The last thing I remember was the way she smiled at me. Such a pretty, wholesome-looking girl. I’d been sitting at the airport bar for just under a half-hour, killing time before my girlfriend’s (delayed) flight arrived, when this busy-looking young woman suddenly set her purse on the bar right next to me and took a seat. She seemed to be in a rush, smiling briefly at me before ordering a glass of chablis. We chatted a bit about the travails of travel, and before I could finish my beer the world before me abruptly faded to black.
I awoke on a kind of hospital bed, with rails on the sides, to which my wrists and ankles were strapped. An older woman stood leaning over me, kind of attractive, but with an annoying habit of tonguing the insides of her lips between sentences. I was completely naked except for a thin blanket, which she lifted off me, exposing my genitals.
“Hmm,” she said, with that tonguing-the-lips action, “I can see why she wanted you for this.”
With that, she took my penis in hand and stripped the foreskin down. The abruptness caused me to jump, but I couldn’t go anywhere. Then I felt something cold on my glans.
“This is a little aloe, to ensure your penis is fully hydrated,” she said, massaging the gel onto my inner foreskin. “You will be joining the others in a bit.”
With that, she rolled my foreskin closed and tugged the blanket back into place. Before I could say a word, she had left the small, windowless room and closed the door.
The next time I regained consciousness, I found myself suspended on a wall, a couple of feet off the floor. My chest, arms, hips, and legs were held in place by broad straps of heavy nylon fabric. Around my waist was a kind of girdle, anchored at the sides, with a slit in the front through which my penis and scrotum protruded. My pubic hair had been shaved. My glans tingled and I detected the faint smell of grain alcohol. I couldn’t move anything but my hands, feet, and head.
Three men were similarly restrained on the same wall, to my left. We exchanged looks of utter incomprehension, whispering, “What the fuck?” and grasping for some idea of what was happening to us. We faced a long table where four women were seated. A white tablecloth and flowers adorned the tabletop. Before them were several open bottles of wine, glasses, and four small plates.
Then I recognized her: Amy. The girl I had seduced when she was a freshman in college. Sitting at the long table, the last of the four women, as I was situated at the end of four men hanging on the wall. Amy sat casually, fingering the glass of wine before her, chatting occasionally with the young woman next to her, but her eyes kept returning to me. And to my penis, which stuck out thanks to the snugness of the fabric around its base.
Several years ago, I had been a graduate student, a TA, and Amy had adored me quite obviously from the front row of her American History class. Once the semester ended, I made my move. She’d proven willing, even eager, to shed her clothes in my grad-student apartment and comply with my every desire, week after week, until I realized she was little more than a child in a woman’s (amazing) body. I left her in tears at dinner one night, after assuring her I wasn’t the right man for her. We’d had no contact since then.
And now she sat right before me, looking all grown up and mature, teasing a wine glass with her lips, eyeing the same penis she had learned fellatio on. Her slight smile looked just like the one she had given me as I lectured, crossing the floor in front of her so long ago when she couldn’t take her eyes off me. But the look in her eyes now was different.
My flashback was interrupted by a door opening. The same woman who’d examined me entered, wearing a white lab coat. If anyone could explain what was going on here, it had to be her.
“I’m sure you recognize one of the girls before you,” she announced to the men on the wall, “as someone you have mistreated in your past. You may not remember it that way, but she does. She also knows you are uncircumcised.”
That word went through me with a jolt. I looked to my left and realized for the first time that all of us were, in fact, not circumcised. Our foreskins hung before us like little flags off the end of our penises. The other guys apparently didn’t catch that detail until now, either. We exchanged bewildered looks as the woman continued.
“That will change today,” she said, turning to face the table of women. “And as my paying customers, you will now get to choose how your man will be circumcised.”
One of the guys choked in surprise. Another blurted, “What?” and I looked hotly at Amy, whose lips didn’t move from her wine glass. This was, apparently, no surprise to her. Nor to the other girls, one of whom raised her hand to ask a question.
“Doctor, will you describe again the difference between the clamp and scissors procedures?”
“Of course,” the woman replied, “we can use a Plastibell clamp, which remains in place after pinching the foreskin off. It makes for a neater, straighter scar line. The foreskin will be delivered to you as a kind of ring, like calamari.”
She waited for the laughter to die down before continuing.
“A freehand, or scissors, circumcision results in a rougher cut, and you will hear a snipping sound as the blades slice through his foreskin,” several girls looked at each other and squinted at the thought, “and he will hear the sound as well. The resulting, severed foreskin will resemble a small strip of bacon.”
