The One
I’m not usually the kind of guy who makes a big issue about my dick. Really. I don’t take off my clothes, then think a woman is going to get excited by the sight of my penis. It’s nice when someone does seem to appreciate it. I don’t really trust the women who get all carried way about my dick, giving it some weird name, cooing over it as if it was a cute puppy. I wish I could believe they are sincere, but I know better.
Anyhow, Janine and I have been sleeping together about four months now. And last night, I asked her if she noticed a big difference between circumcised and non-circumcised men.
“What do you mean?” she asked, truly looking puzzled.
“You know, sexually?”
“Should I notice something?”
“I don’t know if you should, but it seems like you would.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something different between the two.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who hasn’t been circumcised.”
“What? Are you kidding?” I asked.
“No. Seems like everyone but the hippies circumcise their kids.”
Every now and then she’ll make a comment like this that just blows me away.
“I’ve never been circumcised!”
“Really? Why?”
“That’s not the point. The point is you didn’t even notice.”
“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I haven’t been with anyone who has been circumcised. I must be confused. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Jewish lover. Aren’t they the ones who get circumcised?”
“They’re the ones who have a celebration for doing it. Most of the guys just get snipped at birth, and no one thinks about the foreskin one way or another. I thought you said you’ve been with about thirty different men.”
“I have, not that I keep track. And when you repeat it like that, you make me feel slutty. I wish I hadn’t said anything.”
“Janine, it’s not that. We’re thirty. Thirty different lovers doesn’t seem that extravagant.’ Actually, it drives me crazy, but if I say anything, Janine gets really upset.
“Yeah, but you’ve had way less.”
“I’m not as lucky as you.”
“Ugh, you make feel like a whore.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do. I just can’t believe you’ve never noticed the difference between a dick with extra foreskin and one with the clip job.”
“Let me look at yours more closely,” she said peering over my crotch.
“I guess you’re right. Yours has more skin up here. There’s really not that much of a difference. Yours looks like it’s wearing a turtleneck.”
“Really?”
“I like your penis. I guess if someone said I had to draw a picture of it, I wouldn’t really be able to draw it from memory. I remember one boyfriend had a crooked one. That’s about the only thing that really stands out about being different from other penises.”
“That it was crooked?”
“Yeah. Oh, come on, have your other lovers made a big scene over the presence of your foreskin?”
“Oddly enough, it usually does come up. They’re more curious about it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Probably because most of their lovers have been circumcised.”
“I remember a friend in college who felt so awkward about his penis not looking like everyone else’s he actually missed several days of school while he recovered from his operation. He was a bit odd. Think he joined that Rajaneesh clan. You know, those commune people who wore Rajaneesh’s picture on their necks.”
“You think he wanted his dick to fit in at the commune? That’s really weird.”
“I love having sex with you. You know that, right?” Janine leaned over and kissed me, hoping I’d forget this conversation.
Here’s the clincher. I really like Janine. But because of this foreskin business, now I’m always finding something wrong with her. Here’s what happens. We’re about to head out the door to see a movie, and Janine will say, “Let’s boogie.” I’m sure she’s always said something like this, but since we had that talk, it drives me crazy when she says it. Sometimes she says, “Let’s rock-and-roll!” It’s beginning to drive me insane.
Last night she invited a bunch of us over for a party, and then when I got to her house, she’s standing next to a pan of hard-boiled eggs that she’s cooling off.
“What are you making with the eggs, Janine?”
“Nothing. Check this out. I found it at a yard sale today. It’s an egg slicer.”
Janine peeled one egg, then put it inside the egg slicer, then brought the arm down that moved the blades over the egg. “Isn’t that the coolest thing?” she asked, picking up the slices of egg.
Seeing Janine slicing the eggs, her sole food contribution to her party, beer and sliced eggs, and watching how she seemed almost giddy with delight over the eggs being sliced so perfectly, made me feel faint. Seriously, faint! I don’t know why. It’s gotta be that obsession of mine. That circumcision weirdness. Eggs. Slicing. Tools. Joy. It was just too much.
I’m sure she thought I was stepping outside to drink a beer. And that’s probably what I should’ve done. Drank a beer. Wait for our friends to show up and take my mind off that egg slicer. But no. I left. Without a word.
Shoving my dick in that thing probably never crossed Janine’s mind.
Damn, and Janine’s such a fine person.
Except for that let’s boogie business.
And that egg slicer.