Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2012 10:32:56 +0000 (GMT) From: Hasan Khan Subject: City Man Clinic Part 7 This story is pure fantasy. No resemblance to persons is intended. Always be safe and be careful. Do not engage in risky activity but do send a donation to Nifty to keep them publishing these stories. The doctor's oath is includes the promise to "do no harm". But sometimes it is put to the test in situations where medicine and tradition meet. Circumcision of boys in the name of religion and culture is one of those areas and I was brought into it a few weeks ago when the appointment book at City Man Clinic included an entry for Mustapha Sultan Ali (10) with the note "circumcision". There is no shortage of Muslim doctors in the town and why the family or least the father should have chosen CMC I did not know until after the surgery had been performed. Shortly after 10am on the appointed day, four Turkish men accompanied a nervous looking boy, dressed like a prince with a white satin suit and feathery headdress, walked into the surgery. I have a weakness for darker skinned men and the olive brown complexions of the quartet were enough to take me into fantasy land the moment I set eyes upon them. None older than thirty or so they were dressed in smart casuals, including those not too loose chinos which hint at concealed treasures. The father of the boy introduced himself and his two brothers and brother in law. Kamal, the father, was by far the most handsome of the group, tall, slim, moustached in Mediterranean fashion and beaming with pride on the day of his son's entrance into the adult male Turkish community. The boy himself looked less sure and gazed anxiously around him. I wondered how much had been explained to him of the ordeal that he was about to undergo. Kamal insisted that the whole group would witness the event and would be ready to help me if restraint was needed. One of his brothers produced a pocket sized film camera and immediately began to pan around the group as it made its way into the treatment room. Mehmet "the cameraman" leaned forwards as his brother began to undress young Mustapha, carefully unlacing the pure white leather shoes before taking off the satin trousers and silky briefs to reveal the miniature childish genitals, shrunken in the hairless groin. Little Mustafa was then lifted up by his father onto the examination table with his white shirt pulled up to his chest. They boy remained silent and still as he lay there with a bemused look on his face as the adults smiled and grinned to one another, no doubt remembering however, the day they too had been stretched out or held in front of the sunnecti. My instrument table was already laid out with the necessary equipment and I began the process of wiping around the area to be operated with bright orange disinfectant. The tiny scrotum and penis soon glistened in the light of the overhead lamp. At less than two inches in length the little penis ended in a pointed foreskin which extended a fraction beyond the glans, to which it fitted closely enough to reveal the shape of the miniature mushroom beneath. The first unnerving moment was when I picked up a prepared syringe of lidocaine to anesthetise Mustafa. His father quickly interjected and insisted that the circumcision was to be done in the traditional manner without painkillers. "We shall hold the boy as we were held by our elders. He must remember this day with both its joy and pain." I failed to see how slicing off a piece of skin could be described as joyful and told Mr. Sultan Ali that such a request was most unusual and possibly unethical. Peter Adebi, my Ghanaian nurse had told me plenty of stories about traditional cutting in west Africa, conducted in the most unhygienic and painful circumstances but he was by now fully converted to the use of painkillers, sterilised equipment and all the benefits that modern medicine could bring to the ancient practice of circumcision. "Does the boy know what is going to happen to him?" I enquired. "He knows only that today he will become a man. He has seen his cousins in their circumcised state, perhaps he knows that there is a knife to be used. I have not spoken to him of the details. It should all be very quick and over within a moment, even if it is painful for a while. That is our way. Please respect it." Nervously, I began to examine Mustafa's penis. The foreskin was tight and not easily retractable. With fingers and thumbs on either side I tried to push back the conical shaped skin to reveal the glans but succeeded only in making the boy cry out as the tight skin opened very slightly to reveal the extremity of the glans. Pinching the slippery flesh I pulled forward, hoping to stretch it and perhaps loosen the prepuce before attempting to retract again. Mustafa cried out with a shriek. His father and two of the uncles reacted immediately pinning him down by the legs and arms, which caused the boy to go rigid after a hopeless attempt to struggle free. With drops of perspiration beginning to form on my own forehead I grasped the prepuce once more. Millimetre by millimetre I pushed and