Or

Cut Short

By justoneguy

It has been over four generations since males were left totally intact. After four generations, what once seemed strange pretty much becomes normal. As a modern woman, I always thought that I would be very happy and satisfied with the modern idea of a normal man. It was good enough for my mother; it was good enough for my grandmother; it was good enough for everybody; so it was good enough for me.

I plan to bury this document when I complete it, so I have no idea what the world will be like when and if it is read. Perhaps things will change again. They say the world was much different 100 years ago. Full of male aggression and control. Who knows what it will be like in another 100 years. So perhaps I should begin by explaining what the world I live in is like. Only then will you fully be able to understand how strange and unique my life experience truly was.

Almost 100 years ago, society underwent a major upheaval. I’m not a historian, so I can’t explain how or why it happened like it did. But in the end, women came to dominate the social system in a way never before known in history. A collective acknowledgement spread amongst the female population of the day that the source of most if not all of the world’s serious problems existed because of the male’s aggressive drive for sex. It was generally believed that human evolution would eventually readjust the male attitudes, but that would take thousands and thousands of years. The world and society could not take that long. Nature needed some assistance.

Many theories and proposals were suggested for correcting this problem, and all received vigorous debate. Simple castration of males, either chemically or surgically, was ruled out almost immediately. The males would have to be castrated before puberty, before the aggressive drives took control of their bodies and permanently tainted their minds. The main problem then was sperm production. How would the human race perpetuate itself without a steady supply of healthy male seed? Sure, technology could preserve frozen seed gleaned from the current male population, but what if something when wrong or the seed began to decline in health. There would be no more sperm unless males were allowed to mature normally—an unthinkable prospect. Besides, with all the males impotent, wives would get no sexual satisfaction from their husbands. (Women after all have needs as well, just not needs that lead to dangerous anti-social behavior.)

It was then that women realized that the sexual drive of a man, which emanated from his testicles, was not the real source of male aggression. The true source was his penis and his insatiable desire for the pleasure his organ gives him. Once this rational was accepted, the solution to the problem was self-evident. For the past four generations, males have undergone a process that makes them model citizens in the global community—Adjustment.

Shortly after birth, all males are circumcised. This medical procedure was once done for hygiene or religious purposes. But in the modern era, it is preformed solely for the social ramifications. All males (fathers, brothers, cousins, friends) and all females (mothers, sisters, aunts) must come to expect and accept the idea of modifying the penis through surgery. Boys are then allowed to grow up as normal. However, at the age of 12, right before puberty begins and the testicles begin to cascade the male with sexual hormones, a further surgery is performed. Every boy is brought to a local clinic and officially Adjusted, as it is known commonly. Basically, the glans or head of the penis is amputated. In fact, all of the penis is amputated back to the circumcision scar. This insures that the male will be left with no major nerve endings in his reproductive organ. The glans and whatever shaft was removed back to the circumcision scar is placed in a jar and preserved. It is given to the family to be kept in a special vault. When the male eventually dies, the jar is collected and buried with its onetime owner.

The reasons for the Adjustment should be very clear. With the nerve endings of his penis removed, a male is no longer capable of a sexual orgasm. Since he is Adjusted prior to puberty, he does not miss the pleasure that, just 100 years ago, men thought they couldn’t live without. Since they are now incapable of feeling massive sexual pleasure, men are more reasonable and productive members of society. The need for constant pleasure or servicing of their sexual needs is no longer the driving force in their lives. Since their testicles remain intact, they still feel desire for women and can produce children. But since pleasure is not their main focus in the pursuit of women, men rarely cheat on their wives. Women’s sexual needs are fulfilled because a male is left with at least half, but usually more, of the original length of his penis. The remainder gets hard, so a man can penetrate his mate, providing amazing pleasure for her—and a pleasant sensation for him. But now the male is driven to please his mate during sex, not himself. Most men will say that they enjoy sex with their partners, but women usually want it more and get more out of it.

I am told that this current social structure almost completely reverses the sexual roles of husbands and wives from 100 years ago. Then, women enjoyed sex, but struggled to fulfill the needs of their husbands, who NEEDED sexual releases almost constantly. Now, men enjoy sex but are most fulfilled when they are able to give their wife the maximum pleasure.

Some males are able to fertilize a woman through the dripping of semen through their penis during intercourse. Since males no longer have orgasms as women do, the natural ejaculation that used to produce children is rarely possible. When it is possible, men report a pleasant sensation between their legs, but it is nothing like the volcano of pleasure that we women experience when we orgasm. Still, those men who are capable of this mild ejaculation report that it satisfies them. When a man is not capable of it (about half I believe), the couple must go to a fertility clinic. There, semen is removed from the male’s inner body and implanted into his wife. As you can imagine, this process had the fringe benefit of cutting the rate of unintended pregnancies by over half.

This was the world into which I was born and raised. I had a younger brother named Simon, so I knew the steps a boy went through to be socialized in our society. I had seen his penis several times before he was Adjusted. I remember being curious about it, but mostly because his crotch looked so much different from my own. When I was 17, Simon turned 12 and went to be Adjusted. When he came home, we through a big party for him. I brought my new boyfriend, Jared Tapper. He seemed a little distracted during the whole night, especially when he met my brother and when my mother read the traditional text explaining the importance and sacredness of a boy’s Adjustment Day.

Jared was not my first boyfriend. I had gone out with two other guys in high school. In fact, I had pestered my previous boyfriend into giving me his virginity only a few weeks before I met Jared. My first sexual experience was not the catharsis I thought it would be. The boy’s name was Mark Dorsed. I was so excited as he mounted me. It was the first time I saw a mature Adjusted male. His erection was about 3 inches long, pasty white, with a rounded end that looked like a tied off sausage. I noticed the little hole at the bottom front of Mark’s little hard sausage and realized that it was where he urinated. I remember thinking, wow, boys are so much different from girls. I guess that was a strange thought for a woman to have as she is penetrated for the first time, but I want to be totally honest. As Mark pushed 3 inches into my body, I began to feel his pelvis pressure my clitoris. He rocked his pelvis against me, my clit pinned between the hard bone of his sausage and the tangled grass of his hairy crotch. It felt good, but not as good as my fingers. I grabbed his butt and began to try to guide his thrusts, to increase the speed to suit what I had come to expect when masturbating. It felt better, but Mark just didn’t seem to be in sync with the kind of lovemaking I wanted. He asked me if I was enjoying it, and I smiled and told him, of course. But after twenty minutes, I faked my orgasm and let him stop. I was a little distraught, as if something was wrong with me. I mentioned this to my mother. She told me not to worry, that most guys don’t know what they are doing the first time and will improve with practice. But she also told me that if my boyfriend continued to under-perform, I should buy an extender for him.

Before I got to that point I had met Jared. I dumped Mark for him within a week. Jared was very up front with me and told me that he didn’t want to be pressured into sexual activity. I liked him so much that I actually didn’t mind. I figured that there was time enough to warm Jared up to sex. We dated for a year. When we graduated from high school, I prepared to go to college. Jared’s parents had been killed in a car accident when he was 15, so his financial means were pretty limited. That meant that, while I went off to college, he would be left behind working as a mechanic. I was pretty upset about this, but he was positively vexed.

A month before I was to leave for college, he took me to the park. After a long walk in the sun, I sat on a bench to look at the lake. Jared lowered himself to his knee and raised the clear sparkling jeweled ring up toward me. “Will you marry me baby?” he said. I have to admit that I was shocked. In this day and age, a woman is expected to propose to a man. Of all my friends who were not married or engaged, all had popped the question to their men. I think that Jared was a little worried about my shocked response. He lowered his head a little, and when he looked back up into my eyes, he had the pleading expression of a puppy worried that he would get into trouble.

I placed my hands on his cheeks, feeling the tiny prickles of his freshly shaved face. “Yes, baby. Of course I will.” His grin lit me up. A look of relief flooded over his face. I took his head into my arms and held it close to my breasts. “I didn’t mean to worry you for that second. But it is so rare for a girl to be proposed to these days, I was taken a little aback.”

“I know, but I was worried that if you went to college, you would meet someone else. I had to propose to you now. I didn’t want to take the chance of losing you,” He said. The feeling of being so wanted and so loved was indescribable. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. Jared had wanted me to be his wife so much, he had actually bought a ring and proposed. I’ve never in my life, before or since, met a man who would do that.

