Pearost, but who cares...
As a young uncurcumcised boy with perhaps one pubic hair, I remember being told about wanking and had a little fumbling fiddle in bed one night. Problem was that I always had a rather tight foreskin (threeskin maybe?) and after a few minutes of fiddling my foreskin retracted and out popped the bell end. I'd never seen it before and so I thought I'd broken my penis. To my young mind it was like an internal organ such as a kidney finding it's way out of my body. I cried myself to sleep convinced God was punishing this little Catholic for his sins. Woke up the next morning and found "it" was back to normal. I really believed from that moment on I had become a real man and used to flog myself to the picture sleeve of Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourgs "Je T'aime (moi non plus)". Heady stuff indeed...
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sat 19 Feb 2011, 22:22, 4 replies)

You could do worse than ol' Serge mate.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 19 Feb 2011, 22:42, closed)

I would like to point out...
...that the picture sleeve only had Jane on it and not Serge!
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sat 19 Feb 2011, 22:46, closed)

Yeah but its where your head goes when you masturbate that counts!
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 19 Feb 2011, 22:55, closed)

forgie me i have sinned
ahh a tale of woe and innocence maybe a recovering cathaholic it has all the hall marks of a gary glitter/priest/father/vicar/clergy moment....

there my son kneel and close your eyes and prepare to repent blah blah blah
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Mon 21 Feb 2011, 9:55, closed)