Earliest Foreskin Memories

Childhood Stories
1

I have been fascinated with foreskins, and all the things you can do with them, for as long as I can remember. I have often wondered why. For some, the interest seems to have developed from some early incident. I, on the other hand, seem to have been born that way. I have attempted to collect some of my earliest memories and experiences here. That obviously means this is all true, and therefore perhaps not as interesting as imagination might have made it.

When I was a child, there were no digital cameras. I regret that I have no pictures of what I looked like back then – only memories. My pecker was smoother and – obviously – smaller than it is now. I remember a clothespeg, when fully open, could fit across the shaft, top and bottom, albeit only just. Size-wise, it was about average, except it grew quite a bit with a stiffie. I might have had three or four inches, then. The foreskin overhang was substantial at all times, and remains so today.

My foreskin was always loose. The skin would come back behind the knob with a little pop. If released, it would roll forwards again within a second, but with the inner skin caught on the knob so I would have to tug on it to straighten it out. If, on the other hand, I pulled it back further, it would roll back until smooth, with just a little ring midway down the shaft to mark the skin that was usually at the tip. I remember being able to do this from at least as young as four, and most likely before that time as well. I would do it at every opportunity, whether alone or with friends, and in front of anyone else who might be interested.

I remember in kindergarten, outdoors in summer, pulling my jeans down in front of a group of four or five older boys. I can’t have been much more than five years old, and while they were probably no more than seven (back then, boys started school the year they turned seven), they were bullies even then. They were the kind that would jump the fence and go into town, leaving the kindergarten staff to go looking for them.

I am almost sure it was I who first offered to show them my pecker, although they soon took over and urged me on. They chose a place behind some bushes, and ordered me to make good on my promise. They also had me drop my trousers and pants all the way to my feet, after I had first just stuck my pecker out the front. I remember they laughed at me when I agreed to – which was all right with me, as I was having fun anyway. I remember pulling back my foreskin to show them I could. I also remember suggesting they do it to me themselves, but they didn’t want to touch it.

I recall very clearly how upset I was that they didn’t do anything but watch. I had expected them to pull my foreskin back – hard. Even at that age, I was excited at the idea that it might hurt. That, I guess, tells you quite a bit about me.

Also in kindergarten, I would attract a crowd by rolling my foreskin back, placing a pebble on top of the knob, and dragging the skin forwards to cover it. I only remember one incident well, but I know from the others’ reaction that it was not the first time I had done it. Some of the boys were quite surprised and intrigued, which I now suspect is because they could not at that time pull back their own foreskins. The reason I still remember this one incident is because one boy asked (gleefully, I should add): “What if you can’t get the pebble out?” Which I found quite a silly notion. After all, I only had to pull the skin back again and it would fall out.

This activity continued as I started school, and by the end of the first year of primary school, I think all my classmates, girls included, and a good many older boys, had seen my pecker in the schoolyard at some point. By the time I turned eight, however, I no longer did this at school, although I am not quite clear on why. I was never caught doing it, and do not know what would have resulted.

Around this time, I discovered orgasms all on my own. I am sure (by the furniture in my room; I recently sold the bed I got a while after this happened, and it had a manufacture date printed on it) that this happened before I turned eight. I had been given a cheap digital wristwatch, and had the bright idea of seeing exactly how long I could stand pulling my foreskin back as hard as I could – which I did frequently, and quite enjoyed. I’d just never timed it before.

So I lay on my back in bed at night, with the bedside lamp on and the covers off (I always slept naked). As the seconds hit zero, my skin came back with a yank. The frenulum pulled taut, and my knob was bent down so much I could only see a sliver of it even though I was holding my pecker upright, with both hands at the base. I had to use both hands to exert enough force. My frenulum has stretched a little since then, but at that age it hurt. I got used to it, though, or else my arms just got tired. But I didn’t let go, and I seem to remember it took just over eight minutes before I got this funny, tickly feeling, and promptly decided I’d had enough.

While I had no idea what had happened, I was thrilled with the result and repeated the exercise regularly. In time, I discovered that if I rolled the foreskin back and forth quickly enough, I got the same feeling. But that definitely came later.

This may help explain the incident I am about to relate. A friend of mine was sleeping over; I think we were both about nine at this time. To his astonishment and amusement, I sat on the edge of the bed and waved my pecker at him. There was precisely enough light coming in from the hallway to see. His thing was, as I was to discover, a lot shorter than mine, and he called mine “the flagpole”. Which in turn amused me greatly.

The details are a little hazy now, a quarter century later. But he ended up in my bed, under the covers and with the lights still off. And while he was obviously nervous, and a little reluctant, I still got to slide my hand under the covers, around the curve of his hip and on top of his pajamas. He tried to stop me at first, in a playful manner, and we were both giggling quietly. But whereas he wasn’t very determined, I was. So my fingers made their way into his pajamas, and I was tickling his little thing, rubbing it between my fingers, trying to determine what it looked like, since I couldn’t see it. His knob bulged more than mine did, and I could easily feel the shape of it, as his foreskin was a lot thinner than mine.

