John's Self-Circ continued...

Becoming circumcised was something I had truly wanted since my childhood days. My late childhood years in the early 1960's were in a Corpus Christi, Texas neighborhood consisting of mostly military families and virtually all of these military brats who were buddies of mine were cut. My circumcised schoolmates seemed to also be universally exhibitionistic and never passed an opportunity to proudly let theirs hang out to piss or to just show off. I was a somewhat shy kid and rarely let mine hang out for any reason. I was envious of my friends and wished I had been circumcised too as I learned had been done to them as infants.

Curiosity, rather than ridicule, seemed to be the most common reaction from my friends at that age (9 to 11) as most had never seen an uncut penis. As I reached the age of ten, my father, who had grown up in a devoutly Protestant family, had a serious falling out with our Baptist pastor. This caused him to look spiritually in other directions and we alternately tried this and that church and for a while seemed to have found a spritual home with the Christian Scientists. They do not accept most modern medicine and rely primarily on "practitioners" (faith healers) to minister to their  infirm members. 

In any event, interest in the C.S. church eventually waned and from a Time-Life series book, (must have been one of the first ones that they published) about the world's great religions, my father got interested in Judaism. One thing led to another and eventually we started attending synagogue at the local Reform Branch Jewish temple. At some point, the topic of circumcision came up with the friendly Rabbi, Dr. Sidney Wolf,(since deceased) and much to his amazement, he learned that neither my father, myself, or younger brother were circumcised. The Rabbi was quick to reassure my father that the reform branch could tolerate uncut members but at some point, circumcision would be obligatory part of a full conversion.

Fast forward a couple of months later and my father had his circ first. From what I could tell, he ended up with a very loose cut, but a part of his glans was exposed. (side note: many years later-late 1970's- I caught a brief glimpse of him undressed and it appeared he had a moderate cut-so at some point he must have sought a circ revision, it appeared) It was mine and my 4 year old brother's turn for circumcision during an upcoming Friday and to my utmost embarassment, my mother had to visit my school to turn in a doctor's permission slip for me to be absent for a couple of days. When my classmates asked what kind of surgery I was going in for, Red faced, I nervously said, "oh, I'm having my tonsils taken out." My teacher knew better, but thankfully, she let the matter rest quietly.  

The day of circumcision surgery approached with a sense of dread and positive expectations-at last, I thought, I would be like my classmates and the new Jewish friends I had made at the Jewish community center. A pre-op visit to the doctor was non-eventful, he skinned back my foreskin, checked my vital signs, and told me there was nothing for me to be afraid of. 

I could just go back just one time in my life in time and change something, at that pre-op clinical visit, I would have made certain I had gotten the doctor's undivided attention and then, screamed at at the top of my lungs: "I want you to cut off the god-damned foreskin all the way back to my balls!!!!" Instead, I meekly said "ok". 

Early the next morning, the doctor met us at the hospital.  Things progressed quickly and soon I had an injection (to "calm me down", even though I wasn't the least bit agitated) soon followed by an IV drip and blackness. The next thing remembered,  I drowsily woke up in a room and noticed my parents, the Doctor, Rabbi Wolf, and my 4 year old brother were there. My brother was loudly whining that he hurt. In a couple of minutes,after calming my brother down, the assembled moved over to my bed and the Dr. briefly pulled back my bed sheet to reveal a small, very badly swelled penis showing just the tip of the glans visible. An intense ache seemed to come from the base of my penis or maybe bladder. The incision site wasn't painful at all.  The Rabbi read the prayers, gave me a small gift (a book, as I recall) and then the assembly dispersed. I was soon wheeled down in a wheelchair and put in the car and taken back home. 

Once home, I felt an urge to urinate, and the most intense pain imaginable came from my penis at I tried to release urine. For the next few days, I dreaded taking a piss as it hurt so damned bad. At the time, I thought this was part of the circumcision experience but didn't understand the mechanics of it. I now know I was probably rather roughly catheterized while I was out during the operation as the first time or two I pissed there was a drop or two of blood in my urine at the end of the stream.