He pulled his head away from my arms and looked at me directly in the eyes. “Sarah, there is something that you have to know. Now that we are engaged, I can finally tell you. I know that I haven’t been the most… exciting of your boyfriends. I know that you’ve wanted more than I felt comfortable giving.”

“Oh no Jared, I don’t feel that way. I love you….”

“I know, but I need to finish Sarah, before I lose my nerve. This is probably the scariest moment of my life.” My mind was swimming. What was he talking about? Jared looked to the ground. I could tell this was difficult for him. I put my hand on his head and massaged him through the thick brown hairs of his head. “I’m not Adjusted,” he said.

It took me a moment to understand what he had just said. My hand jerked from his head. It was an involuntary action. He looked up at me with that same look of fear as when he proposed. In a flash I understood why he had been so scared—and why he had proposed. He knew that I was brought up by a traditional family. If I turned him in, he would be immediately Adjusted—something that was unheard of in an adult. Adjustment is something for little boys. And I knew why he had proposed to me. He loved me so much, but he also NEEDED me so much. He had lived a life in shadows, hiding what he was. Now he had found a woman he loved and his body NEEDED the powerful release that nature demanded. The young man in front of me suddenly became in my mind a wild animal, driven by needs I didn’t understand. He was a throw back to 100 years before, when men dominated the world and were dominated by their own need for pleasure. I should have been repulsed.

But I wasn’t.

I put my hand back to his face. He placed his trembling hands on my knees. He had finally admitted his secret. This was his moment of truth. “I love you Jared,” I said. “I will be your wife and you will me my husband—all of you.” I knelt down next to him and we hugged each other tightly.

Over the next few weeks, as the wedding preparations began in earnest, Jared explained how he had come to be the way he was. His parents did not believe in Adjustment. His father, in fact, had never been adjusted. When Jared was born, they had him circumcised as prescribed by law. But when he was 12 years old, his parents used forged documents to modify his medical records. He told me how difficult it was to conceal from everyone. He could not play sports in high school for fear of the common showers. He rarely used a urinal for fear that someone would catch a glimpse of his penis. An underground network of Unadjusted people and their supporters worked to conceal their status. Most important were the medical establishments and personal that treated and recorded the medical needs of individuals. He told me that an unadjusted penis was so easily spotted that he could only go to specific doctors for our premarital exam.

I’ll never forget my exam. We drove 50 miles away and visited a small clinic that seemed to treat mostly homeless people. Jared said that a married couple that had been friends with his parents ran it. I really felt out of place in the waiting room. The folks waiting were dressed in rags or dirty old clothes. Jared and I must have stuck out like a sore thumb. It certainly wasn’t the type of clinic I had ever gone to. That was the first time I realized how much life might be different when married to an unadjusted man. When our names were call, Jared and I parted ways. He went into the men’s side of the clinic; I went into the women’s. A very friendly older woman took me behind a curtain and began my exam. I didn’t ask her age, but I would guess that she was in her fifties.

As she began the examination, I’m sure that she could sense my discomfort. “I can see that you are not a virgin,” she said. I nodded yes in reply. “You and Jared? Or someone else?”

“Someone else,” I replied, expecting a lecture.

Instead the woman simply smiled. “Well then, I can tell you that you are in for quite a pleasant surprise.” She winked at me, and I knew. Her husband was like Jared, unadjusted. Jared was being examined by a man just like he was. And this woman knew what was in store for me. I fought the urge to question her intently. It would not have been proper. And besides, Jared told me I could never talk about it—even with someone who seemed to know about unadjusted people or claimed to be one.

We were married a few weeks later in a traditional ceremony. Jared had 5 groomsmen, all friends from high school. As I looked at their crotches in their tuxedos, I wondered if any of them were unadjusted. I doubt it. I had known most of them since grade school myself, and even attended most of their Adjustment Day parties. As I walked down the isle, Jared’s smile blazed towards me from the altar. I looked at his crotch and then again to the crotches of his five groomsmen, thinking about how different they must be. And the loyal friends that were standing by my future husband and were supporting our decision to marry had no idea that their penises were so different from the man they were standing with. I wished I could ask them about it. But Jared had been very firm with me that it could never be talked about with ANYONE. So I didn’t ask.

The night of our wedding, my parents rented the suite at a local hotel. My heart was jumping as he unlocked the door and led me inside. I wasn’t a virgin, but my previous experience had been over a year ago and pretty much forgettable. I considered myself for all intents and purposes a virgin for my husband—my unadjusted husband.

Jared and I kissed passionately by the bed. I unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Jared’s chest was strongly muscled and hairless, yet much more masculine than Mark’s had been. I rapped my arms around him and felt his strong shoulders, then kissed him deeply as I rubbed my hands around his head, down his chest, to his dime-sized nipples. I could taste his hot breath in my mouth. I can’t explain it, but the experience was so much different from my experience with my previous boyfriend. The man who was now my husband seemed like an animal to me. The feeling of his warm moist breath against my skin sent shivers down my spine. He wanted something from me, not just FOR me, but FROM me.

Then Jared took control, and I knew once and for all that this moment would be COMPLETELY different from my experience with Mark. Jared gently pressured me onto the bed, and I didn’t resist. He slid my shirt off from my shoulders.

My bra covered my full breasts. He watched me as I reached behind and unsnapped it. I hesitated for only a moment, then let it fall to the floor. A deep sigh escaped his lips. I could almost feel the lust radiating from his body. My old boyfriend had wanted to make love for me; my husband wanted—no, needed—to make love TO me. His hands moved toward my breast, touching the side and sliding downward. His palms were so warm, almost burning me with their desire; my nipples leaped to a full erection. He kneaded my breasts, pinching the nipples, tickling with his fingertips. My skin began to react to his touch. He slowly began to move down my stomach in an almost ticklish way, then back up to my nipple. I felt my eyes wanting to close, let him do his will on me. I felt like just flopping back on the bed and letting my husband—my man—do whatever he wanted and needed to do. He reached down to the zipper on my jeans, taking them off, my panties going with them leaving me bare and open for his penetration. He tickled my stomach, my thighs, and back up to my breasts enjoying the feel of the soft tissue underneath the palms of his hands. He pushed me back gently only onto the soft, cool sheets. I lay on my back, letting his hands wander over me. I could feel my pussy getting wet with each second that his skin touched mine. His fingers finally reached a place between my thighs that only one other man had known. I smiled; what a joke. Mark hadn’t been a man; he was a trained puppy compared to Jared. This was a man wanting me, hungering for my body in a way I couldn’t understand. I pressed against his hand, teasing myself, wanting more.

"You like that?" He said not waiting for an answer. His fingers parted the lips and entered, playing games with my clitoris, the other hand gently rubbing my breast, my stomach, my thighs, my hips, then back to my breasts. I squirmed with a twinge of trepidation—I felt so out of control. But as I heard Jared moan with lust as he felt the pleasure of a woman for the first time, my nervousness turned to delight and anticipation.

"Touch me," I sighed. His fingers danced between my legs; my wetness begged to be satisfied.

"Do you want to come?" He said, his voice shaking, his hand quivering. It was the first time he asked me what I wanted, but it didn’t feel like weakness. Mark had quizzed me on my desires like a computer wanting to make sure he did every duty correctly, so that I would be pleased with me. Jared’s question burned with desire. It was taking all his strength to hold back from fulfilling the needs of his masculinity. Perhaps a weaker man would not have been able to wait any longer, but not my husband.

I could only nod my head, breathless, my eyes closed tightly, enjoying the sensation.

He withdrew his fingers from my pussy, squeezing first, pulling my orgasm back a bit. Then I felt his tongue against my excited sex. Instinctively I ground my hips harder against his mouth, wanting it to make me scream out in joy.

"Make me come," I breathlessly whispered. I was begging for my man to satisfy me.

"Now, baby, now," he said.

A loud sigh escaped my throat as I shivered and moaned. I rocked my hips up and down against his tongue, not wanting the sensation to stop. It was the best orgasm I had ever had. I calmed, and lay still as I opened my eyes. Jared’s eyes beamed back at me, his smile brightening the dimly lit bridal suit. I realized that it was the first time my husband had seen a woman cum—the first time he had given a woman an orgasm. That moment was quite and achievement for him, given how men were expected to perform in a marriage. Suddenly I remembered that I too would see for the first time, tonight, a man have an orgasm.

