Piercing the fraenum
I had been playing since 1973, on and off, with inserting thin wires in my urethra, and the thought came in 1980 to pierce the thin skin of the fraenum with a pin. The thought came back many times before I started to press gently a pin against the fraenum avoiding any too quick movement so as to allow the tissue to gently open to the pin without tear, pain or blood. I realised that the thin skin of the fraenum when pulled and stretched is almost devoid of sensations.
It took a long time for the pin to finally emerge through, at first a tiny point which ever so slowly enlarged enough for the pin to continue through. It had been exactly the way I wanted, so gently as not to cause any pain or tearing or blood. I was very happy with this hole that now could be re-entered many times with various pointed objects, and I enlarged it progressively until I could insert a pencil or a pen. I played with that for quite a while and liked wearing a ring inserted in the hole.
As a child my urogenital organs had been a source of much concern and shame: I was wetting my bed and my father, a medical doctor, tried many things to help me with that. First he had me circumcised as a toddler which singled me out of my brothers and made me feel inferior as my father was constantly making jokes about Jews and Arabs been "cut". Then, much later, he tried inserting catheters in my urethra to make urination painful so that I would wake up at night. I hated that, I felt terrified, I felt raped, not to say anything of the intense burning pain during urination. But nothing worked and I kept wetting my bed all the same.
My upbringing was strict and catholic with all the shame and guilt about touching yourself and anything to do with sexuality. I masturbated even before puberty when nothing would come except a delicious shiver. I had seen older boys at school showing their erect penis and playing with it underneath the school pulpits. I envied their ease and lack of shame as I was totally ridden by it.
When I was 12 or 13, around or just before the time of my puberty, I saw in a remote part of the outdoor gymnastic ground a boy sitting down against a wall and quietly and openly masturbating. There were not many people around, all at a distance, but it was in full view of surrounding buildings with windows. I could not believe it! So much tranquillity, so much shamelessness! I was completely flabbergasted! I kept looking at the scene mesmerised and so impressed that somebody could do such a thing. I certainly could not. The scene imprinted in my memory as the symbol of an impossible feat, the symbol of freedom, the symbol of a courage I did not have. I would have liked to be like that boy, without shame, without fear, and it took me more than 50 years to put pictures of my subincised penis on the worldwide web!
Sharing a bedroom with my older brother in adolescence I would masturbate secretly at night, making no noise, and kept delaying the crucial moment. I became good at anticipating the coming orgasm and, stopping everything, be so still that the spasm would be avoided. In this way I could continue for an hour or more before I would fall asleep or finally ejaculate. The pleasure was in feeling the power of erection, and the power of control, more than the pleasure of the release.
A very shy exhibitionist
I had all my adolescence an urge to masturbate, to play for hours with my erect penis. I loved also to exhibit my erect penis in front of windows or in the openness of nature. Not to someone, I was too scared to be seen or caught. But to the world at large, no one in particular, and nature was a perfect non-judgemental witness. I knew my fears, my fear of being discovered masturbating or playing with my penis, I knew the thrill of flirting with the idea of being seen by God, the angels, the fairies. I would have liked to be free from guilt, from fears and judgements.
As a young man, in nature I had a very strong urge to be naked or to uncover my genitals. Not really to be seen as I was terrified of the eventuality. I had masturbated once or twice in nature and had been caught by unexpected passers-by who pretended they had seen nothing. But what a shame! I did not want to encounter that again! It was so terrible! What I wanted more than anything is the acceptance of nature, the trees, the birds, the sun, the elements.
Often on holidays along the sea shore, I would walk through the rocks with my organs taken out on the side of the bikini briefs. I would also swim in the ocean with my penis uncovered or without briefs. I enjoyed the feeling of freedom, of the elements caressing my organs and the safety of the people around not knowing! Everyday it was an adventure to find a secluded place in nature where I could not possibly be seen and, there, undress, uncover my genitals or masturbate -reclaiming my lost freedom.
I remember a summer vacation along a large lake where in the morning I would take a small boat and, away from the shore, uncover my genitals while rowing, and then masturbate sitting low on the bottom: knowing I could not be seen from the shore except through binoculars I felt safe enough. And if there were gawkers far away, they needed to take binoculars: it made it their responsibility, not mine! I was absolved!