As the swelling went down and things got back to normal, it appeared that only about 1 cm (less than 1/2 an inch) of  my long, overhanging, "elephant" trunk foreskin had been cut off. The doctor made no comments about it during a few days post-op visit when the four or five stitches were removed. I should have spoken up then, as I was truly disappointed,  but didn't- I was a pretty shy kid in those days. I perhaps thought that my foreskin might shrink in time after the surgery, but of course, it didn't.  One has to ask: why the "token" cut? My theory is that the Dr. , a reform Jewish GP who admitted our circs were his firsts, thought somehow I may have been opposed to the cut and knowing my Christian background, he thought he was perhaps doing me some kind of future personal favor by only giving me a "token" cut.

Circumstances dictated that my younger brother's circumcision was more successful. It seems(according to my Mother's account) that during his surgery, the doctor discovered skin adhesions which kept the foreskin stuck to the glans and he didn't know what to do. Accordingly, a Doc from pediatrics was called in who assisted him in completing the circ. My brother's cut ended up loose but acceptable, meaning his glans was for the most part uncovered with some loose skin bunched up behind it-many American routine infant cuts I've seen look like that. Too bad I didn't get the same attention.

Going back to school was really a blast. There I was, my cock still sore and somewhat swollen, and everybody wanted to know about my surgery. I was a pretty good actor, I guess, because I faked a hoarseness for a couple of days and tried not to draw attention to my funny, slow-walking gait. The teacher, God bless her, merely smiled,... she knew.

Two years later, we had moved to another Texas town but still attended Jewish synagogue. By this time, my foreskin again entirely covered my glans and even had re-formed a small "snout" on the end. I was in the early stages of puberty and smegma made an early appearance. Masturbation also had started a few months after my token circ (ironically, from becoming aroused by desperately-but futilely-trying to keep my foreskin peeled back at night in bed) and the method employed was the usual slide the foreskin back and forth over the glans rapidly until release. My first few months of orgasms yielded no liquid output but eventually a drop or two of clear liquid was produced. Keep in mind that I was only 11 going into 12 at the time. I honestly believed that masturbation was sinful but I couldn't keep myself from doing it. Each time I would come/cum I would later ask God for forgiveness and promise not to do it again! 

By this time, 1963, my father had decided to leave the continental U.S.-Alaska was considered, Mexico, the Virgin Islands, you name it. My mother was the submissive hosewife type and followed whatever my dad decided. He seemed to have an incurable case of wunderlust as I was growing up. In time, the logical choice of Israel was decided upon as our destination and several months of correspondence and contacts ended up making a move there feasible. During this time, I had a "no-show" policy about my genitalia and the rare one or two times I had to reveal my penis around any Jewish peers, I skinned my foreskin back and hoped for the best. I was irrationally terrified that someone might discover my apparently uncut status and instead of loudly complaining about this problem, which I should have, I took the coward's path and withdrew into myself emotionally and denied how much I loathed my uncut appearance. My father was a dominating figure with a hair-trigger temper so he and I rarely communicated unless it was absolutely necessary. I felt embarrased talking about my penis with my Mother, so I kept it all to myself. 

November 1963-a lot happened that month. On the 11th, after a three day stop-over in cold, rainy, NYC, we boarded the S.S. Zion in New York harbor bound for Haifa, Israel. A stop-over in Madeira and Athens (Piraeus)  was scheduled. For the first three days, I puked up my toenails from sea-sickness from the tossing, rough Atlantic seas. My 13th birthday, which my father said not to discuss with anyone, as it was the traditional  "Bar Mitzvah" date and he didn't want me to have it on the ship, was on the 22nd.(side note: I never did have a Bar Mitzvah)  Something else also happened on that fateful date. Late in the day, a special announcement came in over the ship's loudspeakers: President Kennedy had just been shot in Dallas, Texas. That night in the dining room, many agitated conversations were going on back and forth between the passengers. One elderly bald and bespectacled man, (who looked somewhat like Gandhi) was a card-carrying communist and was very proud of it. He freely expressed his political views to anyone who would listen. He said President Kennedy richly deserved to be shot and he was sincerely happy that someone had finally done it. Nearby were two early 20-ish New York Jewish college students. (who likely highly admired the late President) Soon enough, a heated shouting match ensued. The two patriotic American-Jewish guys were about to forcibly grab "Mr. Communist", take him out to the deck, and toss him over-board when two ship crewmembers showed up, shouted to calm things down,  and escorted the old "Red" coot back to his room. He continued shouting obscenities at Kennedy and the American political system, until he was finally out the door. 

