for a long while garry wheeler avoided having girlfriends…a fairly decent looking man who would’ve had no problem getting laid if not for his tight angry red festering foreskin.
every stage of solving this problem fried garry’s nerves… talking to a local doctor with a face the colour of beetroot explaining the discomfort that came with early morning glory…the hygiene issue of barely being able to roll his foreskin back to soap away traces of cheesy smegma that collected there.
even though it was dealt with swiftly and easily,the whole idea made the man shudder so bad, and when he woke up from the operation there was a bird cage around his abdomen with bed covers draped over it, so every nosey client in that ward knew his business… he nearly fainted when for the first time observed a fine bloodied stitching round the ridge of his bare bell end….and then there was the big dipper ride of having those stitches removed, even if it did only take seconds.
weeks later when the ordeal was over, garry would look down at his donald in the shower and marvel at it’s newfound sculptural quality…so much more handsome now without that drab overcoat of a foreskin…he even got into clipping his pubic hair with the beard trimmers for added effect. the first time he allowed himself to have an erection after the operation was a revelation although he was advised by the doctor to employ a little lubrication from the chemist until he was up and running. he loved the feel of the cool wet lube. once up and running, he discovered the wonders of getting blown by able hungry woman.. over in tramps discotheque he earned a good and bad reputation among keen players for being either thrillingly confident or too rough.. after all, no self respecting lady likes to be heard gagging and choking from the next cubicle in a nightclub toilet do they, but all in all it’s one of those rare stories where everyone lived happily ever after.