Profile of a Penectomy (Part 2)

The continuing timeline of scattered events that leads a boy
to a penectomy.

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Why is it that people shiver the most violently when they wake up 
early? Is it the cold? or the pale washed out blue color in the 
darkened house? Maybe it was the cold, stiff way the carpet feels 
under feet that are used to a warm and soft bed. Either way,  he had 
to get up. For whatever reason, high school water-polo practice was 
always held at the freezing buttcrack of dawn...

He sat with his elbows on his knees for only a few moments before he 
reached down between his feet, and slid a thin deparment store box 
out from under his bed. He stared at it blankly for a few moments, 
his face betraying nothing of the hundreds of erotic associations 
the box and its ritual stirred behind his sleepy but clear 15 year 
old eyes.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he cast a pretty lanky figure. He 
had (as always) slept with only a pair of sweatpants on, and the 
cold air in his bedroom caused goosbumps to flow over his arms and 
chest every few minutes. Each time, he shivvered slightly and arched 
his toes back. He could see the tendons stand out  whitely on the 
back of his thin, hairless 15 year old feet. 

His constant swimming had broadened, but not deepened his chest, and 
though he was fit enough to have a six pack when relaxed, he didn’t 
have the mass he desired. But then again, what high school sophmore 
does? He yawmed, and his back twisted and turned with thin muscles, 
not yet thick enough to completely hide his ribs though his skin. 
After his yawn, he shivvered intensely, his small, nickle sized 
nipples as hard as pencil erasers. He hugged himself, and rubbed his 
hand briskly on his upper arms, while goosbumps prickled around his 
slender waist.

He reached down, and opened the box. Inside on top was a rocketry 
magazine which was only for camoflauge. He quickly moved it aside, 
and took the next. It was a male underware catalogue. It was badly 
dogeared and wrinkled. Many of the pages had been cut up, entire 
models were gone. But this was only the appetizer, part of a very 
defined ritual he had developed and refined without ever being 
concious of it. He thumbed through the catalogue, knowing beforehand 
what he was going to see on each page...knowing the faces of all the 
models, and what smooth colorfull stretchy fabric they were wearing 
over their buldge. But he paid most of his attention the the 
gaps...the holes in the magazine where he had cut the pictures out. 
In his mind, he was looking at them as they were, remembering how 
they looked before he had begun to modify them. He knoticed that his 
penis was painfully rock hard in his sweatpants, but continued to 
methodically thumb through the magainze until the point where he 
always put it down.

He placed the abused catalogue upside down on top of the rocketry 
magazine, stood up, and softly padded his way over to his dresser, 
his penis straining against his sweatpants, stretching out before 
him like the prow of a ship. Third drawer down, left side, under 
socks, his hands met navy blue spandex. Over his penis, he slid his 
sweatpants...falling down over his lithe white legs. With his 
thumbs, he pulled on his speedoes, his penis squished up against his 
abdomen. A single clear pearl of precum appeared at the head of his 
penis just before it was buried under the tight fabric, and locked 
in with the drawstring.

He lightly stroked his buldge under the spandex, as he sat back down 
on his bed.  The next item in the box was his scrapbook. He had 
pasted  his cutout models in this book in positions. Every tanned 
and chiseled model had blue eyes and brown hair. Every rippling 
showcase was completely hairless. And every seductive package was 
contained within a tight skintone brief, bikini or thong. If you 
were to look at any of these modles from a distance, or for less 
than a few seconds, you would be left with the impression that they 
had no penis....only a single large smooth scrotum. 

Some of his penisless models were positioned erotically around 
pictures of women he had cut out of a found porno magazine. These 
were the first pictures he had attempted to make, and had always 
regreted glueing the pictures of the women onto the page. Some of 
them were positioned with each other, either face to face, one 
behind the other, or with one hand on anothers thigh or butt. But 
most of them were positioned around  secret pictures of his step 
brother David.

Shivering  in the violet morning light, his 15 year old testosterone 
hopelessly arroused, his smooth white nakedness interrupted only by 
thin lycra speedoes, he poured over his scrapbook...his insane 
erection teased only by the light stroking of his cool padded 
fingers through the stretchy fabric. He dreamed of being with David, 
he dreamed of never being able to cum, he dreamed of being forever 
locked inside his speedos, able to be arroused, but never able to 
release.

He placed the scrap book next to him on the bed, and reached down 
and picked up the Ken doll from the bottom of the box. He laid Ken 
next to the book, and his eyes restlessly wandered back and forth 
from the pictures to the shiny sexless doll. Silently maintaining 
but not escalating his erection. 

Finally he heard him. Dave was awake, and stumbling his way into 
their shared bathroom between their two bedrooms. With the speed and 
silence of a faun, he padded his way over to the keyhole in the 
bathroom door. Kneeling down as at an altar, he positioned himself 
so he could watch without touching the door, and still have a hand 
free to work with himself. Through the glass doors of the shower, he 
could see Dave move his hands all over his body....lathering up, 
rinsing off. Unconciously, he mimiked Daves hand movements with his 
own...moving his hand across his cheast when Dave did, touching his 
nipples when Dave touched his. Reaching between his legs to grab and 
massage his testicles throught the speedo when Dave was fondleing 
his.

Finally Dave began to masturbate. When he saw this, he silently, 
unconciously stopped touching his own spandex package. This was part 
of his nameless, thoughtless fantasy. Dave was slowly rocking his 
pelvis back and forth, his chest and abdomen clenching with the 
rhythm, his shoulders rolling with muscles every time he stroked, a 
look of focus and concentration on his face. He was at the keyhole, 
his fingers exploring his nipples, armpits, lower back, 
ankles....feet. When Dave threw his head back, and began to speed up 
his rhythm, he leaned forward and touched the door with his toungue. 

It was too intense. He heard the blood pounding in his ears, his 
face was hot with sex, and a bead of sweat had slid down from his 
sideburn. In a spasm, he yanked down his speedos, and began to jack 
himself. It only took 3 quick pumps. His body arched, his back a 
mass of straining muscles. His load shot all over the door just as 
he heard David moan softly in the shower.

He quickly cleaned up, placed the box and its relics back in their 
place, and put on his sweat suit over his speedos. He met Dave 
downstairs in the kitchen. They barely talked as they slurped up 
their morning cereal...it was too early to do anything. Dave was in 
his sweats also....and he knew that Dave was also in his speedo 
underneath. He was able to catch a few more minutes of sleep as Dave 
(old enough to drive) drove them both to waterpolo practice. Dave 
was a senior, and a natural choice as the captain of the waterpolo 
team....