Anyhow, on a more pleasant note, I enjoyed standing on the ancient Acropolis and looking over Athens and visiting the exotic islands of Madeira.  I believe it was either November 25th or 26th- I was out on deck early and saw a shoreline in the distance. An hour later, we were pulled up in Haifa harbor and set to leave by car with a reprentative from the Jewish Agency, the official immigration organization. We we headed for Kibbutz Givat Haim (Meuhad) in central Israel, near Hadera. A Kibbutz is a sort of agricultural commune or collective settlement-children are raised in dormitories, away from their parents, with peers their own age. A whole new life experience and the real beginnings of my "circumcision hell" were about to commence. 

It took us several hours to get through customs and passport checks, etc. at the port of Haifa, Israel. My dad, just like clockwork, grew impatient and angrily yelled at one of the clerks to hurry up. The clerk, like government clerks in all countries, undeterred, continued at his slow pace. Once we left the customs building, we spotted our contact representative who drove us on the one and one-half hour drive south to the Kibbutz. Once there, we were shown a small frame duplex house and were told my brother and I would be allowed to stay with our parents there for a week or two until we felt comfortable.

 To my young eyes, this was a whole different world: there were three meals a day served at a communal mess hall, almost military style. Men and women reported to a work assignment center every morning at 8 AM, following breakfast, and were then assigned and sent out in crews to do agricultural work for the day. Even in 1963, most of the tasks were done by tractors and machinery so work often meant picking oranges, avocados, tomatoes or hoeing weeds in cotton fields between the individual plants where machinery couldn't reach. My brother was the first to be placed in a "Gan" or nursery/kindergarten/1st grade. He seemed to adjust rather quickly as the verbal communication skills of most 6 year olds are still fairly limited. 

I was eventually brought to "the compound" for my age group, a rectangular arrangement of buildings around a central courtyard.  A large classroom building was at one end and wings of dormitory rooms connected by a breezeway were at straight angles to the classroom building. A bathroom-shower building was off to one side. It was divided into male and female sections. The dormitory rooms were also by gender with the female wing across from the male wing.  I was given a tour of the facility by Peh-doot, (that was how her Hebrew name was pronounced) a middle-aged woman headmistress who had a limited English vocabulary. She made a point to tell the assembled classmates that I was from Texas. (a few snickered and made some "Wild West" gestures from western movies they had seen) She excorted me to point out my dormitory room, my bed and a wardrobe, and then showed me the classroom and bathroom facilities. She left the "compound" every night at 9:30 PM to rejoin her husband. A couple of the classmates, from the entire class group of about 35,  tried out their meager English vocabularies with little success. Kibbutz Givat Haim was settled in the 1920's and 1930's by Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, primarily Poland, Hungary, and Germany. Many of them had been Jewish socialists in their former homelands and were attracted to the secular "collective lifestyle". Why my Dad chose a Kibbutz is still unknown-I don't think he knew any better. 

Things didn't go well from the start. A couple of language misunderstandings soon led to me being shouted at. I quickly learned there was a "pecking order" in place and like all groups of this type, a couple of these rough and tumble Kibbutz boys were also bullies. One in particular loved to pick fights with me, taunt me,  and say things to me that I didn't have a clue what he meant. You see, all of these kids were like members of an extended family and had been together almost since birth-I was the odd kid out. Then there was the circumcision question. I was in a totally alien environment and the very last thing I wanted to do was confront the circumcision issue. I honestly felt that if my uncut appearance had been discovered, the ensuing taunting and ridicule would have been intolerable. It was bad enough in that respect since I was a foreign kid coming into a close-knit young teen-age social group and I was already having major difficulties fitting in because of the language barrier.

Seems as I was never at a loss for developing strategies for coping. I found out that the period from 5 PM to 8:30 PM was "free time" and most of my classmates spent this time eating dinner and visiting their parents, at their homes. I went home, used the toilet, took a shower in my parent's primitive bathroom (hot water was supplied by an early inefficient solar heater) and changed clothes. I would then bundle up my clothes and later dump them in the laundry chute at the compound. I made it a point to return fairly early and be in bed by the time most of my classmates returned for bedtime. Saturdays (sabbath) were free time days.