I heard a few “Mmm” sounds but couldn’t tell which girls had made them.
“Also, you decide whether your man will have the benefit of a local anesthetic. As you can imagine, circumcision without anesthesia is extremely painful, at least until all the nerves have been severed. Give careful thought as to whether you believe he has earned that level of pain.”
One of the girls, apparently feeling the effects of the wine, came up with another question.
“I’m not sure on that point,” she slurred her words a bit, “Will the anesthetic affect my foreskin’s flavor?”
With that, the other girls burst out laughing again.
I assumed she was joking until I took closer notice of the little plates before them, which were empty.
Amy looked straight at me, and my head began to swim. The horror of what looked about to take place set in: Was Amy going to order my circumcision, watch it happen, then devour my foreskin right in front of me? The woman in the lab coat interrupted my thought with a confirmation.
"No. Now, finally, choose how you would like your foreskin prepared: raw, lightly sauteed, or steamed.
“Gentlemen,” she said to us, gesturing toward the table of women, “these ladies have paid quite a lot of money for this. They are going to get even with you now, not least to discourage you from ever using your penis to harm another woman. You would do well to man up and accept what’s coming, without complaint and with contrition.”
She began walking slowly past us.
“Yesterday, we administered a moisturizer to your foreskin to expand it for the surgery. Then, prior to your awakening, your foreskins were opened and cleaned thoroughly with alcohol. This was done primarily to ensure a sterile environment. Also, the cleaning removed all traces of smegma, which I’m sure none of these ladies ever found appetizing.”
Two of the girls looked at each other and wrinkled their noses, then giggled. One looked at her man and pinched her nose, mouthing “Pee-yew!” then took a swallow of wine.
“The sterilizing alcohol was allowed to evaporate, so the taste of your foreskins will not be affected,” the doctor continued.
“I’m sure this all seems like a nightmare to you. But it’s no different than what happens to most of the infant boys born in this country. Line them up and snip them off, as we used to say in residency. Too bad it wasn’t done to you before you were cognizant. Perhaps you would have been more sexually restrained later. And, by the way, less likely to carry diseases and to offend others with your Third World hygiene.”
She turned on her heels and looked at each of us.
“We will begin circumcising your penises now.”
With that, a side door opened and two young women in scrubs emerged, rolling a cart between them. I recognized one as the girl from the airport. The cart was covered in blue cloth.
“You will be circumcised using sterile procedures,” the woman said, then nodded toward the table, "and to the specifications of the ladies you have offended.
“Which reminds me,” she addressed the girls, “I forgot to mention that you can instruct me on how much penile skin you would like for your man to have left after he is circumcised. We can cut �high and tight,' resulting in very little mobile skin, and possibly painful erections. Or you can allow him to keep a remnant, to remind him what he will miss from now on. Ponder your decision while I prepare my tools.”
She stepped over to the cart, applied sanitizer to her hands, then slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. She lifted the blue paper to reveal a tray of stainless steel instruments.
“I forgot to mention,” she said to us, reaching for a pair of surgical gloves, “There won’t be any pain relief for you while you heal. Just like the newborns. That may also help remind you to control your impulses better.”
This was too much for the first guy. He began yelling exactly what the rest of us were thinking.
“You can’t do this! It’s insane! Stop this right now!” and he thrashed at his restraints. They didn’t move. “Let us go! This is fucking crazy!”
The doctor ignored him, adjusting her gloves and turning to the first woman seated at the table, who was apparently this particular man’s avenger.
“Have you decided how you would like him to be circumcised?”
The young woman nodded. The man stopped yelling and stared at her, his mouth agape.
“Scissors. High and tight,” she said, coolly motioning with her fingers in a snip-snip pattern. “He fucked me in front of his friends. So no anesthetic. It’ll be good for him.”
The doctor’s eyebrows rose a bit at that one, and she turned to her selection of instruments, tonguing the inside of her lips as she singled out the forceps.
The man began to scream even louder at this, and the doctor nodded to one of the assistants, who took a syringe from the cart and stuck it into his hip. He gasped, looking wildly from the puncture to the assistant and back, then fell silent. His head drooped but his eyes remained open.
“He will witness his circumcision calmly now,” the doctor announced, “He’s been given a sedative that relaxes his voluntary muscles. But he will still feel the incision, as you requested.”
The girl nodded, smiled grimly, and took another sip of wine.
The doctor approached his penis, which was about chest-level to her, and adjusted her bifocals. She stood to one side so all the women at the table could see what was about to happen. Then she tugged the man’s foreskin out to its full length, attached two pairs of forceps, and selected a small pair of surgical shears.
