19th March 2006


Context may be appreciated before I plunge into penile prose: a few months ago I picked up a pamphlet with a rather irreverent and illuminatingly illustrated focus upon men's health. I found it patronising in some places and most of it was tiresome but one part filled me with fear tinged horror. It stated that a discrepancy between the size of the testicles was a frequently symptom of testiclular cancer. Now I had such a disparity, rather a major one in fact. I had noted the inequality for around two or three years but had simply assumed that the growth would even out or perhaps that the smaller one was genetically malformed in some fashion.

The vision that this information conjured of my genitals was a far less prosaic one: I fell under the belief that the larger had developed a malicious tumour that was draining the resources that its sibling required to flourish and absorbing all to feed its persistant advance through my system. To make matters worse I read that those who had suffered from another common testicular difficulty (whereby the testes flap freely in and out, putting them at risk of being sucked into the stomach and crushed) were far more likely to develop such a condition.

Thus terrified I arranged a doctor's appointment via my mother forthwith. My mind was in a state of joy far lower than optimum, I was fully aware that cancer meant that one or more of my testicles would be lost, if I was lucky... The amiable fellow we were ushered in to (who shall henceforth be referred to as Doctor K) had an impeccable manner and responded calmly and in the best way imaginable to my concerns. He examined both testicles and pronounced the one which I had suspected stunted, shrunken and stumpy perfectly normal and standard. The other however he paid more interest to, prodding and poking (in a fashion I gained some small level of illicit pleasure from) before producing a torch and requesting I lie slightly further back.

Having the beam of a torch-bulb shone directly through my genitals must be considered as one of the most surreal experiences of my life but it was apparently a very, very good sign. A tumour would almost certainly have been opaque whereas the equally translucent growth which I touted was a benign hydrocele.

This had to be examined and clarified and certified further so a matter of weeks later I saw a slightly more sinister doctor with a humourous but rather grating manner who slathered my gonads with a gloopy gunky substance and placed a device upon them that I had formerly seen use to scan pregnant women's bellies. I attempted not to push the similarity too greatly as the ultrascan continued and the rather ticklish sensation soon passed and I was allowed an opportunity to remove the coating of warm liquid with a paper towel as I was informed that my ailment was indeed a hydrocele and that it could either be drained, operated upon or left to its own devices.

As the former was strictly temporary and put me at risk of infection and the second I was rather wary of I was initially keen to opt for the latter but a meeting with a specialist surgeon I had another few weeks later assauaged me otherwise. He informed me that if left unattended to the liquid trapped would increase until such feats as walking or sitting upon a wooden chair would be impossible (or at least highly uncomfortable) without a shuffled rearragement.

This seemed reasonable and the operation's potential complication were next to non-existant (he did not inform me that the testicle is actually removed from the scrotomal sack during the operation but really I am uncertain that I am glad I discovered that anyway) but while we were discussing the general area I decided that another issue that was causing my some mild concern should be breached.

I explained to him that there was some tightness around my foreskin and that it was impossible to prise it over the head. He informed me that this would definetely require an operation, perhaps even with greater importance that my 'Cele: if I was left with such a lack of elasticity I was vunerable to numerous infections. He told me that many of his patients in such a position opted for a simple cicumcision but I refused him point blank. I oppose Routine Infant Circumcision on consent grounds but asides from the health issues and pleasure issues (yes I am aware that there are two sides to this story but as the owner of one foreskin I can say with some certainty that I can appreciate the case of those who call it a "Sensitive cluster of nerves" than "Useless flap of obsolete skin") and over the sixteen years I have possessed it I have developed an attatchment to it that is other than literal.

He understood my concern and informed me that they would simply perform a stretch-op on a sort of "While we're down there..." sort of basis.



So why the blog? Well today I went in for a spot of self-remedying, the hydrocele I decided to leave well alone (despite an innovative idea of mine involving a sterilised needle and a vacuum ) because there was not much to be done about it.

My phimosis on the other hand (or with both of them at once) was another matter. Immediate action was decided upon due to the visitation of a rather unhelpful doctor. We had intended to see Doctor K again but apparently he was involved in an unexpected but fairly urgent operation during the time we had been scheduled to see him. Instead we got a gentleman was was snide, surly, severe and generally behaved as if I was wasting his valuble time. The thought that some poor fellow human being might have had to endure his company during their last moments was rather disconcerting.

In addition to being impolite I also discovered that he was ill-informed and ignorant. He appeared not to have ever heard of the concept of Preputioplasty and despite the fact that a fully trained urology specialist had informed me that I was to recieve one he claimed that I must in fact have been getting a circumcision, even after when I explained to him that we had actually specifically mentioned that issue and I had firmly requested not to have one.

In addition he claimed that the steroid creams that I requested did not exist.

I was rather concerned and perplexed by his ignorance, considering all the years spent in study required to become a fully qualified doctor I would have thought that such an important area of the anatomy in addition to common problems which could occur to it and their remedies would be studied in slightly greater detail.