"You’re beautiful," Jared said, moving up on the bed to kiss me. His lips reached for mine, pressing hard. His hands wandered over the very parts that he had explored only a few moments before. I pushed my body up against his, feeling ever curve and bulge. I wanted him so bad. It was time for me to take control.

My hands were shaking. I had no idea what to expect. I had seen my little brother a few times before he was Adjusted, but he was a little boy. This was a grown man, my husband. My mind drifted back to the woman at the doctor’s office. I wondered if she had felt the same way with her husband the first time.

Jared rolled over onto his back. I rubbed my hands over his bare chest and leaned over to kiss him. I caressed his knee with my hand, rubbing up into his inner thigh. I could feel his breath shutter as he felt my hand slowly advancing toward his crotch. He was so excited; it was the first time a woman had ever touched him so intimately. In a smooth, fluid motion I brought my hand to the middle of his trousers. I cupped the softness there, and Jared breathed a hot breath against my cheek. I felt the soft mass between his legs—his testicles. Then I moved my hand up over the hard pole above. It was pointed straight up to his navel. I could see the outline of it in his pants. As my hand passed over it, Jared breath became jagged, a soft moan escaped his lips. His eyes were closed. He suddenly seemed unmanly to me, whimpering in pleasure. What was I thinking? As I looked at my husband’s hard body, his strong chest, broad shoulders, the thin curls of hair that led from his navel down into the front of his pants. This was a strong, powerful 19-year-old male—my husband—it was just that his body was so overpowered with anticipation with what was about to happen. I felt his large hand on my back, rubbing gently. I realized that I had paused with these thoughts. Before he spoke, I reached for the front of his trousers.

I unbuttoned the front of his pants, pulling the zipper down along the thick hard mass underneath. He raised his behind off the bed so I could pull them down off his muscular legs. I teased the hairs growing on his lower legs on my way back up to his waist. He was wearing gray boxer briefs. I could see the outline of his masculine tool stretching against the cotton. It was so much bigger than Mark’s. It seemed to be double the size I remembered. I gripped the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulled down, my eyes trailing the underwear as I pulled it down and off of his feet. When I rose back up to his waist, I saw him for the first time.

My husband’s crotch was accented with a thick tangled bush of brown sex hair, the symbol of his maturity and fertility. And growing from that clump of grass was his mighty penis. I grasped the shaft at the base and held it up to see. I had of course seen the shaft of a penis before. But this tool was almost totally alien to me. I measured with my fingers and eyes—my husband’s member was about 6 inches tall, far out doing my previous boyfriend’s 3 inches. But the real differences began about 4 inches from the base. I saw a dark brown circle that went around his shaft, his circumcision scar. And above it, a ring of soft pink skin, the remnants of his foreskin. And above that, the strangest body part I had ever seen. His penis was crowned with a flared red knob. It almost looked like a mushroom, I thought; the cap flared out over the long thick stem that it topped. I looked at it from all angles, especially the underside. There I saw the two edges of the flared head arching up toward the slit at the end and come together where that small slit began. The slit was dotted with a tear of clear liquid, which I touched with my finger. I trail of clear fluid followed my finger’ it was like saliva. I brought my hand was gripping the base up on the shaft and pumped it once, feeling the bumps and veins in the soft stretched skin.

“Oh Sarah,” Jared moaned, his deep voice ringing in the room. My hand pumped over his tool, feeling the soft sponge of his helmet head that now looked almost purple. I felt his fingers find my pussy again, and I let him invade my wetness with his soft fingers. As I pumped, I felt his fingers dancing inside me. His upper body was straining to stretch enough to reach my pussy. His breathing was becoming more erratic. “Baby, please….” He whispered, his voice betraying his own apprehension. “Will you suck on it?”

His request stunned me. I had never even heard of a woman sucking on a man’s penis. But hadn’t my husband just finished pleasuring my clit with his tongue? As I looked at the throbbing helmet of my husband’s erection, I suddenly realized that he wanted to feel my tongue on it as much as I wanted to feel his tongue on my clit. The throbbing, plump, purple mushroom head that capped his long pole was nothing more than a giant clitoris—a clit on a stick. Looking back, I was so slow; it seems so obvious to me know. But back then the whole concept of an unadjusted man was so new and bizarre—and I’m not just taking about the appearance of it. It took my husband’s breathless plea for me to provide him with pleasure and to convince my mind of exactly what this fat flared knob meant to my man.

A moment passed as I pondered these ideas. Jared’s hips strained against my arm and my pumping hand. He whimpered softly as he arched his back and slightly raised his butt of the sheets. How could I refuse this strong man, who loved me so much and had just provided me the ultimate pleasure a woman can feel? How could I refuse to provide the same amazing pleasure to him? Suddenly, the entire concept of sexual activity as I understood it growing up seemed too empty, so one sided. My husband needed me to do something for him that he couldn’t do for himself, something he had dreamed about receiving since he hit puberty. I lowered my head and kissed the tip of his helmet. A small string of clear liquid clung to my lips, creating a tiny bridge to the end of his phallus. Jared’s hips strained upward in an involuntary motion. He sucked in a deep breath. I stretched my tongue out and relaxed it, letting it lay against my lower lip, and licked hard against the underside of he penis. I felt the gentle curves of the underside of his helmet against my tongue. Jared’s body was shaking. “Oh God, Oh Sarah,” he groaned loudly, exhaling his deep breath. Encouraged, I took his helmet into my mouth and sucked hard. It had the faint taste of salt and seemed hot even against the warmth of my tongue. His mushroom filled my mouth. I found that I could only suck down to his circumcision scar, but he didn’t seem to mind. I realized that the tissues in my mouth, the part that was giving Jared so much pleasure, were totally missing from my old boyfriend Mark, my little brother Simon, every other male I had ever known. As my mouth bobbed on his cock, my sandpaper tongue racked the underside of his member. I strained my eyes up at his face. His head was pointed at me, as if to watch what was happening between his legs, but his eyes were closed tight, his mouth hanging open breathlessly. The muscles of my husband’s face where contorted as if in agony, but I knew it was from a totally different feeling. I was giving him pleasure, so much pleasure. He needed me so much. He threw his head backward against the bed and arched his back, stretching his arms out along the sheets as if straining to grasp something on either side of him. “OH GOD, Sarah,” He moan with his exhale. He took a deep breath, his strong chest rising. And with his next exhale: “OH that feels so GOOD.” He was in the same position I had been moments ago. I never thought I would ever hear a man talk that way, but there he was.

His fingers had long ago forgotten about my pussy, but I didn’t mind. My crotch was still radiating half-remembered waves of pleasure, and I was so interested in his responses to my mouth, I hadn’t even realized when his teasing fingers had stopped. I felt his hands on my head. “I need you, baby. I want you now.”

I released his penis from my mouth and rolled over on my back. Jared was on top of me in an instant. He heavy weight of his body pressed me farther into the soft sheets of the bed. I felt his hot member brush my thigh, and I reached down to help him. I grasped his shaft with my hand, and he thrust forward into my fist with a groan. His body was hot and hungry—his cock needed friction of fulfill its desire, and his body would do almost anything at this point to feed its hunger. My God, he was so different from Mark’s quiet, passive thrusting. I tilted the head of his penis toward my opening and groaned as I felt the flared knob of his prong slip between my slit. Jared rocked his hips forward, and I felt his plump male mushroom pop past my outer lip. “Oh God, baby,” Jared gasped over me. I held his arms and felt his muscles straining to hold him up. His body was totally consumed with desire.

He continued to rock forward, and I whimpered under him. I felt his cock push past the point my fingers could go, push past the point Mark’s 3” penis stump had attained. Then I felt my husband’s loose bag of testicles come to rest against my ass and his hairy pubic bone press against my hairy mound. I had six inches of my husband inside of me. It felt impossibly deep. But when he rocked backwards for the first time, pulling his thick rod back toward my entrance, I suddenly felt completely empty. Not for long. With a loud groaning breath, my man pushed forward again, and I felt him deep once more. I rapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling his head down closer to me. He looked straight into my eyes as he began to thrust faster. I could feel the thick throbbing knob that capped his pole raking my inner walls with each movement. He dropped his head to mine and we kissed, breathing hot strained breaths into each other’s mouths.

Then Jared dropped his weight onto his elbows, and I felt his head come to rest beside my own. His thrusting now seemed even deeper, and I ran my hands up and down his sweaty back. Each hump of his pelvis sent a wave of pleasure through my body. I whimpered and squealed which each thrust. But Jared literally grunted like a lion. “Ohhh, God, baby, oh god, huh, huh, huh, owhhh, babe, huh.”

