The unfortunate tale of the demise of my foreskin
When I was young, my penis seemed perfectly normal, and was looking forward to a long and happy life away from sharp objects. Alas, this was not to be.

I remember vividly the first time I realised that something was amiss. I was in the living room, probably aged 6 or so, and something didn't feel right. Being an innocent and somewhat uninhibited child, I took the little feller out to have a look, and suddenly felt the unstoppable need to go. Now pissing on the floor wouldn't been bad enough, but to my horror, a crimson jet of blood came spurting out. I still remember the warm feeling of it on my hands. Ugh.

Following an embarrassing explanation to my mum, I was trotted off to the doctor. I don't remember if I ever found out why the bleeding had occurred, but the long story cut short is that my foreskin was 'too tight'. I'd never been able to retract my foreskin, but being a child, and not having been exposed to other men's erect dongs, I wasn't aware that this should be the case. I was offered two choices by the doctor, the foreskin could either be 'stretched', or I could go the whole way and have it lopped off. Having become rather attached to my penis over my life so far, I opted for the first choice.

Now, this was in the 90s, and I was covered by health insurance that my dad got with his job (it was an American company, so that sort of thing wasn't so unusual), and so I was duly seen by Mr S, a willy consultant, and soon enough D-day arrived. I don't really remember much about before the operation, other than than the 'magic cream' that was applied to numb my hand for the anesthetic, and being put under.

When I came to, I was very drowsy, due to a combination of the anesthetic and painkillers. I needed a wee, and I remember having difficulty walking to the toilet due to the drug-induced daze. I was left by to do my business, but instead of sweet relief and a jet of urine, I was greeted by burning agony and a jet of blood. Imagine needing to pee more than anything, and trying to stop mid-stream. That's bad enough by itself. Now imagine having to choose between a bursting need to piss or having your cock on fire. It was one of the most upsetting and traumatising experiences of my life. It turned out that instead of just 'stretching' my foreskin, the surgeon had managed to tear something, and no one had thought to mention this to my mum so I could find out in a gentler way.

To top this all off, the operation made fuck-all difference.

Unfortunately for my todger, this wasn't his last brush with a man and a scalpel...

By the age of 9 it had become apparent that at some point I'd need to resolve the... tightness issue. It caused rather eratic variations in stream-direction whilst pissing, and often the divergence of my kidney-juice into two streams. Furthermore, I was old enough to understand that when I was older I could get infections that would be most unpleasant (although I didn't know that these would likely be due to festering jizz build-up and STIs), and so I bit the bullet and went to my GP again. The NHS these days don't like to do circumcisions unless it really is a last resort, and although I'd been mercifully free from blood-pissage since the fateful day of 'the stretch', the failure of this attempt led my GP to refer me for the chop.

This time, the operation was in an NHS hospital. I was nervous, and it was strange knowing that by that evening my willy would never be the same again. The wait for my 'turn' dragged on for what seemed like forever, and then the nurse came and told me it was almost time. Going for a wee was like the last meal of a condemned man. It was the last time I'd ever see my penis in one piece, and I felt genuinely upset as I said my last goodbye to my faithful companion.

Fortunately, this time everything went smoothly, and other than a week or so of the most horrendous itching ever, and the ring of barbed-wire-like stitches that encircled my newly exposed helmet.

And from that day on me and my todger lived happily ever after. (I may or may not think of a better way to end this story in the morning, it is late)
( greedyostrich Cheese is evil! Cheddar is VOODOO!, Sun 14 Mar 2010, 1:30, 1 reply)

I know exactly how you feel
I remember phoning the doctors about it when we had a day off school, but was told they were too busy to see me so I didn't bother.

It was another 10 years before I tried again and I was sent straight for the chop - no reluctance in the NHS around here!

I was riding my bike again the following day, although I had to stand on the pedals the whole way as I had the girth of an elephant for a couple of weeks.
( thistle, Sun 14 Mar 2010, 18:21, closed)