You don't have to have any erotic interest to enjoy seeing a nice penis, and there's always some curiosity: did they inherit your brother or brother-in-law's size?
My brother has three sons: Ethan (born June 1982), Frank (born October 1983), and Joel (born April 1986), plus a stepson. I've gotten sausage sightings of all of them (after they grew up, of course). First up: Ethan.
Manville, Illinois, June 2000
I am in grad school in New York, but visiting my parents in Indianapolis for a week before flying out to South Africa for a conference. I offer to drive to Rock Island, to visit my brother, but Kenny says that he and his sons will be at a "father-son retreat" that weekend.
Held at Manville, the Nazarene camp in eastern Illinois.
Having spent innumerable summers fighting the flies, mosquitoes, heat, deplorable food, sports, flirting girls, and screeching sermons at Manville, I scoff. "If you want to torture your kids, why don't you just tie them to an ant hill?""It's not like when we were little," Kenny says. "They have tennis courts, hiking trails, and a gym now, and we stay in a 'family cabin' with its own bathroom and kitchen."
"No more walking down that terrible snake-strewn path to the toilets, huh? But it still sounds awful."
"Why don't you come out on Friday, and see for yourself? The cabin sleeps six, so there will be plenty of room for you."
I am definitely curious -- I haven't been to Manville since high school, over 20 years ago. Besides, spending the night with Kenny and his sons will be fun, like the sleepovers we used to have as kids. So on Friday I drive my rental car the three hours out from Indianapolis.
The long, low tabernacle is still there, and the dining hall/ snack bar where we bought hot dogs on innumerable nights after altar call. There are still rows of damp, airy cabins. But Ken is right about the new gym, the tennis courts, and the hiking trails that lead through the tall grass of the prairie.Manville is occupied entirely by cute dads and their teenage sons. Since there are no women around, they don't have to follow the rules prohibiting short pants or going shirtless.
The beefcake almost makes it worth the trip.
Of course I have to stay closeted, or they would chase me out of the camp with pitchforks, but Kenny still introduces me as his "brother from New York City." Ulp! That's one of the wicked "cities of the plain" that God plans to destroy during the upcoming Tribulation. Labeled a "sinner" in need of salvation just by my residence, I get a lot of witnessing and shy attempts to start soul-winning conversations.
A very muscular high school boy named Kyle approaches me at the gym with the oldest soulwinning opening: "If you were to die tonight, and God asked why He should let you into His heaven, what would you say?"
I talk him into going hiking with me and Kenny. Nothing erotic happens, but Kenny says "You can pick them up anywhere, can't you?"
The family cabin is cramped -- two stacks of bunk beds, a small couch, a table and four chairs, a kitchen area, and a bathroom with a toilet and shower -- but it beats those drafty cabins with the shower room half a mile away.
It has electricity, but no tv, and no heat or air conditioning -- and it's hot and sticky in the central Illinois summer.
But Kenny comes up with an interesting solution: we all go naked!
At first I balk, just stripping down to my underwear, but Joel says "Come on, Uncle Boomer, don't be a weenie," so I strip down too.
"Not bad," Joel says. "Could be bigger."
Kenny glares at him. "Don't tease your uncle."
Cooking naked seems like a bad idea, but it's just hot dogs, canned baked beans, and potato chips. Then we do the dishes, play a game of Bible Monopoly, pray while holding hands, and go to bed.
Ethan, Kenny's oldest son, will have psychiatric problems and an aggravated assault conviction in a few years, but at age 18, he's stiill a Johnny Nazarene, scrupulously following all the Nazarene rules, looking forward to his freshman year at Olivet (our college on the prairie). He's a slow, soft, big-boned kid with a little belly, some hair on his chest, and long thick arms.
He sits with his legs spread, so you can get a good sausage sighting: a short, thick penis with a prominent head, like his father's.
Frank and Joel are naked too, of course, but they are 16 and 14 years old, so I don't count them as sausage sightings. I'll have to wait until they turn 18.
He sits with his legs spread, so you can get a good sausage sighting: a short, thick penis with a prominent head, like his father's.
Man, that's why I think cabins in these cases should be separated by sex, with the women closer to the toilets: If I just have to piss, and the alternative is snakes, literally no dude is going to object to seeing each other's snakes.
ReplyDeleteWhen it's hot and the air conditioning is on the fritz, if there is any, the only thing you can do is strip.
Family sausage sightings:
ReplyDeleteSharing a room with little bro.
Dad walking from bedroom to shower naked more than once.
More than one brother or cousin in the locker room.
Swimming nude with brothers and cousins.
In addition to dad and brothers, I've seen three uncles, five first cousins, and a grandfather either pissing on the side of the road or at a urinal.
Other than all the men in my family related by blood being uncut, I can't remember a thing about their dicks. Even then, that's because I remember thinking cuts were unusual and then thinking all white boys were cut and a few guys I'd seen in movies were unusual.
(And yes, I'm now aware that Europe and the Americas have no native circumcision tradition and it's practically everywhere in Africa and the Middle East.)