Lily and I caught up at lunch, so we discussed our now-big boys. But she has a daughter too, and Gen has provided her with three grandsons. Like my boys, Gen’s sons are technically Jewish (through their mother), culturally yiddische, and uncircumcised.

Makes no difference to me. I didn’t argue with Barbara the First when she decided she wouldn’t have the procedure done on our sons. She was into being as natural as possible. She said either boy could have his foreskin removed if he wished, but she wasn’t going to make the decision for them. After all, she told me then, there’s no way to put it back.

Lily says that was Gen’s reasoning too. And she didn’t argue with Gen about it; they’re Gen’s kids and Lily knew she wouldn’t convince her daughter. But she presented her arguments to me. “Let’s be real,” she said. “Circumcising a week-old baby is a quick and almost painless procedure. I couldn’t stand to be in the room when they did Adam, but I believed them when they told me his crying was more about being strapped in an uncurled position than about any physical pain. I know of some men who had their foreskins removed as adults. It hurt like hell and incapacitated them for much longer than a vasectomy. It’s just not the same procedure on a full-grown male, and it’s a bad argument to talk like it is.”

That wasn’t all she said on the subject. She asserted that hygiene is easier. She said she’s been with both types of men, and as far as she could tell, the sexual enjoyment derived by the uncut penis did not exceed that of the tailored variety. But she saved her best argument for last.

“There’s such a thing as sexual selection, you know,” she stated. “It operates faster than natural selection. It’s the reason men have bigger penises than gorillas and women have much bigger breasts than necessary to feed their babies. The obvious truth is that women prefer bigger dicks and men prefer bigger boobs. Well, guess what? Women also prefer the appearance of a circumcised penis.”

I never thought of it as a simple cosmetic enhancement, best done early. Now that makes sense.

Lily usually makes sense. She’s a very controlled individual. Used to be, I called her controlling. That infuriated her almost out of control! She kept harping on the difference between controlled and controlling, but I wasn’t paying attention then. I was just trying to get what I want.

Like I said, I like to be around people. When Lily and I were together I wanted to be together. I wanted to see her every day and sleep with her every night.

That’s not what she wanted, though. I can remember calling her after work and suggesting dinner, or company after dinner. Often she’d voice a gentle “no.” I’d beseech. She’d get firmer: say something about having to work. I’d assure her that I wouldn’t bother her; I’d just read or play video games – I’d be quiet – I just wanted to be with her. She’d give a firmer “no.” And I’d then accuse her of being controlling. “You ass!” I remember her yelling at me once. “I’m just trying to control the limits of my environment. I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as it’s not here!”

Harsh words. She tried to modulate them later, but I guess my feelings were hurt or something. I didn’t listen.

I get it now.

So I’ve seen Lily a few times in these couple of months, but I haven’t pushed it. We’re had some nice walks and good meals, and we’ve been discussing Noetic Science. I remember putting my arm around her the night I first met her, but this time I haven’t touched her yet.

I want her. I’ve taken the (for me) unnatural step of asking her out on a date, for her upcoming birthday. She accepted. Now I have ten days to plan our evening. I can’t believe I’m doing this, for the first time or at all, at 65.

*****************************************************************************
Well that didn’t work, on a couple of levels. I brought Lily flowers but I forgot that she doesn’t like them. She says that when a man brings her flowers it feels like a cat bringing her a decapitated bird. It’s a sign of some sort of prowess in the giver, but the recipient is left holding death.

We got past that. I did well enough with the restaurant selection and the meal. We shared such good wine and food and conversation that I was invited in when I took her home, we were not interrupted by any distress call from either of my sons, and I made it to her bed. Kissing went well. Fondling was successful. And then I lost it.

That’s never happened to me before. Lily was understanding. I’m not.

So now what? Did my attempts to please her un-man me? Shall I look for another cult and pluck a fellow traveler out of it? That would be a sham; I never joined a group before for anything less than enlightenment.

I won’t take Viagra. I know nothing about the culture except I don’t want to join it. And Lily, damn understanding Lily, has invited me out for a meal. I have accepted. I hope for and dread another attempt.

I’ve never been into self-love that way, but I guess I’ll have to practice. I want it to work. What’s it? The penis or the relationship? Both I guess. But if I had to choose just one…?