 Ignorance is bliss but I'm sure rumors spread around the group classmates about this weird American kid who shunned the bathroom facilities. The worst difficulties came from the occasional class "fields trips" to distant (a hundred miles or more) locations, primarily in the north of Israel. There, I couldn't hold my urine until I could go to my parent's bathroom. I had to hold it until (sometimes the better part of an entire day) either darkness or a visibly unoccupied bathroom (there were no stalls, they didn't seem to believe much in privacy) became available. I found I simply could not skin my foreskin back and then urinate in the company of other males. (even though long circumcised, I still can't publicly today, obviously it's something psychological) If I tried, I  would become so conscious and nervous that my bladder's sphincter muscle would clamp down like a vise. While hiking, the tough Israeli boys, having grown up together, would let the girls in the group walk by and then simply pull up the cuff of their shorts to dangle their circumcised penises out to piss.

One "incident" from the year I lived in the Kibbutz still vividly stands out. My class took a field trip to lovely Kibbutz Gennosar, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee (actually a large crater lake) near Tiberias.(sp?)  I was paired with a young Israeli boy my age who had once spent some time in the U.S. At the end of the hot day, he said, " let's go shower". I said, "no, thanks, I'll go later", but he persevered and there was no talking him out of it. Terrified that my dreaded secret might be "exposed" (pun intended) I nervously gathered some clothes and a towel and walked to what I expected was certain doom.  (a completely irrational mindframe from today's perspecive but very real to me then) I reached my hand in my pocket, quickly retracted the foreskin, and prayed it would stay retracted. (which it rarely did for very long) When we got to the shower building, I moved as far away as I could from my Israeli colleague and quickly disrobed. I had my back turned and sure enough, because my penis had shrunk down to nothing from high anxiety, I had a dreaded foreskin "roll-over" occur while removing my socks. I reached down with lightning speed and pulled it back, hoping my friend didn't notice. As bad luck would have it, I was forced to occupy a shower stall next to him and he probably thought I was... a., something of a pervert because I repeatedly reached down to my penis with my back turned while showering.; b. I was the most prudish person he had ever met as I showered with my back turned towards him; or c., a combination of the two. I'm pretty sure he thought something was "fishy" because he treated me differently for the next couple of days until my visit ended and he never mentioned the showers again.  

The stress of living in the Kibbutz was getting to me. I desperately schmoozed up to a visiting older American Jewish lady (hey, this is Israel, they were all Jewish!) and begged her to get me out of the country. I told her I would kill myself if she didn't help me. Oh, she helped me alright, first she talked to the headmistress and then to a couple of Kibbutz officials about my "disturbed personality", finally, she told my parents. My parents, father in particular, laughed it off and told me not to talk to strangers again. The reaction from the official side was different, I was sent off the next day by bus to Tel Aviv, about 60 miles away to see a developmental psychologist. I took a bunch of silly tests: eye-hand coordination, writing skills, command of Hebrew vocabluary-etc. And then I talked about my feelings... My deep distrust of doctors (after all, hadn't a doctor gotten me into this mess?) made me clam up and I merely mentioned how miserable I was living in a Kibbutz. I was sent back with a diagnosis of "nothing wrong". Fortune finally came around to my corner a few weeks later when my dad returned from a visit to a Moshav, where his neighbor's wife in the duplex where my parents lived, had some family members living nearby.  A Moshav is a collective settlement based on a Kibbutz concept but which allows the children to remain in their parent's home. They also paid a pre-set income for families, based on size. The Kibbutz only gave out limited script money for a few luxury items and vouchers for things like clothes, toothpaste, soap, and such. 

The next eight years were spent in Ha-Bonim, a Moshav near the Mediteranean sea south of Haifa. The community consisted mostly of immigrants from English speaking countries, primarily South Africa, and was almost unique in Israel. Besides, my Hebrew vocabulary was improving daily.  The only issues I had there regarding circumcision were the school bathrooms. It was easier there too because some religious Jewish students attended the regional school and bathrooms had stalls. More often than not, I still "held it" until I go home. 

I became a teen-age loner and absorbed myself in amateur archaeology as there were many archaeological sites nearby. Give that some of the terrain was hilly and fairly remote, I could take long rides on my bicycle, look for artifacts, piss wherever I wanted to and even masturbated sometimes in more secluded areas. A funny incident happened once while returning from one of these outings-though admittedly silly, I had decided to see if I could masturbate and remain balanced on my bicycle. The remote dirt road had no visible traffic and it was nearing darkness after sunset. I fished my penis out of the side of my loose fitting shorts and began busily working on the "problem".  Just as I was about to reach climax, I go around this low hill and some Arab guy in a donkey-pulled cart is directly in my path! I don't know what he saw or really care, but the surprise of it all caused me to nearly crash my bike. No more bicycle masturbation experiments after that!