Since I was used to doing so myself, I naturally tried to pull his foreskin back. He went tense, but didn’t say anything. I remember it took more force to roll his skin back than was needed on mine. From his reactions, I got the distinct impression this was not something he was used to doing. But I also think, without knowing exactly why, that he had done it (or had it done to him) before. If nothing else, he had already seen mine pulled back, so he knew what was happening.

His foreskin came back behind the knob with a sudden and very noticeable snap, and I didn’t stop there. I wanted to know exactly how far back his skin would go. So, with a huge grin, I slowly pulled harder, easing off as soon as his hands darted to stop me. This happened several times. I would pop his skin up to cover the knob, then pull it all the way back again. It was easy to get a grip on him, as his pecker remained absolutely rock hard the whole time. Eventually, however, he asked me to stop, so I let go.

I was having way too much fun to quit, however, so after giving him a minute or two to rest, my hand returned to his pajama bottoms. Again, he let me. But this time, when his skin snapped back and I kept pulling, he yelped. He pushed my hand away and hurriedly replaced his foreskin, squeezing tight. I was very curious about what had happened, but I don’t think he knew for sure himself. We talked for a bit after that before falling asleep, but he only said it had hurt.

A few weeks later, he was again sleeping over. In bed, whispering, he told me he had been taken to see a doctor, and that he could no longer do what I had done to him. I persuaded him to show me, with the lights on this time. His little spout of foreskin was narrow compared to mine, and when he pulled it back until just before the knob would peek out, it formed a very sharp pen nib tip. That, he said, was as far as it would go now. When I challenged him to pull it back just a little further, he said he had been told not to, and it hurt too much in any case.

While the experience always intrigued me, it took me more than ten years to figure out what probably happened. My best guess is that his frenulum tore a little under the strain. Worried at the sudden sting, he made me stop. And afterwards, when I put tension on it again, it hurt because of the tear, and that made him yelp.

I felt very bad about what happened, and indeed still do. This boy was a great friend, both before and after, and while I found the experience extremely exciting, I was sorry that it had hurt him. I did it to him because it felt delicious when done to myself, and was too young to know that you could damage a pecker by being too rough with it. I used to wish we could have swapped places so I could have spared him the experience – and more importantly, so I could have enjoyed it myself.

If nothing else, I learned that while it is usually a good idea to treat others the way you would like them to treat you, it is not a universal truth. That is a profound realisation for a young boy.

These kinds of games did not happen often, however much I might have wanted them to. I soon learned that there was a huge variation in what other boys could do with their foreskins – and, more importantly, in whether or not they liked to. Finding a boy who shared my interest, and was willing to play, was a rare occurrence.

Even so, whilst thinking about all this, I realised I have had many similarly themed experiences, some of which I now remember only dimly. If there is any interest, I will be happy to post more, as soon as I have managed to dig out those memories and assemble them into something readable.

Finally, I am always interested in hearing other people’s stories, and appreciate very much all the wonderful stories collected here. Before the internet, I had no way to connect with people who shared my interests other than if they happened to cross my path by coincidence. I am glad to have the opportunity to tell my own story, and hope that even more of you will make use of that opportunity as well.

Emerald

2

Emerald, your story of memories is great. It is so nice to read true stories rather than made up ones.

3

Thank you! This is fun! I have been working on my notes recently, attempting to remember more details without adding anything I am not sure is true. This post deals with my encounters with tight or otherwise unretractable foreskins.

From an early age, I was interested in seeing other boys pull their foreskins back. Before long, I also became aware that not all boys were able to do so. This intrigued me even more, and I would ask other boys about it whenever I had the chance. Even so, it took me a long time to figure out why some boys couldn’t do what I could – as there are indeed several possible causes: narrow tips, short frenulums and adhesions. I believe I’ve come across all of them.

At seven I slept over at a friend’s place. I showed him my pecker, and he showed me his. It was shorter than mine, and shaped like an oval, the bulge of his knob beginning nearly at the base. His foreskin overhang was shorter too, but I never got to see even a glimpse of his knob.

Not surprisingly, I pulled my foreskin back for him to see, then challenged him to do the same. He quite cleverly responded that he didn’t want to. In fact, with the benefit of hindsight, I am pretty sure he couldn’t – but given the way he put it, I never realised at the time. After all, mine had always retracted easily, so why shouldn’t everyone elses?

This friend, I soon learned, was more interested in bottoms than in peckers. Indeed, that seemed to be the case with a majority of boys. Knowing this, I rarely brought up my interests. However, a year or two later, we came across a pack of condoms hidden underneath a rock in the forest not far from where my friend lived. My friend knew what they were for – possibly because his mom was a lab technician at the local hospital – whereas I hadn’t a clue. So he had to show me, and I got to try one on as well. The condoms were, shall we say, just a smidgeon too big for our slender little pricks.

