Alt Ending: “Are You Going to Circumcise Me?”

At the request of /u/heartcycle, I wrote an alternate ending to "Are You Going to Circumcise Me?".

It picks up just after the guy (Marcus) asks the military doctor (Dr. Harris) if she's going to circumcise him.

(Note: I have nothing against redheads. Adore them, in fact. It was just easy to identify this one character by her hair, as Marcus didn't know her name.)

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“Doctor, are you going to circumcise me?”

She looked at me blankly.

“Of course. Your parents didn’t, so we have to.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Well, the military doesn’t want your foreskin.”

“Why not?”

“Regulations,” she said with a sigh, poking at her tablet, “Probably to do with hygiene and disease prevention.”

“I’ve never heard of such a rule.”

She set her tablet down and looked at me.

“It’s standard procedure, Marcus. I can’t send an uncircumcised recruit to boot camp, and I’m not going to disqualify you for having that foreskin,” she gestured toward my penis. “We can have it off in just a few minutes.”

My eyes darted to the tray, then back to her.

“It is my specific wish not to be circumcised today.”

She blinked twice.

“Marcus, are you resisting?”

I thought about the MP I saw in the other room, and remembered what Betty had said about running naked back to town. My prospects weren’t good no matter what happened.

“I want to know who I can speak to about this.”

Dr. Harris stood and walked to the door.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and she left the room.

I looked around instinctively, as if for a weapon, while my rational mind ran through my limited options. Surely there had to be some recourse for me. An appeal, a higher officer, an official complaint. Anything but lying here while this doctor cut my foreskin off.

The door opened and the MP entered, followed by another, taller MP. They locked eyes with me and stood to block the door as it closed.

“Marcos,” the shorter one spoke with an accent, “this will be okay. We’re just here to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. I want to know what’s being done to get me out of here in one piece.”

The same MP nodded.

“I understand. You know, we are from Brazil,” she said, nodding toward her compatriot, “They no circoncise there. Would be better for guys like you in our army.”

The taller one started to smile, then squelched it.

“Can I see?” the short one asked.

“See what?” I asked, unsure I had heard her correctly.

“Your prepucio,” she said, gesturing with her eyes, “All the girls are talking about it.”

It was then that I realized my hands were covering my genitals. I slowly removed them. Both women stepped closer, staring at my penis.

“Oh, es muy guapo,” the short one said, reaching out to touch my arm, “No wonder they all watching you. You got a girlfriend?”

I nodded, then felt a sting in my shoulder. I reached instinctively toward it, but the taller MP caught my wrist. Her other hand held a hypodermic needle, which she had just stuck me with.

“Doctor!” the other MP shouted, and I felt my neck and back weakening. I couldn’t speak, and began falling slowly backward.

“Catch him,” the short MP said, and her partner dropped the syringe and threw her arm around my back, lowering me gently onto the table. All I could do was stare at the ceiling while they wrapped Velcro restraints around my limp arms and thighs.

Doctor Harris re-entered the room.

“Well, you two are professionals!” she said, “We’ll have this done in a few minutes. You can go back to your post now.”

I couldn’t move my head to look at anything but the ceiling. Dr. Harris leaned into view.

“You’ve been given a muscle relaxant,” she said, “I wish we didn’t have to use it, but you were showing signs of resistance, and we can’t risk you hurting someone or yourself while we take this foreskin off.”

I heard the door open and several people enter. One was the assistant who’d drawn my blood. She put a blood-pressure cuff on my arm and pumped it up. I couldn’t tell much about the others in the room, but I felt my lower legs being raised onto an extension of the table. The assistant spoke.

“Doctor, he’s at 200 over 120.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Dr. Harris said, “Too much risk of cerebral hemhorrage in this position. Better boost him up, and cushion his neck to facilitate breathing.”

The assistant and another one raised my upper body, putting me in a reclined, almost seated position. They propped my head with pads so I faced straight ahead.

Now I could see the room was populated by four young women in addition the two assistants. I recognized the redhead immediately, and vaguely remembered the other three from the admissions room. The redhead smiled curtly. The others stared wide-eyed at me, then at my penis.

“Prep,” Dr. Harris said, and the assistants went to work.

The first one draped my mid-section with a large paper sheet. She cut a slit in the center with scissors and pulled my penis through it.

The second assistant uncapped a bottle of red-orange gel. She squeezed several streams of it onto my penis, then began rubbing it into the skin with gloved fingers.

Addressing me, Dr. Harris said, “These ladies have asked to observe your circumcision. Since they’re part of the medical corps, I see no problem with that. I’ll be narrating for educational purposes. Don’t forget inside the foreskin, dear.”