My parents took out Israeli citizenship in 1966 and by default, that made me eligible for compulsory military service at the end of high school. By this time, my colorful dad had concocted an elaborate story which he repeated to anyone who would listen that we were actually from a long line of Rabbis and that our family name, which doesn't sound Jewish in the least, had been adopted, so the family could fit into a gentile environment. That pretty much sealed my fate and forced me to keep my "secret" in the closet until I finally left Israel on August 3, 1972. 

After graduating from high school in 1969, ( at Kfar Galim, an agricultural based high school) I was forced to register for compulsory military service. Despite stepping up my efforts, I fought a losing battle to leave the country. I went to the American embassy in Tel Aviv and begged the American Vice-Counsel, John J. Kinney,  for any possible chance to return to the States. I even suggested I sign up then and there for American military service with the acknowledgment that I would willingly go straight to Viet Nam. I was alloted only 5 minutes to plead my case, and Mr. Kinney, with the cold composure of a Nazi SS offficer dispatching a Jew off to the gas chambers, calmly informed me that my American citizenship was protected by the "letter of protest" I had just written in another office. Sorry, there was nothing else he could do on my behalf,  he replied . He then rather annoyingly looked at his watch, fetched out a cigarette to light, and informed me my time with him was up. It certainly was. 

1969 was a pivotal year in my life. By now, years of loathing my uncut appearing status had become deeply embedded in my personality. I felt every male who had been shed of his foreskin was superior to me in every respect; I was the lowly "uncut". I began to blame virtually everything that had ever gone wrong in my life on the fact that I was functionally and aesthetically uncircumcised. Not that I didn't try every foreskin retention-retraction technique I could dream up but ultimately, none worked. The slightly wider tip of my foreskin opening made it roll over over the glans with ease and since my glans does not flare out prominently, as some do, by design trying to keep my foreskin skinned back was a never-ending futile challenge.

 I didn't date, because if the relationship were to turn sexual, how would I explain a foreskin living in an environment where having a foreskin was expected only on newborn infants?  Israelis are worldly in their knowledge and most knew or had heard that even non-Jewish American males were routinely circumcised at birth-my having a foreskin would have been a very difficult to convincingly explain. No one would likely accept that some dumb Jewish doctor screwed up as simple an operation as a circumcision. Besides, most people I knew had accepted my dad's version that we were Jewish by blood and no one knew of our early 1960's religious conversion. Utmost in importance then was to continue keeping my well-guarded "secret" and this thought bordered on an obsession. (well, perhaps it even crossed that border) Odd today in retrospect, why I thought maintaining this fake "facade" was so damned important-obviously, it's actual importance had been skewed way out of proportion. 

Two "incidents" stand out that year. First, before I was actually inducted into the military, I had to show up for tests and physicals at the local recruitment office in Haifa. At one point, we had to strip to our underwear, stand in a line, and one by one be called up to a medical podium where a female army doctor and some assistants were recording medical data. Part of the exam (as these types always include) was the check for hernias, hemorrhoids, etc. When my name was called, I almost passed out from anxiety but managed somehow to walk up to the table where the doctor was sitting. "Drop your underwear" must have the same unmistakable meaning in every language. Trembling, I did as instructed and immediately the doctor asked, (in Hebrew) "are you circumcised!?" I could barely utter in a shaking, weak voice, "yes". She asked where I was from and I said the United States. She asked when was I circumcised. I replied at age 10 and didn't offer any further explanation. She carefully peeled back my foreskin and examined my penis, turned around and said something in a low voice to an assistant who was busily writing down information. It seemed like she held my penis for an eternity but it was probably only 15 seconds or so.  A quick hernia exam, "spread your buttocks", and the ordeal was over. It was one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. If she had offered me the cut, I would have eagerly accepted it on the spot.