I reached and arm down to his butt and felt it flex and tighten with each thrust. His body was moving on top of me like a freight train. It was like he couldn’t thrust fast enough; the strokes became shorter and shorter until his pelvis almost never left mine. He grunted into my ear unintelligible syllables. His body had become a like a wild beast, hungry for ever rising pleasure. His mind was drowning in it, every muscle in his body tightening involuntarily. I barely felt his testicles against me now, and when I did, they seemed tighter and harder than before.

Jared took in a deep breath and held it. Then suddenly: “Oh god babbbbyyy.” He thrust like a mad man, driven by the same urge that made me grind my clit up against his pelvis. He humped hard, then abruptly stopped at the end of a mighty, deep thrust. I felt myself being filled then, a geyser had erupted inside of my. My man was filling me with seed. My hands felt his back rising and falling in the most labored breathing I had ever seen from a man. Jared had gone from a humping, grunting beast to a thoroughly exhausted young human male. He raised his head up to look at me, and I saw the pleasure drain from his eyes like the sweat dropping from his face. His mind had gone to a special place that only and orgasming human can go. And it had now returned. He kissed me deeply; his hard thick cock still buried deep inside my body, still throbbing and pumping but with less power. “I love you baby,” he said.

I had not orgasmed during our first intercourse. Perhaps I was too focused on how different making love to an unadjusted man was from my earlier experiences with Mark. But I wasn’t worried about it. Over our honeymoon, Jared and I made love every night, and sometimes during the day. His need for my body and my need for his was insatiable. And by the third time we made love, I was orgasming strongly. Jared’s desire for his own pleasure in no way diminished his desire to provide me with pleasure. By the time our honeymoon was over, I think we had tried all the major positions at least once.

When we got back from out honeymoon, my mother presented me with an extra newlywed gift. I opened the box to find a pink penis extender. It was about 3 inches long and was featureless. “If Jared has any trouble staying inside of you, this little baby will be a life saver,” she said. I smiled and thanked her. But I knew that my man never had any trouble staying inside me.

* * *

Jared and I were as careful as we could be regarding pregnancy. It wasn’t easy. Jared’s sexual appetite was ravenous. At first I thought his supercharged needs were a release after his teenaged years of forced celibacy. After all, I had seen first hand (many, many times) the amazing pleasure that sexual released seemed to give him. As a woman, I could only imagine that the pleasure that erupted from his loins was at least as satisfying as my own feminine orgasm. So I tried to understand. But I soon realized that his desires were not based on the release of a long suppressed urge, but were rather the natural state of his body and soul. His entire being had an insatiable need to pump semen into my body. His mind and body thought that the need was for the pleasure he so obviously received from sex, but as a woman, I knew that in reality my husband was simply succumbing to nature’s command to fill my body with fertile seed as often as possible. And, to my surprise, I didn’t mind. As a modern woman, I would have expected that having a husband make sexual demands would infuriate me. After all, it was my place to request sexual attention. But Jared’s desires forced me into the position of fulfilling his needs as often as I could. When I didn’t want to have sex, I would often suckle his flared helmet until he released. But often, I wanted his long virile tool inside of me as much as he wanted it to be inside me.

Despite all our precautions, I became pregnant after four months of marriage. We went to the same clinic where we had been examined before our marriage. After my general check up, the doctor asked Jared to join us in the exam room. He was an older gentleman, in his mid-fifties just like his wife, I suspected. When Jared came into the room, he had a scared look on his face. I realized that my pregnancy was as new and scary for him as it was for me. To my surprise, however, the doctor did not want to talk about the baby we were now expecting. Instead, he told Jared that he must now be extra careful regarding his special circumstances (which is the only term the doctor ever used for my husband’s lack of Adjustment.) The doctor had already forged records showing that we had visited him for fertility services a month before. This would explain how I was able to get pregnant in the first place. However, we should both be careful of accidents in the future. If we had too many children too fast, certain people might begin to suspect that we were not really planning our family. As we drove home, I realized that very few women in the world had experienced what I had experienced. My child was conceived in my own bedroom, during a random act of love between my husband and me. Suddenly, going to a fertility clinic to have a child seemed like a dirty act.

At first I thought that my pregnancy would lessen Jared’s desire for me. But I was wrong. We continued to make love during the early months, until the size of my stomach made positions difficult. After that, I made sure to suckle my husband’s hard prong every few nights, to alleviate the pressure for release in his genitals. By that time I had become an expert in pleasuring my man orally. The girth of his organ, which felt like a hard hot banana in my hand, often made my jaw hurt. But I took pride in pleasuring him. I often wondered what it was like for the other wives—to never feel the need to satisfy their husbands in any way. Their husbands didn’t demand anything of them. If their wives wanted sex, they provided it. But they didn’t get anything out of the experience themselves, other than the pride that comes from satisfying a partner. I now understood the pride that an adjusted man must feel when his wife squirms in orgasm because of his mouth on her clit. It was the same pride I felt when Jared squirmed and tensed under the pleasure of my lips on his mushroom knob. Perhaps, I started to think to myself, I am in some way an adjusted woman.

After several weeks of orally pleasing Jared, my jaw became so tired and sore that I told him I would have to slow down—take a break. He totally understood. He confided in me that he was always torn by his desire to have me physically and his sympathy for the condition of my pregnancy. But that he also didn’t want to stop me from remaining sexually active during the pregnancy if I wanted to. Now that I was expressing discomfort with remaining physical for the last months before delivery, he totally understood. “But what are you going to do about. . . you’re needs?” I asked him.

“No big deal. I’ll just jerk it.”

I laughed, “What?”

That was when he told me about how he masturbated. Perhaps I was totally naïve, but I had never really thought about how or whether an unadjusted guy pleasured himself. Sure, women masturbated all the time, especially before marriage. It was almost expected, although little discussed even among women. But guy’s masturbating? What would be the point, since they gained no real pleasure during sex? But an unadjusted male, he would need the same release, especially in his early life, just as women needed.

“You guys—unadjusted guys—masturbate too?” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “It’s no big deal. My father caught me when I was 13 or so. He gave me a big speech about being very careful to never get caught by anyone—since it would be obvious that I was unadjusted. But he made me feel good about it—I mean he made me feel like it was a normal thing to do. I used to jerk it practically every day until we were married.”

“How do you do it?” I asked. Surely a male wouldn’t masturbate like a woman.

He was so shy about the whole thing, like an embarrassed little boy. He told me he did it with his hand. Just like when I used my hand to get him off. I wanted him to show me. But he just blushed and shook his head. “Come on,” I said. “You said yourself that it was a normal thing for an unadjusted guy to do. I want to know how you do it. To experience it with you. It would make me feel like a failure as a wife for you to just go into the bathroom every night and service yourself.”

And finally he relented. I watched as my 20-year-old husband undressed and lay back on the bed. With one hand he manipulated his soft sausage; with the other he gently juggled his loose balls. Before long, his organ was as long and rigid as it got in my mouth or pussy. And he stroked it, his large hand and fingers wrapped around his pole. I watched him jerk on his organ, his chest rising with each breath that came faster than the one before. His muscled twitched and flexed; his legs and toes seemed to squirm around on the bed involuntarily. His excitement grew and so did the speed of his hand. His eyes were closed, and now his face began to tense and strain. It was so amazing, watching from the sidelines as my husband experienced the amazing pleasure of sexual stimulation. His strong hips began to rock back and forth on the sheets, and his large balls grew closer to his body in their tight sack. His organ seeming like a long hard mighty beast that his hand and body were struggling to control. And after only ten minutes or so, his body tensed and froze—his behind flexed and raised slightly off the bed, his back arched in a strain of pleasure. Jared made only a few deep grunts as he came, his fist gripping his throbbing organ tightly. I watched as six powerful squirts of warm white fluid erupted from the purple helmet of his manhood, arched in the air, and splattered with soft thuds on his straining chest. And then it was over, he relaxed his grip and rested on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed. I was amazed. It was so strange seeing his body reacting the way it reacted with me—but with me being remote and uninvolved. I thought about the powerful jets of seed that his body pumped from his throbbing organ—that was the same thing that happened inside of me every night we made love.

