who knew that being uncut could spare U the need to explain your politics in addition to its sensual advantages? . . . or that men in uncut societies have decidedly different cocksucking techniques?

nevertheless, during a brief trip to Copenhagen over the thanksgiving holiday, a willowy gay waiter did teach me how to say jeg stemte ikke pa george bush in situations where i was required to open my mouth before i took off my clothes . . . how to explain U didn't vote for the leader of the free world isn't a phrase U find in the Time Out guidebook . . . committing it to memory wasn't really necessary since most Danes speak perfect English but i thought even a halfhearted attempt to use their native tongue would convey a greater degree of sincerity . . . U see, avoiding embarrassment has always been one of my top priorities and our recent presidential election definitely qualifies as a geopolitical faux pas of the highest magnitude.

so there we were, a trio of overspent American spinsters, at the Amigo Sauna, exhausted from jet lag and a schedule that had included yawning at the Kunstindustrimuseet, a design museum so cluttered that it left us feeling as if some Nordic packrat had thrown open his attic for inspection . . . drinking glog (hot mulled wine with grapes and almonds) at Tivoli, a magical place that proved when it comes to lighting, enough is enough but too much is just right, a maxim i once thought applied only to my sex life . . . stumbling across a tiny Egyptian incense holder in the shape of male genitals with testicles bigger than those found downstairs on an enormous, impeccably displayed nude statue of Antonius at the Carlsberg Glyptotek . . . marveling at the seamless architectural connection between the past and the present at the Black Diamond, a new millennium building facing the inner harbor that flows seamlessly into the centuries old Royal Library over a busy highway . . . admiring the entwined tails of four dragons that rise erectly above the oldest Stock Exchange in Europe in an unmistakably phallic assertion that money is power . . . peeking at the historic rooms of the Amalienborg Palace where the House of Glucksborg once bred princesses who sat on the thrones of Russia and England and where i was cruised by an attractive blond queen in a greatcoat whose dominion was confined to the room she guarded . . . commiserating with Karen Blixen (aka Isak Dinesen) at Rungstedlund where she perfected her Out-of-Africa-in-a- turban shtick after her husband infected her with syphilis, a biographical detail i found particularly resonant because the number of cold sores on my lips was increasing as rapidly as the value of the Euro after kissing the Blue Light Special all night long a week before . . . and viewing the coastal grounds at the Louisiana Museum, named by a man who married three women named Louise, where Calders and Moores sprouted like different classes of gigantic mushrooms, and where Sweden, tomorrow's destination, beckoned across the Oresund Sound through the fog.

but for now getting blown by a great Dane, oops, i mean getting a great Danish blow job remained the only activity on our itinerary for Sunday.

prime time appeared to be over by 6:30 p.m. but we paid our 99 kroners (approximately $20) to the attendant, whose classic Scandinavian looks were marred by a frequent facial tic . . . handing us each a threadbare, fraying towel and winking involuntarily, he said the fun is upstairs as if to apologize for the facilities which did pale in comparison to those we found in Amsterdam and Berlin (yes, we are on an alphabetical mission to work our way through the bathhouses of the world) . . . in our quick barefoot inspection of the Amigo, we discovered that the darker the area, the stickier the floor.

it's been my experience that U do better in these situations if U strike when the iron is hot and it usually burns hottest within moments of your arrival . . . by the same token, however, U don't want to settle for the first eager cocksucker . . . they're easy to spot because the regulars tend to steer clear of them even if they're attractive . . . been there, got done by that . . . variety is undoubtedly the spice of life, which increases the demand for fresh meat.

a solid 30something guy whose strong legs, arms and chest suggested manual labor, not working out, clearly wanted to taste my well preserved New York jerky . . . all it took was a single backward glance before he followed me into a cubicle and closed the door behind him . . . i kept my expectations low because my barely visible lip sores prevented me from kissing or going down on him even though he was studly enough to demand worship . . . but after playing gently with my nipples, he sat down on a raised mat and started giving me an extraordinary blow job as i played with his thick uncut cock . . . unlike most guys, whose technique rarely varies from deep throat, he used his mouth and tongue to concentrate on the highly sensitive area of the glans usually covered by my foreskin

it took all my willpower not to reciprocate . . . instead, i sat down next to him and he leaned into me and moved his head back so that we could kiss as i held him close . . . taking care not to touch his lips i flicked his tongue with my own and kneaded his chest hard as he jerked himself off . . . his orgasm came as a great relief . . . he said something in Danish but rather than expose my nationality, i smiled and left.

this encounter got me so horny that i ended up cruising one of my sisters for a good five minutes . . . uh oh, let me just drape that dropped towel back around my waist and move right along with my face burning as if i have just emerged from the sauna . . . each of several different viewing rooms had its own flavor of porn including one that featured an orgy of men wearing Restoration wigs and another where chicks, not guys, were getting fucked . . . i preferred the garden variety porn projected in an elevated room where U could stand and feed your dick into a hot wet mouth in the room below if U felt like it . . . but my recent brush with incest made me a little shy about taking advantage of this opportunity.

with our allotted time at the bathhouse about to expire, i settled on another big guy more as a matter of convenience than desire . . . he was lying nude on his back in a room showing S&M porn in brown sepia . . . i lay down opposite him and took out my dick without further ado . . . this time-honored tactic recognizes if u are going to move on, u need closure especially in a bathhouse.

when Cocksucker #2, who was also uncut, began using the same extraordinary oral technique, i couldn't believe my good fortune . . . but after we both shoot our loads on the floor and he, too, addresses me in Danish it hits me:

U can add circumcision to the list of Ugly American characteristics.