A few weeks before my induction into the Israeli armed forces in August of 1969, a large group of visiting Jewish American youth came to stay at our settlement for a month. They performed various kinds of work several days a week around the Moshav in return for room and board. The Moshav had overbuilt in the 1950's and a number of the concrete houses were vacant. Among this group was one pretty girl from South Ozone Park (wherever in the hell that is) in New York City. She had relatives in the Moshav and planned to remain the entire summer with them. Marge Mintzner and I hit it off well from the start-she played guitar, loved music, and so did I. Over a period of weeks, our relationship evolved to the point where she casually suggested we go down to the beach one evening and sit and watch the waves. I readily agreed, expecting we could do a little petting and maybe a kiss or two. The very next thing, we are on the lovely moonlit beach, our blanket spread out on the sand. Watching the waves roll in wasn't her primary interest, of course. At one point she said, hey, lets go "night swimming".("skinny dipping", actually)  I blandly told her I hadn't brought a swimsuit. She said, "who cares?", and started removing her clothes. Instead of joining her, which I desperately wanted to do, but didn't have the "balls", I abruptly told her I was leaving and going home. She was obviously crestfallen and couldn't comprehend why I would abandon such a wonderful opportunity for some private fun. No doubt, as we silently walked the quarter mile back from the beach-front, she wondered what the hell my problem was. I was scheduled to leave for the military induction center at 6 AM the next morning and figured she would never speak to me again. My Mother told me when she stepped outside the next morning Margaret was patiently sitting on the porch steps waiting for me to come out. We did see each other a few times afterward, in more formal settings, and I even briefly corresponded with her after I returned to the States, but that went nowhere. Because of my "uncut" status, I was to remain a virgin until age 28. (after I had circumcised myself a few years earlier) I have always had an awkward time relating to women, the very few relationships that I can remember. Hard to tell how much the circumcision issue has played a part in that pattern. 

I lucked out during my three years in the Israeli Air Force. Although basic training was a challenge, (there was one shower room on base which was unlit at night and this was my salvation) I somehow survived. I was put in working as a statistical compiler for a Sociologist in the Air Force training school near Haifa. The proximity to the Moshav (about 25 miles) made it possible for me to return home every night after duty (except when I had the occasional rotating guard duty) and the Sociologist's office (which I opened and locked up every day) had a private bathroom. August 3, 1972 my service was completed and I booked a flight back to the States where I have remained since. My younger brother, who integrated well in Israel, came back to the U.S. for a few years, went through an unhappy marriage, divorced, and returned to Israel where he still lives. Because he received an acceptable circumcision at age 4, the circ issue has never been a problem for him. 

In summary, I left Israel in 1972 with circumcision "demons" profoundly affecting my personality. I had lived for nearly a decade in a "circumcision hell" of my own creation. Personality-wise, I had become extremely introverted, almost reclusive, with a terminal inferiority complex. I hated my penis and abhorred my foreskin as it had cost me so many opportunities. (like a paid scholarship to the university at the end of my tour of duty to become a Sociologist/Psychologist that I turned down) I sincerely hoped that once I returned to the States, after a 9 year hiatus, that I could find some way to resolve the circumcision issue once and for all. Deliverance was only a few years away.

During the 27 hour flight from Tel Aviv to New York to Dallas, Texas, I had a lot of time to think about my future. One thing I was certain of: my circumcision hangups might become less of a burden once I got out of the Jewish-Israeli environment. My initial stay was with my paternal grandparents who lived in a medium size West Texas town. They were, and had always been, staunch Protestants active in the fundamentally conservative Church of Christ. My grandfather had even been a church deacon and high-ranking member in the Masons-Knights Templar-Shriners. He was an established businessman and well respected in the community. From the couple of short conversations I recall that we had about circumcision, he was opposed to it and had a somewhat anti-semitic viewpoint as well. A glimpse once during a hunting trip confirmed his very uncut status-I learned then from whom I had inherited my long, elephant trunk foreskin. 

I still had dreams of finding a way somehow to become circumcised, but now had a different quandary-I lived for the first couple of years with my grandparents and worked in my grandfather's business. It would have been very nigh impossible to get privately circumcised under these conditions without them knowing about it and probably having me referred for psychological counseling. By 1975, I had followed my grandfather to far-away Wyoming to continue working in his business. I still lacked the confidence to break away, but my social life was still going nowhere. I eventually let my hair grow long, managed to sneak out occasionally, and got high with a few friends.  Finally, I started loosening up just a bit. By that summer I even had my own place, a newer mobile home with three bedrooms. As mobile homes go, it was pretty nice, and best of all, I owned it! Finally, I had a measure of personal privacy.