We showered together that night, and I washed the seed from his stomach and chest, using my fingernails to scratched the spunk from his thick crop of pubic hair. For the next weeks, as the date of my delivery drew nearer, Jared masturbated himself several times a week. But I didn’t let him do it alone. I would often lie next to him on the bed, my breasts pressing against him, my hands massaging the muscles of his chest and thighs as he pleasured himself. Often I would replace his hand with my own, when he was close enough that I could finish him without my wrist getting tired. And every once in a while, I would surprise him by finishing him with my mouth. But when he had to be content with his hand, he never complained. The whole experience brought me closer to him. I felt like I was completely intimate with him. He was my husband and I was his wife.

And in the early part of the year, our son was born. We named him Christopher and had him circumcised when he was a week old. Jared was so excited on the way home from the hospital. He had put the car seat in our car a month earlier. And the care he took in studying the safety instructions on the seat, baby bed, high chair, anything that little Christopher would around filled me with a loving pride in my husband. He wasn’t just going to be a great lover—but a great father.

But I was very sore from the delivery. It took my body quite some time to recover from the pregnancy. We took it slow. After all, in the last few months of the pregnancy, we had gotten accustomed to new sexual outlets. Jared masturbated whenever he felt like it; sometimes I helped him; sometimes I sucked him to orgasm. After a few months, he began to lick my pussy again. But it wasn’t until we vacationed with a group of old friends from high school that we made love completely.

The trip to the coast with our old high school friends was a turning point in our lives. Most of the people had been in our wedding. And now we were going to recapture our youth with a trip to a small cabin on the beach. There were four couples total: Jason and Susan, Mike and Heather, Drew and Kate, and Jared and me. The cabin was divided into four bedrooms with a large central room that served as den and kitchen. So each couple had their privacy. Jason and Susan had also just had a baby boy, so we had a lot to talk about—although the babies were both left in the care of their grandmothers back home.

On the first day of the trip, the men all went out to fish, and the women stayed at the house to settle in and catch up. Heather had brought several bottles of wine, and before long we girls began our old high school ritual of drinking wine and gossiping and giggling. And our conversation quickly turned to childbirth and raising kids.

“Jason is such a wimp. He wouldn’t even change little Joey’s diapers. I had to put my foot down. I told him no more video games or nights with the boys until he started pulling his weight,” Susan complained with a laugh. All of my female friends seemed to take delight in ordering their husbands about.

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Jared has been pretty good about handling the mechanical stuff—building the baby bed and all that. But he kinda drew the line at diapers and feedings. It got so bad I had to stop blowing…” I caught myself. “…stop letting him blow me off. I mean, I had to make sure knew who was boss.” I shook my head, as if the wine were getting to me. I hoped it would smooth out my verbal miscue.

The women just kept talking. But I know now that the wine was getting to me, although I didn’t really realize it at the time. I was so relaxed and happy to be among my old friends and relieved of the discomforts of pregnancy and baby care that I didn’t realize how the alcohol was affecting me.

The other woman laughed and compared notes on the trials and tribulations of marriage and motherhood. “And I tell you, after little Joey was born, I had to get Jason a new extender. This was one of those ‘full length’ extenders, that role of his stick, making the whole thing thicker. Jason’s stick felt so thin to me the first time he pleasured me after the baby that I didn’t even know for sure he was inside.”

“Did it work? I’ve never tried one of those full length extenders,” Heather said.

“It was ok,” Susan shrugged. “But I’ve been thinking of having Jason use a dildo on me instead anyway. It kind of irritates me when he mounts me and humps on top of me. I mean, his body feels so heavy. And it’s not like he’s overweight or anything. Gosh, when we are middle-aged, I can’t image us still doing it that way. But his stick is so short that it makes most other positions impossible.”

“Don’t you think it would hurt Jason’s feelings if you asked him to use a dildo rather than his stick? I mean, you’re pretty much admitting that he can’t please you,” I asked.

Susan just laughed. “Oh, it’s not like it is that much different from an extender. The full-length extender I’ve been making him use pretty much feels like a dildo anyway. The only difference is his body bearing down on me as he humps.” She drained her class of wine. “Sometimes I wonder why they don’t go ahead and clip the whole stick from men.”

“Really?” Kate said. She had only been marred a few months. And Kate had always been a little quiet about sexual matters, but apparently the wine was getting to her as well. “I’ve never had any trouble feeling Drew’s stick. Sometimes I don’t even ask him to use the extender you guys gave me at my shower. His always fills me up.”

I gulped down a mouthful of wine and refilled my glass. What Kate said had shocked me. From what I knew of how Jared’s unadjusted organ felt, I found it shocking that a clipped penis could fill a woman—at least in terms of length. “Really? How long is Drew’s?”

Kate blushed and laughed uncomfortably. “Oh, it’s about 6” long.”

Wow, I thought. Kate’s husband Drew had a penis that was as long as my husband’s—even though his organ was clipped and my husband was whole. How long would it have been if it hadn’t been clipped of when he was a boy? 7 inches? 8 inches? “Wow,” I said. “Have you ever wondered how long his would be if he hadn’t been adjusted?”

My comment hit the conversation with a loud THUD.

“Oh my god, Sarah,” Susan said. “I can’t believe you would even wonder such a thing. You’ve got a baby boy now. When I first saw little Joey’s unclipped little thing, I thought it was so disgusting. Why couldn’t they have gone ahead and clipped the cap off when he was circumcised? I’ll never understand it. I can’t image what a full grown, man-sized cap would look like. Probably a disgusting fat bulb or something.”

I laughed quietly to myself, and Susan heard. “What’s wrong with you, Sarah?”

I shook my head and rubbed my forehead. “I guess the wine is getting to me,” I said. I tried to laugh off the comment, but I knew that the others were a little uncomfortable.

Kate broke the awkwardness with a question. “I’ve never even seen an unadjusted stick. What does it look like?”

“Don’t let her talk make you curious about such disgusting things,” Susan said, gesturing in my direction. “You’ll have a son before too long, and you’ll see the nasty little tip for yourself. Trust me, you’ll look forward to his Adjustment Party just as much as I’m ready for little Joey’s.”

I don’t know why I didn’t stop then. Every day for the last 13 years I’ve replayed the conversation in my head and thought about how things would have been different if I had just shut my mouth. But I didn’t. Susan’s in your face attitude had always rubbed me the wrong way. And, I think, deep down, I took her comments as an assault on my husband’s manhood. I should have shut up. But I didn’t. “But what about what little Joey wants? Or my little Christopher? We might think their little tips are disgusting, but what about what they will think of them? We know how good it feels to have sex—at least with a husband who performs adequately,” I said, with a glare at Susan. “Why should our sons—or our husbands for that matter—be denied the pleasure that we take for granted? Just because society says that the male pleasure-desire is dangerous? That’s crazy.”

The others were flabbergasted. By that time my mind was swimming with wine and indignation. I thought Heather was going to hyperventilate. Susan’s face was read—with anger I think. To her, my comments weren’t just silly or crazy, they were deviant. “Sarah, I’ve never heard anything so disgusting. My god. And how dare you use my own son as an example. Joey would never want to keep such a disgusting bit of flesh! Why, he’d be deformed.”

Heather then spoke, perhaps to calm the tension. “Well, I’ve seen those new studies that show that men aren’t even physically capable of sexual pleasure. That their brains aren’t wired that way. The most leaving them unadjusted would do is illuminate the extender industry. But I don’t think that Mike would rather be normal like ever other guy than have a bit extra flesh that doesn’t even change the feelings he has during sex anyway.”

“Ha,” I said, spontaneously. I was drunk by then. I didn’t know what I was saying, how I sounded.

But Susan’s dagger eyes directed toward me at that point were a clear window into her attitude.

Kate, who was never very good at reading situations, just kept chatting as if there were no tension. “Well, Drew seems to get some pleasure from sex. He says that his stick feels so warm inside of me.”

“But it is not pleasure like we feel Kate. They can’t even feel that, adjusted or no,” Heather said.

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” Susan said. She stood up and drained her glass. “I’m going to take a shower. This conversation has made me feel dirty.”

The other women sat in silence for a moment. But one by one we retired to our rooms to get ready for our husbands to return. We all did our best to patch things up during the rest of the vacation. Susan and I never really apologized for our comments—in fact, the topic was never brought up again. But we put smiles on our faces, if for our men’s sake if not for our own.

