“You’re the first uncircumcised guy I’ve been with,” Rose said one evening — apparently from nowhere — when we were lying in bed after sex. We had been going out for over a month by then and it had been the most exciting start to a relationship I had ever experienced. From the moment we were introduced by a mutual friend at a party, and we discovered how much we had in common — right down to a similarly skewed sense of humour — we were inseparable. After we started sleeping together — in the first week we were introduced, after meeting up for a drink one evening a few days after the party — we would regularly stay up until the early hours having wild sex, cuddling and laughing. On nights I saw Rose I was always exhausted in work the next day.
The unprompted comment about my penis caught me off balance. Rose is a Catholic girl from the west of England, and my parents are non-practising Christians from London. Circumcision was never something I had thought much about. Until I met Rose.
“You’re only just noticing I’m uncircumcised?” I asked her, though I didn’t really know what to say.
“No, I noticed it early on. I just didn’t want to say anything in case you thought I was obsessed!”
“With my penis? You can be obsessed with that,” I laughed.
I was curious how a 27-year-old woman had never been with an uncircumcised man before me. She told me that she had been a late bloomer in relationships, which was a surprise to me because she was so beautiful — with her bobbed dark hair, and bright green eyes flashing mischief when she smiled or made a sly comment, which was often. She was resting her head on my chest, looking up at me while she told me the story. Her pale body — slim, except for the swell of her hips — curled up against mine, one petite leg hooked over my lower body so I could feel her soft, dark pubic hair nestle against my hip. She told me her first boyfriend had been circumcised when he was a child, apparently for some medical issue. He never knew any different, and so neither did she. They were together for 6 years, from early on at university until some years afterwards. After they broke up she dated another man for several months, American she said. He too was circumcised.
“I never thought much about it because I had never seen anything else,” she said, lifting her head slightly to look up at me.
“You didn’t know it wasn’t normal?” I asked.
“I didn’t think much of it. I mean, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind I would probably find a guy who was different at some point. But I never even saw a penis really until my first boyfriend!”
“What a good little Catholic girl you were,” I grinned at her, reaching over to give her pert bum a light, playful slap. “What happened?”
She laughed and then lightly hit my chest in mock outrage. “Does it bother you that mine is uncircumcised?” I asked her.
She thought for a moment before speaking. “No,” she said. “It’s just a little different, that’s all.”
“You don’t have a preference?”
“Hmm, I don’t think so. Girls care less about you boys’ penises than you like to think,” she said, arching her eyebrows in that cute, faux-withering way of hers. Her face softened and she settled her head back onto my chest. “But I like yours. That’s the most important thing. I like all of you.”
Rose pulled away from me and propped herself up a little on her elbow so she could run her eyes up and down my naked body. From that angle I could fully take in how her pale body curved, cinched in the middle before swelling out at her hips, and finally tapered from her thighs down to her slim ankles. Her plump little breasts bounced lightly as she readjusted her body. Was it my imagination or could I see her nipples getting hard as she started to run the open palm of her free hand from my cheek, down my neck, and over my chest? She lightly brushed my hardening cock as her hand continued down my thighs, lingering on the thin, whiter streak of skin that curved from the lower inside part of my thigh down to my shin.
“That’s a scar I have from a biking accident,” I told her. “I was mountain biking in Scotland when I came off and got a pretty deep gash from the impact.” She traced its bumpy edge absent-mindedly with her forefinger. “It’s pretty ugly,” I added.
“I think its pretty cool,” she said, still focused on my leg. “There’s something sexy about scars.”
For those first few months our relationship was intoxicating. It was like no honeymoon period I had ever experienced before. I was 29 and had had two serious relationships, but being with Rose was a rush beyond either of them, or anything else at all in fact. And I could see in her eyes that she was feeling exactly the same way about me. She exuded an energy and passion towards me, which in turn fed my passion for her. Just looking into each other’s eyes was electrifying for me, and I could see for her too.
For a former inexperienced Catholic schoolgirl she was surprisingly uninhibited and in touch with her erotic side. Rose delighted in teasing me, in and out of the bedroom. Collecting expensive lingerie was a favourite hobby of hers, and it bordered on obsession. Each time she bought a new set — whether classy, lacy French underwear or a barely-there electric pink bra-and-thong pairing— she had to model it for me. I was happy to indulge her. When we were out and dressed up nicely she delighted in pressing herself against me so I could feel her garter belt through her dress, or she would whisper in my ear that to avoid showing a panty line she had dispensed with underwear altogether. After almost every night out we would end up back at hers or mine, locked together in passion. Sometimes we didn’t make it to the bedroom. Late at night once we were almost caught grinding into each other, braced against the front door of her apartment, by her neighbour coming up the stairs.