pulled at it until it retracted far enough to reveal at least half the miniature glans. Mustafa's shrieks were perhaps expected and familiar to the men holding him in place but to me it was a painful remainder of those junior days in the Accident and Emergency when kids with broken bones, objects stuffed into noses ears and elsewhere had to be treated, restrained by long suffering nurses and parents. With Mustafa sobbing and yelling as his foreskin was slowly and painfully separated from the glans, my mind was in turmoil and I questioned the wisdom of proceeding further, even if this had been the accepted fate of millions of boys since time immemorial. Pushing hard and firmly with my fingers against the base of the glans I eventually stripped the foreskin away from the tiny bright red glans, below which it now formed a tight little collar. Letting the boy rest for a moment and accustom himself to the new reality of an exposed penis head I stood back as his father smoothed the child's forehead and whispered what I took to be words of encouragement, in a language I did not understand. Mustafa's wails quietened just a little as I pulled the collar of skin down the little shaft, stretching it back as far as nature would allow. Once satisfied that I had freed up the prepuce as much as possible I held it tightly back and bathed the area once again in antiseptic liquid. The little red glans turned colour and began to raise itself in front of me as I firmly drew up and withdrew several times the now mobile prepuce. The swelling of the boys organ caused his uncles and father to exchange what I imagined to be salacious comments about the boys readiness for manhood. "Perhaps we can let Mustafa rest for a few moments before we proceed. I think he has had enough for the time being. The circumcision will only take a moment, so let him calm down first. It has already been quite painful for him." Kamal and his brothers let go of their grip on the boy and agreed that a light delay would not inconvenience them. Mehmet continued to pan in and out with his camera. I wondered what gasps of pleasure and astonishment would be heard when friends and relatives gathered to view the sunnet on the family TV whilst Mustafa accepted their congratulations and presents. No doubt the proud family would be posting their son's discomfort on a social networking site within the week. On my instrument tray I had already laid out locking forceps, scalpel and surgical scissors for the work ahead. But when I went over to check them and take up a pair of stout forceps, Kamal thrust into my hand a small polished wooden box and requested that I use the instruments it contained. "These belonged to our great uncle in Istanbul. They are family treasure." When I opened the case I could see that it contained a small, highly polished, flat, hinged clamp or protector and an equally brilliant knife. The sides of the clamp were beautifully etched with Arabic letters and designs. I wondered how many foreskins had been trapped between its edges, locked in place by a miniature arm and hook device. "I can tell you the knife of my great uncle is a sharp as any razor you could buy" Kamal proudly informed me. "Me, my brothers, my uncles and all the men of our family have been circumcised using these tools. It will be a great honour for Mustafa to be able to say one day that he too was circumcised with them." Mustafa looked over towards us his face now dried of tears but none the less covered with anxiety as he saw me take out the clamp and knife to sterilise them. "Hold Mustafa gently while I put the clamp on you can tighten your hold when we are ready to cut", I said quietly to Kamal and his brothers. The three men positioned themselves and mouthed words of encouragement to Mustafa as I pulled the foreskin forward from just below the base of his glans and locked it into the antique clamp. Mustafa gasped and groaned as the cold metal tightened its grip. His body began to tremble when the clip was fastened, and not unexpectedly he began to cry and struggle against the strong arms of his still smiling uncles when the edges of the clamp bit down onto his tender prepuce. Feeling carefully that his glans was free of the clamp I prepared for the climactic moment. Immobile and now sobbing without hope of release, Mustafa closed his eyes and so did not see what was happening when I took the decorated scimitar shaped knife to slice off his foreskin. His uncles tightened their grip when they saw me pull on the end of the prepuce and stretch it tightly out from the clamp. Pressing the blade against the smooth surface of the protector, in one rapid sweep I excised the redundant flesh. For a moment there was silence. Mustafa in the shock of the moment ceased to sob before letting out a scream that tore me to the heart. His pain was all the more poignant when contrasted to the smiles and self congratulatory words of his father and uncles. Anxious to be over with this ritual as soon as possible I carefully undid the clip of the brass clamp and lifted it off allowing the remains of Mustafa's bloody foreskin to side back down his shaft. He sobbed deeply as