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lovetobecut · 4 months

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Male circumcision questions answered.

I get asked all the time about why I arrived at my love of circumcised penis'. You could read the entire back catalog of blog posts and see. However, I wanted to draw it out into a specific post.

I grew up in a family where circumcision was normal, that was the first type of penis that I saw, and that was normal for me. It was not until I did my nursing degree that I started being exposed to uncircumcised men. I wasn't sexually active until I was in my early 20's, so I had no direct experience sexually.

I was so self-conscious that I never self-satisfied myself, i.e., I never even masturbated. My boyfriends were both circumcised; I loved the look, and sucking them off was something that I loved to do. They never really stimulated me sexually; it was a case of me being the starfish and they fucking me until they came. I enjoyed that they could cum, but I didn't particularly enjoy sex. It wasn't uncomfortable or painful, I just felt so embarrassed about my body that I couldn't get into it.

My third partner was friends with benefits; he was so adventurous that he forced me to get into cowgirl and was teaching me about my body. I still never climaxed, but it was an important learning experience. I had the first indication of sexual enjoyment feeling his glands rubbing me internally. I met my long-term partner, the father of my two kids while enjoying the FWB. Our relationship was rocky; he appeared to want me to be more confident in my body, but I couldn't really get to that with his premature ejaculation problems. Sex would last a maximum of 2 minutes. The intimacy of our relationship never really hit any goals. Almost 20 years of that relationship until we went to a sex club, see original posts.

During my nursing degree, I worked in pediatrics and was involved in circumcising many infants. I, however, chose to specialise in aged care. It was during that time I was exposed to men who had not been circumcised and had developed chronic problems. This was particularly so when the patients had dementia. They would require so much additional care. With assistants, I would retract their foreskins after they had incontinence problems. They would regularly get infections. Many of these men would get circumcised while in care to reduce the burdens. As I moved from the palliative end of aged care into more assisted living nursing, I saw that phimosis and other foreskin ailments were so familiar. To put this into perspective, this was the age group that fought in WW2. Circumcision was probably done to around 80% of the men I cared for. The more mobile men who had problems and got circumcised universally said it was a life changer. They were always positive about it. The men who still had their life partners always talked of great feedback from their partners.

Circumcision was the done thing in our family; my partner was circumcised, and it was my personal preference that any boys we had would be circumcised. When we had a boy, we got him circumcised; others in our mother's group looked down on me and judged. I was happy with our decision. This became more apparent when, by the time most of the boys were 5-10 years old, three of the six had to be circumcised. Their mothers came to me wishing they had done it at birth because it was less traumatic.

As my long-term relationship started to fall apart, it was then that I really understood the benefits of circumcision. My first vaginal orgasm was with a tightly circumcised dick. He was circumcised as an adult, and wow. To this day, all sex is measured by how phenomenal that guy and dick were. Over the coming years, I slept with tens of men, and I only once had an uncircumcised man that has been able to make me cum vaginally. Even with really hung men who could scratch the spot, they have all ejaculated before I have even remotely gotten there. Some foreskins have been so long that they completely cover the glans even when erect. There's no enjoyment when the penis stimulates the foreskin and not the vagina.

I've now been with a man who I circumcised myself for a few months, and he absolutely loves it. Says that he would never want to go back which further builds the idea that circumcision IS best.

A few years ago, I had only slept with 5 men; now, I have slept with 80, and of those, most are shit, and I couldn't get a woman to climax if they prayed 20 times a day. The ones that could be all but one circumcised. It looks better and feels better for women. However, with any opinion, it is worth noting. A caring, circumcised lover is better than an uncaring, circumcised lover. Any good sex needs a build-up. All of my girlfriends with circumcised partners that don't climax talk about them just "stuffing it in".. guys that will never work. Foreplay is the secret, when the girl is wet she's going to be loving the glans. One aspect that I struggle with when dealing with uncircumcised penis' isn't the hygiene, that can be fixed. The arrogance of the guys who think it's okay to cum so quickly and leave women languishing. While I am sure there are circumcised men who do the same, it seems that in my experience, there's a very strong bias towards selfish lovers who are uncircumcised.