I seem to remember my foreskin tip fit very neatly into the little extension at the tip of the condom, and – being unaware of the existence of sperm – I was convinced that was what it was for. But while we were experimenting, my foreskin had been pulled back by my attempts to make the condom stay on. My friend claimed he had done the same thing, but through the semi-opaque rubber, I couldn’t tell whether I was seeing foreskin or knob-skin. So I asked him to take the condom off so I could see, but he just shook his head smugly. I am inclined to believe that the devious little fellow still couldn’t pull his skin back, but wanted me to think he could – perhaps out of embarrassment. Of course, I may be mistaken…

If he couldn’t, he wasn’t the only one. I was with another pair of friends, one of whom had recently moved in from a neighbouring country. I believe I was ten, and my friends were a year or two younger. We were on our way to the playground right up the street. I can’t remember how we got to talking about peckers, but knowing myself, I can certainly guess who brought it up. One boy confirmed that he could pull his skin back if he wanted, but the one who had just moved in announced that he used to be able to, but now he could no longer do so.

I was naturally very intrigued, and wanted to know what had happened. He just shrugged, and said it had become like that a while ago, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t seem that unhappy about it, and I got the impression he hadn’t done it very often, even when he could. Despite some prodding, he was too embarrassed to show us, so I still didn’t know exactly why his skin wouldn’t come back.

Incidentally, the other boy proved his claim a year or two later. We were peeing together in the bathroom at his house, and once we were done, I tried my usual trick of pulling my skin back, and then telling him it was his turn. He dutifully did so, with a hint of embarrassment. He was big for his age down there, albeit still not quite my size. His knob was smooth and shiny, and dipped like mine did when his skin was pulled back as far as it would go. It came back easily, with no sign of any tightness.

Another time, I was playing in the woods with yet another friend. He was in my form at school, so I’d seen him naked plenty of times in the showers. His thing was small, and used to stand out a bit even though he was not erect – whereas mine hung down to below my balls. His skin was very smooth and pale, and the foreskin tip, which was rather long, stuck out at an angle, down and to the side. I’ve always wondered whether that down angle means the frenulum is short, and makes the skin curve. Of course, the sideways angle could also be due to adhesions on one side of the knob. Anyway…

At one point we needed to pee. Being alone, there was no reason not to do so on the spot. As usual when peeing outside, I would pull my skin back and pee in a tall arc, to see how far it would go (I imagine I’m not the only one who has ever done that). I finished first, and watched my friend finishing up. He didn’t even need to hold himself while peeing, which would have soaked my shoes, had it been me. He would dry off by brushing his pecker up and down with his palm, whereas I always milked mine. His method would avoid putting any tension on the frenulum, so I guess it makes sense.

Being curious to see the rest of him, I suggested he pull his foreskin back, as this would make him pee a lot further. His response, as near as I can translate it, was:

“That hurts like hell, let me tell you!”

I was sorely tempted to hold him from behind, and do it to him anyway. That would be one of my favourite fantasies for years to come. But much as the idea appealed to me, I didn’t really want to hurt him. I accepted his claim that it would indeed hurt, although I still didn’t know exactly why. I would have loved to investigate more closely, though, and maybe find out.

From his response, which was very definite and without any hesitation, I got the impression that this was a first-hand experience. At some point this boy had had his foreskin pulled back sharply, perhaps not all the way, but definitely far enough that it – in his own words – hurt like hell. I doubt he had done it to himself, but never found out who did. It could have been his father or another adult, perhaps a doctor – or, more likely, some other boys. There were always bullies around; I just never seemed to meet the right ones.

Speaking of doctors, we did have a medical check-up in our first year of school, with our parents present. But as far as I can remember, I was only required to strip to my underwear, and kept my pants on the whole time. The doctor never looked at my private bits. I would have loved to have had this check in a country where they yank your skin back without warning, to make sure it goes. I suspect a lot of my classmates would have failed that test.

I later moved to another town, and the boys there reported that their first medical had involved getting naked. But from what I heard, the doctor never touched their foreskins. We had another check-up when we started secondary school at age thirteen, but again, I sadly can’t remember anyone looking at me down there.

A final episode involved a family who had moved away at some point, and whom we were now visiting. They had three children: two boys – one about my age, the other younger – and a little girl of about five. I am not sure how old I was at the time, but probably less than ten. Us kids were sent out to play, while the adults stayed inside to talk – and eat cake. I remember wanting the cake first, but we were assured that there would be some left for us when we came back, so off we went.

Now, I know I had played with these boys before, but I cannot for the life of me remember it. But they certainly did: they wanted to play with our peckers, the way we used to do. I enthusiastically agreed. My memories of what happened are rather hazy, but I think they got to push my foreskin back, and in return I got to do theirs, with their little sister watching wide-eyed and snickering. The oldest boy’s skin went back easily enough, I think, whereas the youngest one’s was a lot trickier. That is the main reason I still remember the incident.

The boy’s pecker was small, and had a long, floppy tube of foreskin at the tip. I seem to remember that overhang was half the length of his pecker, although that could have been because he still had his trousers on, and the knob and foreskin were all that protruded. His skin was very tight. Even when I kneeled in front of him and stuffed my hand in his trousers to get a better grip, I was still unable to coax that skin back. I remember pulling quite hard, but my fingers butted against the base of it before I could see more than a pin-hole sized tip of his knob.

