The doctor who cut off my foreskin for my wife used the sleeve resection method shown here in C. He decided to take away about half my inner skin and meticulously carved out every bit of my frenulum. While he was cutting he explained this would make it look like I’d always been circumcised, and not like I’d waited until a girl asked me to get it done in my 20s. I’ll never forget what it was like lying there on my back in his operating chair, helplessly watching as he did my wife’s bidding with his knife. When he’d finally finished stitching me up, like it shows in step vii, I looked up at him and asked, “What happened to my frenulum?” “It’s gone now,” he replied scornfully, twisting my penis around to show me the smooth sulcus left on the underside of my glans where it used to attach. He obviously thought I was foolish for asking since he’d already told me he was going to excise it. I don’t know why I asked, I just remember feeling so powerless looking up at him, this man who’d forever deprived me of the pleasure my foreskin brought me. I suspect he took pride in doing that to me, though, and distastefully regarded the fact I’d gone so long with that overly sensitive, excess flesh intact. Whatever the case, he did a good job circumcising me. He turned my penis into exactly the smooth, minimalist tool my wife had wanted her husband to have.
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