By Kate McLachlan
I had my first attack of penis envy at the age of nine. Steve was ten and John was eleven. Mom was visiting the doctor (just about the only time she ever left the house) regarding the imminent birth of her ninth child. Granny was in charge, and my older brothers and I had taken advantage of the inadequate supervision to indulge in a lively game of strip poker.
We didn’t really know how to play poker, but stripping was easy. It didn’t take long before we were prancing buck naked across the boys’ room.
I’d seen penises before, of course. I had three younger brothers as well as the two older ones. Escaping the bathtub to run around the house, screaming and soaking wet, was a favorite activity of the little boys. The sight of a penis was nothing new to me.