Twink Pegged

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Twink Pegged
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If your boyfriend ever tells you that he thinks he’s gay, don’t offer to help him find a guy to experimentally make out with. It’s a losing battle.




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I have grown up believing that while moments in our life may not define us, they certainly do give meaning to the lives we lead. So today, I am going to share with you the story of how I turned my very first boyfriend gay.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t exactly how it happened. I have no doubt that I came long after any self-doubt he might have had about his sexuality, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel as though I played a part in it.
Our relationship blossomed my junior year of high school after an accidental introduction via a mutual friend. It took all of two weeks before our shared smiley face texts were replaced with crooked hearts and an endless number of X’s and O’s. After that, for months — on and off — we shared lovey dovey chit chat, mindless adolescent Facebook hacking (note: don’t ever share personal passwords with anyone — EVER) and gag-worthy stories of one another with less-than-amused friends. We finally met in person for the first time at my junior semi-formal and I still remember every waking moment — it had been the greatest night of my life.
As a first time relationship often does, it made the world a blur of rose-coloured bliss in my eyes. I felt alive, wanted, untouchable. The chubby, short, teenage version of myself whose hair was an awkward length and whose boobs were the size of overgrown cantaloupes finally felt a sense of belonging with a guy who lived 30 minutes away by car and had the anatomical build of a sexy green bean. Life seemed perfect.
But after a couple of months, things got worse. Promises were being made and not kept. Our friends got sick of the lovebird mania. Parents tried to subtly intervene. Slowly but surely, my little slice of heaven was being reduced to a few crumbs of adolescent mediocrity. I was a wreck. But even all that paled in comparison to the tsunami of shock that was about to drown my crappy, little island of self-pity.
A few months and another break up later, a sporadic, yet fairly normal, text messaging conversation turned into one of the strangest phone calls I have ever had. My tall, sexy, master of many accents green bean boyfriend told me that he was gay.
My first thought was, “Gay? Like happy?” God, did I pray he meant happy. But deep down I knew he was trying to tell me he didn’t really love me anymore. In my mind, all I really heard was, “forever alone”.
Now, let me just offer you all a piece of advice right off the bat in case you ever find yourself in this situation (there are more of you, right…?). If your boyfriend ever tells you that he thinks he’s gay, don’t offer to help him find a guy to experimentally make out with. It’s a losing battle. It’s also sounds ridiculously embarrassing when you play it back in your head a billion times over.
The relationship ended then and there. Shortly after, it experienced a little turbulence post-lovebird stage and eventually led to a fatal crash which ended all contact until just recently. It turns out his best friend from high school ended up being my best friend from university so he’s been around a lot more lately. I’m sure that sounds a little odd to you all, and trust me, I’m still a little uncomfortable with it myself, but bear with me here because I’m going to share with you the very eye-opening lessons I’ve learned from all of this.
He wants to love you. He just can’t. The first thing my ex-boyfriend told me when we were back on relatively normal speaking terms was that he wished he liked girls. This made me realize that even though I wasn’t what he was looking for, it spoke nothing of who I was as a person.
Remember, you’re still an amazing person — you just don’t have the preferred appendages for the package deal.
Don’t try to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ him. It’s not fair to you, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to him. Would you want someone trying to sell you on the benefits of lovin’ lady lips? Probably not. Just let bygones be bygones and consider it a life lesson.
It’s okay to keep anything they might have given you, lent you or forgotten at your house. Don’t feel guilty, or let anyone else make you feel guilty, for wanting to keep something that reminds you of a happy memory you shared with them. My classic Winnie the Pooh teddy has given me many a midnight cuddle when I’ve needed him most.
It’s not the end of the world if he’s seen you naked. Don’t get me wrong, I still find it a little weird to engage in “he’s so hot” talks with a guy who has seen me in my skivvies but I’ve also come to terms with the fact that he’d sooner brag to his friends about the butt on that buff, blonde bartender with 5 o’clock shadow than my lady bits.
Don’t label yourself an experiment. God knows I resent being used as a guinea pig to test out someone’s sexuality, but I try to remind myself that he was no more aware of what was going on with himself than I was. It was all like sitting beside a stranger on a rollercoaster. We just both happened to be along for the ride together.
You are the best thing that will ever happen to him. EVER. You are the last stop between self-doubt and self-discovery. You are the person who tips the scales and frees a person’s soul from all the wondering and worry they’ve experienced. My ex-boyfriend has apologized for the many bumps in the road we encountered while on our journey, but he’s also thanked me for being there for him and offering to help when I could.
It’s important to remind yourself that regardless of what someone else may be going through, they’re the ones who are lost and not you. Don’t run away. They may not need you for a loving relationship and they sure as hell don’t need you to find them one, but they will definitely need you for support. No matter what your sexual orientation, always remember: be a friend.
