||Bob and I lay facing each other,
with my prick tip inside his long, voluminous foreskin, literally head to head.
I was doubly lucky to have found Bob. Unlike me, he hadn't been mutilated when
he was born, and still had his precious hood to protect his helmet. I'd spent
almost every day of my 30 years circumcised. Also, he had the longest foreskin
I'd ever seen, dangling off the end of his prick when he was limp, and covering
the head with overhang to spare when he was erect. He had enough overhang to
accommodate my thick, fleshy helmet right down to the groove behind my rim, and
we made the most of it. We both knew from experience that most uncut guys didn't
have enough foreskin length to accommodate another glans, and that ruled out
docking for them.
We'd met at our apartment that evening after work, and after eating a take-out
Chinese dinner, we'd undressed and begun docking. His foreskin was long and
loose, and the first thing we did after undressing was to lie facing each other
on the bed. He'd stretched out the opening of his long foreskin nipple and I'd
slipped the end of my prick inside. The contact was electric, and it didn't take
long for us to become fully hard once my helmet was enveloped inside his
foreskin, touching the blunt front dome of his.
At the first contact I'd felt a little electric tingle deep in the root of my
prick, and knew that I'd secreted a drop of lubricant, which now was crawling
slowly up my tube towards the end. Bob was seeping too, more than I was because
his helmet was more sensitive than mine, and our engorged tips were sliding
easily inside his hood, rubbing nose to nose.
Nature had been good to us. Each of us had a straight shaft, a large helmet
shaped head with a sexy upturned flaring rim, and a big vein running down the
right side. Overall, our pricks were six inches long from pubic bone to the end
of the glans. The only significant difference was that while he had a long
foreskin covering his helmet to keep it moist and sensitive, my prick had a
thick brown scar behind the corona, evidence of the surgery that had removed my
foreskin a few days after I'd been born.
The doctor who'd cut me had also removed the frenulum, or gee-string, under my
glans. Bob still had his, of course, and I knew that even a light touch on that
hot spot would make him moan with delight.
Bob was lucky too in having met me, someone who truly appreciated his foreskin
endowment. Some cut guys didn't like foreskins, perhaps because a foreskin would
remind them of what they'd lost, but I was always comfortable with Bob's natural
prick, envious instead of resentful.
Now we thrust gently against each other's helmets. I felt the rounded front dome
of his press into mine, compressing the nerve endings. Bob's fingers were
wrapped around his foreskin, holding it in place over my tip, and he was
twisting it rhythmically to provide extra stimulation to both helmets.
"Our tips are getting harder," he muttered as we continued our docking. I'd
noticed that our balls had already drawn up tightly against our bodies with
excitement, and now our helmets were filling out fully in the final swelling
that precedes the moment of release. The front dome of his tip felt harder now
as it pressed into mine. “I’m getting that tickle," I said to him. The
delightful friction of his foreskin around my rim had produced a light tickling
sensation in my nerve endings, and I knew that I was close.
"Mine's been tickling for a few seconds," he replied. I wasn't surprised,
because I knew his glans was more sensitive than mine. Our breathing had become
heavy, and even though we were both trying to remain relaxed to prolong our
enjoyment, orgasm was not far away. We kept thrusting, perfectly synchronized
from long practice, as we waited for our sensations to overtake us. I felt the
tickle in my glans become more intense and another sensation in the front dome
of my helmet, a delicious ache that signaled my need for release. Now we were
moving more urgently, driven by the need to spew our cream, and Bob's fingers
had tightened on our pricks to increase the pressure and friction. My breathing
became ragged as my excitement mounted, as did his. The tickle spread from my
corona through my glans, and I felt the root of my prick tightening up in
anticipation of the explosion. We were beyond the point of no return and
couldn't stop now, or even slow down.
The supreme moment came as my helmet seemed to swell even more, filled with a
hot tingle that made me close my eyes. I heard Bob cry out, and felt the end of
his glans throb hard against mine while spewing a gush of hot cream all over the
front of my helmet. This triggered my orgasm, and I felt a hard contraction deep
inside me as the heavy pounding of orgasm began in my body.
