April 2007

Many years ago, I witnessed an infant circumcision in person at the invitation of a mutilator. He invited me to attend, to prove to me that there is nothing wrong with mutilating babies. He also decided and told me that he would not do a complete circumcision, just a little dorsal slit, to minimize trauma, damage, injury, and blood loss. “I will cut on the center line. There are no blood vessels there.” (Right.)

I decided to go. White mutilator, black baby, southern USA, 1972 or so. With the first probe under the foreskin the baby screams a blood curdling scream and keeps screaming. With the crushing of the center line of the top of the foreskin with the hemostat the baby’s screaming and thrashing ratchet WAY up (he was restrained by tie-downs, put in place in preparation for this human hurricane they already knew from long experience was coming) and when the clamp comes off and the dorsal cut is made the baby begins to vomit—projectile vomiting—the most violent vomiting I have ever witnessed from any human being. Blood from the baby’s penis spurts everywhere. The vomiting interrupts the screaming and the screaming interrupts the vomiting. The mutilator takes out his sewing kit and (more…)

Like most Americans, I had no clue what circumcision was, exactly. As a child, I was told that it was simply something that boys had done. Instinctually, I knew it was wrong since it made no sense that every single male would be born defective. While at college in the late 1990s, I was browsing the web and came upon the topic. It was a crudely drawn diagram of normal male anatomy and the subsequent removal of the foreskin. It struck me as very creepy and primitive.

A few years later, I got married and soon was expecting my first child; a boy. Prior to finding out the gender of our child, I revisited the circumcision topic. I read all of the alarmist literature on the subject; doctors and parents talking about how circumcision prevents UTIs, penile cancer, cervical cancer, and all sorts of random infections. It struck me as fearmongering. I found out that no organization in the world recommends routine circumcision and haven’t in a long time, with the single exception of when circumcision advocate Edgar Schoen led the AAP circumcision task force. I found out that infant circumcision for is almost unheard of in most of the world and is seen as a religious ritual, not a medical procedure.

Later, I learned that my inital impression of fearmongering was correct. (more…)

Today, as I have for so many days over the past several years, I am wearing my tugger, struggling to restore the foreskin that was taken from me all those many years ago. Each time I look at my mutilated cock I am reminded of what I have lost, what was stolen from me, and it strengthens my resolve to restore that stolen foreskin, to re-cover my naked glans. Yet there are also the days when I am depressed, when I can’t face the effort of putting on my tugger and the minor discomfort of wearing it for hours at a time. What a cruel fate that what took only minutes to cut away now takes years to restore.

I really don’t remember much about the cutting. I do know that I was not circumcised as an neonate because I was born at home.   Rather, the terrible deed was done when I was 5 or 6, while I was having my tonsiles removed.   he only good part of that is that I was totally anesthetized while it happened and didn’t feel the pain of the cutting. But I woke up hurting—my throat hurt, my pee-pee hurt, but most of all I was terribly sick to my stomach from the ether that was used as anesthesia way back then.

As a kid I was quite aware of the visual difference between cut and intact. I had been intact for the first few years of my life and then suddenly I was cut.  My father, whom I often saw naked, was intact.  My brother, a year younger than I, was cut.  Several of my junior and senior high classmates, whom I regulary saw naked in the gym class showers, were intact. But like most Midwestern American boys (more…)

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