A few days ago a friend gave me my first copy of your fantastic magazine. The articles and the letters were a surprise to me.

I thought I was a dirty old bachelor of New England stock. I’m 64 and I still love it daily.

During the depression of the ’30s, I wandered around the world. I spent about five years in Africa with a Bantu tribe. The males were always nude. One day the chieftain stripped me and got a knife from one of his attendants. Then he ran his hands all over my male apparatus and rolled back my foreskin. I thought to myself, “Well, here is where you lose your balls, fella.” Instead he pierced a small hole in the translucent skin on the underside of my penis that connects the head and the foreskin.

He rolled back his own foreskin and unhinged a gold ring that had been covered by the flesh. He put the sharp end through the hole in my foreskin and snapped the ring shut. I’ve worn it ever since, except for a nine-day stay in the hospital. It seems they were a tribe of lovers with large balls and long meaty cocks and I had more than he did. The males were initiated into manhood at about 18 years of age and at their ceremonies, the gold rings were put in their penises. They were a very friendly people and most happy and they were most generous with the favors of their wives. The chieftain shared every one of his wives with me while I stayed in his house.

From Africa I went to Cuba, and then to New Orleans. There I worked as a stud in a house on Clay Street and later I worked in the more elegant brothels on Bourbon Street. In those days the women came in the back door. We studs were more or less paid on a scale that was based on the length of our cocks, the size of our balls and our staying power.

My wild days are over now. I work at a university as a janitor. I’ll retire in about four years and then I will have all the time in the world to reminisce.