I fingered it into place, thankful that there were no loose or untidy pieces needing to be trimmed. Kamal and his brothers stroked and patted the suffering boy offering congratulations and comfort whilst I tended the wound with antiseptic and smeared a layer of surgical adhesive before bandaging it in gauze. Exhausted and emotionally drained by the experience I breathed a sigh of relief as the cooling ointments began to take effect. With his little penis now swathed in bandages, Mustafa began to calm down and with deep breaths and pleading in his eyes, begging his father to take him home...... It was later in the day that I discovered how Mustafa Sultan Ali had come to be brought to CMC. When Peter Adebi arrived for the afternoon consultations and procedures (his enema clinic having gained a certain reputation and notoriety) I heard the story of how Peter and Mehmet had met at the urinals of a nightclub gazing in lust at one another's tightly circumcised cocks. A west-African and a Turk who both knew what the other had gone through as a youngster in order to sculpt such tributes to the masculine form. A blow job in a cubicle had satisfied their immediate needs but was followed in the early hours of the morning by long and satisfying penetrations in the comfort of Peter's apartment. Mehmet was an instant turn on for Peter: his seven inch mid-eastern cock with its dark broad scar ringing the shaft paled in comparison with the ten inches that Peter could rouse when required. Unknown to his family Mehemt had been trawling the clubs and hotspots of the town hungry to be stuffed from both ends with oversize black cock. Peter loved anyone who would scream and shout to be ploughed by him. As I knew from personal experience, the first time with Peter could be a delicate balance between pain, pleasure and pure agony as his enormously thick and long ebony shaft made its way into the deepest recesses of the bowel. Mehmet had one day told Peter about his own circumcision performed in Turkey by a traditional cutter using the very instruments that I had been requested to use a few hours previously. Peter recounted his own experiences as first a traditional circumciser in Ghana and then of how he had learned more conventional medical techniques at CMC. The conversation had led to Mehmet suggesting to his brother in law, Kamal, that young Mustafa be brought to CMC for the ceremony that would mark his entrance into the world of adult Turkish men. While Peter talked about the fun he had had with Mehemt his hand massaged the large bulge in his nurses whites and very soon the hidden organ began to rise and poke itself in my direction. Ever hungry and needing relief after the tension of the morning I sank to my knees before Peter to undo his clothing and release the black monster which had satisfied both my need and his pleasure on so many occasions. The great black plum throbbed between my lips as my tongue circled its mass. Stretching my mouth to the fullest I engulfed the hot flesh and worked my way down the shaft to the slightly raised ring of flesh which marked the site of Peter's circumcision. Bringing Peter almost to the point of no return I freed his penis from the confines of my mouth in order to remove my own pants and briefs to present my cute white arse to him. Wanting to feel pain as well as pleasure I dispensed with looking for lubricants and let the slipperiness of my own saliva on his rampant organ serve its purpose. Remembering the painful howls of the morning I gasped and briefly cried out when Peter's rock hard helmet pierced my chute. The roughness of his unlubricated shaft against the delicate flesh of my chute made me howl and I howled all the louder knowing that he enjoyed it too. "Take up white boy" "You know you want it" "Feel it tight", from him and "Give it to me" "Make me yours" "Hurt me good" Hurt me bad": our exchange was worse than a cheap porno movie but it had become part of our routine. I had had a few large cocks up me in medical school but not until I met Peter Adebi did I know what pleasure was to be had from real gigantic black African cock. Peter was enormous both in length and girth and knew how to use his size to tease, to pain and to pleasure. In our time together we had reached the depths of pain and the heights of pleasure to our mutual satisfaction. Once having penetrated me to the full and pistoned his way in and out to the point that my chute was producing its own lubrication, Peter flipped me over and began the final assault which would bring him to orgasm. Considerate as always he wrapped a large black hand around my pale genitals and wanked me whilst his cock thrust deeply into my bowels. Pain had turned to pleasure now and with his rock hard glans rubbing against my prostate I was on the verge of release. Our relationship was such that we knew instinctively how to release our juices simultaneously. With his thick African cream flooding into my bowels, I shot my milky juices through his fingers onto my belly, the two of us groaning with satisfaction and delight........ A memorable day in several ways but the morning I would not want to willingly repeat!