After a lot of fiddling, with all of us giggling at the difficulty I was having, the oldest boy and the girl ran on ahead, drawn by the promise of cake. The remaining boy finally offered to do it himself. I watched for maybe a minute as he struggled with it, using both hands so that I couldn’t see much. By this time, his pecker was growing stiff, which made it easier to get a grip on. Finally, he straightened up and displayed a shiny purple knob – with considerable pride, as I remember. I was surprised that the skin stayed back on its own when he released it; mine sure didn’t. He didn’t leave the knob bare for very long either; as soon as I agreed he had fulfilled his end of the bargain, he popped his skin back in place, and we ran to catch up with the others.

4

That’s a great account of your childhood experiences, Emerald, and I was struck by the similarities to my own boyhood encounters with foreskins.

My foreskin was regularly retracted from a very early age, certainly by the age of 4. My father used to retract it in the bath to clean under it, and when I was old enough to bath myself, he reminded me of the need to keep clean under the foreskin. I didn’t need reminding, as I used to enjoy doing this, and always got an erection in the process.

I became curious about other boys’ foreskins, and the first incident I can remember on my path to satisfying this curiosity occurred when I was about 6 or 7. I was playing with a boy called Kenneth who lived nearby and was about a year younger than me. I somehow persuaded him to compare our little cocks, including pulling back foreskins. I can clearly remember him saying “My dad makes it come out in the bath” (referring to his knob). We were then caught by his mother, who told my parents what we had been doing, so I was in trouble and it was made quite clear to me that doing this sort of thing was very wrong.

For some time afterwards I just contented myself with looking, such as in the school toilets and changing rooms. It was quite rewarding to see the variety of sizes and shapes of penis, particularly the foreskin, which could be long and narrow, or wrinkled, or loose and baggy. Rewarding as it was, looking was not quite enough, and I just longed to see another boy pull his foreskin back. It was actually my best friend Stephen who made the next move, one afternoon while walking home from school. We got talking about willies for some reason, and Stephen asked me if I knew I had a third ball. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so he offered to show me his if we could take a detour through some woods. Once we were in a secluded spot, we stopped and he pulled out his willy, which was quite large in comparison with other boys of our age (we were about 7 or 8 at the time). He then pulled back his foreskin, and said “There’s my third ball”, referring to his knob. I couldn’t wait to show him mine as well, so I got out my own penis, already rock-hard, and peeled back the covering of skin. We both excitedly compared appearances. His knob was larger than mine, more rounded in shape, and a lighter colour.

After that initiation, we regularly played with each other’s cocks and got to know them much more intimately. Stephen’s foreskin was quite loose, and did not have much of an overhang when it was forward. I learnt that it was an older cousin, not his father, who had shown Stephen how to pull the skin back.

I sometimes walked home with another boy called Chris, and we also started to occasionally compare our cocks. Again it was not me who made the first move (I was, and still am, a fairly shy person), but I cannot remember what Chris’s opening tactics were. I don’t think we ever progressed to handling each other’s, but we certainly made comparisons. Chris’s foreskin was longish but very loose.

Now that I had come to learn that an interest in other boys’ willies was not unusual, even though it might be ‘wrong’, I regained the courage to ask a number of my schoolfriends to show me their cocks, and I began to discover more about this wonderful part of a boy’s body.

A significant discovery was that not all boys could pull their foreskin back. One of my friends was Ian, who had a rather plump penis, but the foreskin tapered smoothly to form a long, narrow overhang which could not be pulled back. He knew it was supposed to retract, and demonstrated it to me. When he pulled hard back on the skin, the overhang disappeared but the skin would not go back any further. The opening was tiny and would not stretch to allow it to slide back over the glans - in fact I don’t think it was possible to see any of his glans. He said that his mother was supposed to be arranging for him to go into hospital because of it, but I didn’t know what that meant - I assumed they would loosen it somehow. I had not learned about circumcision. Whether he ever had it examined by a doctor, I don’t know, but he still had his foreskin in his mid teens.

Another exciting discovery was that some boys did not know that the foreskin could be retracted, and had never tried to retract their own. I think I may have suspected this already, but it was a boy called Barry who confirmed this. He had a small, thin penis and his foreskin formed a long, narrow nozzle in front of the glans. When I got the opportunity to ask him to pull his skin back, he didn’t know what I meant, so I had to show him with my own. He had never pulled his back before, but was keen to try and did so with both of us looking on intently as he pulled firmly back on the skin. It seemed to go back without any difficulty, revealing a very tender-looking virgin glans, which we both examined carefully. He asked me if it was possible to pee with it like this, so of course I told him that it was. He did so and was impressed by how far he could pee. He would have been about 7 years old at the time.

This new knowledge only increased my desire to inspect more penises. Which boys had never attempted to pull back their own foreskins? Which boys couldn’t?