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lovetobecut · 1 year

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The Visit

She was my favorite type of patient, young enough, educated enough, and from a background that left her vaguely enamored with the idea of power and always impressed by any women who wielded it, even very little. I also had the benefit of being fifteen years her senior and at least four inches taller than she was, and most of mothers at my clinic. Her blonde hair was cut into something like a bob-cut and she wore it well but the short style was a matter of practicality. I always pulled mine back to increase the severity of my look and I think it worked well. It was my clinic and a look of authority always softened the resolve of my patients or their parents. I had also maintained a trim look while a life of long hours at work had left my patient’s mother just slightly doughy though not unhealthy by any means and she wore unassuming clothes, a loose shirt that stretched past her abdomen and leggings, it was clearly an outfit designed for comfort over fashion or showing off. She sat before me in the guest chair of my office while I sat behind my desk, my own seat just slightly higher than her own.

“What did you need to discuss, is something wrong Dr. Galla?” she asked in a concerned, soft, voice marred slightly by creeping fatigue. She was concerned but sweetly composed.

“Well to start let me assure you that Casey is generally quite healthy, enviably so in some ways, he is fit and more than likely to have a good record on the wrestling team if he does join. However there is one thing I noticed, his foreskin seems a bit tight, and he had some minor difficulty retracting.” I told her this brusquely, in my most professional and detached form. I was the truth of course and interpretation becomes key after this.

“Is that an issue? He’s never come to me about it and he never had problems when he was younger.” She said this with concern and the alarm of guilt, clearly she felt this type of problem was a moral failing. It also indicated she might second guess he abilities. I found this a pleasing development and pushed onward in my task.

“Ms. McCallen I can assure you that your son does keep up with his hygiene, I don’t think that is an issue yet but a constricting of the foreskin, called phimosis, is a condition that can arise spontaneously in a young man and which can worsen rapidly with time. Do you know if your son masturbates, Ms. McCallen?” I asked her this bluntly and it had the desired effect, her face fell and she dropped eye contact with me. I had seen a few others turn red at this moment or stammer but she raised her eyes again and returned to form almost immediately. She was no stranger to the world.

“I haven’t caught him of course but I know he has for a while. I find tissues here and there, I can tell from the smell of his room sometime, I think he does it a lot.” She turned her gaze downward embarrassed and vulnerable at the unsurprising and common knowledge of her son’s habits.

“There is nothing wrong with Casey Ms. –” I began

“You can call me Jane if you prefer.” she interrupted

“Of course, there is nothing wrong with Casey’s personal habits, it’s not even really that important, it’s simply that usually one expects this to loosen the foreskin. It suggests even that some of the less invasive treatments are unlikely to work in Casey’s case as those involve stretching, albeit with the help of medicines. Simply put I can only see Casey’s condition worsening to the point where he will be unable to retract his foreskin at all when erect. As you can imagine at his age this would be a serious detriment to his health and not just his physical health but his psychological health. Imagine how humiliating it would be for someone his age to not be able to perform sexually and possibly for their first time. It would likely cause many relationship problems in the future. I realize this is not what you necessarily want to think about with your son but it does matter.” I finished my short speech and she looked down again breaking eye contact with me. I was not surprised at the pause but I shortly would be surprised with her answer.

“Actually, I understand a bit more than you might think. I once dated a man who could not entirely pull it back when hard. He was nice but it interrupted us all the time and it was painful for him and he had other troubles. I’d rather Casey, and his girlfriend, not have to deal with that. It was very unpleasant.” She seemed shocked at her self – at having revealed so much – but she did not break eye contact this time. Instead she looked me straight in the eye and suddenly seemed resolved.

“Can this be corrected, what are the options?” She asked me, she seemed coy now, like she was anticipating something in particular. I felt a happy calm in reaction to her, the shift in her demeanor was something I looked for in a patient’s parent but rarely did it happen so quickly. I was deeply satisfied to see her own experience would shift her thinking so quickly into alignment with my own. This was an exciting moment. I would give her my answer and I was sure she would be happy to hear it.