There was so much longing to be accepted with my genitals, my erections, my masturbations, my urethral insertions! I craved for love in the form of acceptance by others and by my lovers, but I could not formulate it. It took a long, long time and a slow process before I could be in total acceptance of myself.
All my life I have loved wearing no underpants under, feeling the dangling of my genitals, unknown to anybody around. I have also loved wearing nothing but very short pants that would allow my genitals to just be at the edge of being seen. What a thrill to walk like that in the street of a big city where nobody knows me. I could raise or lower a bit the pants for the genitals to come out or hide in! It was such a game, but I was making sure I was not caught. I did not want to offense anyone.
I had, at some point, a flat facing a tall building across in the distance, and I often masturbated on the balcony with the strong impression that a girl was interested from balcony across the distance. Even without binoculars I imagine she would know I was masturbating, and I had the feeling that she came back often to check -seemingly liking it.
So, overshadowing my childhood, there were two things: the fear of my father and the feeling bad over my lack of control (my bedwetting). Two major tendencies governed then my life: to regain control (to have mastery) and to overcome fear. May be those childhood experiences were the source of my compulsions to masturbate or introduce thin wires into my urethra. I started inserting wires into my urethra in 1973, a little at a time as it created like in childhood burning sensations later during urination. Was I trying to exorcise and heal those past impressions? But the urge was hard to resist, and I was drawn to return again and again to those insertions: they became easier and easier, so that I could insert further and further, and larger and larger plastic wires. I was wondering what was wrong with me to have those compulsions but I kept my secret urethral insertions and masturbations: I loved masturbating with something inserted inside.
Removing the fraenum.
To return to my pierced fraenum in 1980, I knew that the fraenum's name meant restraint in Latin, so it kept inviting me into getting rid of all restraints, especially sexual ones! The temptation to cut free the restraint, to cut the fraenum, was hard to resist despite the fear of the blade of a knife, the fear of blood, the fear of pain. How often I introduced a Stanley knife into the hole and gently pressed against the fraenum without cutting, just feeling the possibility of the blade going through and freeing the glans from the restriction of the fraenum!
I was exorcising all images of being tortured or abused so I played with those ghost impressions returning to the knife many, many times. I was absolutely fascinated, but I was clear I did not want harm or pain. I wanted to free myself from the fear of pain, as well as from the bondage that I sensed was limiting me and my sexuality. The more I felt the pull and attraction of slashing the fraenum, the more I felt it as a spell, and the more I wanted to be free from all restraints and in particular free from the restriction of the fraenum!
Gradually I pressed harder and harder on the Stanley blade and I was surprised to find how resistant the skin was --but it was all without any pain at all. Finally I had gathered enough courage to keep pressing (without see-saw movements) so hard on the blade that finally it went thorough in one go and it was over: not really any pain, not really any blood, it was amazing! I had done it! I was free! I had cut through the fraenum!
Then a little piece of the cut fraenum was now hanging from the tip of the glans, it needed to be removed. Again I did not want pain, nor blood if I could avoid. I used a nail clipper and in one quick painless movement it was removed. The same thing on the other side where the fraenum was attached to the foreskin: I clipped it gently and firmly so confident I had become. It was amazing to discover how easy it had been: nothing dramatic, nothing that felt like harm or dark energies, only gentleness, patience and clarity of intention.
I was so pleased with my penis without fraenum; the foreskin could go down as far as it could without pulling on the glans, so the movement was now free up and down!
And I liked so much the look of it, I was so proud of my erect phallus! It looked so beautiful to me! So much so that I decided to do a plaster cast of it. It took a few experiments and learning how to do it, but at the end I had a magnificent plaster cast that I painted and varnish in gold! It was my treasury: how much I wanted to show it to my wife, and even have her use it as a dildo! Well, as you can imagine, she was not impressed! She thought it was disgusting! But my pride did not abide, I just kept things for myself from now on. This had taken me probably a whole year, as it was now 1981.
Continuing often with inserting wires into my urethra, I had the desire to enlarge the entrance, so I could try larger and larger objects. Again the thought tempted me for a long time before I started to put it into action. I had read about yogis in India that cut the fraenum of their tongue to allow the tongue to bend backward completely in order to get the elixir of longevity, the ambrosia. I had learned that they proceed very slowly, millimetre after millimetre, allowing the cut to heal before continuing.
