I saw my first uncircumcised penis at the age of 60 when I attended a recent production of Naked Boys Singing Off-Broadway. I thought, you know what, you didn’t miss a thing.
My brother and I used to take baths together when we were little. We were only 18 months apart and thought it was fun to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest and slap each other’s butt with a towel.
Our mother died when I was 10, and my parents were divorced, so our dad just moved into our house and lived with us. He would tuck each of us into our beds in our own rooms at night, but we were all pretty peripatetic sleepers, and would often cross the hall and climb into each other’s beds and snuggle together. Sometimes Tom and I would jump in the shower with our dad, too. The thing I remember most about my dad is how furry he was. But that all ended by the time I was 11 and my dad started buying me books about physical maturity.
Something else must have made an impression on me though, because years later, after I’d graduated from Michigan and moved to New York, I went to a party with a close friend.
She was Episcopalian, and the party was given by her son’s friends, so it was a safe assumption that these guys weren’t Jewish. I started talking to one very nice-looking young man, and I was definitely being flirtatious when I remembered: He’s not Jewish. What if this relationship went anywhere? I had to be careful. So I said to him, “Excuse me, but do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “You can ask me anything.”
“Are you circumcised?” I asked.
“Well, no” he said, “But what’s the difference?”
I told him, “I’m sorry, but if it’s not like my dad’s or my brother’s, it’s not good enough for me.” That’s when I realized that I had an irrational fear of an uncircumcised penis. Or maybe it wasn’t irrational.
It was more than just what I grew up with. I could have grown up in a kosher house and still learned to love bacon, especially in a BLT. For me, it was a matter of aesthetics.
My good friend Dean, who’s gay, has another perspective. “It’s all personal preference,” he says. “And it has nothing to do with being gay.” He doesn’t share my anxiety over such an encounter at all. “Uncircumcised penises are less common in New York. Seeing one is kind of like a Christmas present. A nice surprise.” He thinks they’re sexier. “Whatever,” he says, “if it’s nice looking, I’ll be all over it.”
I still think it’s more than personal preference. Some men like women with large breasts and some like women with small breasts. But either way, they know what they’re getting up front. Like buying food in glass jars rather than cans.
But even cans have a picture on the label. That’s not true with penises. By the time you find out, it could be too late.
So why, when you sign up with an Internet matchmaker, do they tell you every nuance of the interests of a potential date, including whether or not he likes thunderstorms, but leave out this key fact (unless you’re on JDate).
Another friend of mine advised me to just stay away from European men. “Italians and Brits—they’re almost never circumcised,” she warned. Oral sex is more complicated, too, she said. “You have to use your fingers more, to keep stuff out of the way. It’s a good thing women are so good at multi-tasking.”
One obvious way to solve the problem, if you think it’s a problem, is to just go out with Jews. But I’d like to be more flexible in my approach to finding a new Mr. Right and broaden the gene pool of contenders. He doesn’t have to be Jewish, or rich, or have a house in the country. Just be single and circumcised. Is that too much to ask?
The Army has a policy of “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.” That’s not for me. I’d like men to tell, so I wouldn’t have to ask.
My brother and I used to take baths together when we were little. We were only 18 months apart and thought it was fun to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest and slap each other’s butt with a towel.
Our mother died when I was 10, and my parents were divorced, so our dad just moved into our house and lived with us. He would tuck each of us into our beds in our own rooms at night, but we were all pretty peripatetic sleepers, and would often cross the hall and climb into each other’s beds and snuggle together. Sometimes Tom and I would jump in the shower with our dad, too. The thing I remember most about my dad is how furry he was. But that all ended by the time I was 11 and my dad started buying me books about physical maturity.
Something else must have made an impression on me though, because years later, after I’d graduated from Michigan and moved to New York, I went to a party with a close friend.
She was Episcopalian, and the party was given by her son’s friends, so it was a safe assumption that these guys weren’t Jewish. I started talking to one very nice-looking young man, and I was definitely being flirtatious when I remembered: He’s not Jewish. What if this relationship went anywhere? I had to be careful. So I said to him, “Excuse me, but do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “You can ask me anything.”
“Are you circumcised?” I asked.
“Well, no” he said, “But what’s the difference?”
I told him, “I’m sorry, but if it’s not like my dad’s or my brother’s, it’s not good enough for me.” That’s when I realized that I had an irrational fear of an uncircumcised penis. Or maybe it wasn’t irrational.
It was more than just what I grew up with. I could have grown up in a kosher house and still learned to love bacon, especially in a BLT. For me, it was a matter of aesthetics.
My good friend Dean, who’s gay, has another perspective. “It’s all personal preference,” he says. “And it has nothing to do with being gay.” He doesn’t share my anxiety over such an encounter at all. “Uncircumcised penises are less common in New York. Seeing one is kind of like a Christmas present. A nice surprise.” He thinks they’re sexier. “Whatever,” he says, “if it’s nice looking, I’ll be all over it.”
I still think it’s more than personal preference. Some men like women with large breasts and some like women with small breasts. But either way, they know what they’re getting up front. Like buying food in glass jars rather than cans.
But even cans have a picture on the label. That’s not true with penises. By the time you find out, it could be too late.
So why, when you sign up with an Internet matchmaker, do they tell you every nuance of the interests of a potential date, including whether or not he likes thunderstorms, but leave out this key fact (unless you’re on JDate).
Another friend of mine advised me to just stay away from European men. “Italians and Brits—they’re almost never circumcised,” she warned. Oral sex is more complicated, too, she said. “You have to use your fingers more, to keep stuff out of the way. It’s a good thing women are so good at multi-tasking.”
One obvious way to solve the problem, if you think it’s a problem, is to just go out with Jews. But I’d like to be more flexible in my approach to finding a new Mr. Right and broaden the gene pool of contenders. He doesn’t have to be Jewish, or rich, or have a house in the country. Just be single and circumcised. Is that too much to ask?
The Army has a policy of “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.” That’s not for me. I’d like men to tell, so I wouldn’t have to ask.
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