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Home Article The boys who lost their manhood
The youngsters have successfully completed their initiation and are now regarded as men. The campsite where the initiates stayed is burnt after the initiation is completed.
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It was day 25 and Xhobiso Pungulwa* (18) slowly pushed himself up in his bed. He asked a nurse for a plastic Ziploc bag, the transparent type used to transport laboratory specimens. He had been in hospital for two “pain-filled” weeks. 
Pungulwa’s uncle and brother were to visit him for the first time the next day. He had something to show them – something that required careful storage.
He remembered a nurse trying to comfort him. She whispered: “Try not to think about what has happened to you. Just thank God you are still alive.” 
But Pungulwa was “numb”. He no longer knew what to think. “Am I alive?” he recalled asking himself repeatedly, during yet another drug-induced haze. “Am I dreaming?” 
The next morning, he handed the plastic bag to his brother and uncle. “When they looked into it and they saw what was inside, they were amazed – and angry. Then I knew, this situation is for real,” said Pungulwa. 
The plastic encased a pitch-black, rotten chunk of flesh. “My penis.”
His uncle demanded: “Who did this to you? How is this possible?” 
But Pungulwa was not in the mood to provide answers. He silently stared ahead.
The rotting of Xhobiso’s penis
About a month before, a traditional surgeon, or ingcibi, in Pondoland in the former Transkei, circumcised him. Because his parents were dead, his uncle signed the consent forms for the procedure to take place at a legal, state-registered initiation school at Flagstaff. 
A 20-year-old traditional male nurse, an ikhankatha, who had only ever attended an initiation school once before – during his own initiation the previous season – nursed Pungulwa’s wound. 
“He put the bandage on my penis extremely tight – so tight I could hardly pass urine,” Pungulwa recalled. 
“On the fourth day the head of my penis started to turn black and I lost feeling in that area. My knees started to swell and I could hardly walk.” 
According to tradition, he was forbidden from telling anyone but the ikhankatha about what was happening to him. He was only permitted to talk to the other boys in his initiation school on day eight, the day of Jisa, when initiates are allowed to leave their tents, or bomas. 
The traditional nurse used a blade to make small cuts on the penis. “He said he wanted the ‘dirty blood’ to find a way out, to heal it,” said Pungulwa. 
“Black blood” seeped from his penis. The nurse said it should be “squeezed” more to allow even more blood to be expelled … And so he applied a bandage “tighter and tighter”, said Pungulwa. 
On day 14, Pungulwa lost consciousness. He was taken to hospital with a “rotten” penis. Of the 12 initiates at the school, five were hospitalised. One died as a result of his injuries. 
A small, raw-red bump that resembles a door knob is all that remains of Pungulwa’s penis. 
Doctors said urine had “eaten through his flesh” to find a way out of his body – or in medical language, created “fistulas” – before he was brought to hospital. That’s why Pungulwa urinates through two holes. 
“I try to close the one hole with my finger when I go to the bathroom, otherwise things are too difficult,” he said. 
When he needs to use the toilet he makes sure the door is locked, or he “goes very far away from people, in the bush”, because he’s terrified of others finding out about his condition and seeing him “sitting like a woman and not standing like a man” when relieving himself. 
Pungulwa has ended his relationship with his girlfriend. 
“She was never told about what happened to me,” he said softly. “I still like her a lot but I can’t let anyone know what happened to me. No one must know.” 
He added: “Anyway, she won’t want me anymore. Not now.” 
Horrified by what had befallen Pungulwa, his family desperately “tried to make things right”, he told the Mail & Guardian. 
“They bought muti from a traditional healer. He said the muti would make my penis grow back.”
But the traditional medicine did not work. 
Then Pungulwa’s family made contact with “a Nigerian guy” in Flagstaff who claimed he had the solution. 
“He told them he can make my penis grow back but he needs a cow or R9 000 cash,” said Pungulwa. 
Undeterred by their previous experience with the traditional healer, his family is trying to raise the money.
“None of us has a job, so it’s really hard,” said Pungulwa. 
His eyes hardened and he stated harshly: “If that route through the Nigerian fails, then we will all pray very hard. We are ZCC [Zion Christian Church] followers and the ZCC will give me holy water to drink. We will get my penis back, I know it.” 
“Penises don’t grow back”
Dingeman Rijken is a medical doctor at Holy Cross Hospital, near Flagstaff in the Eastern Cape. 
“Many of my patients think their penises are going to grow back, despite me explaining to them that they won’t,” he said. 
“I explain that if you chop off the tip of your finger it won’t grow back and it’s the same with a penis. But when they return home and talk to their families and the traditional nurses they get a different message – one that is often easier for them to believe.” 
