Sweet fucking Jeebus Lice that was terrifying.

After my fear-marred manual stimulation yesterday and the happy discovery that followed I was certain that this whole process would be far more easy going, how wrong I was...

Firstly there were some difficulties getting up and rubbing once more, I recalled with heavy nostalgia the time when I was just breaching that blissful stage dubbed so crudely "Puberty" and I could inspire and sustain an erection merely by thinking of inspiring and sustaining an erection.

Those days seemed long, long gone during the moments I spent perched and flaccid. I wished in a highly irrational fashion that there was some method of accessing the internet within the bathroom that I was situated. As it was I was stuck with my mind that was in a rather sluggish and uncreative mood at that point.

Finally I got a suitable level of arousal that I could keep going for long enough to actually get anywhere, funnily enough it was actually totally unexotic: white guy makes love to Native American woman. Simple stuff but it did the job, my peeling continued at a pleasing rate.

I had the hall light on at this point, the main one was a little bright for my brain to conjure up proper fantasies with but with the outside source shining in through the window above the door I was able to observe my progress while thinking unhindered. It was still rather gloomy though so although I got a nice view of the frenulum for the first time (and a lovely part it is too, I was really pleased to finally get a chance to oggle this newly discovered part of my anatomy and I found it very pleasing on the eye) when I thought I caught a glimse of smega, something I had not seen for quite a long time and not since I actually discovered what the useful stuff was, I could not be to certain.

I turned on the lights, ruining my hard-on in the process, and then resumed my position and attempted again. It was twice as hard to get it hard again. But it is when I finally managed that things really got worrying...

Firstly I believed it was the aforementioned smega but upon investigation it appeared that they were actually solid lumps, a small cluster of tiny white blemishes that were just to the right of my undercurve. When I managed to work myself a little further down I discovered another two sets of them and became highly concerned.

From here on I continued trying to get an easier look at them which was a far harder feat than it might sound: everytime I attempted to I found it an astounding turn-off and fell limp my hands. After a lot of struggle and at least ten seperate and occasionally overlapping fantasies I had got a bit of a better look that was less than encouraging: one was within the V curve and a very scanty distance from the Frenulum, another was aforementioned, a small patch was to the left and there was some minor ones below. In addition the inside of my foreskin appeared to be afflicted: although before I had believed this to be an affect of the skin being stretched now I suspected it was some fungal growth that had spread along.

I had been warned that keeping an unretracted foreskin would put me at risk of such conditions and now believed fully that I was already suffering from one. The treatment of this could not possibly be pleasant, if it had indeed spread across my fore' then I had little doubt that I would have to abort my objective and have the area removed.

I felt dejected but put some enthusiasm into ejaculation (I had a semi-spurt this time), washed off and decided to investigate once more.

I typed in the words white spots underside penis into Google and was quite astounded to discover this.
It appeared that someone had been in an eerily surreally similar situation:

Strangely Similar Guy wrote:

I am 16 and have got lots of little white lumps on the underneath of my penis. They are not sore or irritable and I have not had sex. What could it be?

He enquired, to which he recieved the reply:

Dr. Marc wrote:

The little white lumps you mention on the underside of the penis are almost certainly normal. Often seen in the teenage years, small pimple-like glands, about 1 or 2mm diameter, can be seen underneath the foreskin. Sometimes known as 'Fordyce's spots' they are completely normal and no treatment is required."

Despite the fact that that was from the BBC and thus highly reliable (if it had mentioned Israel I would have had less faith but Dr. M is a reliable info source) I decided to check elsewhere but found similar/identical responses to similar/identical questions in addition to coming across the phrase "Pearly white papules" which actually made them sound rather sweet.

It was quite irksome that I had once again suffered such a great shock over something utterly harmless but quite frankly I was relieved that I had circumnavigated a circumcision once again and that I was suffering only within my imaginative mind.

All in all it was quite unsettling that this should occur upon consecutive days, I rather fear that during my next attempt it may come off in my hand...

It was definetely a weird one today. I took the bath as planned but it was interrupted by an irksome little sister needing to use the room's toiletery facilities. Perhaps I would have been less agitated by this if I had not clearly asked her with considerable clarity before my bath whether she wished to make use of the room to prevent her disrupting the procedure.
The mood well and truly ruined (and my caustic loathing for the cramped flat in which I reside emerging blinking and growling into the fading daylight) I decided to postpone the festivities.