But something had changed. And something about my attitudes had set Susan to thinking. I have only been able to piece together what must have happened later. Susan must have been very offended—and suspicious. No one ever talks the way I did that afternoon. Her radar was up. Did she talk to her husband Jason about the conversation? Did she ask him about Jared? Did he tell her that he had never seen him naked at they locker room or seen him use a urinal? Were their rumors about Jared floating around amongst his male friends from high school that I never knew about? I’ll never know. But my comments sent the ball rolling in people’s minds. And the Center for Male Decency was contacted. I don’t know where they got their evidence. Were their mistakes in Jared’s forged medical records concerning his adjustment or my pregnancy? Did they bug our house? Did they interview childhood friends and turn up some information? I don’t know, and I’ll never know. All I know is what happened on that fateful day only four months after our vacation.

One day there was a knock at the door. It was early morning, but I was already awake and dressed. I was going to work early that morning. And besides, little Christopher had a lot of trouble sleeping that night, so I awake earlier than usual. Jared was still in bed. When the doorbell rang, I was putting my earrings in. I went to the door without a second thought. It was probably the mailman or something. But it wasn’t. When I opened the door, four strong men and two women were standing on our porch. They were well dressed professional looking people. The men wore black suits, like the detectives on TV dramas. The two women were obviously of different ages. One was an older woman, in her mid forties. Her blond hair was done up in a tight bun at the top of her head. She wore small wire-rimmed glasses. In her right hand she carried a black briefcase. The other woman was younger, perhaps only a few years older than I was. Her dark hair was long about her shoulders. But both women were professionals. They wore navy blue pants suits. And they had badges.

“Miss, we are from the Center for Male Decency,” the older female officer said. “We have a warrant to physically search your husband.”

“Jared!” I cried, dropping my earring onto the carpet. But before I could turn toward the bedroom to warn my sleeping husband, one of the big men had his arms around me and a hand over my mouth. I could hear little Jared crying down the hall in his crib. The female officer sent the one of the men to take care of the baby, and the other officers entered the house. They made a beeline to the bedroom. They obviously knew the floor plan of our home. I was dragged along by the big man. And when we entered the bedroom, I saw Jared there, still asleep on the bed, the covers covering his body, his hair tangled, his face peaceful. The two men who remained with the group surrounded the bed, one on each side. The third man still held me, quiet and helpless, though I struggled with all my strength. The two women stood at the foot of the bed.

“Take him,” the chief woman said. And the two large men reached out for my husband.

I’m not sure if he had, in his sleeping mind, heard my earlier cry, or if some sense warned him of danger, but my husband opened his eyes the moment the two men reached for him. “Whaa,” he said, his voice rough with deep sleep. He made a single jerking motion of defense before the two men fell on him. Their strong hands gripped the bare skin of my husband’s arms. Jared struggled. “What the fuck,” he cried. The two men put their weight down on him. My husband was not a wimpy man, far from it. But he was a lean 19-year-old man. The two brutes that invaded our home that day were strong men, trained to subdue criminals. They held him fast to the bed. Jared’s eyes were bewildered. His struggles seemed to lessen. Then his eyes focused on me, held helpless on the other side of the room by another man. And my husband’s body jerked in a spasm of raged defiance. But it only took a few minutes for his body to tire under the immovable pressure of the two buttes.

“Look, look,” Jared panted, his voice strained. “Look, take all the money we have. My wallet is on the nightstand. Just let my wife go, please.”

“We are not interested in your money Jared,” the chief woman said, her voice cold and calm. “My I call you Jared?” She asked the question as if my husband was in a position to refuse. “I am Sargent Striver of the Center for Male Decency.” She flashed her blue and silver badge.

Jared’s eyes became saucers of fear. He struggled under the grip of the two men once again. The light in his eyes told me his mind was hot with fear and rage, but his body was exhausted. The men had no trouble keeping him on the bed.

The female officer, Sargent Striver, was not fazed by his defiance. “I can assure you Jared, your struggles will not prevent us from serving this warrant.” She produced a blue piece of paper, folded over many times, and unfolded it for our benefit. It was covered with small print and bore three large flowing signatures. “It mandates a physical exam of your genitals. And the appropriate correction, if it is necessary. Men, secure him to the bed.”

With military efficiency, the two men tied Jared’s hands to the posts at the head of our bed. He struggled of course, but it did no good. With his arms secure, the men pulled the sheet back from his body. Jared was sleeping in his gray boxer briefs. His naked chest rose and fell rapidly as his body fault for breath as he struggled. As the men attempted to secure his legs, he kicked with all the ferocity that was left in his exhausted body. One of the men grabbed Jared’s upper thighs and literally jumped on top of him, putting all of his weight on my husband’s upper legs. The other man grabbed Jared’s left leg and tied it swiftly and tightly to one of the foot posts. Jared continued to struggle, and I saw the big man on top of his legs shoot an elbow into the soft budge of my husband’s gray cotton clad crotch. The muscles of Jared’s chest and neck clenched as his face strained in the pain that must have radiated from his injured male orbs like a flash of lighting from his groin to his mind. He didn’t struggle as his second leg was secured to the bed. The big man rose off the bed and straightened the coat of his black suit. Jared was helpless.

The older woman nodded to the men—a job well done. She placed her briefcase on the chest at the foot of our bed and opened it. She produced a pair of small silver scissors. The thin blades gleamed in the morning sunlight that streamed in through the bedroom windows. She handed the scissors to the younger woman. “Cynthia, here begins your first lesson. The subject is subdued. The two agents remain in case he should somehow brake free of the restraints. The third agent will continue to restrain the wife. The area has been secured, and we are ready to proceed. First we must physically examine the subject. Remove his underwear please.”

The younger woman, Cynthia, took the scissors. He hand was not as steady as the older woman’s was—you could tell she was a little nervous. But she was still amazingly calm and professional. She walked in three long strides to the bedside.

“Please, don’t,” Jared said. His voice was weary, tired, exhausted.

Cynthia ignored him. She reached out and pinched a bit of the gray boxer briefs at the left leg. I saw her finger tips brush the fine hairs of Jared’s upper thigh. The strong muscle flinched under her touch. Then, she positioned the scissors and began to cut the thin tight fabric up to the waistband. Then, leaning further over the bed, she made another cut over his left leg.

“Now, remove the clothing,” the Sargent said.

Cynthia gripped the center of his waistband and pulled the fabric free, exposing the manhood of my husband to the cool air of the room. Jared’s manhood was soft and loose. The male orbs hung down heavy and loose between his outstretched legs. His soft dick hung like heavy sausage, the plum pink mushroom shaped head resting slightly to the right, the tip just touching his thigh. The sensitive cap of his male sausage just sat there, convicting him, for all in the room to see. The two men who stood at the foot of the bed grunted in disapproval as they saw my husband’s crotch exposed. One looked at his watch. The other fixed his cuff.

“As you can see Cynthia, the subject is obviously unadjusted.”

The younger woman nodded in agreement. No further explanation was needed, for the two women, Jared, or myself. Jared’s face was pale white. I stared at him, but he would not look toward me.

The Sargent reached into her open briefcase and began to work. “Since this is your first field case, Cynthia, I think it is best if you get some on the job training. I will walk you through the entire process. You will find that it is only slightly different from the standard youth adjustment.”

The Sargent produced from her briefcase a large plastic tube, perhaps nine inches in length. One end was open, but the other was capped with a thin black ring. I control pad was attached to the device at the closed end by a thick black wire. The device reminded me of those pump devices that some sex stores sale for women whose husband’s sticks will not stay hard. The Sargent handed the device to Cynthia, who sat it down on the bed. I saw the tube roll over once on the white sheets and come to rest against Jared’s leg. His body flinched at the touch of it. But his eyes didn’t move. He stared at the Sargent, his expression on of pleading disbelief.

Then the Sargent removed a small container. It looked like a small makeup bottle. She unscrewed the cap and handed it to Cynthia. “First, apply the cream. This cream has special properties. It establishes an erection regardless of the desires of the subject. In the case of a male of this age, it is probably unnecessary. However, since it is your first time, I think it best if we go by the book. It can be disturbing the first time you touch an unadjusted man’s organ. But regardless of our personal feelings, we have a job to do. Apply the cream Cynthia.”