“Well as I mentioned stretching exercises, even with medical creams would not likely work since Casey does masturbate and that has not helped. What I would recommend instead is a circumcision. It is the only sure cure for this condition and carries a number of other benefits including the reduction of risk of certain STIs and improved ease of hygiene.” I said and prepared to continue but Jane interrupted me then.

“And they’re much prettier.” she said softly and then winced. I ignored it and continued but it was difficult to suppress my urge to smile at that moment. I was already victorious and perhaps had been from the very beginning. Perhaps my patient’s young mother needed no convincing at all. I was happy with that idea. I pushed onward.

“It’s a simple surgery, it requires only local anesthetic and is completely safe, it could even be done here and your insurance will likely cover it given that Casey does have phimosis.” I continued, Jane seemed to be fully invested in my words and I could see she was weighing her options.

“Well I do think it would be better for him in the long run. When he was born the doctor convinced me it was unnecessary to cut him but I wasn’t sure so I sided with him. I always did think it was much better for a man to circumcised though. I just worry he’ll regret it or protest.”

“Well luckily for all involved your consent is still all that is needed and not his. It would also allow you to be involved, and if I’m being realistic, the only time you’ll be able to ensure the quality of the procedure. I always attend to my patients with great care and I worry especially about circumcisions, it’s a surgery where the aesthetic results matter a great deal and I would never be lazy about something so critical. I can assure you we could even leave some foreskin although I don’t recommend that personally.” I finished my second diatribe with a practiced confidence. I often gave a similar speech to wary patients and weary parents. It was likely unnecessary for Jane who was currently thinking but I gave it anyway. In her case I hope it inspired confidence not in the idea but in my own abilities, that she would give control over to me. She soon answered my internal questions.

“No, I think we should do what is best, what do you recommend?” She asked me sweetly.

“Well in my own experience the best option is a decisive one as I have said. It would be a complete operation with the foreskin totally removed and most of the inner mucosa which is the site where STIs are able to penetrate. This would give him the greatest benefit. I will also remove what is called the frenulum, a small band of tissue connecting the glans – the head – of the penis with the shaft. This piece of tissue can easily tear during sex and lead to pain. I will also try to minimize scarring to make it appear as if Casey was never even cut.” I paused to let Jane think.

“It seems like this is the best course of action, you sound like you have a lot of experience with this. How long would it take to heal? Will it interrupt his school work at all?” I was sure that she would be less than thrilled to know how long it would take but chose to focus on the positives.

“He would be ready to return to school within a few days and mostly healed in two weeks. It would take about six before he could masturbate or be sexually active. If this gives you any pause I understand but given that we would soon need his permission now is the time to act if you want this done with an over. I assure you young men are not able to make these kinds of decisions easily. He might be angry at first but I can say with confidence none of my patients was ever unhappy in the long run and some have thanked me.” I exaggerated as so many of us do when we desire an outcome but one thing was true, I’d never gotten complaints. Jane mulled over what I had told her.

“So when you circumcise him he’ll look like other men, no hanging skin over his head, his glans?” Jane asked

“None at all, he will have no extra but I will leave enough to allow for a comfortable erection.” I said, Jane looked away but just briefly before answering.

“Good, it looks so ugly with the foreskin, even his. I hate that look.” She admitted shyly.

“Well this would certainly improve on that and I can assure you that I will do my best to give him a clean look with a neat scar.

“Could we schedule it during the winter break?” Jane asked.

“Of course, that would be a very good time to do it but won’t that interfere with wrestling? He will need almost a month of low physical activity.” I said, wanting to accelerate things, to be certain.

“Your right of course, how early could we do it?” Jane asked, I swear I detected just a hint of excitement in her voice.

“Next Friday is the earliest appointment provided you fill out the forms today.” I said

“Of course, I’ll do what’s necessary then.” Jane replied and I had a hard time not smiling then though I knew there would be one more question.

“How should I tell him though?” Jane asked me sheepishly.