The assistant pulled my penis out straight, but seemed unsure how to get the foreskin open.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Dr. Harris said, and with her own gloved hands she roughly stripped my foreskin down to expose the glans. The dollop of pre-cum, which the first assistant had triggered earlier, spilled out onto the paper. The assistant appeared startled, then gingerly took my glans in her fingers and began rubbing the gel into my freshly exposed, inner foreskin. Once it was saturated, she wiped away the pre-cum with a surgical sponge.

“While smegma is said to have antibacterial properties,” Dr. Harris said to the girls, as the assistant rubbed the antiseptic into my glans, “It’s certainly not enough to protect against infection as the foreskin is cut away. So we ensure the inner and outer foreskin and glans are sterile before the procedure begins.”

I looked at each of the girls watching from behind Dr. Harris. They appeared transfixed on my penis as the assistant rolled it in different directions, working the gel into every fold. Then I noticed the redhead looking at me, smiling, with her arms folded. Only I could see her raise two fingers in a scissoring motion and mouth the words, “Circumcise you.”

Oblivious, Dr. Harris continued: “Now, the relaxant we’ve given the patient has rendered him unable to move, but he will remain conscious while we circumcise him. And the drug will also prevent him from getting an erection, which would complicate things.”

One of the girls started to snicker, then caught herself as the others looked her way.

“Marcus,” Dr. Harris said to me, “If the sight of blood upsets you, you can just close your eyes. You aren’t going to feel anything when we cut your foreskin off.”

With that, she stretched my penis slightly and stuck a needle in near the base. Something felt immediately hot, then numb. She withdrew the needle and reinserted it two more times, turning my penis to expose each side. The needle stung, but I couldn’t move.

An assistant rolled the tray of instruments closer, where I could see the empty vial of liquid. She capped the syringe and set it down. Dr. Harris looked over the tray.

“Gracie, do we not have a clamp?” she asked.

“No, Doctor. They’re on order.”

“We’ll have to circumcise him manually, then,” Dr. Harris sighed, selecting the scissors, then poking my penis with them, “Marcus, if you can feel that, blink twice.”

I stared at her, barely able to blink at all. Fortunately, I hadn’t felt a thing.

The redhead interrupted.

“Doctor, since the patient is unable to move, why use anesthetic at all?”

Dr. Harris sat for a moment, pondering the question.

“Well, it’s true that materials are in short supply, and this lidocaine would be very helpful in a combat zone,” she sighed, “But I think it’s the least we can do for our patient. It’s not his fault his parents failed to circumcise him.”

With that, she tugged my foreskin closed over the glans, and attached one pair of forceps on either side of the opening.

“Because this is a freehand circumcision, I’ll be cutting him slowly,” Dr. Harris said, repositioning the paper sheet slightly. All the girls, including the assistants, leaned closer. The redhead’s lips parted.

“First, we need to pull the foreskin taut so the scissors will cut evenly.”

Gracie took her cue and picked up one of the forceps, still clamped to my foreskin. The other assistant took the other pair, and they both pulled slightly, stretching my foreskin out to a V-shape.

“Now here’s where we start,” Dr. Harris said, opening the scissor blades and inserting one into my preputial opening.

I wanted to gasp, but had no control over my breathing. All I could do was stare as the scissors came together with a snip.

My foreskin split, exposing two bright red lines. Several drops of blood fell from the cut. Dr. Harris paused to re-open the scissors, then slid them in deeper so the lower blade grazed my glans. She closed the blades again with another snip.

“Since this patient’s penis is fully developed,” Dr. Harris said, “We can accurately estimate how much foreskin to cut off while leaving enough to cover the body of the penis.” She turned the scissors perpendicular. “And I’m going to estimate that point right … here.”

She snipped again, shearing my foreskin laterally about a half-inch. Another drop of blood appeared, then rolled off onto the paper.

“We cut around the body of the penis, which is where we get the word circumcise,” she explained, “meaning to cut in a circle.” She snipped another quarter inch, and Gracie raised her forceps, puting more foreskin in the scissors’ path.

I looked up briefly. The redhead appeared flushed, biting her lower lip. The other girls just stared as Dr. Harris continued.

“At the maternity hospitals, we collect the foreskins for medical contractors, who make healing tissue for burn victims,” Dr. Harris said, then after a final snip, she held up the strip of severed foreskin for all to see, “And this one will fetch a lot of money, as large as it is.”

She laid the skin on the tray. I swallowed hard. The redhead looked directly at me and mouthed, “You’re circumcised,” then slowly smiled.

As if in response, Dr. Harris said, “Now, if we’d been using a disposable circumcision clamp, we would keep the patient restrained while necrosis set in. Then the patient could wear the clamp while the incision healed. Eventually the clamp would come off with the foreskin inside. However, with a manual circumcision, we have to stitch the inner and outer layers together.”