“Usually an assistant would hold these forceps,” she explained, “but with him restrained vertically like this, gravity will keep his foreskin fully extended while I cut through it.”
She turned again toward the table.
“Are you ready to have him circumcised now?”
The girl nodded, then cleared her throat and leaned onto the table.
“Yes. Cut his foreskin off for me.”
With no further hesitation, the doctor inserted one blade of the scissors between his glans and foreskin, and squeezed the handles.
A snip echoed through the room, and two of the girls gasped. A second snip split his foreskin all the way to the corona, and a trickle of blood ran down the scissors onto the doctor’s gloves. An assistant wiped it away with a cloth sponge.
The man hung there silently, his eyes bugged, unable even to flinch. The doctor turned the scissors laterally and snipped again, and one of the forceps dangled as his foreskin began to fall away from his penis.
After several more snips, the doctor took both pairs of forceps in hand, then sliced through the last bit of intact flesh. An assistant brought one of the plates from the table, and the doctor opened the forceps. The foreskin fell with a slightly wet sound onto the plate. When the assistant returned it to the girl, she motioned for it to stay. She would have it raw.
“Now,” the doctor announced, in a voice that made all of the guys start, “just so you know, I will close your incisions once dinner is served. We would normally begin that right away, but for the sake of letting the ladies enjoy this sight at once, I will proceed to the next circumcision now.”
The second woman at the table smiled with a satisfaction I have rarely witnessed, then said, “I prefer a clamp for him, please, light anesthesia, and leave a little bit of skin to remind him how he left me. And I’ll have his–my–foreskin sauteed, with olive oil.”
The doctor nodded, changed to a fresh pair of gloves, and motioned to her assistants to follow with the cart.
I looked straight at Amy. She was still smiling, just a little, though I could tell what she’d just witnessed had been a test of her constitution. I mouthed the words, “Please don’t do this,” but she just slowly shook her head.
It was the next guy’s turn.
An assistant poked a hypodermic needle into the base of his penis, three times. He flinched at each stick, but the restraints kept him in place. His mouth was open and he gasped for breath. By my estimation, he was in shock.
The doctor held up several plastic clamps next to his glans, then unscrewed one of them into two parts. She forced one piece inside his foreskin, to divide the skin from the glans. The other piece she slipped onto the outside of his penis. Then she applied what looked like a large pair of pliers to the outer ring and closed them with a snap. The man let out a small cry, then continued to gasp as she slid a scalpel around a groove in the ring. His foreskin fell into her gloved hand, a perfect, round sleeve of severed flesh. An assistant took it into the next room for preparation.
“That was much easier,” the doctor observed, peeling off her gloves. She pointed to the plastic “bell” surrounding his permanently exposed glans. “The clamp will remain in place to prevent bleeding while the remaining skin knits back together. Probably several days.” Then she moved to the third victim, followed by the cart and one assistant.
“Doctor?” the third girl interrupted. “He used to force me to give him head. Would it be possible for me to witness his circumcision up close?”
A moan went up from the other girls.
“Oh, I wish I’d thought of that for my guy!”
The doctor paused, then shrugged.
“I don’t see why not,” she said, and the third girl left her seat, taking her wine glass with her.
All eyes turned to the third man, then zeroed in on the last thing we expected to see: his penis standing fully erect. The tip of his glans emerged from his foreskin, and a drop of precum slowly streamed out. The doctor and the girl paused to take in the sight.
“This has happened before,” the doctor said, to no one in particular. “Extreme fear can induce an erection in some males. But we can still circumcise him with scissors. I hope you weren’t set on the clamp?”
The girl shook her head. She stood with one arm folded, the other holding her glass casually at her shoulder, staring close-range at the erection had seen before, and been humiliated with. Then she spoke.
“Can I pay extra for his balls, too, to make this hard-on his last?”
The doctor blinked, tonguing her cheeks again.
“Unfortunately, that would put this whole program at risk,” she explained, fitting a new pair of gloves. “As you know, none of your men know where they are, and we are planning to release them elsewhere, drugged, after their incisions have healed. If they speak of this event to anyone, they won’t be believed, and since most males are circumcised in this country, no one will care that their foreskins are gone. Castrating them–though I’m sure it would be gratifying to you–would leave too much evidence and might garner sympathy and add credibility to their stories. We can’t risk an investigation.”
She looked again at his penis, which stood straight out and pulsing.
“One other thing about circumcising with an erection,” she said, “is we will probably see more blood. And I’ll need help holding the forceps.”
“I volunteer,” the girl said abruptly. The doctor nodded, and the assistant traded the girl’s wine glass for two pairs of forceps.