The younger woman pulled the rubber glove over her right hand and scooped a bit of the pinkish white cream from the container. Then she reached out for Jared’s soft and lazy male tube. She almost seemed tentative to touch it, as if Jared’s penis was a snake that could somehow bite her. She dabbed a bit of the cream onto the helmet head of his sausage and began to smear it with her fingers. She applied more and more, and Jared’s sleeping organ responded. First his manhood just twitched and rolled to the right, off his thigh and coming to rest over his handing balls. It seemed to have a mind of its own, I thought. And I remember thinking back to the times when Jared had ravaged me on that very bed. It did have a mind of its own. And now it was betraying its owner. Cynthia seemed to become more comfortable with the feel of my husband’s unadjusted tool. I remember feeling so angry at the sight of another woman with her hand on my man’s cock. It was mine! I am the only one to give him pleasure. And then it hit me—Jared wasn’t supposed to feel pleasure, at least in the eyes of these invading agents. There was no jealousy or desire in them—they were repulsed by my man’s unaltered manhood.

For the first time, I noticed the gold wedding band on Cynthia’s finger. She was married, to a man who was no doubt adjusted. Jared’s body, his manhood, must have seemed so foreign to her—so animal-like. Untamed, uncivilized. As Cynthia kneaded and tugged on Jared’s spongy male sausage and felt it grow more firm with each pass of her hand, she was feeling the bulb of a man’s organ for the first time. She was feeling the curves and ridges of my husband’s sensitive male mushroom with a virgin hand. I closed my eyes and felt warm tears roll down my cheeks. The memory of my own tentative first encounter with my husbands throbbing and demanding sex rushed back into my mind. I felt my tears pool against the rough hand of the big male agent that covered my mouth.

When I opened my eyes, Jared’s male stalk was fully erect and straining. Cynthia gave his organ a few extra strokes, rubbing a last layer of white/pink cream into the thin, tight, but amazingly soft skin of his rigid pole. I looked at Jared’s face. His eyes still avoided me as he stared at Cynthia and her hand. His face betrayed no pleasure, but his chest rose and fell as his breathing increased. Jared’s face was pale, his brow dotted with sweat, as Cynthia’s hand rubbed the most the sensitized tip of his male spear.

And then Cynthia released his dick. For a moment, Jared’s organ stood up proud and tall, 6 inches into the sunlit morning, thick and ready. And then it flopped onto his washboard belly with a smack. I could see that the thick cap of his organ reached his belly button as it lay over his thick curly bush of pubes. The tears came again. We were both about to lose his manhood.

And then the Sargent passed Cynthia the device. Cynthia held the tub for a moment. I could now tell that the open end of the clear tube was ringed with what appeared to be a clear plastic cushion, perhaps some sort of sealer. The Sargent talked Cynthia through the process. “When I give the word, slide the device over his organ and position the clipper.” Cynthia seemed to take a moment to check the wire and the control pad. She was nothing if not professional. The Sargent now addressed Jared directly. “Jared, let me assure you that the device is relatively painless. It is based on a laser cutting technique that is so powerful that the process is over in less than a half a second. While you will feel nothing at first, expect a little soreness for the next few days. But after that, you should be back on your feet in no time.”

Jared just stared at her. He didn’t say a word. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face and into the slight stubble that had grown overnight.

“Ready, Sargent,” Cynthia said. And the Sargent nodded. Cynthia gripped the thick base of my husband’s male tool and held his organ up, rigid and proud in the air. With her other hand, she positioned the device. She rested the clear cushion that surrounded the opening against my husbands red, throbbing male bulb and pressed down. It was a tight fit, and I could see the cushion rubbing Jared’s wide mushroom as Cynthia twisted the cylinder. Jared’s face tensed, and his body arched. His legs and arms spasmed in an attempt to free himself, to save the pleasure of his life. And at that moment, the cylinder popped over his mushroom helmet, and the soft clear cushion slid slowly and tightly down the thick rigid pole that defined his sex. “Uuuunnnnnaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh,” Jared groaned, a cry I had heard so many times and instantly recognized. His back arched and his butt tensed against the soft bed sheets. And a heartbeat later, a thick rope of white male seed shot against the plastic tube with a THUMP. And a moment later, another, stronger glob of sperm splattered into the tube. And then another, and another. Jared’s face relaxed, and he opened his eyes. “Nnnuuuuhhhhhhh,” he exhaled as the tension left his body. He filled the clear, unmanning tube with the last load of seed he ever shot in pleasure. And his weary read yes glanced at me and locked onto my eyes. “Sarah,” he whispered, a bead of sweet rolling down his cheek—or was it a tear?

“Ignore his weakness, Cynthia,” the Sargent said, her voice as cold and stone. “Position the clipper.”

Cynthia now gripped the black cap on the closed end of the tube. The cylinder was now firmly pressed over my husband’s organ. The clear cushion was ringed tightly around the base of Jared’s stalk, pressing the curls of his pubes against his skin. Cynthia pulled the black cap down along the side of the tube. It ran on a small track along the side, and I could see the black ring of the mechanism move down the inside the tube along with her hand. Jared’s penis had never looked so long, so large, so hard as it did inside that tube. And the clear tube, although splattered with the thick white and clear fluid of his seed, allowed Cynthia to judge the placement of the black ring. She moved the device until the cruel black ring was positioned right at the scare where my husband was circumcised only days after his birth. The rigid flesh above that scare, the pink band of sensitive skin and the throbbing mushroom cap, had been with him since his birth. Cynthia double-checked the placement of the device, and then released her grip on the cylinder. It stood up straight, Jared’s organ clearly visible within it, up from between my husband’s straining legs.

His eyes were on me, blood shot, pleading. I thought of all the times his eyes had looked into mine as the powerful unstoppable rush of pleasure had surged from the mushroom head of his penis, buried deep inside my warm body, to the overwhelm the pleasure centers of his brain. Cynthia gripped the control pad of the device, and the thick black cord that attached to the cylinder swayed in the air. Jared’s eye darted back to the Sargent. “Ppllease! You don’t understand. Please, don’t hurt my dick. Please, you don’t understand. I need it. It feels so good.”

The Sargent’s stony face was unmoved. He looked to the young woman, not much older than me. She stared down at him, a look of pity mixed with disgust. “Please,” Jared said, his voice cracking under the strain. “Please, I need the feeling. Please don’t clip it off.”

“Now!” the Sargent ordered.

“Sarah!” Jared squeaked, his eyes focusing on me, pleading—pleading for the pleasure I and my body delivered to him and his.

Cynthia hit the switch.

FLIISSHHHHHHHssssszzzzzzzzzzz! The cylinder flashed a bright red spark that was replaced with a swirl of black smoke. The low sizzle of the device echoed in the room. Jared’s strong masculine body broke into a cold sweat. His eyes tentatively gazed on the smoke filled tube that encased his penis. “Huhhh, huhhhh, huhhhh,” the sound of his breath slowly overpowered the waning sizzle. The strong firm muscles of his chest and abs seemed to expand and deflate with his breath. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but the look on his face revealed his masculine terror.

Cynthia dropped the control pad onto the bed and reached for the cylinder. She lifted if off of Jared’s pole slowly. The tight cushion popped past the end of his dick sooner than I expected, and Jared’s still erect member dropped back on his bed of curly sex hair, now damp with sweat and spunk. But it didn’t come close to reaching his navel. Smoke wafted from the open end of the cylinder, and Cynthia shook it slightly. And from the open end fell the severed mushroom head of Jared’s might penis. If dropped onto Jared’s hard abs with a SMACK of flesh on flesh. He stared at what was once the most sensitive flesh on his body—a soft, spongy, pink spearhead of manhood that a slight touch of my fingers would send his body a wave of pleasure. Now a severed and useless piece of flesh on his stomach—detached from the stalk of manhood it once capped. “Huhhhh, huuuhhh, huuhhhh, oh goddd,” he said, his voice a deep masculine whisper. “God, it’s gone; she cut it off. God, its gone; the head of my dick, oh god.” His head lay back on the bed, shaking slowly from side to side, as if in a delirious dream.

The Sargent reached once more into her briefcase and handed Cynthia a small jar and a squirt bottle. Cynthia picked up the severed head of Jared’s penis by its frenulum, using only her thumb and forefinger. She was so tentative, as if she were picking up someone else’s dirty underwear. But it was the head of my husband’s cock. She was pinching the sensitive flesh that I once sucked while my husband squirmed and moaned on our bed. She dropped the glans into the jar and squirted the solution in the bottle in until the jar was completely filled. Then she screwed on the cap and took what looked like a fancy stapler and sealed the lid.

