Until I graduated from high school, I had no idea I was supposed to be able to retract my foreskin. Then I saw a .gif of an actual foreskin being retracted. I looked at my penis and wondered what the hell was wrong with it.



All the penises I'd seen in porn were circumcised - or so I'd assumed. I figured the difference between those and mine were simply that I had a foreskin permanently covering my glans and they didn't.



My penile skin tapered to a pinkish "nipple" (called the acroposthion, I later learned) which got shorter and flatter when I had an erection. But it never opened wide enough to let me see much more than the urethral opening itself. Of course, there was a hole to let urine and semen out, so I never tried to explore. I had always masturbated by sliding the skin up and down so the glans got a good rolling massage.



Then I saw that .gif, featured on a foreskin restoration board. As the girl held the guy's penile skin between her thumb and forefinger and tugged it toward his body, his acroposthion shortened and thinned, eventually rolling open to uncover his whole glans. He looked like a circumcised guy then, except his glans was shiny and pinkish instead of rough and tan.



When I saw that, I wanted to know what my own glans looked like. But I couldn't even begin to get it out through the narrow opening. I looked up the symptoms and found "pinhole phimosis." Funny my family doctor had never noticed it. He referred me to a urologist when I told him what I'd discovered. I got an appointment for the next week.



Only when I got to the office did I realize the urologist was a female. That threw me a bit, but I figured an M.D. is an M.D. and there's no need to be embarrassed. I filled out the paperwork and waited my turn. Then a door opened and a woman called my name.



I got up to find a girl in scrubs standing behind the door, holding a tablet. She looked much too young to be the doctor. She gave me a big smile and motioned for me to follow her to the exam room. When we got there, she put the tablet down on a countertop and introduced herself.



"I'm Liz. Dr. McGinnis had to leave the office just now. Her son was hurt on the school playground."



"Is he OK?"



"Yeah, they think it's a sprained elbow. He's all in one piece, just hurting."



"Glad it's nothing worse."



"Yeah, me too," she picked up the tablet again, "So, let me explain why you're still here. I'm Dr. McGinnis' PA - physician's assistant. I started last week. I work under her supervision, and I'm trained in a many procedures. I was going to examine your foreskin first anyway, then if I thought you needed to be circumcised, I'd have Dr. McGinnis come in to look it over and see if she agreed. Then I could circumcise you myself, or Dr. McGinnis could. Since she's out, if it's all right with you, I'll go ahead and inspect your penis now, and if necessary, schedule her follow-up?"



The bluntness of her words left me stunned. She didn't speak in the euphemisms that most people use talking about genitals - "examine you" instead of "examine your foreskin" - and that, along with her eye contact and general attractiveness, triggered that "click" at the base of my penis that I always get just as an erection begins. I felt slightly cornered, and ... more than a little excited inside. She seemed to know me as well as I did. And she certainly knew plenty about my penis.



"Um, that will be fine, I guess," I said, and she smiled as if I'd just handed her a bag of money.



"Good. Go ahead and strip down completely, then put this on," she held up a folded paper gown. "I'll be back in five minutes to look at your foreskin up close."



Liz smiled again, turned abruptly, and left the room. I eased out of my clothes and draped the paper gown around myself. I wasn't sure which was the front or back, so I put the opening in front, knowing she would be looking mostly at that side of me.



One thing I was sure of, is that her words and manner told me this girl might be a little bit penis-obsessed. Maybe that's not uncommon among females who choose to work in a male urology clinic. At least I could be sure she wouldn't skip anything important out of embarrassment - mine or hers.



I had barely gotten situated on the table when Liz re-entered, this time with a small tray covered with a blue paper. She was still smiling as she set it next to the exam table and leaned back against the countertop.



"So, you think you have pinhole phimosis," she said, paging through her tablet. I nodded. "But it says here you don't want a circumcision."



"No, I don't."



"But are you prepared to be circumcised in case stretching doesn't work, and your foreskin won't open? I could circumcise you then. I'm fully trained to circumcise full-grown penises, like yours," she glanced down briefly. "I cut foreskins off with surgical scissors, since nobody makes clamps large enough for an adult male."