“Don’t worry.” I said, still smiling as I handed her the necessary forms.

“Just bring him in and let me explain it after you’ve filled out the forms. I am a doctor and I can make him see the necessity of it. Besides it’s not like his objections matter yet. Even if he is upset you’re still his mother, and a woman for that matter, this is something where you know best.” She smiled at my confidence and took the form and the pen I had offered.

“Of course Dr. Galla, thank you for your time and thank you so, so much for telling me about Casey’s problem. It will be good to know he’s getting his treatment and frankly better late than never.” Jane said standing and offering her hand which I accepted and shook.

“It’s my job to help, just fill out the forms and set up an appointment with reception.” I said and as Jane turned and walked out of my office forms in hand I could felt the rising swell of victorious pride. Another had succumbed and another young man would lose his foreskin today. Things had be good today.

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lovetobecut · 1 year

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A Minor Thing

It’s hard to describe the how you felt when you were young, especially hard to do it accurately. It’s enough of challenge sometimes to describe how you feel now. So without further ornamentation I suppose I’d better get on with it here. My father met my step-mother when I was only nine. My oldest sister was twelve my other eleven. They were happy for him, happy he was kind to her and happy she was kind to him. I was just happy to have a mother, there was something about having a woman’s voice in my young life that soothed a deep seated need. I loved the high and lilting songs she sang in her native language, the sweetness of the words that always seemed hover just that evanescent bit longer when they ended in a vowel. I loved the colorful clothes she wore and the high spicy notes of the new food she cooked for us.

It was two years later than they had the wedding, our family was small as my father was a bit older and his parents modern. Hers was vast, she had seven brothers and they all joked about their baby sister growing up even though she was thirty-six, an age I still can’t imagine myself as I write this. They claimed it was long overdue that she marry, her mother claimed so also and was glad she’d have grandchildren. It was an obvious point of pain that their daughter, our step-mother, could not conceive on her own. Her mother and father were both adamant that we would join the faith but she and her brothers interceded on our behalf. The wedding was a dry, but that didn’t affect me, I was drunk instead on the stories my new uncles told of a seemingly free and idyllic childhoods spent chasing one another through twisting streets and burdening the adults they met. There was no honeymoon, both claimed to be too old for that. Instead a few days after the wedding my father and new mother went to out for nearly a day and my father spent a few days out of work. It seemed he was in some pain. I thought nothing of it until a few weeks later. That was when they explained to me that there was one holdover of my new mother’s culture she could compromise on. My father had been circumcised. It was a practice I had never heard of and I asked them, in my innocence, what they meant by that new and strange term. My mother took the lead then and leaned close to me and took my hands in her own. They were soft and surprisingly warm as if she’d been wringing them in the anticipation of a difficult but necessary task, the kind so often avoided until it was doubtlessly time to undertake it.

She explained to me then, in her calmest voice, an almost tense voice of thinly veiled energy, that in her culture young men have their foreskins removed. She explained that it was cleaner, that it was harmless, that it was an act of beautification and health. My father then interjected that while it was not part of our own culture he had no regrets at such a small change. He placed his arm around her and looked me in the eye as he told me he had no regrets, that it really was a small thing to please her and how worth it it was to please my new mother who he loved so deeply and certainly. He explained also how she’d asked him to have this minor surgery if they were married and how he’d nearly abandoned the prospect but decided to go through with it. It was then my new mother shocked me, her sweet voice almost breaking with nervous awareness, that she had asked to have me circumcised as well. I processed this slowly and then with fear and looked to my father but he maintained a stoic silence and I new I would undergo this treatment. I would be cut in two weeks time. It is said anticipation of the thing is greater or worse in some measure than the thing itself. I am not sure of that myself but I can say those two weeks were spent in fear. Worse yet they were spent with my sisters knowing my impending fate. My mother had made sure to announce it to them and in front of me as well. They had been shocked themselves then curious, asking a flurry of questions to our new mother. She silenced them then but made sure to mention she’d explain more in private. She did not think it appropriate to cover the topic with me present. It was an objectification I would never quite get over. I was not to be privileged by her explanation, I was only to have my father’s for the time being and he was difficult to pry information from. He would merely tell me what a small matter it was, how little I should worry. Perhaps it was a happy thing that I was only just discovering the pleasant sensation my foreskin could give me, I might have missed it more then

