On The Nature And Use Of The Discarded Foreskin
Catherine studies the shelves, she’s looking for a particular product. Her eyes glide past the traditional anti-ageing creams, the anti-wrinkle creams, the skin moisturisers and replenishers, none of them could deliver like this new product promised to deliver. The spray-on tans and toners don’t get a second glance, they had long since become obsolete to her sagging needs.
Catherine rolls her yellowed eyeballs in their crow’s feet sockets across the skyline of the health and beauty range and spies the branding that she’s seen splashed and sprayed across television and billboards for the last month – a pastel pink ring around a white toga. The brand’s name is Prepucii, which sounds Latin to Catherine. Despite repeatedly seeing and hearing the product on every advertising space and platform possible, Catherine still doesn’t have a clear grasp of what’s inside the small box, just that it can enhance her looks by tightening her face and neck skin. She feels it’s got to be worth a small investment. Catherine’s face droops and billows; a morose vaginal cleft; her saggy, loosely puckered lips a dank and dusty anal sphincter. Her waddled neck; flea-bitten with broken blood vessels; an obscene fold of fatigued scrotal tissue.
No sooner than being two feet across the threshold of her Barratt home, Catherine hastily discards her department store trappings to the floor. After a little deliberation she had bought the Prepucii along with the special, introductory offer lubricant and scalpel (set at 25% off the top price). As she picks up the pack of Prepucii Catherine reads the warnings; the usual: do not swallow as may cause choking; ectopic nature of treatment may lead to altered appearance (which was good because that’s what she bought them for); product can constrict airways, be sure to have Prepucii scalpel to hand when applying; contains fibroblasts. Contains 12 prepuces (note: there may be differences in tone and size of prepuces, this is normal).
Content and readied, Catherine unfolds the lid and pulls out the first baby blue sachet. She tears along the perforated edge to separate it from the others. On one side there are instructions: Tear open sachet. Stretch Prepucii to desired size. Lower over head. Allow to elastically snap back around desired area. Leave a gap between Prepucii. The other side is clear so Catherine can see the prepuce. A small pink ring. No bigger than her index finger. It looks like a tiny pink spaghetti hoop vacuum packed in plastic. This is going to stretch over her head?! She tears open the packet as instructed and places her thumbs and index fingers inside the little Prepucii so as to stretch it like an elastic band. It has a surprising amount of give and, feeling more confident, Catherine begins to lower it over her head. It pulls on her hair as she attempts to slide it down over her head. Her eyes water. It’s too painful, so she tries stretching it further but it suddenly snaps with a loud ping. ‘Shit’, she thinks, ‘maybe I ought to try the lubricant?’
“Urino Infantalis. Liquid lubricant for the lady with the fuller head”. She splashes some on to her palms and massages it over the top of her head like a leave in conditioner. It has a unique, pungent smell that she can’t quite put her finger on, ‘raw potato?’. Regardless, she tears open the second sachet, this one a pastel orange; again stretching the dinky pink hula hoop and begins to slide it over her head. It’s still a ridiculously tight squeeze and she grunts with the effort. Managing, with an unbecoming brutish effort, to manoeuvre it down to the bridge of her nose, Catherine then starts to wiggle it carefully over her nose. Once past the tip of her nose it slides relatively easily down to her deflated toad’s throat baggy neck, where it snaps back tightly, squeezing her windpipe. Her eyes widen in panic for a moment before her neck relaxes and she is able to breathe again. Looking at herself in the hallway mirror, Catherine notices a sheen over her skin; sallow lubricant dribbling down her face. The Prepucii about her neck has pulled her skin down taut, ‘not too bad’ she acknowledges to her reflection. Once again, lubricating her head and face, she slides another ring down over her head, grunting, gurning and sweating as she does so. It takes her over forty minutes to get all eleven Prepucii around her neck and head. She has to cut out a mouth hole, as well as nostril, eye and ear holes using the scalpel.
There is a pressure oppressing her skull where the Prepucii are uncomfortably tight, but she assumes this will lessen as time goes by, like new denim. Unable really to shake or nod her head; she twists her entire trunk to examine herself in the mirror. There are several brown Prepucii, but mostly they are pink, or peachy. The contrast pleases her; people will notice. Her forehead is tight and smooth like a baby’s buttocks, her jaw line is now taut and striking, the second skin flush against the bone. Her eyes are watery, but that’s to be expected, she’s pulled a few hairs out getting the damned things over her head. Catherine feels beautiful. She wondered how she had dared go out before, with all those lumpy varicose veins and dangling jowls that looked like those thin bags of minced meat one might get at a delicatessen. She can’t wait to let people see the new her.
A few weeks later and the pain has subsided. Catherine is used to the tight feeling now, and to seeing the bands of pink and brown prepuces circling her head, so she doesn’t really mind when the gaps between them are getting smaller. It isn’t until she is combing her hair in preparation for a date that one evening that Catherine notices things aren’t all well. Chunks of her hair fall out as she pulls her paddle brush through it. Coarse brittle strands come away like dust. Her head pulsates. It feels like her skull is trying to break out. Panicking as she feels that a large ridge has formed along the base at the back of her skull, she starts to cry and pats along the top of her head. She feels some sort of opening up there, and so bows her head to get a look at it in the mirror. A hideous fissure has opened up from just behind her fringe right to the crown. Catherine wobbles at the knees as she turns her head to the side slightly. Yes, her head looks just like a male glans, but with two bewildered human eyes peering out of it. Her jaw recedes rapidly as her teeth begin to fall out of her pulsating gums; her nose extends down her face, turning white as it stretches into a tough sinewy band connecting the multicultural foreskin surrounding her swollen glans head and throbbing penile shaft neck. The foreskin grows upwards, engulfing her face, covering her entire head; a horrific nightmare worm consuming a live victim. Clawing desperately at the Prepucii, she manages to pull it down, a pearlescent bead oozes pulpily from her scalp. She catches a last glimpse of herself in the mirror and is appalled by her reflection.