This past June-July initiation season, Rijken treated almost 130 “penis-related” injuries at Holy Cross. Eight of his patients lost either a part of or their entire penis. 
“It’s natural to want to believe a ‘positive prognosis’. It’s the same when you tell a patient he or she has got a terminal illness and there is a very small chance of being cured. The patient will mostly believe he’s going to get cured. 
“If you have to choose between the opinion of a doctor who says your penis won’t grow back and those of your peers saying ‘don’t worry, it will return’, I can understand why you would choose the more positive one.”
Acceptance of the situation, Rijken said, usually only arrives later, when penises fail to grow back after a significant period of time. 
He added: “We rarely remove a ‘dead’ penis surgically. It’s only when an initiate fully understands that his penis is partially dead that he can accept active separation of the organ. 
“It is very difficult to get them to understand this, which is why it is easier and safer to wait for auto-amputation [allowing the penis to fall off naturally], which can take anything between one and six weeks.” 
Inexperience can be fatal
According to government statistics, 26 of the Eastern Cape’s 39 initiation-related deaths this year happened in Pondoland, a mountainous 50km-wide coastal strip that stretches between the Mthatha and Mtamvuna rivers in the former Transkei. It is the traditional home of the Pondo people, the Amapondo.
Pondo king Faku abolished the ritual in the 1820s during the war with the Zulus, because he believed it weakened his young warriors. But initiation schools began re-emerging when the apartheid overlords formed the Transkei Bantustan in 1976 and homeland authorities began encouraging circumcision to boost masculinity, according to academic research.
Doctors and traditional healers in the region said circumcision was widespread again in the 1990s and is now practised in Pondoland on an “unprecedented” scale – even though current Pondo king Zanozuko Sigcau has never officially reinstated the practice. 
“It’s a dilemma,” Rijken said. “What used to be a beautiful and valuable cultural tradition is now accompanied by many unnecessary complications and deaths. That’s because the tradition has been hijacked by the youth – it’s become a ritual for the youth by the youth. 
“The bomas are very rarely run or supervised by older, more experienced and responsible men, because few older people have actually undergone the ritual themselves.” 
In other parts of the Eastern Cape, said Rijken, there are men who have been operating initiation bomas for years and who have trained other men in “responsible, effective” circumcision methods. 
“But in Pondoland I’ve come across many amakhankatha of 20 years of age, who have responsibility for a school of 25 initiates. But they don’t know what they are doing. They do not fully understand the magnitude of their responsibility, let alone the consequences of their actions.” 
An analysis by Rijken and Patrick Dakwa, a former traditional nurse and now an amakhankatha trainer in Pondoland, shows that 175 initiates were admitted to public hospitals in the Alfred Nzo and Oliver Tambo health districts in the area this past season; 25 lost a part of or all of their penises. 
Ayanda loses his penis
Ayanda Bityi* (24) was rescued from a legally registered initiation school in Bukazi near Lusikisiki 11 days after an ingcibi (traditional surgeon) removed his foreskin with a spear. There were 15 initiates, or abakwetha, and the same unsterilised spear was used on all of them. Eight of the initiates were hospitalised; four lost the heads of their penises and one, Bityi, lost his entire organ. 
He recalled: “When I woke up in hospital one morning I felt something beneath my left thigh. When I checked what it was, it was the head and shaft of my penis that had separated from my body the previous night.” 
Three days after Bityi was circumcised, the 21-year-old traditional nurse in charge of the school accused him of “being weak and walking too slowly.” As “punishment”, the ikhankatha applied a bandage “extremely tightly” around the base of Bityi’s penis. 
“After this I tried to escape but some men captured me along the road and they forced me back to the boma. There I was assaulted by the traditional nurse, who was clearly drunk. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in hospital,” said Bityi. 
Dakwa said initiates who experience penile infections are often held responsible for their conditions, “because they’re seen as weak and as cowards; the infections are regarded as a sign of their weakness and not as anything the nurse might have done wrong. Many times they are punished by making a penile bandage extra tight.” 
Rijken and Dakwa conducted in-depth interviews with 21 of the 25 “amputees” they visited; nine of them reported tightening of their bandages as punishment for “weakness”. 
Rijken explained: “If you make a penile bandage too tight blood vessels are cut off and the penile tissue is not supplied with oxygen. Tissue deprived of oxygen is more vulnerable to infections but can also die if the bandage is tight enough and kept on for long enough. 
“Combined with practices such as bandages that are often used on different initiates, and leaves that are rubbed against the sole of a foot before application to the wound, bacteria are introduced into the wound and spread from one initiate to the other.” 
According to Dakwa’s research, as circumcision re-emerged in Pondoland from the 1980s, “much more attention” was paid to the actual circumcision procedure itself and the need for “physical hardships” to accompany it than on traditional Xhosa teachings about manhood that didn’t place “nearly so much” em
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