She raised an eyebrow: "Think you'd want me to circumcise you?"



"No, I think that would not benefit me."



She nodded slightly.



"Okay. So for now, I'll be examining your foreskin for diagnostic purposes. Go ahead and open your gown for me while I ready up my instruments."



I let the gown fall open, exposing my whole frontside. As she sorted items on the tray, she kept giving me a look, followed by a slight smile, as if she knew something I didn't. Then she looked at my penis, her eyes lingering for a moment before returning to the tray.



"Why do you need instruments?" I asked.



The question made Liz's face brighten.



"I'll show you," she said, holding up a thin, stainless rod with a rounded end. "This is a probe. I'm going to slide it into your foreskin and around the glans, to make sure your foreskin and glans are completely separate. Some little boys' foreskins are still adhered inside. Maybe yours is, too. And this," she held up something like a tube with scissor handles, "I will use to dilate your preputial opening. So I can see inside it better."



My scrotum shrank a bit at that. In all my diddling with my foreskin, I had never intentionally tried to force it open.



"Is anesthetic used with that?"



"Oh, no," she said, "It's not needed. I promise I won't hurt you with any of these tools." She rolled the probe between thumb and forefinger before setting it back on the tray. "Go ahead and lie down, please, so I can examine your penis."



The table was propped so that when I lay back, I was sort of reclining. I would be able to see whatever Liz did with my penis.



After snapping on a pair of gloves, she reached up for a light attached to the ceiling. It levered down on a series of arms and hinges so she could point it wherever she wanted, and it would stay there. She switched it on and aimed it directly at my penis.



Then she pulled a high, wheeled stool in behind her. As soon as she sat down, she began moving much more slowly and deliberately. She rested her elbows on my thigh and abdomen, then gingerly lifted my penis to study it.



"Have you ever seen your glans, the head of your penis?" Liz asked, rolling it around in her fingers.



"Not much of it. Just the end of the urethra, through the opening."



"The meatus. That's what it's called. Well, let me see what I can see, then."



She tried to roll the foreskin down. The nipple flattened out, but the opening would not stretch enough to expose the glans even slightly.



"Does that hurt?"



"No."



"Okay," she said, then gently squeezed the glans. She tried again to open the foreskin, and this time was able to see the meatus. I could feel her warm breath on the moist, exposed membrane.



She reached for the probe, pausing to lubricate its tip with surgical jelly. "Now, what I'm going to do is slip the probe in to see if your foreskin is attached to your glans anywhere. I won't try to force it."



Liz slid the cold, metal probe into the virgin space between my foreskin and glans, yielding a sensation completely new to me. She tested for depth, intruding slightly past the corona on one side, then the other. This sent a tingle down my right leg, causing it to twitch. Then she moved the probe laterally, very slowly.



"The smegma in there makes a good lubricant," she whispered, circling the probe around inside my foreskin until she made a full orbit around the glans. She looked up at me, her face slightly flushed. "Did that hurt at all?"



"No," I barely managed to say. The probe still felt hard and intrusive in a space that had never been touched from outside. My leg twitched every time Liz started moved the tool.



"I don't feel any resistance in there," she said gently, sliding the probe in another complete circle around my glans. On the third pass, she paused at the six o'clock point, edging the probe side-to-side. "Feel that? That's your frenulum. It's the most sensitive part of you."



"Yes, I do feel that."



"You have more nerve endings concentrated there than anywhere else on your body. And that's what will be exposed after we get your foreskin out of the way. You will feel that," Liz twitched the probe, "every time your penis moves inside a girl."



My back began to arch and I found myself barely able to breathe, the probe felt so intense riding back-and-forth across my tender frenulum.



"Now all we have to do is figure out how best to expose it," she said, and pulled the probe out. She swapped the probe for the scissory-looking tube device.



"Now, this is what I will use to spread your preputial sphincter a bit," she looked up at me, waiting for my nod of acknowledgment as she spread lubricant onto the tubular part, "I'll need you to tell me when to stop."



Liz tugged my foreskin straight up with her fingers and wedged the tool inside. When she squeezed the handles, the tube dilated slightly. With it in place, she held my penis up by the foreskin and rested her other hand on my scrotum.