My sisters were quite around me for the next few days sharing only greetings and giggling between themselves. Though they had always done this it felt like it was always about my looming appointment. I once overheard them call it a “penis trim” and then laugh short stifled little laughs. That hurt me to the point of tears and I cried in my room to avoid them. I once asked my mother if the girls would have to have any special treatments or surgeries. She simply assured me that girls were pure and clean, that there was no need to change them at all. I burst then and yelled in indignation that I was fine too, that my father was fine, we did not need to change. She barely reacted then, she merely paused then turned maternal and assured me it would be better to be cut, I’d be better than the other boys then. She ended the conversation then with a stern admonition that I should be brave and just accept my cutting, that all her brothers were done and they were fine. I dropped the conversation then.

The day before my cutting I was advised by her not to eat or drink that night. It was a brief but unpleasant fast. My parents were strict in watching me, my sisters in contrast to their previous behavior were kind and offered supportive words. My oldest sister, now a teenage offered that she had looked up what would be done to me and that she thought that circumcised penises were much nicer and that it would be good to be cleaner. She even went so far as to say she was sorry she would not get to meet more boys who were cut but that she might try to do so in the future. My other sister agreed they were nicer but also offered most girls would find it a nice surprise. This was little consolation and I cried then and begged them to intercede on my behalf. They held me and then said just to accept things. Our mother had explained it all and it would be better.

The next morning I was awakened by my father who advised me calmly but firmly to dress in athletic clothes and come downstairs, my sisters were to sleep through the whole affair. My mother waited dressed in her finer street clothes, she smiled and asked if I was excited. I could only mumble that I was frightened. She told me she knew I would be brave but her demeanor suggested it was a command as opposed to statement. It was not long before we were off. We rarely drove much as my parents took the bus to work but that day we took the car to the clinic. It was a small unassuming building of brown brick and marked only by a small sign. We parked and got out, my parents walked with me towards the building. It felt like a monumental structure though in reality I doubt it had more than six rooms. The name on the sign in the front seemed to be one from my mother’s homeland. I had no doubt it was her choice.

When we entered we were greeted by a receptionist in clothes like my mother’s. They spoke in my mother’s native tongue, her voice still so pleasant and sweet. It seemed they knew one another and there was even a bit of laughter exchanged after a pause where both looked at me. I felt once more like the mere subject of another person’s whims and felt then what I only now can identify as a feeling of diminishment. I never wanted to feel that way again. My father was silent the whole time, he seemed far away as if he were imagining another place. Eventually we were called and my mother and father walked with me to the room. I was made to undress and dawn a robe. A young woman native to my own country came in and took my vital signs, height, and weight. She and my mother chatted briefly in my language. She seemed indifferent to my plight. I thought she might raise a point against my forced acculturation but she said nothing. Finally the doctor came into the room, he was an older man – probably in his late fifties with a snow white beard. He spoke to my mother in my native language. Then in my own he advised me lie back and relax. It was then the nurse returned with some a cup of water and a pill. I was advised to swallow it and did so. The effect was profound and I soon found my anxiety at the whole thing abating though it seems likely that it affected my memory to as things soon started to blur at that point. My mother told me I was lucky, many boys in her country had no pain killers or pills. She told me to be brave. They all left for a few minute and I heard them speaking nearby though I didn’t terribly care about what. Only the doctor and nurse returned then, with a tray of tools. They moved a screen over my midsection. I felt the cold of the numbing agent then the pain of three shots. They left again and returned a bit later. They tested my sensation and asked if I felt pain, I told them I did not. The they went to work. The process was short I barely remember it, only the shock when they moved the curtain and a clear plastic ring was bonded to my penis behind the now bare glans. I felt no fear then due to the medicine. I only felt shocked.

