The man was once an innocent little boy
Once upon a time a little boy woke up to find he had a penis.
It had always been there but now it had a name.
His Mummy and Daddy also gave it names.
It was his willy, his roger, his tiddly bit.
It was his pee pee and his wee wee.
His little man.
His big man.
It was his flute, his google gun, his pencil.
And as the names grew and he grew it developed a life of its own.
It seemed to take up a lot of his time, even when he didn’t want it to.
It was not just his fascination for his member.
Everyone seemed to be fascinated by this flaccid, hanging piece of muscle, blood and skin.
Then one day it started growing on its own and life took a whole new meaning.
Some days he was proud of it and some days it got in the way.
Some days he encouraged it to grow and other days he hid it away.
Some of his school friends talked about it non-stop and others seemed not to care.
One day it was the centre of discussion and by the end of the week everyone seemed to avoid the truth.
What was the truth?
It was confusing for a little boy.
And as most boys do when they are confused and lost, this boy started to explore.
He prodded his penis.
He poked his penis.
He watched it when he urinated.
He drew pictures of it in class and got in trouble.
His parents were even brought up to the school and shown the ‘shocking’ pictures.
Mum was horrified and Dad had a chuckle.
It became a source of conflict.
It was part of his body wasn’t it?
What was the problem?
And then, when things seemed to be settling down, he had a revelation.
He had just turned thirteen.
He had been thinking about a picture of a woman he had seen on the side of a bus.
She was in a bikini and was holding up a bottle of soft drink.
She was like a tempting, beautiful siren he could gaze at but never touch.
When Dad got home from work he had asked about the picture.
‘Dad, why is a woman in a bikini selling soft drink?’
His Dad looked up at the ceiling and quickly said;
“Sex sells son!”
And that was it.
He went to his room after dinner and thought about what his Dad had said and then imagined the picture of the woman in the bikini.
He got excited and lay on his bed.
A few minutes later he was hurriedly and ashamedly hiding his sheets at the bottom of the dirty clothes basket.
The experience had elated him, tempted him, shocked him and shamed him.
He felt enraptured and guilty all at the same time.
And so began the journey of a boy into a man.
And the questions remained about his penis but now it involved women and sex.
Women were different.
He knew that.
And the difference was for a reason and he knew that too.
It scared him and it enraptured him.
It was the good and the bad, and it became a halo and a chain around his neck.
The ying and the yang.
A rose and a dagger.
The boy lost his innocence in a furtive, frantic few minutes.
And the seed was sown.
He was still too young to understand and his society was too shut down to explain.
So, by the time he reached sixteen and began dancing with girls at school dances, the questions he had still hung in the air.
At one dance, his eyes locked with a raven haired beauty.
They were drawn to each other and the first dance they shared quickly became something stronger.
It was as if they were both drawn into feelings they could not control.
Holding hands, they snuck out of the back of the dance hall and hid behind a row of bushes.
It was to be his first passionate kiss and he fell quickly into her arms.
But as quickly as it started, it was abruptly ended by a teacher with a torch shining the intense light on their fumbling, teenage hands.
He was suspended and she was escorted back to her fuming father.
Once again, his experiences had been clouded by the ecstasy and the forbidden.
What did this all mean?
It did feel good though and for a young mind the risk seemed worth the potential reward.
Read Part Two of ‘Once upon a time a little boy woke up to find he had a penis’ next week.
More on manhood and sexuality in One Day, One Life: One Day One Life
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