More precum streamed out of his penis, forming a long string that wavered like a loose spider’s web. The assistant dabbed at his glans with a sponge.
“Anesthesia?”
“Hell, no. I want him to remember this every time he gets a hard-on.”
“How much foreskin do you want?”
“As much as you can get.”
The doctor pinched his foreskin and pulled it out far enough to lift his scrotum, making him gasp.
“He’ll have some hair on the shaft after we stitch this up,” the doctor muttered, shaking her head. “Not good for his next girlfriend.”
She took the forceps and pushed them deep into his outstretched foreskin. Snapping them in place, she offered them back to the girl, who took one pair in each hand and pulled them out tight. The doctor slipped the scissors in between the forceps.
“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening,” the man blurted, over and over. He shut his eyes tight and threw his head back. His legs throbbed but the restraints held his hips fast.
The scissor blades came together with a gritty snip.
“NO!” he shouted, and a stream of blood trailed from the wound. The doctor paused to inspect the first cut, then turned to the girl.
“Sedative?”
“No, let him scream. I couldn’t make a sound when he put that thing down my throat.”
The doctor nodded, then pushed the scissors deeper for another cut.
“Don’t cut my cock!” the man screamed, but it was far too late. The doctor sliced again, then cut around the base of his glans, stopping only when his foreskin fell free and the girl held the strip up in front of his face.
“You used to force this nasty thing into my mouth,” she bristled. “I wish I could feed it to you right now, but then you couldn’t watch me swallow it for the last time.” She dropped the severed foreskin on the plate held by the assistant.
“I like her idea,” she said, nodding toward the second girl. “Sauteed, please. With a little hollandaise on the side.” She turned and strolled back to her seat as the doctor took her gloves off.
All of us stared at his penis, its glans permanently exposed. A thin but steady stream of blood ran from the gaping, red wound. His erection began to diminish, but he continued to gasp.
“This is a long one,” the doctor said, and I suddenly realized she had moved in front of me and was looking right at my foreskin. Then she turned to Amy.
“Have you decided on the instrument, length of cut, and whether to anesthetize him?”
Amy looked at me for a long time, then spoke.
“Take just over half of it, Doctor,” she said, in a voice I recognized instantly as the one she’d used when she wanted me to ejaculate in her mouth.
“Use the scissors,” she added, then paused for another agonizing moment. “And anesthetic. Even though he doesn’t feel anything anyway.”
An icy chill rolled over me. I wanted to beg Amy’s forgiveness, to stop this, to let me go. But the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. Instead, I began to shake, so noticeably that the doctor looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.
“You aren’t going to need a sedative, are you?”
I shook my head and struggled to control my shivers. An assistant made that much more difficult by sticking my penis with the syringe. Within seconds I could no longer feel the doctor pinching and tugging my foreskin out to secure the forceps. The tools clicked as they locked on, and I watched helplessly as she reached for the scissors.
Amy held her wine glass in one hand. The other hand had disappeared beneath the table. Her eyes closed halfway and I knew instantly that she was playing with her clitoris–just like she did when she used to suck me off.
A sharp pain sent a shock wave through me.
“Sorry, sweetie. Are you OK?”
I looked down through a bleary fog to see my pregnant wife looking up at me, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said, rubbing her jaw. “I think I had a muscle spasm.”
I blinked fast to clear my eyes. I saw our blankets, my wife’s lovely face, and my own erection standing next to it, but fading.
“What are you doing?” I asked, absorbing more details of our bed, bedroom, and traces of light peeking through the curtains.
“I’m giving you a ZJ,” she said, “like you said you wanted me to surprise you with some morning. I’m sorry I made it hurt.”
My pulse began to taper as my mind reprocessed the horrifying visuals that had, until seconds ago, put me in a state of panic. She continued.
“I figured after that dust-up at the hospital, you could use a little reassurance,” she whispered.
“� hospital �”
“Yeah, touring the birth hospital yesterday, with those other couples and moms.”
“Okay.”
“You got into it with the doctor when she was telling us all how useful and painless circumcision would be for our boys.”
I sat straight up. That discussion–which had ended with me telling the doctor leading our tour that she had no business practicing medicine if she circumcised another boy without his permission–came flooding back to me. My wife and I had departed promptly after that and began looking for another place to have our baby.
“I’m proud of you for standing up to her,” she said, toying with my diminished erection. “I guess you don’t want me to continue with this?”
I took a deep breath and touched her face.
“Baby,” I said, “you have no idea how much I need to feel your lips on my foreskin right now.”
