I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to the urologist's office after my last visit.

The doctor's assistant, Liz, had gone to great lengths to convince me I needed a circumcision. You can read about those two appointments here and here.

Furthermore, Liz had a way of persuading me to do things I never would have done otherwise, such as ejaculating in each of her exams. But letting her cut my foreskin off was not on my list. I like my 'skin; we've been together a long time. And even though it was giving me some difficulty, I couldn't imagine life without the tantalizing sensations I got even when Liz herself rolled it between her fingers.

But I did have a persistent issue that needed follow-through.

Originally, I'd had phimosis, a tightness that prevents the foreskin from retracting at all. But once I'd stretched it enough to open fully, the glans still had an abnormal texture. Liz said it was caused by synechia, the remains of the fibers that had bonded my glans and foreskin at birth. The fibers had broken long ago, but they left remnants embedded in the glans that usually wear away in childhood. These seemed to contribute to a hypersensitivity that Liz had exploited to its fullest in our last encounter. She'd offered to extract the fibers with tweezers, or to cut my foreskin off so the exposed glans would rub the fibers off against my clothing. My other option, keeping the glans moist and masturbating, didn't seem to have had much effect.

After our last appointment, I looked up the YouTube videos Liz had mentioned. Sure enough, on "The Circumcision Channel" I found multiple, close-up recordings of men's and boys' penises getting circumcised. Liz didn't appear in the frame, but I recognized her pale arms as she worked through the procedures. She made a point of holding each severed foreskin up to the camera.

For my next appointment, I asked to meet with the doctor herself, thinking she might be less enthusiastic about circumcising me. Curiously, I never got a bill from the office for either of my appointments with Liz. And when I arrived this time, I completely forgot to ask about that, as Liz appeared in the receptionist's window and immediately rattled me with her chipper talk.

"You're back for your circumcision?" she asked, a little too excitedly for my comfort.

"I don't think so," I replied, "I'm here to follow up on the synechia thing."

"Well, the doctor will see you in a few minutes. Cheers!" and she slid the opaque panel shut.

This time, I had to wait a while. Two older guys were already seated there, I assume for prostate issues, given their age. There was also a very nervous-looking teenage boy with his mom. I busied myself with my phone until Liz reappeared at the door and waved me in.

"Let's get your vitals," she said, gesturing toward the scale. I weighed in while she talked.

"I don't know if I mentioned this last time, but you're different from most of our patients," she narrated, taking my blood pressure. "They tend to be older, like those guys in the waiting room, or babies and young boys who come in to get circumcised."

I swallowed hard. She continued.

"I try to comfort the boys, because they know they're about to see their foreskins for the last time. They're so afraid sometimes, their little testicles pull all the way up inside."

"Glad I'm not in line for that."

"Ah," she said, taking my pulse, "Well, I would help you out, too, if that's the case. It's not easy for a man to lie down on the table, knowing his foreskin is about to be touched for the last time by a girl who's about to cut it off. The needle is the last thing he feels before we start snipping."

At that, I felt my own testes climb a bit.

"So, you're one of just a few guys your age that we see who hasn't been circumcised yet. I'm sure the doctor will be glad to help you."

Liz showed me to an exam room, with its customary exam table and paper gown.

"I'll be back," she said, "and it may be a little while. I'm helping to circumcise the boy you saw in the waiting room." And with that, she waved gaily and closed the door.

Knowing that Liz would return fresh from cutting off someone else's prepuce didn't take the edge off my nervousness. I changed into the gown and took a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. My phone ran out of battery just then, so I browsed the magazine selection.

Liz returned, and as I took my seat on the table, she beamed and handed me her tablet.

"Here's the consent form for your circumcision."

I looked at the screen, then at her.

"I didn't ask for a circumcision today."

"I know," she chirped, "but I thought you'd like to sign the form now in case you change your mind after we've examined your penis. See? You can sign here with your finger, like a pen."

I handed the tablet back to her.