Cynthia handed the jar to the Sargent, who in turn passed a small plastic stick, like the kind the doctor used to depress our tongue, but much smaller. The Sargent approached me, jar in had, as Cynthia inserted the stick into Jared’s beheaded erection.

“No charges will be filed in the matter,” the Sargent said, “against you or your husband. But you will have to answer questions at the station about your accomplices. If you fail to provide the required information, jail will be the result—I can assure you. Your husband will be a little sore for a few days, like I said. Cynthia is inserting a small stick that will keep the opening of Jared’s urethra open and clear. But can remove it after a few hours.” She nodded her head at the big man, and I felt the pressure of his grip lessen. Then, he released me. I remember thinking that I would fall over, just collapse on the floor, now that the force of his arms no long held me up. But I didn’t. I stood in front of the Sargent, this middle aged professional woman who had overseen the beheading of Jared’s cock. I stood eye to eye with her, my hand tremble slightly.

“The jar is of course yours,” she said, and I felt the cold of the glass jar against my palm and she placed it in my hand. “Good day.” She said, and turned to leave.

The others followed her, Cynthia now carrying the briefcase for her boss. The walked out single file and silently as I stood in my bedroom, the jar with my husband’s severed glans in my hand, sunlight streaming down on Jared’s squirming moaning body, still tied to our marriage bed. And then they were gone.

My body was cold, shaking. I put the jar on the nightstand, looking at it for only a moment. Jared’s mighty mushroom cap floated in the liquid. The wide pink flesh of his manhood filled nearly the entire jar. And behind it, still thick and erect, was the upper shaft of his stalk. I could see the tiny veins in the thin pink flesh that was stretched tight over the iron hard shaft. And at the end, the scar of his circumcision, now a darker brown from the laser cut. The sensitive flesh of my husband’s manhood, that had given him the greatest pleasure of his life, and of mine, floating in a jar.

I literally fell on the bed, my arms reaching for my husband. I pulled my legs onto the bed and lay beside him, rapping my arms around his trembling body. I couldn’t bear to look at his mutilated manhood, the black stick protruding obscenely from the beheaded end. His body shook in my arms. He was cold, sweaty, and smelled of sweat and sperm—just like after he jerked himself off when I was pregnant. But there was another smell too, the smell of burned flesh. I put my head on his chest, hearing his heart beating strong and steady. My ears were filled with the sound of his breath and his quiet delirious moans. This man who had ravaged me like a beast, given me so much pleasure. Tears filled my eyes and dripped onto the smooth skin of his chest.

* * *

It was so long ago, but it still feels like yesterday. I’m an older woman now, a mom, and my days are filled. Jared’s days are filled too—with fatherhood, yard work, work at his mechanics job. But we no longer make love.

Jared was completely disinterested in sex at first. He was so depressed. In all, the device removed about 2.5 inches from his organ—1.5” of glans and another 1” of shaft. What remained was 3.5” of pasty white shaft. The end was blunt, and often felt rough to the touch. I used to wake up at night and hear him in the bathroom crying. I went to him once and put my arms around him.

“Baby, it’s ok,” I said. I felt his tears soak the shoulder of my shirt.

“No, no it’s not,” he sobbed. A twenty-year-old man, my husband, sobbing on the bathroom floor. “You don’t understand. I need it; I need the feeling. My balls hurt so much. There is this constant pressure in me, between my legs. God, I need it so bad.”

“Then let’s try again. Maybe, now that a little time has passed, it will be like before.” I wanted so much for him to understand that I still wanted him, still needed him, sexually. But he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. He closed up.

On our second anniversary, I made a special dinner for him. I wined him and dined him. And that night, I began to feel of him, up his leg, nibbling his ear, just like I did when we were first married. And he wanted me. I could feel the passion radiating from his mouth, from his balls, from his body. It had been so long for him, the pressure so great in his body for the release that he once achieved every night. And he took me.

But it wasn’t the same. He entered me, and I barely felt him at my enterance. His organ was still the same thickness, but I no longer felt “filled up” as I once had. As Jared lowered his weight onto my body and stuck is headless spear into my warm hole, he didn’t breathe, didn’t tense his face, didn’t moan in pleasure. His deep brown eyes just stared into mine, vacant. “Oh baby,” I moaned as I shifted my hips under him. But he knew it wasn’t the same for me. And I could tell that he felt nothing, not compared to the amazing pleasure my pussy had once given him.

He made a play of humping me, but his shortened organ popped out over and over again. His body wasn’t used to the short strokes an adjusted man must use. Each time he popped out, he closed his eyes in disappointment. By the time I faked my orgasm so he could stop, his eyes were watery with tears. I just held his body on top of mine, my hands spread wide on his muscled back, not a drop of sweat covering his body.

We rarely made love after that. No matter how hard we tried, Jared just couldn’t feel enough pleasure in his headless organ to produce any kind of climax. Some clear seminal fluid would often leak from the hole of his beheaded spear, but it was only a faint echo of the mighty blasts of seed that once squirted from his stinger. Our attempts at lovemaking were more frustrating than pleasurable, for both of us. Having become used to a grunting, needing, lovingly aggressive lover, I simply couldn’t connect sexually with the passive soulless, pleasureless humping of my adjusted husband. I suppose that, in my own way, I am now an “unadjusted wife.” I sometimes think of my friends, who have only experienced the mechanical, headless humping of their husbands that is only intended to produce their own pleasure. They seem to love it, with their mate focused only on doing everything right for them and when their pleasure is achieved, the act is over. But such lovemaking holds little charm for me. I once thought about asking Jared to use the extender for me, but how could I do that to him? How could I insult the memory of the powerful throbbing organ he once possessed by asking him to replace it with a rubber tip?

We were forced to give testimony about those who helped Jared remain unadjusted. But I only knew about the Doctor and his wife at the clinic. And by the time the authorities arrived to arrest them, they were long gone. The word must have spread far and wide, and no one else was found or adjusted based on the information we provided. The others in the group must have considered Jared and isolated casualty.

But, of course, he wasn’t the only casualty. And neither was I. That is perhaps the reason I am writing this journal. I know that I stated at the beginning that I intended for it to be found and read some time in the future, when we’re all gone and the world might be a different place. But there is someone else who will read it, perhaps after Jared and I pass away—Christopher.

Today is a very special day for our family. Today I opened the small safe in our closet that holds the jar containing the severed head of Jared’s dick. I don’t open the safe very often, but today was different.

Today I have something else to add to the safe—another jar to sit beside Jared’s. As I placed it on the shelf next to Jared’s jar, I compared the two together for the first time. This new jar contained the severed glans of our son Christopher. Today he turned 12 years old, and it’s his Adjustment Day. The guests have already arrived for his party. There will be gifts of money for college and such. His adjustment marks the beginning of his journey into adulthood and manhood. The clipping of his penis is the beginning of the rest of his life. Soon he’ll start dating. I have no doubt that he and his friends are already whispering about girls, what their like, and how best to please them. And as I look at the two jars, I can’t help but think about the differences between what floats inside of them.

Jared’s jar was filled with a fat plump penis head. I still remembered each contour and curve of his sensitive flesh—I had charted each bump and ridge of his helmet and shaft with my tongue and fingers during the first year of our marriage. As I looked at sensitive flesh that floated in and filled the jar, I thought about all the times Jared had moaned and groaned in pleasure as it was touched and sucked. How many times had his body be racked with the ultimate pleasure his penis head had provided—whether through contact with his hand or my mouth or my pussy? The humping and thrusting of that throbbing pink helmet inside of my body had produced our son.

And beside it, now sat Christopher’s jar. The jar was the same size as Jared’s, but the bit of flesh floating within it was tiny in comparison. Christopher’s tip was a deep crimson, a small red nub of flesh, a miniature version of the plump mushroom in his father’s jar. And size wasn’t the only difference between the flesh floating on that shelf. Christopher’s small nub had never felt the throbbing rush of pleasure that Jared’s had so many times. And that is why it was floating in the jar that day. I couldn’t let my son experience the heartache of losing—forever—the pleasure that flesh would one day have given him. It was better for him to never know what he and his future wife were missing. That way, Christopher can grow up like his friends, find a woman and pleasure her, and they will both accept their lives together as the only way it can be. His wife will ever have to listen to my son sob in the bathroom, forever desiring the pleasure of orgasms he never should have experienced.

THE END

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