Not long thereafter, it was one of those nights when I had a pretty good weed buzz going and some of my favorite rock music (Doobie Bros., perhaps) playing on the system, and I thought to myself, "Fuck!, I've reached a point now where I can confront my circumcision hangups". Hell, I thought. I could even circumcise myself if I wanted to! Hmmm...

From that first thought process, a plan emerged and I put it into place. My plan was to take a grooved metal industrial fitting, (like a small piece of pipe) sterilize it, and take fishing line and tightly tie off the foreskin against the grooved fitting. I figured with topical pain ointments, a few Tylenol, and I would be able to manage the pain until the tied-off skin necrotized and fell off. I had read about the plasti-bell method and thought cutting off the shriveling foreskin after tie-off wouldn't be necessary. A week or two and all would be well. The coming Friday evening I had everything set up. Got everything cleaned up and managed to tie-off the skin as planned. 

Ouch! That hurt like a "mother", as I cinched down on the skin. Afterwards, there was some throbbing pain but it was still manageable. An hour later the pain went up another notch but my tied-off foreskin was starting to darken. Two hours after that and the pain level went up two more notches and the tied off foreskin was becoming dark. By this time it was 2 AM and I was willing to give up a night's sleep to resolve this problem. besides it was hurting too much to sleep. By 6 AM the pain level was going off the scale and I had determined that the focus of the pain was the inner foreskin. It seems that even though the tied line was very tight, it was not tight enough to stop the extreme pain coming from that skin layer. By 10 AM, it seemed like I was in agony-the feeling was like a thousand bee stings coming from my penis at once. At 10:15 I decided the experiment must end immediately. I carefully cut off the line. (which was challenging,  given the massive swelling) Blood ran profusely from the indentation on my much swelled foreskin and the swelling took a week or two to subside. After a month or two, a scar remained where the line had cut into the outer foreskin.

By November of 1975, I had put a different plan in place. This time, I would place the industrial fitting, tie the foreskin off- only a thumbnail size piece of skin initially, and cut it off with a exacto-knife. I devised a slip-knot tourniquet using a new and soaked in alcohol shoelace placed at the base of my penis. I thought (correctly) that this might control the bleeding. The thought of using sutures didn't occur to me as I thought regular thread unsuitable for this purpose. On the evening of November 11, 1975, I followed my plan. The tourniquet was applied first and left on for a few minutes. A major benefit to this technique is the qucik numbing caused by the tourniquet's application. A pin prick test showed very little sensation in the "test" area and cutting through it was easy and relatively painless. After removing the tie-off, industrial fitting, and gradually loosening the tourniquet, very little bleeding occurred. A small "U" shaped notch in my foreskin was missing-about one and one-half cm at it's widest point. At last, I could see a bit of my glans exposed for the first time! I was pleased with this small success but wished immediately that I had gone the full route.  All of this was an experiment for the upcoming full self circumcision. The rapidly healed incision left an irregular scar, but I would remove that during the next procedure.

January 16,1976-truly a momentous day in my life. That evening, I went through a carefully rehearsed plan and had a "surgical tray" set up. I masturbated three times within an hour as I knew a lengthy period of abstinence lay ahead. Getting it up and going was no problem, all I had to do was think about soon being circumcised and how sexually liberating it would be. I marked with a felt pen the exact location of the cuts I wanted and had a tube of super glue handy to use to hold the ends after the cut, or so I thought. I was anxious, but extremely excited at the same time. This was the life-changing event for which I had waited many years. I quickly drank three beers to bolster my resolve and calm my nerves, carefully disinfected everything, and sat down in the bathroom on the towel-covered lid of the toilet, and had a chair with my surgical tray set up in front. 

After applying the tourniquet and giving it 20 minutes allowing a numbing effect to set in, I very carefully applied the fitting, and applied a tight string which precisely aligned the cut markings I had made. Taking my exacto knife, I made very slow cuts beginning on the top side and then gradually going towards the bottom. (frenal area) A sharp twinge of pain occasionally happened as I carefully cut through the layers, but it was manageable. Bleeding was moderate but tightening the tourniquet a bit helped. By the time I reached the bottom, a jagged strip of skin remained and this seemed twice as tough to cut through as the rest but finally, hacking at it got the job done.