A classmate called Colin fitted both categories. I got the chance to examine his penis one day in the toilets at school. We were both maybe 8 or 9 at the time, and we just happened to be taking a pee together in the urinals. I decided this might be an opportunity to see his cock more closely, so I made a comment about pulling back the skin and he did not seem to know what I meant. I explained by the most obvious way, pulling my own foreskin right back. He was amazed at what I had done, as he had apparently no idea that such a thing was possible. He carefully tried doing the same to his own, but seemed to have some difficulty. As he had never done it before, I thought perhaps he wasn’t doing it right, so I jumped at the opportunity of offering to help him. He quite willingly allowed me, so I knelt down to get a closer look. I gently took hold of his little willy, which was still flaccid (unlike mine), and saw that his foreskin was of about average length, covering his glans completely and with a little overhang. The opening in the end was not too narrow and looked quite loose, so I carefully pushed back on the skin. It went back just a little, and the opening in the foreskin widened enough to reveal the slit in his knob, but then something seemed to stop it going any further. I pushed back a bit harder, but with his cock being soft there was nothing really to push back against, and I just ended up pushing his whole cock towards his groin. I tried using two hands, which was a little better, and I was able to push a bit harder on the foreskin, at the same time making sure that I wasn’t hurting him. This had the effect of distorting the tip of his glans, which looked as though it was being divided in two by something connected to the foreskin, or maybe the foreskin was attached to the glans somewhere close to the tip. Anyway, at that point someone else came into the toilets and we gave up, and I never got another chance to have another look at Colin’s foreskin.

I am sure these childhood experiences have led to my fascination with foreskins throughout my adult life. I will describe more of my schoolfriends’ foreskins in another message if readers want.

Z

5

Emerald, I can’t wait to hear some more of your early foreskin memories. When I was in Elementary School here in the United States, there was only a few boys other than myself who still had a foreskin. Those of us who did were born at home. All those born in a hospital had been circumcised.
Moxmox

6

As no one has mentioned this, let me add a note of caution.

The foreskin is normally fused to the glans at birth (much like a kitten’s eyelids) and, like kittens, the foreskin gradually separates from the glans to permit retraction. Only with the foreskin, this process may take years … even up to fifteen or more, so forcible retraction can cause the torn skin to grow and fuse permanently onto the glans.

In the United States, most doctors, alas, are circumcised, and many if no most of them are almost completely unfamiliar with anatomical features of the normal, natural penis … which means that they, too, often attempt to forcibly retract a child’s foreskin.

The only person who should EVER attempt retracting a boy’s foreskin is the boy himself. Not doctors, not parents, not friends.

7

Hello again! I’m sorry this has been so long in coming! I appreciate the replies, and I am particularly thrilled to hear from Zarniwoop – some of whose story I have read elsewhere, albeit in less detailed form. It has always been a favourite of mine.

I was also struck by the similarity, which is quite coincidental. It leads me to suspect there are many more like us out there. I know that not all boys share the interest, and those who do might lack playmates with which to pursue it – like I did. Still, there must be a wealth of stories that are never shared (I am still hoping to inspire even more of you to post yours here, by the way).

Oh, and I would definitely love to hear more about Zarniwoop and his friends! Yes please! I expect I am not the only one either…

As I grew older, I became much more inventive in terms of what I did to my pecker. But even as a child, when it was still small and hairless, it got quite a workout. And that is the topic of today’s post. It’s kind of long, as usual, as there is so much to tell and I am aiming to be complete. If for no other reason than to document the things that seemingly innocent little boys actually do. Too many people appear to believe – or want to believe – that sexual feelings do not occur until puberty. But the politics of that belong in another post. This is all about what a pre-teen boy did to his pecker, without being told to, or taught how.

When I was very young, my games weren’t all that sophisticated. I have already mentioned pulling the foreskin back hard. I would often grind my little pecker into the mattress, using my weight to force the skin back harder. Usually when I laid down, the long skin tip would end up crooked. Getting the knob out without slipping my hand down to adjust it would be difficult, even using all my weight and a good bit of squirming around too. Grinding it against the rough fabric was pleasantly painful.

That was also the case when pulling my skin back through clothing, either using my hand or by humping something. I did that a lot, although not when I thought someone might notice. I can’t imagine noone ever saw me doing it, though. The skin would then roll forwards on its own, but not all the way, which felt weird. So I either had to pull it back again, or find the opportunity to put my hand in my pants and tug on it. Lots of fiddling resulted.

In summer it was easier: I had shorts that were much skimpier than the drift anchors people use for swimming nowadays. These had an inner and outer layer. I would stick the foreskin tip out through the leg hole of the inner layer, relying on the outer layer to cover it. I don’t think it quite did, though – I am sure you would have seen it if you were looking. But it felt so good to have the elastic band squeezing the tip, tugging on the foreskin as I ran about. As an added bonus, it only took a firm shove against the front of my shorts to make my pecker pop out the leg hole, retracting the foreskin in the process.

Imagine a boy, about five, climbing at the playground. Every so often, as he sits across a beam or clings to a rope, suddenly the bare knob of his his pecker pokes out through the leg hole, making him gasp. That would have been me.