Gracie took the scissors from Dr. Harris and handed her a threaded, curved needle. The doctor pinched the severed layers of skin and inserted the needle, tugging the thread through. I felt a pull below the anesthesia line.

The redhead cleared her throat.

“How many stitches for a circumcision, doctor?” she said, barely above a whisper.

“It depends on the penis size,” Dr. Harris said, pulling another stitch through and knotting it, “With this one, I’d guess about 16 until it’s all sewed up.”

“Will the stitches hurt if he gets an erection?” the redhead asked. No one could see her grin but me.

“Almost certainly,” Dr. Harris replied, “Which is why we recommend rest and pain medication for two weeks. If the base has anything.”

As she spoke, she continued to insert the needle, pull the thread, knot it, and hold it up for Gracie to cut the excess. My exposed glans, rocking with each movement of Dr. Harris’ and Gracie’s fingers, appeared to have dried in the open air. The redhead spoke again.

“Will the glans be less sensitive without the foreskin?”

“Yes,” Dr. Harris replied, “Dehydration of the surface will begin almost immediately, though it may take months for the patient to grow accustomed to having his glans fully exposed. The toughening process is called keratinization.”

Gracie clipped the final stitch and Dr. Harris let my bloody, denuded penis drop onto the paper. The dry antiseptic gave it a dull finish. Everyone except Dr. Harris stared at my newly shorn penis, whose surface veins now ended at the line of stitches. The doctor peeled off her gloves.

“Now, Gracie, if you’ll let your partner cleanse the surface, we can send the patient to recovery,” she said, then motioned to the tray, “Bring that with us.”

Gracie picked up my foreskin with forceps and laid it on a small, stainless dish. I watched her carry it out the door, behind Dr. Harris, and the door clicked shut behind them.

The assistant sprayed my penis with saline solution and began roughly wiping it with gauze. The girls looked at each other briefly but continued to watch as my penis bounced after each wipe. The knots in the stitches pulled threads out of the gauze, and the assistant had to stop after every few strokes to pick the little white bits away. The redhead made eye contact with me again and opened her mouth to speak.

“Marcus,” a loud voice said, “Can you hear me?”

I blinked repeatedly as my eyes tried to focus. All I saw in front of me were white ceiling tiles. Then I turned my head slightly to see Dr. Harris leaning over me with a worried expression.

“How do you feel?”

“Um,” I mumbled, “I’m tired. Tired and really cold.”

“Gracie, get a blanket,” Dr. Harris barked, and the assistant vanished out the door. Dr. Harris peered into my eyes and pulled the lids open, waving a small light. “Marcus, do you remember passing out?”

“No.”

“Do you have any history of losing consciousness?”

“No.”

“Well, you fell over just as you started to ask me a question,” she said, tapping the sides of my face, “Do you remember what it was?”

Suddenly I took a deep breath and sat up. I looked down over my naked body and spotted my foreskin, still in place, lying sleepily atop my scrotum.

“Marcus?” Dr. Harris leaned in to meet my eyes again.

“Doctor,” I managed to croak, “Doctor, are you going to circumcise me?”

She cocked her head quizzically.

“No,” she said, “It’s not required of recruits. But if you want a circumcision, we can do one for you.” She gestured toward the tray of gleaming instruments.

“I’ll pass,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. “Are we done yet?”

“No, I’m going to refer you to your base hospital for tests,” she said, “We need to understand why you passed out.” Just then Gracie returned with the blanket and spread it over my legs. She gestured, and I leaned back down on the table for her to cover my chest.

“I’m sending you on to boot camp with that caveat,” Dr. Harris continued, “Because otherwise you’re in excellent shape.”

“Okay.”

Gracie left the room.

“I want you to rest here for half an hour. I’ll be back after that to check on you one more time.” Dr. Harris turned, switched off the lights, and closed the door behind her.

I lay there in the dark, listening to myself breathe. My scrotum began to relax. My mind’s eye started to replay the sequence from when I was unconscious, but I cringed when I remembered the snipping.

I heard a sound from outside the room. The door handle turned, and someone opened the door very slowly. A female figure eased in, but I couldn’t make out who it was. She closed the door gently and made her way to my side.

“Marcus, are you awake?”

I recognized her voice immediately.

“Yes, Betty.”

“You made it! I’m so happy for you!”

“Me, too.”

We were both silent for a moment. Then I felt Betty’s hand on my arm.

“We have half an hour,” she whispered, “Can I give you a going away present?”

“Sure.” Then I felt her other hand move toward my penis.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/3gik7c/alt_ending_are_you_going_to_circumcise_me