A matter of hours and a simply superb live radio session by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs later (which can be found here BTW, the session that is, not the hours) my original bath was tepid so I threw to fingers to the enviroment and ran myself another.

The pleasant warmth washed around me but my genitals seemed wholly unresponsive to stimuli of either the physical manual or creative mental variety. In fact as I cycled through a large list of potential fantasies and my shaft stayed inert I grew mildly concerned, to develop impotence while still in one's teens would make a fifth genital complaint and I was uncertain that I could really tolerate a full hand (nor an empty one for that matter) of difficulties.

It seemed that, as ever, once my mind eased and concerns faded my member jolted to life. I was planning to apply olive oil as I mentioned but decided only to make use of it when I could get no further.

This plan was somewhat curtailed though by my mother's request for entry. Having already been delayed by one family member I had little desire to allow a second interuption but her point was a good one: it was late and she required the usage of the facilities which I had been using for well over an hour.

She set about slowly making use of the room as I hovvered and attempted to mask my annoyance. I considered filling her in on the issue (especially when she asked whether the olive oil saucer was water for the cat) but frankly I felt like some form of X-Rated sit-com character by this point and was keen just to get on with it.

She was finally finished and permitted me some more usage time of the bath after some light pleading. Thankfully I was significantly swifter to rise this time around and some Yaoi-flavoured fantasies involving a foxy yet submissive red-head boy and a inexplicably dragonesque blonde youth (I concocted some half-baked fantasy setting for them to inhabit which I might expand upon) sodomising him in an evidently mutually pleasing fashion.

This was all well and good, by my standards it was well away from the league of bizarre (I once imagined a few scenes with an actual dragon involved but that was inspired by a Japanese myth and manga I heard of so that only half counts, plus it was months ago and involved a maiden rather than a male) but the weirdness did not eminate from the contents of my head but from my prepuce.

My progress had been slow, at least relatively to my last two full efforts, but I had expanded the skin slightly and it was enough to observe something rather disturbing. It appeared to me that there was some peculiar layer of tissue connected from my glans to the skin coating it, it was nestled neatly within the little V but when the skin was pulled slightly away from the head it followed, clearly the pair were bonded as one.

As it coincided almost precisely with the area marked by a scar from an infant condition (see this blog's premier post for more on that one) I suspected that the doctor's involved had perhaps made some error and stitched it down or somehow the fused flesh had melded into one in a very unpleasant fashion during the operation.

I was severely concerned at this discovery and was instantly of the belief that this was the root of my woe and that all might be lost: the scar tissue would snap if I attempted further prisings and I would have to choose between potential infections or the daunting prospect of some worryingly radical piece of corrective surgery.

However I later discovered (just before making this post in fact) that my thoughts on the internet as an equally adequete distributor of helpful and informative data as aimless and worthless purveyor of pointless inanity. For a brief check through a Google Image search in addition to a standard textual one indicated that I had been proven utterly ignorant of my own anatomy: this enigmatic but fear-inducing connective band was not the botch of a bloody butchery but was in fact my strokable, lovable friend the frenulum.

His disguise was deceptive: the view which I recieved from other sources was never from that direction and I have rarely had the opportunity to inspect other intact fellows in the flesh while flaccid or otherwise (alas) so it seemed I was simply suffering from a lack of frame of reference.

Once the foreskin has been tugged down fully the frenulum is rolled down along with it, providing a tight tug in some cases (so I am informed) and basically acting as the bridge between lower shaft and head allowing for a smooth roll. As I have not got my skin around my head post-puberty I have never witnessed this occurance and (alas I say again) the pornography that I have had the varying pleasure to watch has never included any natural gentlemen I have never really recieved an opportunity to watch the process in action.

It seems there is a condition named Frenulum Breve whereby the fren' is too tight or short or both to allow proper retraction. I hope that I am not suffering from this as othewise I will probably end up recreating my blog under the name of "BreveBlog".

It is certainly interesting for me to learn this information and I am highly relieved that it is a standard part of the body rather than some well-hidden mutilation.

I failed to fully spurt although this was compensated for by the fact that this time around I noted a far more instantly welcome development: the rolling of the skin along the glans was finally something I could actually find pleasurable. There was a joyous enjoyment gained from the steady, double-handed unfurling and refurling that was equal to if not excelling my original style of frantic friction production.

This was most certainly pleasing to me.

