Where to Find Circumcized Men

I've never seen a penis I didn't like. Big or small, thin or thick, soft or hard, veined, curved, epispadias, hypospadias, who cares?  Any penis that the guy agrees to let me look at, fondle, or go down on is a good penis.

Well, not entirely.  There have been a few that were too ugly.  I don't like a red, shiny glans, smegma deposits under the foreskin, or wrinkled shafts.

And being uncut is not a deal breaker, but I have a definite preference for cut.














They're much more majestic.  The obvious urethral opening, the hard surface surface around the crown, the obvious differentiation between the glans and the shaft.


Beautiful.

















Much more interesting than having a tiny part of the glans peeking out from the foreskin.

And having to pull back a foreskin to see it.

Or the ones where the foreskin doesn't retract at all.

Good luck in finding cut cocks, though. Circumcision is required by Islam, so they're mostly in the Muslim-majority countries of the Middle East and North Africa.   Latin America, India, China, Japan, only a few cut guys. There are a lot in the U.S., Canada, and Australia, where faulty medical science decreed circumcized penises healthier up through the 1970s.

Well, I live in the U.S., so it shouldn't be a problem, except that the number of circumcized cocks varies by region.  70-80% in the Midwest, 20-30% on the East Coast and California.

It also varies by race: nearly 90% of non-Hispanic white men are circumcized, but only 70% of non-Hispanic black men, and 40% of Mexican-Americans.











Plus the overall the number of circumcisions performed in the U.S. is decreasing.  It's hovering around 60% now.

So unless you can find some Midwestern white guys over 50, it's increasingly likely that your date or hookup will be uncut.

Oh, well.  There are plenty of Jewish and Muslim men to choose from.


See also: Cut or Uncut

The Best Day of My Life

Plains, August 2018


I'm sitting in a hot, small room in the upstairs study of my house.  Yesterday I slipped on the stairs, and my legs came out from under me, so I'm sore today, and not going to the gym.  I've been sitting in my pajamas all day.  Bob is at work; he'll be home at 5:30.

I just got back from Charlotte, North Carolina, where I was visiting Jonathan Peng Lee, the hustler-turned-engineer who I met at Alan's memorial service, and my old high school friend Verne and his..gulp...grandson.

It occurs to me that I haven't heard from Yuri since Christmas, eight months ago.

I haven't spoken to my brother since Christmas, either.

Al Stewart, "Time Passages"

Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last

Actually, I am living in the past.

 In front of me I can see bookcases with my ancient and modern Middle East collection, framed pictures of Tony Dow and Johnny Sheffield, a Greek Orthodox icon, and a plate from Greece showing Achilles.

To the left is another picture of Johnny Sheffield, a crucifix from Peru, and a window (part of the house next door, trees, and sky).

If I go to the window, I can see the yard two doors down, where a shirtless teenager is mowing the lawn.

Sometimes I can see kids on the sidewalk below, heading for the playground by the school, escorted by their parents.

Their parents are probably 30 years younger than me.

To drown out the sound of the lawnmower, I turn on Steely Dan, "Reeling in the Years."

Your everlasting summer 
You can see it fading fast
So you grab a piece of something 

That you think is gonna last 

Suddenly I am back to Rock Island, Illinois, 20, 30, 40 years ago, before the internet, before computers even, before streaming videos, before cable tv, back when Watergate was a new scandal and the Vietnam War was still ranging, when the top tv show was All in the Family and everyone had a pet rock. A day in the spring of 1975.

One of the worst days of my life.

I had it all -- 9th graders were BMOC. I got respect in the hallways.  Bullying was a thing of the past.

I was getting top grades, so I would be going to college.  I planned on the American University in Kuwait, where I would become fluent in Arabic (God had called me to become a missionary to Saudi Arabia).  I would move there in 1982, just after graduation, and win the whole country for Christ within about 10 years.

On the map of the Middle East on my bedroom wall, I marked the dates of the mass conversions: Damman 1984, Riyadh 1986, Medina 1988, Jiddah 1990, Mecca 1992.

I imagined hugging muscular Arab men as we knelt at the altar of my open-air tabernacle, my arm around their hard shoulders, praying through to victory.






I would finance my missionary trip with The Fall of the Moi, the heroic fantasy novel that Darry and I were writing.  It was sure to sell a million copies, since it was based on the greatest novel ever written, Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, plus some of John Christopher's Tripods and some of our own improvements:  the protagonist Jim is black, a freed slave from Colonial America zapped into the world of the Sauron-like character named Moi (pronounced to rhyme with "toy"); and his relationship with Rai is much more romantic than that uncomfortable Sam-Frodo thing.

Plus Jim becomes a born-again Christian, so that million copies was sure to result in a lot of souls won.











And I had a cute boyfriend, Dan, who had blond hair and warm hands and a smile. We would go to college together and then Saudi Arabia together, and live in the same house for the rest of our lives.

This was before we were aware that gay people or same-sex desire existed, so our romance was coded as a "friendship."  But we both felt what it really was: a deep, abiding joy, a warmth, an absolute certainty that God and the universe had destined us to be together forever.

 I know it was a Tuesday night, because my parents were in the living room watching M*A*S*H.  I always hated that show, so I stayed in my basement room, and Mom had to call me upstairs to the phone.

No: I know it was a Tuesday because you were supposed to call girls on Tuesday to ask them out on Saturday-night dates.

Dan called me to ask my advice about a girl he wanted to date.

The worst possible words a boyfriend can hear.

What?  No -- but....we were...I though...we...

Kansas, "Dust in the Wind"

I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind

The Saudi Arabia dream never happened, of course, and I never studied Arabic, although I have had a lifelong interest in the Middle East, both ancient and modern.

Terry Jacks, "Seasons in the Sun"

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
But the stars we could reach were just starfish on the beach.

The novel was finished during ninth grade, and sent out to a publisher, who returned it with a form rejection.  Figures -- it was awful.  I returned to it a couple of times, but finally gave up -- I don't even like heroic fantasy.  I've published six books on other topics.

"Oh Very Young" by Cat Stevens.

Oh very young, what will you leave us this time
You're only dancin' on this earth for a short while
And though your dreams may toss and turn you now
They will vanish away like your dads best jeans

Dan vanished from my life altogether.  In high school, if I happened to see him in the hallway, I pretended not to notice.  A few years ago I looked him up on Facebook -- living in California, but a conservative Republican who contributed to the anti-gay marriage fund.  I sent him a friend request anyway.  He ignored it.

I've had lots of boyfriends and lovers since, but none who brought that incredible surge of joy, the certainty that God and the universe conspired to bring us together.

"Hey Nineteen," by Steely Dan.

Hard times befallen the soul survivors,
She thinks I'm crazy, but I'm just growing old.

The door opens downstairs.  "I'm home!" Bob yells.  "How's your leg?"

"It still hurts!" I call down.

Bob and I have been dating since June 2017.  He moved in last September.  He's 21 years old, an economics major at the University, shorter than me, slim, with a round open face, short black hair, prominent eyebrows, high cheekbones, dimples, and square workman's hands.  Not much muscle, but very big beneath the belt.

Why isn't he coming up the stairs?

"Did you bring dinner home?" I call down.

"Um...sort of.  I didn't think you'd be hungry yet."  Bob appears in the doorway.  Naked, aroused, his gigantic penis sticking straight out in front of him.

I never noticed before -- it's as thick as his arm!

"Why are you listening to those dinosaur tunes?" he asks.

"I don't know."  I put my cell phone on mute.

"I thought you could use something besides food."  He straddles my lap and kisses me.

This is the best day of my life.