She looked right into my eyes as she squeezed the device again. It made a clicking sound as it ratcheted wider. I felt my foreskin growing taut, but no pain. I matched her gaze and nodded for her to continue.



Two more clicks. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. I nodded again.



Another click and I began to feel a strain. We both looked at my outstretched foreskin, a slight sheen of tension on its surface. The tool had opened my prepuce to a half inch in diameter.



"I should be able to see inside now," Liz said, and tipped the device toward her, peering into my outstretched foreskin as if it were a microscope. "Ah, there's the meatus, and I can see the frenulum doubled up just below it. Want to see?"



"Yes."



She tilted the tool toward me. The intense light from above penetrated my foreskin, and I saw my frenulum for the first time. The glans - at least, what I could see of it - glowed pinkish-red. It looked new. It looked healthy.



"I can stretch it a bit more, if you're okay with it."



"I'm okay."



She clicked the tool again. It gave me some discomfort, but no serious pain. I nodded for her to continue.



Two more clicks, and what felt like a small electric shock went through my hips. This was beginning to hurt now. She looked at a small scale on the device's side.



"You're about a .60 caliber now," she smiled. "That's a big gun."



"Okay, stop."



"Stop what?" Liz looked intently at me.



"Stop stretching my foreskin," I gasped, "It's starting to hurt."



"You want me to release the device so the pain in your penis ends?"



A devilish grin had started on her face. She was enjoying this. And, in a way totally unfamiliar to me, so was I.



"Yes. Please release the device from my penis. It hurts."



"All right," she looked at my straining foreskin, turning it to see all the sides. Then she looked back at me. "I'll let the tension off so your foreskin doesn't hurt anymore."



"Thank you."



She waited a few seconds, then clicked a tab to release the ratchet. My foreskin suddenly felt hot, and when she pulled the tube out it fell over to one side like a Smurf hat. Blood rushed in to color it a deep red. She set the device on the tray.



"It looks like you'll have a ways to go before your glans can emerge," she said, sitting back on her stool. "It could take some time and effort on your part to get a fully exposed glans.



"Now, we do a lot of circumcisions in this office, and many of them are on guys just like you. We carefully cut their foreskin off," she gestured with several slow snips of her fingers, "permanently exposing the glans, and in a few weeks they're back to doing whatever they want with their penis."



She sat looking at me, as if anticipating a response. When she got none, she stood to retrieve a fine-point marker from a drawer, and uncapped it.



"Let me show you what that involves," she said, and without any more preparation she grasped the nipple of my foreskin and stretched it straight up.



"We start with three injections, here, here, and here," she said, poking the base of my penis with the marker, "That numbs your penis so you don't feel the scissors cutting into your foreskin." Then she gripped the base so my covered glans stood up. "And we begin your circumcision, making a cut right up here," as she drew a dotted line on my foreskin from the corona to the preputial ring. She looked up at me, then back at my penis.



"Then, we hold your foreskin out straight with forceps - those are little clamps - and cut sideways alllll the way around until your foreskin is completely sliced off," she said, drawing another dotted line around my penis just below the corona. She sat back to study her work.



"Now, the circumcision I've drawn here would take the medium amount of skin off. We could cut your foreskin farther up your penis," she pointed to the middle of the shaft, "so you'd really be tight-skinned, or lower, so you could have a little collar of foreskin around the base of your glans."



She studied my marked-up penis thoughtfully.



"The tight circumcision leaves you with a shiny, taut erection. You would definitely need to use lubricant to masturbate," she gestured up-and-down with her hand. "The looser cut gives you some slack, in case you want some foreskin-like action. I'm really not sure what we would do with your frenulum," she concluded, thoughtfully thumbing my raphe.



This was enough circumcision talk for me. I had other questions.



"Liz, first I need to know what to do to loosen my foreskin," I almost gasped, eager to end this graphic discussion of penis-cutting. She grimaced.



"Okay, that's fine," she said, letting my penis drop onto my abdomen. "Obviously you're pretty attached to your prepuce, so let's show you how to make it work the way it's supposed to."



She stood up, very close beside me.