I grunted hard as the first hot jet burned its way up my urethra to slam through
the lips of my slit and mix with his fluid. Bob's glans again throbbed against
mine as his second discharge erupted, and an instant later I followed him with
another torrent of cream. The hot liquid filled his foreskin, swirling around
our throbbing helmets and filling the grooves behind them, bathing our coronas
in boiling sperm. We both cried out helplessly, trapped in the frenzy of our
Our bodies strained against each other as our pricks disgorged another load that
made his foreskin distend. I knew that by now it would be leaking out the end of
his foreskin, and right then I smelled the characteristic chlorine odor of our
sperm filling the air. Another hard throb jolted our pricks and more juice
seared its way up our urethras to flood his foreskin.
Now Bob stopped thrusting and his hand stopped twisting his foreskin because his
helmet had become super-sensitive to stimulation. We still continued to gush our
life-juice, though, and felt each other's throbs as our orgasms began to fade.
We were in the blissful free-fall of orgasm, our sensations tapering off but
still delightful, as we emptied ourselves.
We lay still for a long time, our breathing getting back to normal, as we
enjoyed the intimate stupor of the aftershock together. Our pricks softened,
which allowed us to hug more closely communing and sharing the blissful moment.
Bob kissed me on the lips and murmured "Thank you," and I nibbled at his
We often docked, but at other times I'd play with his foreskin, stretching it
out and generally worshipping it. I'd sometimes arouse him by inserting my
tongue inside his long fleshy tube, probing for his slit. Other times I slip my
finger inside it, working it around the sexy contours of his glans. His prick
enjoyed all kinds of attention, and I made sure to provide it.
One evening some days later, while Bob was out of town, I was having a drink at
a quiet neighborhood bar near us, and got into conversation with an affable
stranger about sixty years old. He'd mentioned that many guys resented having
lost their foreskins, and I told him that I'd been circumcised at birth. My
manner conveyed to him how much it meant to me, and how badly I'd like to have
my foreskin back. We each had several drinks, and as the conversation became
more intimate, moved to a table in the back.
"What would you do to get it back?" he asked directly. I wasn't prepared for
this question, and wasn't even sure I understood it. I knew that once the
foreskin was removed it was gone forever. I'd heard of some guys having had
plastic surgery to create a semblance of a foreskin, but knew that this wasn't
comparable to the real thing.
"What would you do?" he asked me again. I shook my head and murmured:
"I don't know. Anything, I guess. What could I do?" I was really confused by his
question and his persistence. If he hadn't had such a pleasant and sympathetic
manner, I would have walked out right then. I wondered if I were dealing with
some kind of a nut.
"What I mean is would you strike a deal if somehow, by some miracle, your penis
would get restored to good as new? Here, let's have another drink," he said as
the bartender delivered two more glasses. I drank, looking at him curiously.
"Ever hear of Satan?" he suddenly asked. I nodded, wondering what was to come.
I'm an atheist, and don't believe in either a deity or Satan.
"I'm him," he declared. Now I was sure he was a nut, but I was reluctant to be
impolite and say so even as I wondered how I might tactfully extricate myself
from this nutty conversation.
"Yes, I know, you find that hard to believe, and even if you did, you'd be
reluctant to strike a bargain with him. Well, the popular notion of Satan is a
folk tale. I'm supposed to represent everything that's evil in the world, but
I'm really only the leader of a counter-culture." I didn't quite know what he
meant, and didn't say anything.
"If you want your foreskin back, I'll arrange it," he promised.
"Okay, what do I have to do in return, sell you my soul?" I asked, waiting for
the punch line because now I suspected this might be some sort of practical
joke. I don't believe in souls either. He didn't look surprised or indignant as
he told me:
"No, I don’t need your soul. I've got one of my own."
"What do I have to do in return, then?" I persisted.
Simply tell the truth. I know you live with a significant other, Bob by name.
When he gets back, he'll surely notice that you've got a foreskin. Just tell him
truthfully what happened."
"What's the point of that?" I asked, becoming more disbelieving by the moment.
"As you know, I've been the victim of very bad publicity, the personification of
evil. I need some good P.R., and you can help. Don't hold back anything, and
don't embellish. Just be truthful about what happened here tonight." He placed
his hand over mine. I pulled away.
"I really don't know what your agenda is…" I began but he silenced me with a
wave of his hand.