I had gone there in an attempt to become better informed of the stretcing process and perhaps to find out if any more conservative arrangements were feasible so, as you can imagine, being informed that the original procedure I had had concerns over did not even exist and that I would be forced to endure a radical and highly painful one instead or run the risk of various infections along the glans was highly worrying.

It seems that he was only a trainee however or something along those lines anyway but all the same the experience of being rudely fed misinformation was irksome in the extreme. If I did not dwell within a nation with an NHS I would certainly have requested a refund for the appointment.

In addition I was still unaware of whether the stretch would reduce the levels of pleasure that I recieved from the prepuce and thus was still concerned even once I confirmed that, yes the procedure did exist. I must admit that discovering the phrase "Dorsal Slit" did not encourage me greatly.

The optimum situation, as I saw it, would be to avoid surgery at all. Simply to inform the surgeon that the problem was righted and that he must only proceed with the hydrocele operation.

At first my efforts to discover a solo method were fruitless but luckily this time was not one of the rare ones in which Wikipedia failed me: I learnt quickly of a nifty technique named the Beaugé Method.

The process is a suprisingly simple one but totally fascinating one, you can read about it here: here.

Basically Beaugé is a friendly sounding French fellow who studied this whole shebang in quite some detail and discovered that the masturbatory habits of those who suffered from the condition were very different to those who did not: whereas most boys simply take the standard jerking motion my fellow sufferers took to rubbing it against their thighs, beds, pillows, toilet seats and chair edges, rubbed it between two palms (almost like trying to start a fire) or (my standard technique) just rubbed the foreskin against the flesh of the glans and tickle their frenulums through the foreskin.

Now before reading this report I had not put all that much thought into the process as far as comparing myself to others went, I just did what brought me greatest pleasure. But Beaugé believed that the boys may not have been pleasuring themselves in that fashion because of their phimosis, he believed that the situation might have been inverted: because (at least partly) of their habits and techniques their phimosis occured or was maintained.

So the solution was the height of simplicity: he simply informed them to go about such matters with the standard approach. His findings were rather astounding: "Within a few weeks (three at the most) it was found that the preputial orifice became wider, thus correcting the phimosis."

This avoided a bloody, fairly costly operation and the process was simple, could be performed by the sufferer himself and in addition: "The nerve supply of the foreskin and its role in sexual sensation are preserved and, more importantly, the mobility of the penile sheath that is necessary to prevent irritation of the partner's vaginal mucosa is preserved."

That last bit was of as great interest to me as it would be to any horny hedonist.

So today I decided to set about matters in the "Traditional" way, I had attempted it once or twice before but inevitably decided that the process was pointless and aborted, resuming my standard method. Today though I was determined, the prospect of avoiding operations on a part of my anatomy I cherished was an appealing prospect and acted as enough of an incentive to assist in my overwhelming of the force of habit.

Occasionally I gave way and went old school but my resolve was strong and I kept at it. I was wary of pulling to hard for fear of a nasty result named Paraphimosis in which the skin is pulled around an area it should probably not be and caterises the penis, what was formerly a centre of delight transforming itself into a garotte and destroying not only itself but a big chunk of the cock including the glans if not treated with a great enough rapidity. Accordingly I took a softly-softly approach and used liberal quantities of virgin olive oil both on the head and shaft (I forgot to apply properly to the later at first resulting in a nasty bit of friction but I soon tagged on).

The trickiest part of the procedure was actually maintaining turgidity, it was initially uncomfortable and I spent a lot of the time staring at myself to note down any change. I endevoured to remain strong though and with my active imagination aimed at some self-created vore involving a snake and a sunbather (I was in an exotic mood) I proceeded, patiently awaiting a return of the blood rush each time things died down.

I was not really expecting a miraculous and instant cure at all so I was highly pleased with the results: my prepuce was more stretched than I can recall it ever being for over a decade (I find it rather bizarre that I could manage it back then but not now, I am an inversion of the norm as ever it seems...) and this exposure was a good indication.

There was a slight sting when the oil hit the urethral opening but this was more than compensated for by the glorious climax that occured: in the past I can never recall ejaculating with the skin peeled in such a fashion, because I actually tend to rub it upwards over the head rather than jerk it down and along I always came in something of a speedy dribble, more like a stream than a geyser. Today though things were a highly different affair, a mighty spurt of a great magnitude occured, inducing some sporadic and irrepresable thrashings and the suprisingly pleasant sensation of cumming all over my hands.

I intend to continue this procedure for the next month or two to see how well it works, I am fairly hopeful and cheerful. I shall continue to share you such TMI overloads in future and I'll let you know if I pull it off.

So to speak.

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P.S. Just in case you were concerned her sun block disrupts the serpants digestive system and it throws her back up and out before she can be processed.

I love happy endings.