Mom, Why Doesn’t Lynn Have One?

      From the earliest age, I was fully aware (and grateful) that I have a penis.

      I knew it affectionately as my wee wee or pee pee, depending of course on the person I was talking to at any given instances. At that juncture in my life, the only other people that I met with a penis, was both my brother and father. James had a wee wee - even more wee than mine because he was much younger. My dad had a frightening monster, and at that young age I had hoped like hell I would never have one like his (Sadly, my wish came true).

      The most horrible thing was that Lynn and my mom did not have any. I remember vividly pointing to my sister as my mother was washing her in the tub asking what was wrong with my sister – what terrible misfortune had she suffered to have her wee wee so unfairly taken away.

      I could tell that Lynn was put out by my observation and the sad fact that she did not have a pee-pee like mine. The look on her face told me that my comment hurt her deeply and suddenly she was insecure about her deprivation.

      My mother wanting to soothe Lynn and educate me quickly pointed out a few facts about the differences between boys and girls. It was then that I learned that a girl’s slit – where the pee pee should be was called a pee pee hole.

      Mom also explained to both James and I that was how God made girls.

      James and I looked dubiously at each other, thinking I’m sure the same thing…. “God hates girls”.

      And despite my mother’s best efforts, Lynn still looked like a mark taken by a carnie; and why not? James and I could plainly see the distinct disadvantages that our sister and our mother suffered.

      They were hampered by the fact that they did not have the appendage that James and I were so fortunate enough to possess.  Unlike us, they could not just pee anywhere they wanted on a whim with minimal chance of discovery. They had to peel of their cloths and squat to do the dirty deed. Nor could they write their name into the snow, or piss into the wind.

      Yes I saw that they were hampered; it would be years before I found out the distinct advantages that girls had from having only a pee-pee hole instead.

      From the earliest time, I was focused on my penis, always mashing it, playing and stretching it, petting and flexing it… making it bob up and down – forcibly and quickly – attempting to take it from a dead drop… head pointed towards the floor and then try to slap my belly. (Look Ma no hands!).

      I would actually show this display to my parents and to whoever happened to be visiting with great pride and satisfaction.

      I was not old enough or sophisticated enough to realized that most of my parents friends found this display to be disturbing and even a little frightening as I’d cheerfully stand close to them so they could get a better look.

      My mother and father had to take me aside and tell me that my stunts had to be done in private, if at all.

      I could tell my dad really didn’t mind, he just had to go along with my mother. I think he was a little jealous that social convention would not allow him the latitude that allowed a four or five year old boy to such things.

      Believe me, if my dad could get away with it, he’d only be too happy to show them what his wanker could do with a heavy towel.

      So from there on out… I would privately amuse myself with belly slapping and towel lifts. Does this sound odd? Well perhaps it is, but honest to God… when questioned directly, you will find that most men have practiced this stunt at least once in their lives. I think it is something instinctual in us men that understand the necessity to keep our penis strong and hardy.

      Believe me when I say that most men my age would be happy if they could just get their puppy to stand up at half-mast – pointing three o’clock, as compared to their youth when the their beast points to high noon.

      Yes it was an amusing tug toy that made long baths more amusing… watching that little German helmet bob repeatedly above the water and then submerge like a covert diver under the suds, only to reappear again from my careful flexing of the perineum muscles between my scrotum and anus. (Known as the poopy hole).

      Back then, whenever I was running around the house naked or swimming naked, my mother friends, - women with sons of their own – use to comment on how extraordinarily endowed I was for my age.

      My parents of course seemed to derive an odd sense of amusement… my father was both hugely amused and proud.

      I noticed this unusual attention, but I honestly did not put to much thought or judgment or feel any pride, from such attentions and comments; I was just damn glad to have one.

      At an early age my gratitude of having one, and my fear of its unexpected loss was imprinted in my brain permanently. The female relatives in my parent’s family and even some of their female friends use to delight in the game of snagging and stealing my penis.

      As a little tyke, there were many instances that I was enjoying naked time; whether it was from just coming out of the bath or just tooling around the house or yard. Anyway, these female relatives liked to make a quick grab at my little member and pinch it with their forefinger and thumb and then quickly pull their offending hand back… only to show me what they claimed was the head of my pecker held between their forefinger and middle finger.

      Initially, these frightful intrusions caused me great alarm… even terror and tears. After numerous tiresome encounters over the years of early childhood, I was able to share in their perverse humor – but not without an undercurrent of ill ease – that they may actually pluck my tug toy away.

      I noticed that my male relatives never engaged in this game. Over the years I have given this much thought, and I have come to the realization that men do not play this game… not because they fear any sort of gayness, but that men instinctually know how traumatizing such enactments could be. It touched on their greatest fear; which is the loss of their penis.  I think women that plucked at my penis loved this game, because down deep they would like to do this to their husbands and I think they still harbor feelings of resentment for not being issued a penis at birth. It does not matter that their pussies gives them distinct advantages and pleasure – I just think they want it all.

      Anyway, from the earliest age… even before I became a sexual being, I felt blessed for having a penis and very protective of it.