Later, when I was seven and had just started school, I even did it in class once, squeezing my stiffie out to its full length, leaving the foreskin – which was still held firmly in place by the elastic – pulled back almost to the base. Sitting down with my legs almost closed, the elastic was tight enough around my leg to hold it like that for several minutes without touching it, making an otherwise boring lesson suddenly a lot more interesting. I was in the second row both from the windows and from the front. Even so, I don’t think any of my classmates noticed. After all, it was down between my legs and not easy to see from the side. The boy ahead of me was sick that day, though, so I don’t know how my teacher could have missed it. Perhaps the shelf underneath our rickety wooden desks obscured the view? Or else she saw, but was too flustered – or perhaps interested – to do anything about it…

Around this time I had a bedside lamp mounted on the wall at just the right height. I was always sent to bed early, and usually wasn’t very sleepy. So, as soon as it was safe, I would turn the light on and wait for it to warm up. Then I would stand up and hold my foreskin against the dark green metal lamp shade, seeing how long I could keep it there. I would set a target number of seconds. Occasionally I would imagine someone else was standing there behind me, making me do it (…which is pretty advanced for a seven-year old, wouldn’t you agree?).

If it didn’t hurt enough, I would slide the foreskin slowly around the rim, to a place that hadn’t been cooled down by holding the skin against it. On the other hand, if it hurt more than I could stand, I would pull the skin back minutely, to vary the spot to which the heat was applied. I had plenty of skin, after all. Sometimes, though, I would pull it back too far, and the knob would touch the lampshade, giving me quite a shock.

I also discovered that the lampshade was warmer on top, and that while the brim was bearable, the cone quickly got too hot to touch on purpose, even for a moment – although I did touch it by accident now and then, as a mattress is hardly a stable place to stand. Especially not when you’re trembling with excitement and the strain of having to stand the heat for those final few seconds. When my foreskin was reddened, and too sore to continue, I would fall asleep with my pecker glowing with the lingering heat.

Even before that – when I was around six, at a guess – I had a Winnie the Pooh story read to me, and found out about thistles, and how they were thorny and hurt to touch. This inspired me to run around my grandparents’ garden, which was very big (although today it would probably seem much smaller). At every new plant or bush, I would look around to make sure noone was waching from the windows, and pull my pecker out the leg hole of my shorts, touching it to the bush to see what it would feel like. I was disappointed not to find any thorns. I remember clearly how I wanted it to hurt down there. Sadly, the garden was far too well kept to have stinging nettles, which I am sure little me would have loved.

A few years later, again visiting my grandparents, I would ride my bicycle to the local supermarket (by then I was allowed out of the garden on my own). Early in the day, the customers were mostly elderly people who weren’t working; I would ask whether they needed help carrying groceries home. I was, of course, hoping they would require services of a naughtier kind, once we were alone. But noone ever did – and although I always asked whether there was anything else I could do, I never had the courage to be more explicit. It is so hard to meet the right kind of people without the internet, isn’t it? I am sure there are a quite a few out there who would have been more than happy to tell a very willing nine-year-old boy what to do (What would you have asked of me?). Still, I earned a few coins that came in very handy indeed, so I was happy enough.

As I have mentioned before, I liked to put stones inside my foreskin, especially if anyone was watching. Pebbles are easy to come by, and come in all shapes and sizes. When I wanted to fill my skin to capacity, I would find a smooth one, but if I wanted it to hurt, I would go for one with sharp edges, that dug into my skin from the inside. Once I had got it in, yanking the skin back suddenly could hurt quite a bit, as the inner skin is very sensitive. I usually did it slowly, except when someone was watching and I wanted to show off.

When I was around eight, I would have trouble getting the stone in if it were more than an inch long, or more than half an inch thick (Mind you, my sense of scale has changed since then as well, so it could well be that the little rock in question would actually have been even smaller than that). A stone that thick would only fit in the overhang, not between the knob and its covering skin. And even then, my foreskin was roomier than anyone elses. Or at least I believe so; it was hard to prove, after all, as long as most boys weren’t willing to try this trick…

Whereas most other boys also had thinner foreskin than I did, that doesn’t mean mine was particularly thick. It rested quite snugly against the knob when I wasn’t stretching it, and the overhang pointed down at an angle so that, when I peed, a sizeable bulge would appear on the top of the thin skin from the force of the pee exiting the slit in my knob. Around age six, I remember wondering what the bulge was, and on several occasions trying to squeeze it down as I was peeing.

I used to make my foreskin ‘eat’ lots of other things besides stones, too. Early on, I would stuff my skin with several sheets of loopaper. I also used bits of plastic and anything I could find around the house. Marbles were a favourite. I remember a figure of ten small marbles, but I think that would have been when I was twelve, and had started growing. I still didn’t have a single hair at that point, though. And although the tenth marble didn’t actually fall out when I let go, I couldn’t make the foreskin close up in front of it. Around the same time, I remember fitting one big marble on top of the knob, with a smaller one on either side, and that was all there was room for. Underneath, of course, the frenulum connects the skin to the knob, and there isn’t room to keep anything.