So, now, being less afraid of the knife, I dared to cut a millimetre or two of the opening of the urethra. Again I did not want any form of harm, pain or blood. Proceeding ever so gently and by extremely small see-saw movements I was able to make a little cut that did not even bleed nor felt any pain. I let it heal and, days later or weeks later, I started again, each time more courageously, more daringly; but without any sense of harming myself. I was addicted to the thrill of staying at the edge of the fears without entering them. Certainly not a masochistic tendency, the whole thing did not feel dark and punishing. It felt more like a healing journey, or may be like the journey of the hero into the underworld. Slowly but surely the opening of the urethra grew larger allow me to enter larger and larger pens and even AAA batteries! All sorts of things could now enter the urethra, plastic tubes that I could use to blow air into the bladder or inject liquids, but also cutlery handles and even blunt table knives, complete from the handle to the end of the blade!
Still I could not understand my fascination with my penis and my insertions: what was the pleasure in that? What was the benefit? What was the purpose? I felt strange to have those secret compulsions. I only knew it was not dark, it was not masochistic. It was a mystery that kept feeding the return to it after long periods of non activity. When the thought of my penis or the thought of introducing things in my urethra came into my mind it was an almost irresistible pull, I had to play with my penis, with inserting things. How strange!
But then the fascination with knives, with cutting more, became very insistent and I started to further the meatotomy, the underneath cutting of the urethra along the glans. I proceeded again the same way, millimetre by millimetre, sometimes allowing some blood to come but never pain. There were also long periods when I stayed away from playing with my penis as I was still feeling guilty of such compulsions and even of my masturbations. There were months and months without any sexual plays and then sometimes weeks when I was aroused and compelled to touch my penis, to masturbate or to cut further.
I realised that the cuttings forced me into abstinence as I had to let the wound heal. So gradually the cuttings became a way to prevent me from masturbating further. I wondered about that. Was it a way to vent out my guilt? Was it to stop me masturbating? Yes, in some way, but I felt there was more, there was something beyond the rational, something rooted in a forgotten, faraway past that I could not understand. I had read about the Australian Aborigines performing subincisions by repeated small cuttings and they seemed not to have the fear or the pain that we project onto those things. It fascinated me! It took years before the meatotomy reached the whole underneath of the glans, and passed the little scar where the fraenum had been attached. Possibly 8 to 10 years! All the women I had made love with would not even notice, so it was a well-guarded secret, as were my masturbations and my strange compulsions.
A gradual urethrotomy.
Having re-married and my wife being an artist, I often was in bed not asleep when she returned home after a concert. But I pretended being asleep, and loved it when she started sometimes to touch herself and masturbate gently next to me! I felt so much love for her when she was doing that. So much gratitude, so much sweetness were in my heart, I would have turned and kissed her lovingly except for keeping the whole thing secret. I did not want to make love to her, I wanted her to make love to herself, and I was happy to bask in her self-acceptance and openness to pleasure!
It was OK for her to masturbate when she thought I was asleep, but not for me in bed when I thought she was asleep! She would immediately turn toward me and stop me in order to get the attention on her. So I tried to touch myself in such a way as she could not detect I was masturbating next to her. I wanted the acceptance I could not yet give myself. But she would get frustrated. I even tried to touch myself openly in front of her when she was dressing up in the morning ready to go, and me still in the bed. Encouraged by her general shamelessness and her strong exhibitionist tendencies I even dared to explicitly masturbate there in front of her. But she reacted with disgust, with anger at me! She felt abandoned, she felt rejected by me. But it was the complete opposite, I trusted her, I loved her enough to allow her into my secret spots. My open masturbation was a proof of love. She took it that I was dismissing her! What a misunderstanding!
Our marriage lasted only a year and I returned to my secrecy, to my cuttings. I tried to exorcise the whole complex of energies and patterns by attempting to put it in the full light of my Higher Self, by making sacred rituals in which the cuttings were ceremonies of healing, of reconciliation, of total acceptance. It worked a little but did not stop the compulsions to keep grabbing me from times to times. I even let my new girl friend who was a healer know that I was cutting myself and attempting to bring the addiction into the light. She did not judge me; she loved me but was not ready to be present to one of my cuttings as I thought it could help. I even dreamt to have her do the cutting; ever so gently, as it was terrifying to have somebody else do it on me. It would have been a test of trust, of courage, of true love, but she declined and I did not insist because my fears were overwhelming.