For a few moments, I just sat there staring at the severed foreskin in my bloodstained hand. I suddenly burst into tears as the emotional impact of what had just happened started to sink in. For a couple of moments, an indescribable joy overcame me like a tidal wave and I felt like I was in the presence of God! Without exaggeration, this was probably the most intense emotional experience I've had in my entire life and trying to put it into words is woefully inadequate. I was finally CIRCUMCISED!!!!

At last, I took the object I most hated, disgustingly threw it in the toilet, and flushed. I then looked down at my penis and noticed a steady drip, drip, of blood was draining out and swelling was increasing. I tried to wash some of it off but blood covered it again almost immediately. No problem I thought, I'll try to glue the severed edges together. Skin and superglue may work, but blood, skin, and super glue don't work!  I quickly came up with plan "B", I took a large bottle of talcum powder and liberally doused my penis with it. The profuse bleeding continued but I had bought cotton padded gauze bandages to go around the incisions. I wrapped layer after layer around my penis but they became saturated with blood almost immediately. 

To make matters worse, the stupid phone rang and in my state of physical shock, I grabbed a bath towel for my bleeding penis and absent mindedly answered it. Some elderly friends of my grandparents were calling asking where they were. (they had gone out of town for a week) These old folks were in a talkative mood and I was really mentally, physically, and emotionally completely "out of it". I finally told them I had to go and hung up. By this time the towel around my member was saturated in blood. Near panic due to the incessant bleeding, I decided my best course of action was to lay down in bed and grabbed another bath towel to wrap around my penis which already had a thick layer of blood saturated gauze around it. I had to get up two more times during the night to change towels but survived until the morning light came into my bedroom. I thought if the bleeding didn't stop by morning, I would have to call for an ambulance. Fortunately, the bleeding tapered off and only clear fluid was draining slightly in the morning. There were three blood soaked bath towels laying in the washing machine-I had lost a hell of a lot of blood! I felt faint, dizzy, and dazed,  but managed somehow to make it through the day. That evening I carefully sponged off the gauze and saw a raw open area about 1.5 cm wide evenly around the circumference of my penis. More talcum powder, gauze, cotton pads and I called in sick Monday and Tuesday. My grandparents got back into town Monday evening and my grandfather called me Tuesday wanting to know why I had missed work. I told him I had experienced a stomach "flu" bug but would be in Wednesday. For the next two weeks, I kept things well bandaged up and padded. Ten or eleven days after the cut, I was bathing and while drying off with a towel, accidentally brushed a scab on the side of my penis. It came off and blood spurted everywhere. Full healing took about 35 days and the area remained red and slightly rough for several months. 

The changes in my life were profound and immediate. For one, I felt immensely empowered and shortly after the circumcision informed my grandparents I was leaving chilly Wyoming and returning to Texas on my own. My first masturbation session following the cut was completely out of this world! The first few months living with my glans permanently exposed was a daily and nightly joy as well. I loved to take long walks in loose fitting shorts so my unfettered bare-headed cock could swing in my underwear from side to side. It was like being slowly stroked for a 1/2 hour or more. When I got home, I quickly grabbed a bottle of hand lotion and took it over the top, sometimes screaming with delight. Ah... the good old days!!!

This sense of freedom and empowerment enabled me to eventually attend college and graduate, marry, father a son,  (RIC'd at two days with a Gomco) and adopt a daughter. The dark cloud that had hovered over me for 14 years had just about dissipated. I still had some remaining hang ups and a certain amount of guilt for taking matters into my own hands. In future years, I would do a moderate circ revision to tighten things up, widened my meatal opening,(I wanted my damn glans to be completely exposed!)  and finally, gave into an urge to have a genital piercing. Last, I joined the Internet in 1999 and discovered there were a few others who had as intense an interest in the topic of circumcision as I did. Participation in circ-related groups led to me founding the Yahoo group "PROCIRC" in November of 2000. With over 1,200 members, It is now in the able hands of Dr. David Cornell and a mutual friend, W.B. Hart. I'll recount my post circ mods later if you want to hear about them, and yes, I did them all myself but I'm far more proud of my initial circumcision than of anything else done subsequently. In the past couple of years I've told nearly anyone who would listen about my circ experience history and now you too know my story. I've just posted photos of my self-circumcised penis in the photos section as well. With every revelation, the intense shame I used to feel is lessening-confession must be truly good for the soul! 
John S.