We devoured each other’s bodies for those first months. Even after the fire started to burn lower, she or I would suggest new things to explore in our sex life. Something she was particularly fond of was role play. We had lots of different scenarios to play out on the evenings when we felt like something different. I would be the masseuse and she the spoilt rich-girl client, or she would be my maid and seduce me while my ‘wife’ was away for the weekend. One of her favourite ways to play was to pretend we were friends, but not lovers. She would come in to see me in my room and catch me masturbating to photos of her on my computer and have to confront me about it. When pressed she would admit she was turned on by what she saw. I spent a lot of time masturbating for her like this. Sometimes she would wait for a long time before revealing to me that she was watching. I loved the thought of her eyes on me as I stroked my hard cock to her photos, pretending like I didn’t know she was there. The sex after those games was always incredible.
She didn’t bring up circumcision again during those early months. I never really thought about it again either during that time. Before we had that first conversation about her two exes we had already gotten used to each other’s bodies and figured out what the other liked. She was a quick learner and had quickly adjusted her mouth technique to what I liked during blowjobs. At first she was really too rough for me, and I had to ask her to not use so much suction. It didn’t occur to me until much later that she must have developed this technique to please her first two boyfriends, who presumably had penises that needed rougher stimulation than mine. She didn’t take much instruction for her hand technique, however. My foreskin was long enough so that it covered only about half of my head when hard, and — after I turned down her offer of lube — she seemed to figure out quickly enough to work the skin over the head of my cock.
Our sexual relationship was so intense, and we were both so consumed with desire for each other, that we would spend a lot of time talking about sex even when we weren’t having it. If we were apart for a few days we would have to satisfy ourselves with long sexting conversations, sometimes replaying our favourite role play scenarios. I don’t know how many times I narrated the scene of her clandestinely catching me wanking myself to her Facebook photos via text message, while she was on a coffee break at work or making herself come with her fingers alone in a bed in another part of the country.
When we were together, too, we would often discuss fantasies or just talk about sex. Rose was always asking me what things turned me on, what she did that I liked, what I liked about her body and much else besides. I was equally fascinated and excited to hear her answers to those questions. I discovered from this that she quite liked power play in sex, both being dominant and being submissive. She also enjoyed ‘just the right amount’ of pain: light slaps to her face, spanking, hard twisting of her nipples. She grilled me on what sorts of porn I watched. In turn, I found out that she had never really gotten off to porn; she preferred to use her imagination.
“What’s your favourite part of a man’s body?” I asked her once. She was lying against me under the covers, naked except for a red silk thong.
“Oh I can’t pick just one part,” she said.
“This isn’t binding!” I laughed.
“Well, if I had to pick… Nice, broad shoulders are very sexy. And sharp cheekbones. Warm eyes… with depth to them. And hands — big hands. Strong hands make you think of what they can do to you. Especially if a guy is bigger, physically, than a girl. That’s a turn on.” Her dainty hand found mine and we interlaced our fingers. “For me — I don’t think this is true of every girl, but you know where my mind goes — I like a guy’s dick.”
I’m sure she could feel it as my penis stiffened, resting as it was against her soft belly.
“What about it do you like?” I asked.
“It depends. The thought of what it can do is always on your mind. It’s pretty amazing how it changes when you get turned on, too, how it goes from small and soft to big and hard. Just like yours is doing right now!” Her searching hand encircled my growing erection. “Yours gets so fat when it’s hard. It’s impossible not to think of how good that feels in my cunt.” She didn’t often say words like ‘cunt’ even when we were deep in a role play. I could tell she was getting very turned on.
“It’s sexy when you talk dirty,” I said. “You should do it more often.”
“I should. I will,” she said in a sultry voice. Her silky hand slowly pulled down on my fully hard cock until the head was completely exposed. “They look sexy too, dicks.” My heart was beating more quickly.
“Mmmm and what do you like about how they look?” I asked.
“The thickness, how hard they get — like I said. The head is the nicest part, though.” She gave my cock a soft kiss, and slipped her moist, plump lips over the tip until the rim of my head was inside her hot, wet mouth. I groaned and lay back as she sensuously sucked me. She kept one hand at the base of my shaft gently fondling my balls. When I looked down at her gamine features, framed by the sleek, dark bob of hair, I saw her eyes were closed in concentration. She looked to be lost in her own world, enjoying having me in her mouth even more than I was.
