just the tip- part 3


The lone god stood before her lone follower and addressed him in a voice loud enough for the others to hear. “From this day forward, if you want me as your god, you must make a gift of your own flesh to me. You must cut off the sheath at the tip of your manhood and offer it to me as a sacrifice. It will be painful, but, with your paid and your foreskin, you will gain total life satisfaction from this day forth, and nothing more shall be asked of you. This token shall grant access to my kingdom for you, your wife, and any children you create with your tip-less penis.”


The people were horrified. “Who would do such a thing to himself?” Can it even be done?” “Thank god my god didn’t make that rule.”

The man could not sleep that night. He saw his lazy neighbors, fat and laughing after long days of leisure but empty inside. He saw his weary neighbors, tense and waning after long days of regulation but solid within. Was it really possible to find a balance? On top of everything else, the man was lonely, he liked the suggestion that he may one day have a wife and children. Perhaps if he offered the tip of his penis, he would find a wife to use the rest of it with.

He did not sleep that night. Solemnly, he rose and watched the sun rise. He entered his small kitchen and selected the paring knife he used to clean fish. He went to one of his lazy neighbors and borrowed some of the strong alcohol that the neighbor drank all day. He went to one of his diligent neighbors and borrowed a rawhide bone that the neighbor sucked on while fasting. Back in his small kitchen, the man cleaned his knife with the alcohol, he place the bone in his mouth and gritted his teeth against it. He stretched out the skin at the crest of his penis, which was flaccid and pliable with fear. He took the knife in his right hand and steadied the blade against the taut skin with an impossibly steady hand. In one deft motion, he swept the knife across the skin as though peeling a carrot. He moved so quickly that the sensation did not reach his brain until the blade re-entered the air. It was over. He fainted and did not wake for two sunsets and two sunrises.


When he arose, he saw the ring of skin at the tip of the blade before him. It was done. He was numb with physical pain but immensely proud of what he had done. His fingers pinched the gummy skin in his forefingers and laid the prize before the god. Upon seeing a piece of himself in front of himself while realizing that his body magically remained intact, a warm glow washed over him like a blanket of sun on his heart. He fell to his knees and felt glory-of-sacrifice and glory-of-freedom and glory-of-freedom-from-further-sacrifice all at once.

The man created an altar to display the foreskin for all to see, he found a long slender stick and encircled the ring of skin around it. People were fascinated. The men talked about it, they scrutinized their fringed penises while they peed. The women talked about it, they stole glances at their partners’ collared members while they had sex. Could it be that easy? Could it be that hard? In moments of desperation to end the cycle of alternating gods and they considered this new possibility.

There was a woman who was more unsatisfied with her gods than any of the others. She rose one day, resigned to converting, once again, from the god of ease to the god of rules. She dreaded the work that lay before her and the futility of it all. And then she remembered the lone man and his great sacrifice. How great must his god be to merit such an offering? How great must that man be to take such a risk?

She went to the man. She introduced herself. She shared her desperation and hope that there was something more. He welcomed her in. He listened as well. He shared his wisdom and eventually demonstrated the continued functionality of his remaining self. In time, they were married and had a family. Their joy was great and their loyalty to their god did not go unnoticed by the others.

Slowly, other men began to pare their penises as well. Each time, they would go to the first man because they wanted to be sure that they cut off as much (but no more than) was required by his god. In this way, they became followers of the new kind of god.

The god’s people had many children with their tipless penises and most of those children de-tipped their penises as well. Each new sacrifice was placed around the stick on the altar until the stack grew tall. Eventually it spilled over onto the ground and piled up all around. No one dared touch the sacred spire so it continued to grow. It was an inspiring testament to the power of this god. When the people tended to this growing throne, constructed meticulously with the ultimate sacrifice from the men of the god’s great flock, they knew they were a part of something greater. They felt peace in their minds as they went to sleep at night, after practicing the art of using their unsheathed members, always ready for action.


The other two gods still remained- indeed, they will always have followers, many of whom continue in the revolving door of utter dedication and utter abandonment- but most of people were monotheists and most of them preferred the god to whom they had already given a gift that could not be returned. They preferred the god to home their fathers and their fathers’ fathers had mutilated themselves for. Doing otherwise would undermine the sacrifice of their fathers and their fathers’ fathers and their fathers’ fathers’ fathers before him– each of whom had removed the foreskin that was now a literal part of the foundation of their god’s kingdom.


However, it cannot always be so. The time will come when the sacrificial pyre will reach so high that it will approach the swirling outer reaches in the realm of the gods once lost. The throne will make a bridge that bonds the human world to that of the untethered buoyant gods of old.

Up until that point the lone god will face a choice: she could destroy her mighty throne and prevent the return of those other gods, or she could allow the miracle of what her followers have built to come to fruition and risk undermining her own great power. Whether because of ego, humility or both, is not for me to say, but it is foretold that the great god will never destroy her sacred spire.

And  so the day will come when the sacrifices of so many crest the threshold of the great beyond– by just the tip– and the gods of old will be restored to this earth and her people.


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