"I'll let you know if I want to do that."

"Oh, okay," she said, turning away, "It's just easier for us, you know, so we don't have to take our gloves off and wash up again after we handle the tablet. I'll put it here on the counter for when you're ready."

She gestured toward the opening in the robe.

"Okay, lie back so I can examine your penis."

I slowly reclined onto the table, which had footrests built into the sides. Liz gestured and I braced my feet in the stirrups. She leaned over me, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"Yep, there's that king-sized foreskin," she said, reaching to adjust an overhead lamp to light up my genitals, "and like I said, an unusual sight, as we mostly see circumcised penises here."

She took my sheathed glans in her fingers and turned it side-to-side.

"No doubt, the largest foreskin to enter this office in a while. So, tell me what's been going on since our last appointment?" she asked, pinching my acroposthion and tugging my penis out to its full length.

"The foreskin is opening fully, now, as it was last time," I stammered, trying to ignore the obvious effect that her tugging had on the nerves in my pelvis, "but those fibers, the synechia, are still there and they hurt when they're touched."

Liz looked right into my eyes, slowly rolled my foreskin open, and lightly dragged her finger over the glans.

"Like that?"

My hips twitched involuntarily and I caught my breath. Her touch felt like sandpaper on a sunburn.

"Yes."

"So, when you masturbate," she motioned in the air with her other hand, "do you keep your foreskin on the glans?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. That's how most uncircumcised guys masturbate. They learn a different way after I've circumcised them. I could teach you how."

Liz looked closely at my exposed glans.

"After circumcision, the glans develops a toughened layer in a process called keratinization," she said, again turning my penis slowly, "and once that happens, the hypersensitivity goes away.

"So then you'd masturbate by just pulling the remaining skin up and down," she tugged the body of my penis to illustrate, "or you would apply lubricant and rub the glans and body."

"Okay," I whispered, sensing the start of a full-on erection, "but is the doctor going to have a look for herself?"

"Sure," Liz smiled and leaned her chin on her hand, "I'm just getting you ready for her exam. I'll brief her on what I've seen, and what you've told me."

With that, Liz dropped my penis onto my abdomen, peeled off her gloves, and left the room.

My half-erection subsided as I imagined Liz talking with the doctor about Liz's plans to slice off my foreskin. I tugged the skin closed in a halfhearted effort to further reduce the glans' swelling. Just as I did, a knock at the door preceded the entry of Dr. McGinnis and, of course, Liz, right behind her.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you," Dr. McGinnis announced, offering her hand in a gesture I don't see as necessary, but I took it. She picked up the tablet and paged through it as she spoke.

"So Liz tells me your foreskin has finally become retractable, but you're having some problems with sensitivity?" she looked over her small eyeglasses at me.

"That's correct," I said. Then I noticed Liz uncovering a tray of gleaming instruments. She glanced up at me and bobbed her eyebrows.

"That's not terribly unusual for late-resolving phimosis," the doctor said, "let's have a look."

Dr. McGinnis set the tablet down and began washing her hands. Liz continued arranging the instruments. She held up a scalpel, looked at me, then removed its protective cover and turned the blade so it caught the light.

With gloves in place, Dr. McGinnis leaned over me and lifted my penis with one hand, retracting the foreskin with the other. She had the touch of an expert.

"It looks like the steroid cream has helped your stretching along," she said, tugging the open foreskin to expose the fine veins below the corona, "and I see what's causing the hypersensitivity. These synechia fibers look well-embedded. Probably a consequence of the phimosis lasting so long."

Dr. McGinnis offered me a warm smile.

"We can resolve this one of two ways," she said, "by extracting the fibers here and now – with a surface anesthetic for comfort – or by letting them dissolve by themselves over time. Which would you prefer?"

"Doctor," Liz interrupted, "wouldn't a circumcision accelerate the fibers' deterioration?"

"Yes," Dr. McGinnis said, "but I don't know that our patient is interested in a circumcision today. Are you?"

