Cock-Fu Fighting

Back when I was 11, I dreaded the coming of summer because that was the time I was scheduled for circumcision. As a kid, I always heard about how being circumcised is a necessary rite to manhood, and so on. I didn’t think about it too much until one April afternoon, when my mother told me that, along with three other cousins, I was scheduled for it in a matter of days. She was contacted by an aunt, who told her that her male doctor friend was going to do it. I don’t remember which hospital or clinic it was now, but we all went there together in an old van, that second week of April, to get that over with.

My cousins and I were nervous about it, but they didn’t show it too much. I think we were advised to wear loose shorts prior to be comfortable after the procedure. Inside that van, I think I was jittery but distracted, as I was suffering from tonsillitis. It hurt just to swallow, but I only complained about it a few times, since I was more concerned with my impending thingie. We arrived and were welcomed by my smiling aunt (who wasn’t a full-fledged doctor yet during the time), and the male doctor.

I think one of my cousins volunteered to get circumcised first. I don’t remember it clearly now, but I think I waited outside for a bit and paced nervously. But the thought that I wasn’t alone during that time made me feel okay with it, as my mother, and my cousins’mom, were both there to keep us company. When I was outside, the driver quietly shared that back in the province, they had to chew stuff (Leaves? Guava? I forget) to spit on their schlongs, as some kind of old medication practice, soon after some guy worked on them with crude but sterilized instruments. I don’t know how helpful or hygienic that was, but I kinda knew about that old “style” from the tule story of Funny Komiks’ “Niknok.”

When my turn came, my face contorted, and I just trusted that the thing will be over before I knew it. Two cousins were already milling about, as if nothing happened, so I felt assured that it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Still, I was kind of prepared for the worst. I remember biting down on the collar of my shirt, just so that I wouldn’t yelp out when things get painful. The anesthetic injection on my thing was the worst of it, and I didn’t feel much after that, thankfully, except the tugging and squeezing, which were probably the incisions and the sewing. It was weird; my mom and cousins would watch from time to time, ew!, but embarrassment was the farthest thing from my mind. The doctor even seriously commented, in front of the impromptu audience, that my penis was “so masculine.” Heh. I’m not sure what he meant by that, even now, many years later.

I was bandaged up, and after we were all done, we zoomed to a 7-11 to get some snacks. It was really hot outside, so we ordered Slurpees or some kind of slushy flavored drinks. I quickly finished a big one, but it was strange, because the pain in my throat was totally gone at that point. Somehow, and I’m just guessing here, all that straining and serious grimacing at the operating bed must have contributed to its rapid healing. I don’t know. But anyway, I’d be a little cranky and kinda embarrassed for days. I was careful not to accidentally bump my crotch into furniture and stuff. Getting the bandage off the shaft was not easy, but I felt really free once I removed it, when the “wound” totally healed about a week or so later.

Whether or not circumcision gives the penis character (Elaine, in Seinfeld, opined that it does), well, I guess it depends on your perception of aesthetics. It’s such a big deal for some people, but I don’t really think too much about it. Many, many years after that rite, one of the things you hope for is that people will fancy your cock… but no, whoops, I won’t be talking about that. At least for now. Wink. Cock tease.

So that’s my tule story. Nah, I’m not tagging anyone, guys, only the ones who can remember their own civilized mutilations. Just kidding.