I stroked Rose’s head and cupped one of her silky breasts, toying with the nipple and eliciting a low moan from her. I was grinding my pelvis so that my cock would go deeper into her mouth. She gently twisted the shaft with her hand and sped up her mouth action. It felt so good, in only a few seconds after that I could feel a deep orgasm building. My body tightened and my cock exploded into her mouth as she lapped it all up. Rose smiled serenely as she pulled her face away from my cock to come up for a kiss.
“You have a lovely cock, and a lovely head too,” she said.
Rose was insatiable, and I loved it. But after a few months of great, regular sex I noticed that sometimes my penis would get too sore to go at it for a third time in a night. If Rose wanted more and I couldn’t provide it I was happy to go down on her and make her come with my tongue, but she admitted always preferring full sex. She might try and reciprocate my efforts by licking and stroking my cock, but if it was too sore for sex it was often too sore for anything else.
I didn’t think too much of it. It seemed natural to me that after one or two long lovemaking sessions every few days that a delicate place like that would need time to recover. It had always been that way with me, and no girl — not even the most insatiable — had ever complained. It never occurred to me that it might have been a problem not being able to deliver.
My discomfort was mainly on my foreskin, which would get red and irritated with too much friction. But I also noticed the frenulum sometimes stung a bit after a hard fuck too. At the time I didn’t think too deeply about this, but in hindsight I realise the frenulum was somewhat short and tight. Sometimes when Rose was wanking me by pumping my foreskin over the head she would be too enthusiastic on the downstroke and it would sting a little. The same was true when she would give me blowjobs. She noticeably slowed down after having pulled back too hard on the foreskin. I must have been wincing.
Rose told me she was concerned. She obviously didn’t like to hurt me, and was worried that sex was going to do me real damage some day. I noticed she now seemed distracted when we would have sex in ways she never used to be. Clearly she was preoccupied with not hurting me, even when I was sure she couldn’t possibly — and it was affecting our sex life. The carefree early days seemed to have run their course. Nevertheless, outside of sex our relationship was still strong. After only 5 months of dating we moved into a flat together and started to plan for a serious future.
Not long after that, one weekend I was sitting in the living room reading when Rose came in looking nervous. Her usually bright features were darkened with worry. I knew this look. It always prefaced a serious conversation. I thought it strange that, even though she was so free of hang-ups in the bedroom, she nevertheless found it difficult to be open and honest about everyday relationship issues.
“I’ve been doing some reading,” she began, haltingly. “About penises.” I had to laugh at the juxtaposition.
“No, this is serious,” she said, not smiling. I put the book down and became solemn, listening. “I feel bad saying this, but I’ve not been… I’ve been a little…” She composed herself. “I think our sex life has dipped a bit and it — it’s making me a little unhappy. Quite unhappy. It’s difficult to talk about. We have so much chemistry, but I’m not feeling as satisfied as I used to. I think it’s because sometimes you… are too sore to keep going. This hasn’t ever happened to me before.”
I wasn’t all that surprised to hear this. “I know. It’s not ideal for me either,” I said. She sat down next to me. I put an arm around her. “But we have been having so much sex I think it’s not so strange. Don’t you ever get sore?”
She looked down. “Yes, of course. But I think what’s going on with you is… more than that.”
“You think so? It seems normal to me — it’s been like this with my other partners too, when we were, uh, doing it this often.” She was still looking down.
“I’m not sure. It’s just a bit different from my experience. With my ex and everything.” She said, quietly, embarrassed. “I’m not comparing. You’re great.”
“Oh, OK,” I said, awkwardly but trying to hide it. I wanted to move on from the topic of her exes. “What’s this you’ve been doing about reading, then?”
“Well, I asked google about the foreskin irritation, and the tightness in the — it’s called a frenulum, I found out,” she said, looking at me. “It doesn’t seem like what’s happening is normal, necessarily. And I thought maybe you just don’t realise it, you know, because you’ve always been this way.”
I looked at her, puzzled.
“And I had a thought,” she said. “Remember how I said both my exes were circumcised? Well, the medical pages I looked at online all seemed to come back to that same thing.”
“You mean circumcision?” I asked, a little confused.
“But, that’s for men who can’t even have sex or masturbate without problems,” I said. “Unless you’re doing it as part of your religion it’s only to solve real medical issues.”
“Well, doesn’t this feel like one of those? Aren’t you having problems, discomfort, with sex?”
When she put it that way I admitted she might have a point.
“I just want our sex life — our lives together — to be as good as it can be,” Rose said, leaning in to me and placing a hand on my cheek. “And I know you would like to not have to worry about pain during sex, wouldn’t you?”