I shook my head.

"I didn't expect you would be," she said. "Few young men are.

"You have a fully developed foreskin here. See the arteries and the pronounced ridges?" she turned the body of my penis. "There would be a lot of healing after a circumcision, and since you're used to your foreskin being there, you'd have to adjust to its absence."

Liz spoke up again.

"I just think if we circumcised him now, it would solve the hypersensitivity problem and he would get used to the lower level of sensitivity quickly."

"Well, sweetie," Dr. McGinnis said, "We should respect the patient's wishes and help him solve the problem with more conservative measures."

The term "sweetie" struck me as odd. And then, staring straight at Dr. McGinnis' hands (which were still occupied with my penis), I recognized a large freckle. Hers were the same arms I had seen on "The Circumcision Channel"!

"Doctor," I said, clearing my throat, "have you and Liz been working together long?"

Liz shot me a wide-eyed look. Dr. McGinnis smiled demurely.

"Did Liz not tell you she's my daughter?"

Liz's eyes narrowed as she took in my expression of shock.

"Ah, no," I stammered. "I assumed..."

"Liz is studying to be a nurse practitioner," Dr. McGinnis said, "so she helps here with appointments, vitals, patient prep. Makes this office a kind of a 'family business,' if you will."

My mind raced through my previous "appointments," and the fact that I hadn't been billed for either of them. In fact, Liz had deliberately scheduled me at the end of the business day, when her mother and the rest of the staff wouldn't be around! Then....

Liz locked eyes with me and her lips parted slightly. I flashed back to the two occasions when her words and touch had caused me to ejaculate right into her hands. One corner of her lips rose slightly as she seemed to recall the same thing.

"Liz," Dr. McGinnis said, interrupting our reverie, "please prep for an extraction."

The doctor addressed me.

"This will take about 10 minutes once the anesthetic sets in. You'll hardly feel it at all."

With that, Dr. McGinnis peeled off her gloves and left the room. That left Liz in charge, and she had that look I'd seen before.

Without a word, Liz picked up a tube of cream and squeezed a dab onto her thumb. She spread it slightly among her fingers, then held eye contact with me, breaking it only for a second to reach for my exposed glans.

Liz straddled a stool, rested her elbows on me, and began gently rubbing the cream into my glans. My erection commenced immediately, aided by her eyes locked with mine and her slight smile. As my erection intensified, Liz reduced her touch to just one finger, rolling it around the edges of my pulsing glans. I felt a strange combination of numbness and tension. Liz tapped the meatus, then swiveled away to retrieve a pair of forceps and the scalpel.

"See," she cooed, "we could solve all your problems in a couple of minutes with this," and she traced a circle around my foreskin with the forceps.

"This would be the biggest foreskin I ever took off a man," she said. "If I unrolled the layers and stretched it out, it would be the size of an index card."

She drew a rectangle in the air. Then she locked eyes with me again.

"Not like those little-boy foreskins we get so many of. If we were fishing, we'd toss those back. But yours, we'd keep," she said, toying with the collar of flesh under my glans.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather let me circumcise you?" Liz whispered. "Once you're healed, I'll teach you how to masturbate with your newly skinned penis."

With that, my scrotum contracted and a pulse of pre-ejaculate spilled out onto my belly. Liz looked down at it, then back at me.

"I'd circumcise you so tight you'd never forget it."

"Liz, you're terrible," I said, feeling a grin creep across my own face.

"Oh?" she feigned surprise, "How so?"

"That's you holding the camera for all those circumcisions on YouTube, isn't it?"

If Liz were capable of blushing, she would have.

"Mom says I have a flair for cinematography," she said, returning her gaze to my plum-sized, pulsing glans as she fondled it, "and this full-sized penis would make an excellent subject. Then you could watch me circumcise you over and over again online."

"I don't want you to circumcise me, Liz."

"Oh, I think that deep down," she traced her fingers along my firm shaft, across my scrotum, and down to my penile bulb, squeezing it gently, "you do."