I dressed and then left the room and was greeted by my smiling mother who hugged me and told me I was brave. We returned to the waiting room and the doctor invited my parents into his office. They returned with some papers and a small bag and we left and returned home. It was only at night the pain started but it was manageable. I refused stubbornly to show I was affected though I think it was naive to believe it did not show. My sisters were especially kind to me in those few days. It felt like a dream to me. I suppose that is a blessing as it lessened the humiliation of my mother and father checking my wound before I bathed. The rest of that week was spend with mild pain and itching. School was difficult then but I got through it. The next week the ring fell off and I was confronted by my new penis in its singular form. It seemed so naked and vulnerable encircled by the bright red line just behind the glans. The skin was tight and the glans a deep and unhappy mauve. I was acutely aware of the glans rubbing the fabric of my clothes. I hated my new penis then, I felt ashamed when I saw it. I felt like I would always be less of a man though my mother claimed I could now be one, that it was the skin that was boyish. The same week we returned to the same clinic for a check. The doctor happily pronounced me to be healing well. My mother was happy and my father relieved. I was told then I no longer had to bathe as carefully and could return to sports the week after. It was a relief that I could have at least some normality again. On the way out my mother and the receptionist spoke again, then looked at me and giggled girlishly. It was only when we got home and my parents were out of the room that my oldest sister informed me that the rim of my glans, my corona, was visible through the thin athletic pants I had worn. I felt utterly humiliated then

As time wore on I healed completely and began to grow up in a literal sense. I hit mu growth spurt and my voice deepened. I was proud of my new need for deodorant and tiny excuse for a mustache that graced my upper lip. My penis grew too and I began to get frequent erections. They were tight to the point of nearly being painful but this soon subsided. I learned also that my penis provided new unknown pleasures though something always seemed a bit off, like there was just a tinge of pain when I played with my bare glans. It didn’t stop me but I soon discovered through conversations at school that I needed lubricants to get the same from my self pleasure that the other boys did. It was one of the few time that I recalled my circumcision and truly thought about it. I delved into researching the topic and learned that my own glans, and my father’s, had likely been desensitized by our surgeries. The fact that it was very little was not comfort and I wondered how such a thing could be called “small” or “cosmetic”. I once raise my concerns with my step-mother, she merely laughed and admonished me for my greed. She told me men get plenty of pleasure. I raised my concerns with my father and he merely told me there was no undoing what was done.

It was another year and a half before I met my first girlfriend. She was a friend of my middle sister and a bit younger than her but still older than me and more experienced. I was not her first and she delighted in the comparison between my penis and that of the other boys she knew. She liked the look of it and claimed it was much prettier than the others and said she cut her own sons. I do not know if she was serious. I had my first experience at oral sex with her and she claimed she much preferred to perform the act on me as she had easy access to the glans with no skin to move. I was happy enough then to be cut. I supposed it was not so bad. I did not learn until a bit later that part of my intrigue to her was that she had learned I was cut from my sister. I would have been upset had I learned before hand and was glad I did not. I soon learned a few who knew my sister were similarly interested and I wonder if she had intentionally promoted me as a learning experience. I asked her about sharing the information but she simply played coy and apologized, saying it had “just slipped out.

So now as I look back, ready to graduate college, I think It was best that I was cut. It is true it cuts down a bit on my pleasure but the women I have known were always pleasantly surprised by my penis. My current fiancee is from the United States where I learned that male circumcision is a normal practice. I was surprised by that but happy at her happiness. She told me she did prefer cut men and would have insisted I have the surgery if I were not. I suppose it is a strange confluence of events that I would wind up in a situation so similar to my own father’s. I would never have guessed it, or that one day I might well consent to cut my own son at my wife’s request. There is no moral to this, it is only a recounting of events. However those events are ones that have influenced me for my whole life, I still feel a tinge of powerlessness from time to time and I still feel the humiliating sting of first seeing my altered penis. My step-mother – my mother – is so fond of my fiancee, I suppose in the end my circumcision was really for her all along. I’ll never ask of course but I’ll always believe it was more than just a cultural preference that led to my father and I being cut.

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