A few years later I got a new partner, again a healer, and when my compulsions had taken a new grip on me I told her. We had a great sexual life together. We made love often and with great passion. She could even blow into my penis and insert air into my bladder, so comfortable she was with my meatotomy. I told her about my strange urge to cut further the urethra into now a split along the shaft. I had read all I could find about the aboriginal subincision and was mesmerised by it. One day when I was mentioning to her that I had the insisting thought of doing it, she even did encourage me to go and just do it! What a marvellous acceptance! So, I went and did it, with much gratitude for her. Yes there was some blood, but never pain, never sensations or feelings of self-harm.
The urethrotomy was a slow and long process, as millimetre by millimetre the split grew but in healing it would close most of the gap that had been opened. After a few years the urge to cut more was so compelling that I proceeded by half a centimetre or even a centimetre at a time. A lot of blood would come out but certainly not a trace of pain. The blood would stop quickly and the wound would heal easily and cleanly; but it was taking now many weeks, sometimes a month before I could start again. Some of the cut would close again and seal, but the split reached now, in 1997, around a quarter of the length of the shaft, about an inch or more.
An on-going subincision.
My partner left me, or I left my partner, and continued the journey alone, keeping my mixture of guilt and attempts to put things into the light. I remember one day, in 1998, I did a special June Solstice ritual, where I did a deep and long cut while I kept myself in the light, in total abandonment to my Higher Self. And that very day I received a phone call of a girl that I had met and was secretly in love with. That was the beginning of a new relationship that would last ten years in which I felt we had been together in a life time when after being lovers I had been castrated and became a monk.
With her I journeyed an even stronger urge to cut myself more and more, to further the subincision first to half the shaft, about two and half inches. Of course she hated it. She could not understand it, neither I, except for that impression of the twelve century life-time. I loved her very much, I had a feeling we had been soul-mates for many life-times. She also loved me, she loved to arouse me, to keep me erect and play with my penis, either in bed or when I was driving my car, but she never liked when I finally ejaculated.
While driving she would put her hand on my crotch and gently awaken my penis until she would put her hand inside my underpants and free my penis from the clothing. I kept driving in absolute bliss longing for more caresses, more movements, but she would retard those as much as possible, keeping me deliciously erect and aroused. She would do this almost every time we went anywhere in my car. Some times I would put my hand under her skirt into her underwear and feel her swollen lips and her juices coming. It was always a special time that we could continue for half-hour, or an hour according to the roads and the condition of traffic. How short were the journeys when accomplished like that in refined sensations and pure delight! I am good at retaining my orgasm; I used to do it for hours when masturbating at night in my bed as an adolescent and young man. So much so that my penis would be all tumefied the next day! But there is often a release that comes and prevents my heart and arteries from overload. Happily, despite a part of me would have like to play forever.
The full subincision.
She would love also to insert her little finger into the hole of my subincised penis and toy me there as if it was a little vagina! In making love with her I also loved to rub her clit against my hole while imagining it a little dick! I really have never felt any attraction for men, but I like the feeling of being both a man with a huge penis and a woman with a little vulva and a vagina! I liked to be inside her or in her mouth, but I liked also to be penetrated into my urethra. Her thin and long little finger could go quite some way inside! With saliva, precum or some oil, there she could move it in and out without too much damage to the delicate skin inside the urethra. I loved her for those moments. And it made her also very hot and horny which I was happy to attend with my tongue or my fingers more than with my penis. By 2008, at the end of a ten year relationship, the urethrotomy had extended the whole length of the shaft --the full subincision reaching five inches or more in erection.
Worldwide web exposition
Now my subincision had reached its maximum and its limit for me. I fulfilled a childhood dream of been exposed to the whole world in uploading pictures on Wikimedia:
I am finished and happy with it, and this story is a document to accompany those pictures, trying to give a little of the spirit in which it was done. Certainly not darkness, pain, punishment or self-harm, but instead gentleness, love and light! I certainly love my self and love my penis despite the whole thing might scare other people and let them think I am full of darkness, self-hatred and masochism. I know it seems far out and unreal, but it was my story, of course shortened of many details and unnecessary side tracks. The journey took 30 years to complete, so there was a lot to eliminate. I hope it can give a little light on the inner life and motivations behind something as extreme and uncommon as a total subincision.