When I was about 2 years old I remember peering though the picket fence of my grandparents house at the road menders in the street. They spread the bitumen, rolled it with the steamroller and did all that work they do. It was hot dirty work. One of them who wore only a pair of greasy shorts, walked over to me, leaned over the fence and said "G'day Tiger" as he ruffled my hair. His blue eyes burned in his face,and his white teeth gleamed. He had tanned skin, smeared with tar, a taut muscly body, ropey veins standing out in his neck and bulging biceps. He smelled of sweat, and I a small child knew then, even then, the road I was going to travel. I cannot smell hot bitumen without being transported back to that moment. At about the same time, my mother was drying me on the kitchen table after an evening bath, and took hold of a remnant of foreskin that remained after a botched circumcision. "Look at that" she hissed to my grandmother, shaking the scrap of skin, "Yes" I heard the answer floating back, a note of pity in her voice. I squirmed out of her reach, embarrassed and humiliated. I took away from that moment a feeling that my genital area was ugly and something of which to be ashamed. Couple that with an absent father, that insensitive dominating mother, and two sisters either side of me, who were quite clearly preferable to me, and the message I received was to be a female was good, to be a male was bad. My penis was ugly. Until I had a "redo" myself when I matured.
My lovers have one thing in common. A huge penis, perfectly circumcised. If they have blue eyes, muscly bodies, and treat me tenderly, so much the better, I've spent a lifetime looking for the road mender, and never found him. Perhaps when I get to the Pearly gates, instead of St Peter, A blond haired muscly fellow smelling of hot tar and sweat, will swing the gate wide and say "Come In, Tiger, I've been saving this for you."
I reckon Tennessee Williams could have made something of that-and it would have been a hit!!!!