When I was 14 years old, my mom apologized for having me circumcised as an infant.

I was in the back seat of the car while my dad was driving, and though I don’t quite remember how the issue came up, I do remember feeling, naturally, horribly awkward about discussing my penis with my parents.

My mom said it hadn’t been explained well by the doctors, and that once the nurse brought me back to her with my “fists clenched and white,” she knew she’d made a mistake.

“I don’t care,” I said.

“I don’t think about it — can we just change the subject?”

I didn’t even know what an uncircumcised penis looked like. I knew something about it having skin that would cover the tip, but I couldn’t picture where that skin attached. Did it just hang down from the head like a second scrotum or an earlobe?

The mysteriousness of it turned to a perverse curiosity, and it happened that my first boyfriend, who I dated when I was 19, was uncut. By then I’d learned what to expect by watching porn, but I couldn’t have predicted how turned on I’d be to see an uncircumcised penis in the flesh. The shaft seemed more thrust forward and determined, without that circular scar in the middle that would break up the shape, and I loved the way my boyfriend’s cock could tuck itself into a sheath when flaccid — it looked just as hot to me then as it did hard. (more…)