The base of my penis contracted, forcing another dollop of pre-ejaculate out onto my belly. A clear string connected it to my swollen meatus.

"I better tidy you up for your procedure," Liz whispered, reaching to the tray of instruments for a surgical sponge. She dabbed at the drop of fluid on my stomach, then grasped the body of my penis and held it while she aggressively rubbed my glans clean.

"You didn't feel that, did you?" she queried, and I realized I had not. My glans was completely numb to the touch.

"See, if I circumcise you now, you won't feel it at all," she said, "and you can lie there watching us cut away your foreskin, snip by snip, until it's completely gone, and you'll have a tightly shorn, deskinned penis to take home and enjoy—after the incision heals."

She looked again at the full erection in her hand.

"Now, I don't think we've ever circumcised a fully erect penis like this," she cooed. "I'll just make sure that's not a problem for the doctor when she returns."

Liz began sliding my foreskin gently up and down the shaft. To my surprise, it seemed unable to move over the corona. The erection Liz had brought on was so intense, my glans had grown too large for the preputial ring to clear. She continued the short strokes, but much more slowly than I wanted.

"This will be one of your masturbation options after we take your foreskin off," she said, "tugging your remaining shaft skin up and down, up and down, never touching the glans even though it's wanting to be touched so badly."

"I feel that," I said, involuntarily sliding downward on the table in hopes Liz's pull would force my foreskin onto the glans.

"No, no, no," Liz admonished, adjusting her strokes. "This is part of helping you get ready for your circumcision, and for how your penis will feel afterward. Are you ready to say goodbye to your foreskin?"

With that, the biggest ejaculation of my life rippled forth, spilling hot semen onto my chest, abdomen, and all over Liz's hand. A chlorine smell filled the air.

Liz slowed her stroking as the pulses turned clear. She glanced up at me and took a cloth from the tray, mopping up the puddles of ejaculate before peeling her gloves off and dropping them, and the cloth, into the trash.

"The doctor will be coming soon," Liz said, stepping back into the hallway.

I continued gasping for breath as the last of my erection subsided. Liz's ministrations had charged up my testicles so much that even this massive ejaculation didn't seem to have relieved all the pressure.

In a few minutes, Dr. McGinnis re-entered the room, again followed by Liz.

"Okay, are you ready for us to start?" the doctor asked me, reaching for a pair of gloves. She took a seat and slipped on a pair of magnifying glasses, then a nose mask. Then she gently pinched my glans. "Feel that?"

I shook my head.

"Doctor," Liz interrupted, "since his penis is already partially anesthetized, should we ask if he's interested in a circumcision?"

"No, Liz," the doctor admonished, "I think our patient has made his intentions clear." She reached for a pair of tweezers and focused her attention on my numb, still-reddened glans.

While Dr. McGinnis concentrated on extracting the fibers, behind her, Liz kept her eyes on mine, breaking her gaze occasionally to pick up the scalpel or forceps and examine them. When she held up the suturing needle for me to see, she bit her lower lip.

"If you feel any discomfort, let me know," Dr. McGinnis said, peeling the fibers away from the surface of my glans and wiping them off onto a gauze pad. Although I couldn't feel the tweezing, the sight of this woman manipulating my penis – and the feel of her tugging at it -- stirred something below my scrotum. I started to hold my breath, hoping another erection would not begin, but I had no control. The way Liz's eyes kept going from mine to my penis didn't help my state of mind. This mother-and-daughter team ministering to my penis stripped away any sense of control I may have had.

As the body of my penis filled, it grew, stiffened, and rose off my abdomen. Liz raised an eyebrow at me and shook her head, smiling. I froze, unable to say anything about what all three of us knew was happening. Of course, Liz was the first to break the silence.

"Need any assistance?"

"Um, yes," Dr. McGinnis said, clearly off-guard despite years of experience. "Press down here and hold while I remove the rest of the fibers."