I did not get a great enough quantity of time last night to create a proper update so I suppose that you shall simply have to settle for a double-bill today:

Yesterday I utilised a technique which I had been advised upon by various sources but not acted upon due to some iffy plumbing that I only had fixed fairly recently.

Basically, as any pornographer photographer worth their salt knows cold water tenses up the body greatly, making almost all parts tighter and more restricted. As you might have guessed though warm water has precisely the opposite effect: the body grows looser and less firm.

This is, apparently, none to useful during pornography shots but when attempting to peel overly-tight skin over yourself it is nigh-on invaluble.

The bath was thankfully very warm although not too hot to cause me discomfort (enough to make me sleepy however, I suffered from severe snoozing prior to my manual grapplings) and in addition it provided some much needed heat to the room in general as the warmth dispersed and was trapped by the closed window and door.

Smelling fragrent (vanilla scented body lotion/shampoo is awesome BTW) and feeling fresh I emerged, dried and began.

The result was instantly noticable and highly beneficial: elasticity seemed to have been increased so greatly I did not even require the olive oil to reach the stage achieved during my previous full attempt. I considered using it regardless to witness whether even greater results would occur but the bath had lost some warmth by this point and the prospect of fully washing it all off was not one that I relished so I continued sans lube.

All the same it was actually very easy going, I did not really experience any stinging worthy of a mention and of course the little ache that accompanied the oil oozing into the orifice was not present so overall it was far more comfortable than my last effort.

The process takes a good deal more time than my standard manual mangling and was rather less pleasurable during the build up but I was happily aware that I was making progress at a rapid rate so I was content in this way and the enjoyable feeling elicited by rubbing the skin along the more sensitive areas of the head partially compensated for the rather uncomfortable tightness.

During this session I had an alteration of concern: before I had worried of pulling it too far down and it becoming lodged but during this point I was concerned of pulling it too hard resulting in it splintering. A split foreskin would be one with consequences of a circumcision if I was lucky so that notion was hardly one which I relished. I opted for the softly-softly, slowly-but-surely route and ensured that I never forced it but eased instead.

For those amongst you without the equipment with which to make an equilivent experiment if left to yourselves (which should be at least 60% counting women) I should at this point describe the raw mechanics in a tiny bit more detail: the skin when stretched could reach to the crown of the head, resulting in the tip of the glans being revealed in a dome. The rest of the head remained hidden and during my upwards motions the skin furled up into a small tubular appendage.

It was quite an interesting process to watch and my mind was rather pre-occupied and uninspired at that point meaning that my fantasy was rather poor, based around a large quantity of fruit being inserted a rather becoming set of female genitals (random? Yes. I know.) which was adequete but hardly as inspiring as I could plausibly hope for.

This may have been the cause for my rather undramatic climax which hardly had me in peals of ecstacy but left me reasonably well pleasured. Besides, the lack of focus also permitted me to observe the change that occured: whereas before the skin could only be strained around the tip of the head when I started, once I had completed it had progressed to the stage where a tiny section of the flesh beneath the aforementioned dome was also revealed and using the sloshing headful of semen (I had failed to spurt, alas) it was possible to fold the underside back slightly more. Unfortunately the milky mess was too opaque for me to get a sighting of the frenulum which was a pity, considering the pleasure it has brought me over the years it would be delightful to finally see it in face-to-organ.

I intend to attempt again later this evening, immediately after this post and another bath in fact. I plan to use the opening offered by the underside's curl to fill the small fault runs along the bottom of the head with some O.O. and see whether this aids my efforts. In addition I shall incoperate some more fren-play just for fun.

Overall I estimate the combination of heat and lubricant should serve admirably, I shall let you know whether I was correct once I myself know.

March 20th 2006


Tonight I did not really go for the full soak and stretch due to time constraints. I did use the pumping motion lightly but the skin was still folded over the head meaning I did not achieve a spurt, sadly. All things considered it was rather a dissapointment after my last time which was rather glorious, it was a rushed and late night affair so I suppose that is to be anticipated though.

I noticed an oddity which is that during my last effort with the olive oil I did not really feel the need to urinate afterwards whereas generally (prepare yourself for a highly pleasant mental image) I felt it very strongly and relieved myself with an oh-so-delighful mix of urine and semen. Today it was back with a vengance and for the first time I actively noticed it and found it rather irksome.

Tomorrow I shall go in for the full affair one again, time allowing.

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.

---

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.