"Please, just listen. Just go home tonight and go to bed as you always do. If
you wake up tomorrow morning and you're still circumcised, just forget this
conversation. Conclude you'd been talking with a screwball and forget about it."
"What if I do wake up with a foreskin? What do I do then?"
"Do just as I told you. Tell the truth." He stared affably at me, his manner
"What if I wake up with a foreskin and lie about it? What if I tell Bob the
Tooth Fairy brought it? What will you do if I break my promise?" He didn't show
any dismay or annoyance as he replied calmly:
What do you think a wooden stake through your heart? Fire and brimstone? That's
extreme, and it's not the way I work. If you don't keep you end of the bargain,
you'll simply wake up the next day with a circular scar around your penis and
your glans will be dried out and leathery again. You'll go back to being
circumcised. That's logical and easy to understand, right?"
"I guess so," I replied, now too numbed by the alcohol and confused by this
bizarre conversation. I still didn't believe what I was hearing.
"Do we have a deal, then?" he asked as he held out his hand. Yes, I guess we
do," I replied, not knowing any other way to get rid of this nut. I shook his
"Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the bathroom. Surprised? I
have to go too, just like you." He got up and walked to the toilet and went
inside. I sat there, wondering if he really thought that he was Satan, and
wondering if he might be dangerous. I was ready to run out the door if he made a
threatening move, but as I waited he didn't reappear. Fifteen minutes passed.
"What the fuck?" I thought, as curiosity got the better of me and I approached
the door to the toilet. Maybe he'd had a heart attack inside, or a stroke. If
that was it, I couldn't just leave the old guy to die. I'd tell the bartender to
cal 911 and get him help.
I opened the door and stepped inside. Nobody was there. I looked inside the two
booths to find them empty. I knew he hadn't come out because I'd been seated
facing the door and had kept my eyes on it. I looked at the window high on the
wall, which was closed, and in any event too small for even a child to crawl
through it. I walked out and went home, crawling into bed. I was frankly drunk
and still wondering about this bizarre event when I fell asleep.
Next morning I awoke, only slightly hung over, deciding that although I could
consume a fair amount of gin, the whiskey I'd had last night was very bad for
me. I went into the bathroom to empty my bladder and, still only half awake,
aimed my prick down at the toilet.
The warm urine splashing on my legs brought me to wakefulness. I looked down to
see piss splattering all over me and the floor from the end of a long nippled
foreskin. I then realized why my penis had felt unfamiliar in my fingers when
I'd begun. My large, helmet-shaped glans wasn't visible, hidden beneath the
bulge in a long foreskin that extended at least an inch beyond it. I tightened
my sphincter, shutting off the flow, and went over to the sink, examining my
Slowly I drew back the thick fleshy covering that seemed very unfamiliar on my
penis, gradually bringing the glans into view. I skinned back until my foreskin
snapped down into the deep groove behind my flaring corona to form a thick
fleshy collar behind it.
I examined my glans. It was the same familiar helmet-shaped tip I'd been looking
at all my life, with blunt nose, expanding to a sexy upturned rim that flared in
a very attractive manner. I saw that it was a rich purple color, instead of the
pinkish-purple it had been before, and the dry, leathery texture had changed to
glossy. As a result of this manipulation, my prick had begun to swell. I raised
my prick so that I was looking down at my slit, which had begun to pout into the
usual teardrop shape it assumed with erection. Now I pointed it down at the sink
and consciously relaxed my sphincter, eager to empty myself before full erection
prevented it. A yellow dribble began falling from my glans, becoming a strong
stream as my bladder drained itself.
When I was finished, I carefully milked my penis to expel the last drops, and
then set about wiping up the spillage I'd created on the tiles around the
toilet. As I got to my feet the towel I'd used lightly brushed my glans,
producing a feeling of profound tenderness I'd never experienced before. Now I
realized that I'd left my foreskin back behind the rim, locked in place by my
high ridge. I also realized that my helmet was now exquisitely tender, whereas
before it had been numb by comparison.