“It is frustrating,” I admitted. “But I don’t know. Circumcision seems very extreme as a solution — if it’s even a problem in the first place.”
“I’m not saying you have to do it. I just wanted to tell you what I read. And I put that together with my experiences of guys before you.”
“With circumcised guys.”
“Well,” she considered for a moment. “They could just… keep going. They never had any pain, and we had as much sex or even more than we’ve been having.” She fixed her brilliant green eyes on mine and I saw a brief twinkle of mischief. “And I want to be having that much sex with you. Only with you.” I could feel the flicker of an erection as she looked at me like that.
“It’s difficult to say no when you talk like that,” I said, grabbing her hand.
“I’m not asking — yet,” Rose said. “Just do some reading and then we’ll discuss it.”
The next week Rose was scheduled to go out of town for a business trip. It would be the ideal time to research and think, she said. So I did.
Google confirmed what she said. The problems I was having did suggest both some unnatural irritation of the foreskin and possibly that my frenulum was too short. And circumcision was sometimes recommended as a treatment. Though it did seem like my problems were significantly less severe than the cases I read about online. While I sincerely wanted to please Rose, and to have a perfect sex life with her, I felt quite strongly that I didn’t want part of my penis cut off in order to do that.
Nevertheless, I looked up local clinics that could perform the surgery, how much it would cost, what the pain and recovery might be like, and other basic facts. It did sound painful. The before and after photos on the medical website were quite interesting though. There was something fascinating about the look of a circumcised penis, especially when it was soft and the head was still visible.
My internet search also took me to testimonials of men who had been circumcised as adults. They described the relief and pleasure around being able to have sex with their wives and girlfriends without pain or worry. That definitely sounded appealing.
Rose returned on Friday evening and I cooked her dinner at the flat to celebrate. That five days was the longest spell apart for us since we started going out. We both dressed up nicely for the occasion. She was wearing an elegant green, halter neck cocktail dress with a plunging back, tantalisingly exposing her from her shoulders to the small of her back. We ate and drank wine, laughing and flirting all night just like a great first date all over again.
After dinner she took the plates to the kitchen. When she came back we sat closely together on the sofa, her legs draped over mine.
“I’ve been meaning to ask how your research project went,” Rose said.
“I looked it up, and thought about it. Like you asked.”
“What did you learn?”
“Seems like you were right, more or less,” I told her. “It could be something that could help.”
She sat up, suddenly more alert. “OK. And so, are you thinking it might be an option?”
“I think it might be. It still seems very invasive though,” I confessed.
“It’s a big deal, of course. But if it helps I think it might be good for us,” she said, rubbing my arm tenderly. “It’s not a minor thing, surgery like this. We should make sure if you’re going to do it — if we’re going to do it — then we do it right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing some research myself this week. A lot of research, actually,” she said. “It turns out there’s a lot more to circumcision than just cutting off a piece of skin.”
I laughed, a little nervously. “You make it sound like that’s no big deal!”
“No, it is of course. But you want to be sure you have a penis that is exactly how you want it. There are options, you know.”
“I don’t know, actually. What are you talking about?”
She leaned in closer to me and looked thoughtfully into middle distance. “Well, you know Jews do it, and Muslims do it. But they do it differently. And if you get circumcised you can pick the way it gets done. And you can pick how you want it to look in the end. You can pick how much skin they take off, and where they take it from, more or less.” She looked at me, grabbed my arm a little tighter. She had her mostly empty wine glass in the other hand, and I realised she had brought out a new bottle of red when she returned from putting dishes in the sink. “It’s quite interesting really. They can all look very different, different circumcised dicks.”
I just looked at her as she talked. “And after you get circumcised your dick starts to change. The head has to get used to being suddenly exposed all the time, rubbing on your underwear and everything. I read that all the rubbing makes it get dry and change texture, and it can even make it get bigger — especially at the rim, you know. They say it ‘flares out’ after it’s been exposed for a while. And the sensation for you must change completely. You focus much more attention on the head when you’re getting pleasure whereas before it was mainly on the skin.”
I rarely saw her this transfixed by something. “OK,” I said quietly. “What was it you said about how much skin they take off? That’s news to me.”
“Yes, well, they have these different styles they’re called, depending on how it gets done. You can have a lot of skin taken off, and then it’s called ‘tight’. Or you have less skin off and then it’s called ‘loose’. And depending on where they put the scar on your dick shaft it’s either ‘high’ or ‘low’. I think that also affects the feel, but I’d need to read more about it.”