"I'm going to show you how to correctly stretch your foreskin," she said, softly, into my ear. Before I realized it, she had put one arm around me. With the other, she reached down and took my droopy, still-reddened foreskin between her fingers and began to roll it down the body of my penis.



"Guys with phimosis usually think they're supposed to pull their foreskin this way, toward their body," she said, demonstrating until my penis folded under the pressure, "but that's incorrect, and it's kind of dangerous, because if the tight foreskin gets stuck behind the glans, it can cut off circulation. Then we might have to amputate your glans."



She then pinched the lip of my foreskin between her thumb and forefinger and tugged it straight out.



"This is how you stretch a phimotic foreskin," she said, not realizing this was exactly what I would do to trigger my own erection before masturbating.



And trigger it did. The base of my penis began to thicken, the body to fill and stiffen. Meanwhile, she continued talking about tugging at different points on the preputial sphincter. Within a few seconds my glans had swollen enough to cause the veins on my foreskin to stand out. She pretended not to notice.



"So, now that you know how to stretch, here's how you apply the cream," Liz said, as she picked up the same tube of lubricant she had used on the instruments. She squeezed a dollop onto her fingers. She moved directly in front of me and placed one hand on my shoulder, like a wrestler. With the other hand, she spread the gel among her fingertips, then grasped my pulsing, foreskin-wrapped glans in the same way one might pick up a strawberry, and began to massage it slowly.



"I'm using surgical jelly to demonstrate what you will do with the steroid cream," she said, looking eye-to-eye with me while slowly rubbing the lubricant into my outer foreskin. "The idea is to fully saturate your foreskin by infusing the steroid cream into it. Use force," she added, then tightened her grip on my shrouded glans.



I tried to maintain eye contact, but the slow, constant massage of my foreskin made my eyes flutter. It felt even better than when I did it at home. I tilted my head back, and she continued rubbing and saying something about frequency of application and something else I don't know. I just reveled in the flood of pleasure her fingertips were giving me through the slippery, rolling motion on and around my foreskin. And then...



My testicles drew up tight and a pulse welled up from my pelvic floor. A spurt of pre-cum spilled out into her palm. I looked up again to see her smiling, working the pre-cum in with the gel, squeezing and pulling at my glans through its sheath. Her lips parted and she began to whisper, "Come on, come on," over and over.



I gasped as a series of shocks from deep within me pushed long, white streams of semen out onto her hand, her scrubs, and the floor. Liz slowed her rubbing and let out a low "Hmmmmmm." Then she let my flagging erection rest on my scrotum.



When she released my shoulder, I realized how hard I'd been leaning into her. She peeled off her gloves and dropped them into a red waste can. It fell shut with a clang.



"Think you can do that yourself once a day?" she asked.



"I can," I said, between breaths.



"Good," she said, and picked up her tablet. "Rub the cream into your foreskin just like that every morning. Don't shower for six hours afterward. Then, when you do wash up, dry the foreskin and tug straight away from your body for ten seconds each in three different places," she demonstrated with a pinch-and-pull motion in the air.



"Okay, I'll do that."



"And if you masturbate," she said, then paused, "You do like to masturbate, right?"



"Yes. I do."



"With your hand?" she asked, holding her finger and thumb in a circle and motioning slowly up and down.



"Like that, yes."



"Well, masturbate while rolling your foreskin as far as you can," she kept motioning, "so it gets lots of circulation. Take your time, so you get all the gentle stretching you can. Don't ejaculate too soon, okay?"



"Got it."



"You probably shouldn't think about what just happened, because you might ejaculate really quick."



"Probably so."



She beamed.



"I think you're good to go, as soon as you get dressed, of course," she said, then she looked down at the floor. "Do you mind cleaning that up? There's some paper towels in the cabinet."



"I can do that."



"I'll leave the prescription for your steroid cream with the front desk," she said, turning for the door, "Make sure you rub it into your foreskin each morning, just like I showed you." She twiddled her fingers, smiled, and left.



As my pulse slowed, I started to get my clothes on. And as I mopped up the splotches of semen from the floor, I wondered whether Liz was going to have a long career as a PA ... or a short one.