut cock appealed to me, I never tried to get an opportunity to do it.
A little while ago, my wife left me. That's when I started writing about the prospect of being forcibly circumcised. Separation felt as if she had emotionally circumcised me.
It's a pretty scary fantasy, imagining a woman wanting to cut my foreskin off. Writing about it is a challenge, because in the end, I still can't let the protagonist get circumcised. It's all over after that. He's doomed to a life of less gratification and a permanently damaged penis. That's a little too dark for me.
Still, the prospect of a forced circumcision excites me. With my next girlfriend, I'm going to raise this issue. I want her to role-play with me. I've actually written about that, though I haven't published it yet.