I grasped my shaft and began pushing my foreskin over the rim to cover my
helmet. It slid easily, as my glans was soft and spongy, but it quickly swelled
as I slid my foreskin over it. I pulled back slightly, relishing the delicious
sensation of my new hood's gentle friction against my more sensitive helmet, and
now I felt a slight tickle deep inside that told me I was secreting lube. I
continued to work my foreskin up and down my rapidly swelling prick as was
rewarded by more tickling in the root of my prick. A drop of clear fluid parted
the lips of my slit, and I quickly engulfed it with my long hood, spreading it
over my swelling helmet. More lube appeared to lubricate my foreskin, and I
began a slow but steady rhythm that pumped up my excitement.
I realized that I was doing what I'd dreamed of all my life when I'd seen intact
guys jacking off with their hoods. I was stroking myself in a manner I'd only
dreamed about before, and this realization stoked my fire. I moaned, in delight,
ecstatic that I was really doing this, giving myself pleasure the way nature had
intended it, and before I knew it I felt my helmet get very hard through the
enveloping skin. Each time I bared the front dome of my helmet I saw that fluid
was steadily seeping from my teardrop shaped meatus, lubricating my glistening
glans. I was seeping lubricant as copiously as Bob did.
I also saw that my tip had turned darker purple, and knew that I was close to
the point of release. I was so excited that I couldn't hold back to savor the
moment, but began pumping faster as my body responded automatically to the
pleasure in my prick. I felt the familiar tickle in my rim, but this time it
quickly spread all over my helmet. The sensations were rushing at me with the
force of a hurricane, and my fingers flew over my hot hard prick, adding to my
sensations. Suddenly the tickle in my helmet turned into a hot tingle, and I
felt a sharp spasm deep inside me as the orgasm slammed into me. I cried out
loudly and helplessly as the hot frenzy gripped me, and my knees buckled as I
shot my first stream into the sink. I leaned against the counter, too weak to
stand, as another spasm wrenched the root of my prick. My prick throbbed hard in
my fingers as the second stream poured from my dark purple tip into the sink,
and I groaned in agonized ecstasy at the sharpness of the sensation. Another
hard contraction deep inside me sent the third stream gushing white from my
glans, and suddenly I yelped as the sensation in my throbbing tip became
overpowering. I had to stop stroking because my helmet had become too sensitive.
Still, my contractions continued deep inside me, and as I held on desperately to
the edge of the counter with both hands I saw my prick bob up and down
frenziedly with each ejaculation.
My prick was still too sensitive to touch as the last drops dribbled from my
orifice. I was breathless, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations I'd
just experienced. Now I was just barely seeping white juice, the residue of my
massive discharge. I was losing my erection but my prick was still too tender to
touch, as I discovered when I tried to slide my foreskin forward. I turned on
the shower and stepped under the hot water, letting it rinse my body. My
foreskin was still locked behind my rim, and the hot flow stimulated my urge to
pee. I relaxed under the spray, and finally my prick lost its excessive
sensitivity and I was able to cap my glans once more. I soaped up and rinsed
myself, being careful not to leave a soapy residue inside my hood because I knew
it might cause irritation.
As I dried myself, I inspected my body in the long mirror. My gaze was focused
on my groin, and I smiled as I contemplated my image, my long foreskin nipple
dangling at the end of my penis, much like Bob's prick. I'd always felt
incomplete, inadequate, and inferior because my foreskin was missing but now
that feeling left me. I realized that I finally felt like a real man.
I also realized that from now on, I'd have to be careful to skin back when
urinating. This morning's experience, with the urine splattering over my legs
and the tile floor, had been relatively innocuous. If I forgot to retract my
hood when in the men's room at work, I'd end up with very wet clothing and
I dressed for work, and resumed thinking about the events of the night before. I
realized that Satan had been perfectly serious and had kept his promise to me. I
was now concerned about keeping my end of the bargain. I knew that, just as he
had given me back my foreskin, he could easily take it from me. I was very much
afraid of losing my precious foreskin and intended to keep to our agreement. The
prospect of returning to a circumcised state frightened me as much or more than
having a stake driven through my heart. It was clear that Satan, if he was that,
knew me better than I knew myself, and fully understood how to exploit my fears.