“Sound like you’ve been reading plenty already,” I said. Rose seemed to grow more aware of herself all of a sudden.
“Oh yes,” she said with a little embarrassment. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. For you.”
“I’m not convinced it’s all for me,” I said softly. “Actually, I think you’re quite interested yourself.” She looked sheepish and blushed. “Are you getting turned on by all of this?” I asked.
She drew a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth. “I really am,” she confessed, avoiding my eyes. There was an awkward pause.
“Um. Actually, Seeing you get turned on by this is turning me on too,” I ventured. Rose turned her head towards me and a nervous little smile played across her rouged lips. She looked so beautiful just then. Her fine-boned face accented by just a hint of blush; the limpid green eyes strikingly embossed by dark mascara.
I placed my hand on her bare thigh and she started to yield to the arousal that had been becoming more clear to me as she was speaking. She put down the wine on the coffee table and leaned back, gracefully draping her legs over mine again. Her bare foot lightly probed the crotch of my trousers, where a powerful erection — borne of not seeing her for all that time — was building steadily. As I lightly brushed her milky inner thigh with my fingertips she bit her plump, rosy lower lip, and her eyes grew smokey with desire. My fingertips played along the inside of her thighs, which she parted expectantly as my hand approached the warm delta hidden behind her black lacy panties. Rose inhaled deeply as I placed my full palm on the lace gusset. I could feel her, moist and hot, barely contained by the silky material.
“Fuck, you’re soaking wet,” I said. She just nodded, biting her lip and devouring me with her eyes. Barely had I hooked one finger inside the flimsy black lace to brush against her wetness than she had sprung up and straddled me, holding my face with both hands while kissing me deeply. Even through her panties and my clothes I could feel how hot and wet she was. Rose stood and, without breaking eye contact, unbuttoned my trousers and slipped them and my underwear off. My hard cock sprang out, the tip glistening with precum. She reached down and slowly, deliberately exposed my cock head by pulling the foreskin down. “You have such a beautiful head, it’s a shame he hides away all the time. I want to see it. I always want to see it,” she purred. “You would look so, so sexy with a circumcised dick.”
With an elegant twist of her ample hips, Rose slipped her panties down. She pulled her dress over her head and her perky breasts bounced down. She straddled me again, lowering herself — now completely naked — down onto my throbbing cock, which she held in one hand at the base so that my foreskin was stretched and my head exposed. “I want to show you how it would feel to be a circumcised man, fucking my tight cunt,” she said as she teased the tip of my cock with her pussy lips. She kept her pussy waxed and bare except for a patch of dark pubic hair on her mons. She always felt silky and soft on my tongue, or my cock. Rose was so wet the clear, hot liquid had dribbled down onto her inner thigh, which was now connected to one delicate pink petal of her labia by a single glistening thread. She circled the opening to her vagina with my cock head. I was about to explode with desire for her.
“I need you to give it to me, I can’t take it,” I gasped. “Please fuck me.”
She smiled naughtily. “You want to feel what it would be like to fuck me with a circumcised cock?” she asked with a smug look on her face.
“More than anything,” I said, my fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her thigh.
She leaned in and I could feel her hot breath on my ear as she whispered: “Then tell me you want to be circumcised for me.”
“I want to be circumcised for you,” I said breathily. She bit her lower lip again, unable to conceal that filthy smile I loved so much. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the exquisite sensation of her hot pussy enveloping my bare cock head as she lowered herself down onto me. Rose wrapped both arms around the back of my head and started to grind herself into me, moaning in pleasure. I buried my face in her breasts, pushing them together with both hands and sucking on one of her hard nipples. It seemed like an eternity we were both grinding into each other so deeply, communicating only with the synchronised movements of our bodies. The world was soundless except for our moans of pleasure. We were lost in a pleasure that was broken only when her breathing quickened even further and I started to take control, grabbing her around her hips with both hands so I could force myself into her tight cunt even deeper and harder. She could tell I was close. The muscles of her pussy tightened, as did her arms around the back of my head. As I thrust into her more deeply and more quickly she ground herself into me with more urgency, desperation, until at last we both found our release at the same time. She moaned loudly and started to shake, digging her fingernails into me for support. I held her tightly around the waste as my cock exploded deep inside her pussy, urged on by the sudden tightening of her vagina as she came uncontrollably on me.
Slowly, we eased the grip we had on each other, pulled back a little and, panting, stared wordlessly — spent — into each other’s eyes.The look of amazement that sex could be so good that was etched on her face was what would fuel me — even in moments of doubt — to go through with the circumcision.