Incidentally, a year or two later, I was sleeping over at a friend’s place (I’d moved by this time, and had a new set of friends who didn’t know me that well). We were reading a rather silly comic magazine which mentioned the ‘championship of marble-stuffing’. The record figure quoted was off the wall, but at least it gave me the opportunity to brag about my own
record to my friend. By this time, I think it was nineteen, so I must have grown quite a bit with puberty. I offered to prove it, too, but he didn’t like the idea. At least I had the magazine to demonstrate I wasn’t the only one who ever tried something like that.

Around eight or nine, I managed to get hold of (that is, nick) three clothespegs made of green, transparent plastic, and hid them so I could play with them at night. Unlike ones I’ve used later, they had smooth tips that didn’t dig into the skin. They were a bit narrow, but opened to probably just over half an inch. I would flatten my foreskin and apply two pegs side by side at the tip, then try to squeeze the third one in between them, stretching the skin wide. One peg was bearable, but a peg squeezing another peg would bite too hard to stand for more than a moment. Also, with the pegs biting over the whole of my overhang, I could leave them there for as long as I liked – ten minutes, at least. But if I put them around the rim, with one tooth inside the opening and the other outside, I could only take it it for a short while. Still, if I hurried, I could get all three on.

At other times, I would put on just one or two pegs at the tip, but pointing sideways, leaving the opening free. I would then slowly tug the foreskin back, letting the knob force the pegs open as they moved with my skin, until they sat halfway down the length my pecker. With the peg’s teeth on top and below, they would open just far enough to accomodate my shaft, but squeezed it kind of flat. The other way – with the teeth left and right of the shaft – they wouldn’t fit.

I had been taught not to play with fire, so like the good boy I was, I didn’t try candle wax… until I was about eleven. I used to drip candle wax into a bowl of water, forming pretty, fragile, multi-coloured discs that were smooth on top and rugged underneath. From there to dripping wax on my foreskin (when I was alone) was just a short leap of the imagination. Once the first layer was in place, it didn’t hurt much, and I would end up with a pretty, multi-coloured wax-encased foreskin tip. I would go running through the house with it dangling, before finally pulling the foreskin back slowly, watching the candle wax burst open.

Another, rather obvious thing was to pull my foreskin opening apart using my fingers. My hands were much smaller then, so I could just manage to get two fingers from each hand inside the opening. An adult would probably have had a hard time getting both index fingers in. Putting my fingers in like that stretched the skin out pretty good, and I would then pull my fingers apart as hard as I could, producing about a tenth of an inch opening between them, and leaving the foreskin tip looking very wide and swollen for a while afterwards. I don’t think I did this too often, for some reason, although I loved the feeling. But I would often stuff one finger inside my foreskin, and pull the skin up as far as it would go – to about the second knuckle – and go to sleep with it that way, feeling the warm, snug hood clinging to my finger.

Since I did this all by myself, it happened quite often, and in most cases I don’t remember any single occasion. I just know I played with myself in some fashion almost every night, and often in daytime too, when I had the chance. One event I do remember vividly, though: the first time I glued my foreskin shut. I’d tried paper glue before, and found out it didn’t stick. But when I was about twelve or thirteen, I discovered a leftover tube of modeling glue in a box in the cellar. I read the label carefully – by then I was old enough to worry about such things. It said ‘do not inhale’, ‘do not eat’ (duh!) and ‘may cause irritation; wash away with soap and water if it comes into contact with bare skin’. That didn’t sound too bad to me. As far as I could determine, it wouldn’t kill me on the spot. For sure, it didn’t say you shouldn’t use it to glue your foreskin shut. So I decided to try it.

For the first twenty seconds or so, it felt cool. Then the stuff began to burn like my foreskin was a match, and someone had just lit it! I sat there wide-eyed and open-mouthed for a minute, fear and excitement mingling, leaving me gasping for breath. The pain was bearable, if only just. The fear of what it might do to me was not. So I dashed to the bathroom to – as it said – wash away with soap and water. I quickly discovered that any movement made it hurt more, but at least the glued skin came apart easily enough when I pulled it back. Ten minutes of holding my pecker under cold water later, the pain was almost gone. The dried glue formed brittle crusts that could be scraped away with a fingernail, although that fingernail had to rub quite hard, which was interesting in itself.

There were no lasting effects that I could determine. And the pain was as awesome as anything I had ever felt. So, me being my usual self, I couldn’t resist trying it again the next day, my hands trembling so much it was hard to hold the little tube level. I lay back in bed, stopwatch running, determined to leave the stuff where it was for at least five minutes. Gritting my teeth and squirming, I somehow managed. I had intended not to touch it during that time, but even though it hurt to move it, I couldn’t help doing it. The worst bit was when I squeezed it a bit to relieve the pain, only to discover that doing so multiplied it manyfold for a few moments.