Liz looked at me sidelong as she eased onto a rolling stool and took my pulsing penis in her hands.

"Doctor, we don't see many uncircumcised men his age here, do we?"

"No," Dr. McGinnis said, resuming her close-up procedure.

"Mostly they come in to get circumcised, right?"

"Some do," Dr. McGinnis said, "Liz, rotate his glans toward you so I can reach the anterior portion."

Liz slowly turned my thickened shaft until it would not go any farther. Then she pushed a little more, making me twitch. A dribble of pre-ejaculate seeped out of my meatus.

"Get that," Dr. McGinnis said. Liz dutifully wiped the fluid away with a surgical sponge. She paused to eye the wet cloth and trade a glance with me. Another pulse spilled out.

"We'll be done in a moment," Dr. McGinnis said. "Just a few more of these fibers to remove."

With four female hands ministering to my erection, I stood no chance of convincing it to go down. Liz alternated looking at me and at my glans, which continued to dribble seminal fluid. She went through half a dozen sponges as Dr. McGinnis extracted the last of the synechia. Then the doctor placed her instruments on the tray, removed her magnifying goggles, and gave me a consoling smile.

"I hope you're not embarrassed by this natural response to touch," she said, glancing down at my bobbing erection. "It actually helped me locate a couple of fibers that weren't easy to see.
"All you'll need to do at this point is keep your glans and inner foreskin moisturized so the raw surfaces don't adhere," she said, "and don't wash or rinse under the foreskin for at least three days. The membranes cleanse themselves and will generate a layer of protective tissue. You don't want to disturb that."

She turned her attention to Liz.

"Will you locate some aloe gel so he can be on his way?"

Liz nodded obediently, then smirked as soon as Dr. McGinnis turned to leave the room.

We both stared at my penis, standing like a cactus in the desert, except cacti don't pulse with a heartbeat. Liz gave me a squint, then rose and opened one of the cabinets. She produced a foil packet labeled "Pure Aloe Vera."

"This," she said, pausing every few words for effect, "is what you'll spread over your glans and inner foreskin to protect against adhesions. I'll show you how to do it."

With that, she peeled the end off the packet and squeezed its contents onto her right palm.

"Just rub it all over the surfaces like this," she whispered.

As Liz grasped my penis and began sliding her lubricated hand along its length, I felt my testicles rise. Although they had given up a load half an hour ago, Liz and her mother had commissioned another. My pre-ejaculate streamed out, mingling with the plant-based gel covering Liz's fingers and thinning it slightly. Liz's hand slid a little more easily along the skin.

With her other hand, Liz cupped and fondled my scrotum. My legs began to shake. Liz pressed two fingers on either side of my penile bulb and massaged the skin gently. Her grip tightened on my shaft and my foreskin began to snap over the glans with each stroke. I couldn't breathe. My erection felt as though it would burst just before streams of hot semen spurted rhythmically from it onto my chest, belly, and over my shoulder.

Liz slowed her stroking and focused on my testicles. She tugged at them one at a time, which eased the tension in a way that made my eyelids flutter. The last of my ejaculate pooled just below my navel. Liz slowly shook her head.

"Well, once again, you've gotten yourself all excited about a woman taking sharp instruments to your penis," she sighed, looking over at the tray of gleaming tools. "Someday maybe you'll see this through to the finish, and I'll have the biggest 'skin ever to show for it."

She took my prepuce between her thumb and forefinger, stretched it out taut, leaned close to me, and whispered.

"It's time you admit that I want your foreskin more than you do."

Then she dropped my flagging erection and turned to wash her hands.

"Towels are on the countertop," she said, over her shoulder, "and don't miss what went over your shoulder. Pretty sure I saw a couple of bursts go that way."

Liz dried her hands and tossed the damp cloth at me.

"Keep that glans moist, OK?"

"OK," I said, hoarsely, still catching up with my breathing.

"Let me know how it goes in six weeks," she said, and closed the door.