However, I also worried about how he'd view my effort. Would he hold it against
me if I didn't repeat our conversation to the last detail? Who would I have to
tell? I knew I'd have to tell Bob, and this didn't bother me at all. I also knew
that most people I knew had never seen me naked and didn't know I'd been
circumcised at birth. At work, we had high partitions between the urinals in the
men's room, so I wouldn't have to explain anything to my boss or fellow
I also had to remember to skin back for urination. I almost forgot a couple of
times at work, and clamped my sphincter tight when I realized I was about to
splatter my clothing. Another reason for skinning back was that if anyone
happened to see my prick, despite the partitions between the urinals, my new
foreskin would be less noticeable if it were peeled back and my glans was bare.
Would Satan expect me to volunteer the information to people who had seen me
naked? If I avoided them to avoid having to explain the transformation of my
penis, would he hold it against me? I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was
gradually becoming trapped in a network of evasions, if not lies.
Bob returned four days later after the weekend, during which I'd had no untoward
incidents at work. I'd also avoided seeing any friends. I'd turned down an
invitation to go camping that weekend because I was afraid that one of my
buddies would notice my foreskin. In the woods it was unavoidable to pee out in
the open, and this was a real danger.
Fortunately, Satan didn't hold this against me, for I still had my foreskin
Monday morning. I was supremely glad I did, for I'd been making good use of it
each day, relishing my new method of masturbation. I had a nagging feeling I
should be saving my sperm for Bob, but also knew that he, of all people, would
understand my need.
Each day I stroked myself to orgasm at least twice, taking long slow strokes
that completely covered the head on the up-stroke and then sliding the hood down
to bare it to the groove. At first I was concerned I'd irritate my prick from
too much jacking but then I realized that it needs relatively little stimulation
to attain orgasm. Slow and gentle strokes always brought me to a gasping,
shuddering climax that left me drained and fully satisfied.
I also had learned to sit or lie down during these sessions, as my knees had
buckled the first time. Now I usually sat in a recliner, towel on my stomach,
and brought myself to orgasm with long slow strokes. Although I always pulled my
foreskin down when I began to come because I enjoyed watching my big purple
helmet spurting, my eyes closed as the full force of the climax hit me, and I
missed the show.
I picked Bob up at the airport and during the drive home he told me about his
trip. I was only half listening, because my mind was on our forthcoming show and
tell that evening. I'd have a lot to show and a lot to tell, although he hadn't
a clue as to what was coming.
Once inside Bob quickly unpacked, while I prepared a couple of martinis in the
kitchen. He expected me to join him in the bedroom, but I asked him to come into
the kitchen after he'd undressed. I quickly shed my clothes and was standing
next to the table when he entered. He sat in a chair and at first I thought he
hadn't noticed anything different. However, he was silently staring at my
crotch, studying it as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.
"Okay, Bob, I know you've noticed my foreskin. Let me tell you all about it," I
began. I sat and related the entire story to him. Leaving nothing out, telling
him about my hopes and fears. He sat silently, staring at my prick, and after
about 10 minutes reached out and clasped my long nipple between thumb and
forefinger, as if to reassure him by touching me that his eyes were not
This gentle handling got me hard very quickly, and his prick began to swell too,
although neither of us had touched it. I was happy to see that he was being
turned on by my new hood, and I finished the story confidently.
"Well, I know your foreskin's real," he said. "I even stripped it back to see if
there was a scar underneath, but there's nothing to show that you were ever
circumcised. You've even got a gee-string like mine."
"Yes, it's real," I confirmed. "I've been using it a lot these last few days,
getting used to it, learning to jack myself the way I'd always wanted."
"Yes, but do you believe that guy was really Satan?" Bob was an atheist and
skeptic, just like me. He found it hard to believe that this had happened,
although he had to agree that my prick was now beautifully pristine and
untouched by circumcision.
"I guess I have no choice," I replied. "I find it hard to really believe it, but
I have no choice but to go on the assumption that he was who he said."
"I guess that's as far as we can go then," he concluded. As he spoke he began
testing the edge of my foreskin, grasping it with thumb and forefinger of both
hands, stretching it out to widen the orifice. I guessed what he had in mind.
"I think I just might be able to dock you, Bob."