After precisely five minutes, I began the slow process of pulling the skin back. Moving it made it hurt again, but I loved the feeling as the glue came apart with a series of small, sudden pops. It felt like the skin itself was splitting, ripped open as the knob forced its way through.

During later glue sessions, I would leave clothespegs on the foreskin for the first minute or two, until I couldn’t stand it any more and had to take them off. I now wish I could go back in time and hold my own arms so I couldn’t get at the pegs. I certainly dreamed about that at the time. I also dreamed that someone else was pulling the skin back, not knowing how much it hurt. But I had noone to do it for me.

The tube of glue was half-empty when I found it, and I eventually used it all, to the last drop, and worried for a while how to get my hands on some more. Fortunately, I came across an almost full tube in another box. That one I still have.

There was one lasting effect that I discovered soon enough: for a few months, the ring of foreskin where the glue had been would be white and inelastic. Enough so that the skin would dig into the shaft when pulled back, and feel pleasantly tight. I am sure that, if my skin were tighter to begin with, the effect would have been sufficient to prevent me from pulling it back at all.

I did try some other things that I haven’t described yet – closing the foreskin with sticky tape, for instance, or tying my pecker up with shoelaces – but they all involved some degree of pain to go with the pleasure. And I did it all on my own. However, I also did have more encounters with other boys, but those will have be the subject of a later post. If you are not already tired of hearing about me, that is…

Emerald

PS. I intended to reply to Rood as well, but it looks like I’m out of batteries… already. Can’t imagine why.

8

Thanks emerald, I’m amazed that your young foreskin could stand up to all that rough treatment you gave it. I’d love to hear more about your experiences with other boys.

9

Hello Zarn quite the storie i was one who was cut at birth so i dont remember much other that the kid who was hooked on seeing and playing with other boys cocks . I remember in First grade their was a kid (cut) who used to put small stones and dirt into his underware but that did nothing for me , when i was about 7 or 8 yrs old their was a kid next door who as i now remember may have been my first uncut cock but he was totally phimosed rather small in size overall and had a blunt tip with what looked like a little pigs curled tail as a foreskin . He would not let me see him piss but i sure it ballooned out quite a bit and aiming must of been a chore as well most would call it pinhole phimoses and thinking back on it now i almost sure he may have been circed in the years after i had seen him i guess? Well at about 10 yrs of age my family moved from Calif where i never seen any uncuts to a city in the North East part of the state of Ohio and thats where i got my first experience with uncuts i made friends like most 10 yr old boys and seen my fair shire of foreskins there were three brothers all uncut but at that time i never knew until one day playing at this gravel pit and the hills in the area it was like the three all stopped as if on cue pulled out their small foreskin and with out pulling any back pissed to relive themselves my first real look at one in action it was several days later i finally talked the older boy into showing me his uncut cock he pull it back but did not leave it back for long and said it hurt to keep back ??? i did not know why and later another boy about my same age we lived in a different part of town again we were in some tall grass and he pulled his out and it was uncut i ask if he could pull it back he did now what was different with his was it was a very dark purple red color and when i touched the head he flinched and said it hurt quite a bit . Well i guess it was his mother from the third floor building who had a eye full and told my parents so i backed off for a while . Now i play with my cousins who were all cut so nothing new or strange their, one did wet the bed quite a bit but i tryed to see if i could help kinda felt sorry for him as he had no control and was truly helpless in stopping it . again later in the year while i did not know how to swim i went to take swimming classes at the YMCA and the rule their was no bathing suits so all of us swam in the nude of the 20 or so of us only 2 boys were uncut and i sure they were the ones always watched … I am sure if you were around during the times when uncuts were not the in cool thing you really felt out of place and the odd kid in class. I would of given any thing to have traded places with you for sure . Well with my dad in the construction field and truck driver he was always moving and about 1959 /60 we made a major move again to Nevada 30 miles east of Carson City now still having the lust for uncuts I was 12 yrs old mid school 7 and 8th grades and did find a lad who was uncut but his was different again he had a short foreskin and but it was not like the boy with the purple cock head his looked just like mine and no pain or sensation almost like no feeling in his at all ??? so i learned again that some cocks were very sensitive and others were more like boys who were cut all their lives I did find a good looking lad in 7 grade who i was told was uncut but could never get around to talking about our cocks or seeing his we became friends and did keep in contact for a long while but last i knew he was in the army dont know if he ever came out alive or not sure would of liked to have seen what he had , well by this time finding uncuts was more difficult for sure living in southern calif Orange County and uncuts there were almost nill so that was by boy hood experiences i have more i ll post as a young lad going into the military scoop

10

My earliest foreskin memory is when I was about 5 years old. My year-younger brother and I were taking a bath together like we usually did, and my father told us to pull back our foreskins and then shake our penises in the water, to clean it. We did this every time we bathed (and I still do it, of course, though now I have changed to showers). In the shower I just peel it back with one hand and then – holding it under the shower spray – rub the head with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. Takes less time than brushing the teeth – which is a counter to the argument (at least here in the U.S.) that having a foreskin makes it more difficult to keep the penis clean. Bullshit!