I grew up as an emotionally insecure boy, affected by social isolation. On top of that, I had a mild disability I wasn't fully aware of.

I had phimosis. I was able to pee and later procreate, but I didn't have any sensitivity at the tip of my penis. I never played at the tip, which was always inflamed at the urethral opening. Any attempt to pull back the skin caused me weeklong pain. So my glans and corona have never been exposed and lay dormant for most of my life.

Girls can be similarly affected, if they are stuck behind a thick, non-retractable clitoral hood. The consequences on sexual development can be far-reaching, and I wasn't aware of them, despite my inclination for introverted soul searching. 

At age seventeen, I asked my best friend, "why are all guys so preoccupied with their penises?" After all, the books said semen was produced in testicles, and the penis was merely a delivery mechanism.

I never masturbated as a teenager. Trouble is semen still needs to come out, so once every two to three months I woke up with a pyjama full of sticky mess. Then, at twenty-three, a girl came and took matters into her hand. I begged her not to pull back my skin, but pull in forward instead.

Intercourse followed, but was mildly painful. I still had a deep, animalistic desire to put my penis into her vagina. Fucking women is a great experience, even if it was only a mental desire from my part. 

Paradoxically, my disability made me a better lover. I wasn't entirely immune to premature ejaculation, but it rarely happened. In most cases, I took my time, carefully exploring the insides, to avoid any pain. After about ten to fifteen minutes, I managed to ejaculate. By that time, my girlfriend was at her sixth orgasm. She always came back for more.

My penis, while useless for me in terms of sensual pleasure, was quite big at 18.5cm (7.5"). In fact, it felt too big, and I was always worried it would pop up at the top of my swimsuit. 

As a teenager, I worried girls will notice my frequent erections. Later, in my adult years, I thought this was just a childish fantasy of mine. At an older age, reading female sex stories, I realise I was right to worry. My wife told me I had a reputation for being unapproachable.

Indeed, I recall the feeling when girls challenged me all around, and I indicated I wasn't accepting the sexuality game. When a beautiful girl came into my view, I made a serious effort to behave as if she wasn't beautiful. In reality, girls were messing up my mind, and I felt powerless against their influence. 

Something changed after age fifty-eight-and-a half. I became less isolated socially. I had a good job, I was able to provide for my family. At the corporate gym, I was getting appreciative looks. If you have grey hairs and still run on a treadmill, then you are respected. For the first time, I had kind of a peer group among men. Still, something was different in the change room.

Their glans were hanging out in the open. Even the ones who were uncircumcised, like myself, had big weighty members dangling. I wanted to be like them. And I wanted intercourse without pain. I felt ready to get circumcised, if need be.

To my luck, the urologist wasn't a big believer in the knife. He prescribed a simple cream called Betnovate. He told me to apply twice a day, but I only did it once a day. After three weeks, I was able to retract just a little bit, so a few milimeters of my glans became visible at the tip. Then more became visible. After three months, I saw for the first time that ridge at the bottom of my glans. It took another few months to see the grove behind my corona. 

The changes in sensuality have been much more dramatic, so much so that I'm glad I was going slow with my healing. If I touched my glans in the shower, I was shaking to my elbows for hours. At first, I started to enjoy simply walking around at lunchtime in the city centre. Did you know this thing dangles around, and gives a pleasurable feeling at every step? 

On the footpath, I was stomping the ground with a feeling of intense masculinity. I started to look at women with a renewed interest, confident I could fuck them all. Most surprisingly, they seemed to reciprocate, and I got a few glances in reply. At sixty, I finally began to play the same sex-game which I was unable to accept at sixteen. This didn't turn me into a sex-hungry monster (I hope). Instead, at the workplace, a compliment comes off my mouth effortlessly, and ladies appreciate my polite acknowledgement of their feminine charms. I was completely unable to do this without a proper penis.

I am still supposed to be a responsible head of a family. It took almost a decade to grow into my new member. My sexuality has developed and I felt completely different in my sixties. Earlier, I thought the intensity of sexual interest was a question of character. Some personalities feel more restricted in their pursuit of sex, others may be more open.

I still believe psychology matters a lot, but now I must add the body factor into the mix. When you are attached to a penis (or clit) in good working order, you don't have the option of ignoring sex.

I had to share this. After all, it's not usual for people to have two completely different periods of sexuality in their lives.