"That would be wonderful," he exclaimed. "That would be a perfect way for us to
celebrate your new skin." He got up, taking my hand and leading me to the
bedroom. As we walked, our heavy-ended pricks swayed from side to side,
advertising their arousal and readiness for action. We lay facing each other,
pricks pointing toward each other, their big blunt heads still shrouded by long
hoods. I spread a towel between us, for I was certain that we'd be flooding the
bed with our cream this evening.
"Let's get you ready," I said as I reached for his prick, gently sliding the
long hood back until it snapped down into the deep groove behind his sexy
upturned rim. His glans glittered wetly in the soft room light. Now I stretched
out the opening of my long nipple, and he thrust forward slowly, pressing his
tapered glans into the orifice. He slid farther in as we watched his helmet
gradually disappear inside my foreskin. I felt a delicious tickle as the nose of
his glans touched mine. Now my hood was stretched to cover his wide rim and the
thick fleshy ring behind it, and I formed my thumb and index finger into a
circle to keep it clamped there.
"Let's go," he said as he began to thrust gently. We moved in unison, our blunt
front domes touching as we thrust forward, and then we moved back, breaking the
contact. I felt both our tips sliding inside my hood, their outlines visible
through my flesh. My fingers compressed his corona as he moved back, and now he
closed his fingers over my rim, compressing it through the fleshy sleeve. I
stared into his eyes, watching his excitement mount, as we did what had been
inconceivable a couple of weeks earlier.
"Our balls are tight and I can feel your tip getting harder," he said. I knew he
had several days' pent up semen waiting to be released and was ready to pop. I,
although I'd been jacking my new foreskin at least once each day, was very
excited by my new equipment and the enhanced pleasure it was providing.
"Yours is harder too," I commented in return. "I think this is going to be a
really big one for is." Bob smiled slightly as we continued thrusting. We were
so in tune that we matched each other's moves perfectly as we went head to head,
pressing our blunt front domes together before withdrawing. We were already on
the plateau, feeling the hardness of each other's helmets each time we bumped
"I don't think we can hold back," I said. "Let's go for it now." I began
twisting my foreskin around his rim, heightening his sensation, hearing him moan
in response. My other hand reached down to cup his tight scrotum. We increased
our pace, very aware of each other's mounting excitement.
"You're giving me that tickle around the rim," he whispered as he tightened his
grip on the flesh surrounding my swollen corona. He wanted me to come with him,
and this time I might, because I was feeling that tickle too.
We thrust slightly faster, our breathing getting shallower as we began to gasp
in our excitement. Bob's face was flushed, and I knew he was very aroused. The
front of our helmets slid against each other with each bump, and the lips of our
slits kissed voluptuously. "It's tingling," he cried out, and I knew he was
poised on the brink. My tickle had spread all over the head, and I knew that
when he'd explode I'd be right behind him. We were panting now, taking ragged
breaths as our excitement peaked.
I felt Bob's hot hard helmet throb against mine and then a hot jet erupted from
it, drilling deeply into my urethra because for that moment our holes had been
aligned. We both cried out as my body responded and shot a heavy load that
collided with his in my tube and forced it out my gaping orifice. The hot cream
spread quickly, bathing our helmets in thick, viscous fluid, and then we both
came again, shuddering and gasping in our joy. My eyes had already closed, as my
mind was totally focused on the throbbing sensations in my prick.
The next spasms jolted our pricks, and I felt my discharge searing it s way up
my tube to erupt against his throbbing glans. I felt his helmet hammering
against mine as he yelped in ecstasy, and my prick jerked in frenzy as its root
convulsed again. My foreskin was distended with our cream, which cushioned our
tender tips against the friction, so we were not distressed by too much
sensitivity this time. However, the volume was so much that our mixed juices
were leaking from under the edge of my foreskin onto the towel.
Bob and I grunted our way through the last spasms that wracked our tortured
bodies, until our orgasms expired. We began to relax as the last drops seeped
from our slits. Our pricks shrank and we hugged closer, trapping them between
"I'm really glad you got what you wanted so much," he said after kissing me on
the lips. "I know how much it means to you." Bob really understood me because
we'd been intimate friends for so long. "I just hope Satan doesn't change his
mind, or think I've broken our agreement," I said.
"So far so good," he replied. "We'll just have to take it one day at a time. If
worse comes to worse, you'll still have some wonderful memories."