Bic Pencaps, Chopsticks and Knitting Needles

Kids are in bed. Wife is knitting. I’m charging around the house, opening drawers and frenetically rifling their contents. I sweep aside old figurines, ancient packets of soy sauce, and hundreds of half-used erasers. There’s got to be something here I can use.

I’m looking for things to shove into my foreskin.

I’ve have phimosis my entire life. My foreskin doesn’t retract — it just stretches down. Unlike many men with the condition, mine is so extreme that no part of my glans has ever been exposed to air. Until last week, I didn’t even realize it was supposed to be.

According to the Internet, in as little as two months, I may be able to stretch the tiny pinhole large enough so that I’ll be able to see my glans. Eventually it will be able to slip through, and I’ll be the proud possessor of a completely normal, upstanding member of impropriety.

They say giving birth is like trying to shove a soccer ball through your penis. I try not to think about this as I dump my bounty of pen caps, paintbrushes, chopsticks, and other small trinkets on the bathroom counter. Each has been recommended on the Internet forum that I’m following.

Men with partial retraction can get results with their bare hands by grasping the sides of the opening and slowly stretching several times daily. Companies like NovaGlan,  GlansPro, and Glansie will gladly send you a discretely packaged device to make it easier. But these tools are all too large for me, as they require at least a 6mm opening.

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This digital thermometer looks about right. I dip it in alcohol, let it dry, and then very very carefully press it against my urethra. It easily slips inside, and I gently move it to the side. I’m not sounding — just trying to stretch the tight circle of skin that seals everything shut. Slowly, I stir it around a little, exploring. Some parts are tight. Isn’t there something called a frenulum in there somewhere? I can’t remember if its on the top or the bottom, so I avoid both areas.

After a few minutes, I remove the thermometer. The opening looks a little larger. Maybe. The problem is the thermometer doesn’t get wider at all. I need something with more flare.

I move on to the plastic chopstick. It’s decorative, round, and very smooth. It slips in easily, but I know immediately that it’s too narrow.

Ouch! I hit something.

The right side hurts like hell. I take some Advil for the pain. Stretching will have to wait a couple days.

Everything's fine, dear! Just... ate too much pizza.
“Everything’s fine, dear! Just… ate too much pizza.”

One thing is clear: I’m going to have to tell my wife somehow.

Follow me on Twitter: @PhimosisJourney

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