Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2012 10:32:56 +0000 (GMT)
From: Hasan Khan <hasancutkhan1987@yahoo.co.uk>
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!