In a hospital a small handful of hours away of the border, an otter was born and left completely to the care of their father. as the sun started to lower, soon to hide from this side of the world, the father struggled to handle being saddled with the result of the accidental busting of protection that happened roughly around 8 months prior. notably premature, the otter was lucky in the fact that they avoided any severe health issues. a lucky otter born and instantly relinquished to their dad and their dad was a good, kind man. Taking their dad's deep brown hair yet not his crystal-like blue eyes. this tiny and early, the otter wasnt done developing 100% yet, but they already resembled their father a lot, though that might be due to species. barely even a bunch of hours old, and the professionals there were bombarding their dad with paperwork and questions. are we doing this, we've had to do that, sign here here here here here here and here, please. this and that, the poor semiaquatic man couldn't keep up. When they first asked his permission, it was less of a question. More of a general statement. Not "would you like to do this?", but "you are doing this, yes?" He was many things, but not the most medically wise man. He asked if it was nessicary. He was told all the horrible things that could and probably would happen, should this vital step be skipped. Infections, diseases, pain, filth. Each and every thing combattable with simple hygiene and care. But these are frightening concepts, and as a father completely abandoned to take care of a child you didnt even know about until recently, in the big picture, you panic. Or he did. He was swept up in genuine, loving concern for his child. And that's all that was in the dad's heart, love and concern in endless waves. Not the first idea of what exactly signing his name on these lines would cause for his baby. "Sign here, sir." Rhett Townsend ______________________ I was that otter. "River", my dad called me. He said a watery classic couldn't hurt. Before I knew it, the medical staff were carrying me off to some new room. Even more cold and sterile smelling than the last. It was all a swirling storm of confusion until my dad entered the door, behind him. I was caught up looking toward my dad, with eyes so dark brown they would be seen as featureless in some lighting, with a stare-past leer that would prove to be a permanent fixture of my face. A contrast with him, one I had no idea of yet. I had never seen my own face at the time, of course. Dad began the motion of sitting down, before the man who came in prior to him gestured for him to come closer. He told my father that he could help me, soothe me. Adding a little bit of a mixture onto the pacifier reduced the ouchies down next to nothing, he said. I was looking around the room as I heard four little fabric shhfs, the sound of my diaper being untaped and opened up. Exposing my privates to the air, my-tiny-hand filling pouch beneath a stubby penis, one that most importantly was snugly wrapped in the dual-layered sacred and natural covering that most bipedal boys and others are born with, closed up tight with a wrinkly bunched bit of it. Due to the ink my dad had written his name in, and the doctor's biased propaganda, it was made important. So next came the sky blue velcro straps, attached to the vaguely me-indented board I had been laid in. He laughed, because they were able to use a human shaped one, since I was born without a tail. First, the left. Then the right, both made very snug against my thighs. He had warned my dad that babies don't like being restrained, but I really didn't mind. It was kind of pleasant, being compressed that tiny bit. It was, before he took hold of my arms, and strapped them down too. I didn't like not being able to move at all, so I whimpered, but that was it. I looked up, at my dad standing right behind where I was restrained, bringing my pacifier close to my mouth. With so much fatherly pride and such a soothed mind, he told me that we'll be out before we know it. I guess he felt less stress seeing me react so little. My mouth parted and was filled with this lovely watery cotton candy taste. Of course, I didnt know what that even was right now, but it was really tasty. I got lost in a moment of oral stimming and flavour. This wasn't so bad, and me and my dad could take it easy. Everything was going so well... And then, a pressure. Tiny but very tight squeezes on the left and right, at the very tip of my natural snout. It felt bad, but I had very little time to react before the third of these pressurizing tools, hemostats, were used. This one however, was carefully aimed, and shoved up deep into my foreskin. and in another instant, opened to it's limit, stretching my natural organ cover out near it's limit too. when I was born, the covering and my tip inside were fused, like my fingernails are to my fingers. In but a few seconds, all adhesions of mine were completely destroyed, and in a single second more, the hemostat was pulled out from my now rather mobile prepuce, and the skin was forced back for the first time in my extremely short life. I choked on the sweet mixture-saliva mixture, drooling and spitting it up as my dad went to take it from me, to check on me. I screamed at the top of my tiny, somewhat oddly formed lungs, having no other way to express the unimaginable pain that was just inflicted on me. My eyes winced so much, but through already started tears, I could see daddy's expression change. He didn't look confident and reassuring anymore, he looked mortified. My body was already violated, but still considerably "whole". If he wasnt so extremely shocked, maybe dad would have had time to stop this from happening. My prepuce was quickly rolled back over my traumatised, poked at tip, an act that made me sob harder in even more sensory torture. He joked that otters are always so noisy during this. We're a loud species. He grabbed my abused hood, pulling it hard outward, another act that had finally, along with everything else, reduced me to a squeaking, screaming mess. By now, every struggled for breath was followed by a full bodied yell, high pitched and desperate He'd grab his tool of choice, a sleek sort of oval shape of metal. His idol of sorts. His mogen clamp. In such a rush to get to me before my dad's emotions boiled over as swiftly as mine did, he flicked the clamp open and slid it on me from the bottom-up. My foreskin going from a somewhat swollen covering to a barely recognizable span of meat on the other side of the bizzarely applied clamp. If the way it's "supposed" to be done is from the top, mine was from the bottom, and oddly angled. being straight around. Dad was looking right at me, about to let me have that sweet, tiny reprieve again, right as the unrelenting jaws of the clamp were quickly, irreprably closed. I couldn't react at all, I was fully stunned as it happened. First came the most normal breath I'd had this whole time, then I struggled to breathe out. Processing what just happened took a moment longer than it probably should have, but it did happen. Dad tried to get the pacifier back in, but I was too loud, was squirming too much. Flailing my head left and right in the only way I could even try to move right now. The doctor said otters were usually loud, and he made me prove that. I was the loudest I've ever been in my life. I don't know how many minutes me and my dad were left like that. My body, stuck in a state between wholeness and this new state. I was already irreparably injured, by a man who took am oath to "do no harm". My dad was hurt too, crying his eyes out just as much as me, apologising again and again for something he could never fix, never save me from. He took an oath too, to care for me. Only one of the two men felt like he had broken his oath... After an eternity of my dad's shattered heart, and my crushed intimate sheath, the doctor came back in, and just as swiftly as he said hello sir, he had took the mogen in one hand, his scalpel in another, and in another instant I was unwhole. I was mutilated. I was modified. I was circumcised. Loudly scraping the blade down the clamp's span to make sure he had done his best work, he congratulated me as the clamp's strength relented, and was taken off my damaged genital. I started to half cry, half whine. It was all I had the strength to do anymore. What was left of my sex organ resembled a dumpling, all crimped together in a profane I shape, throbbing and pale. But that wasn't the end, the goal. He had one final thing to do, to grab each side of my unwillingly stiffened part, and push back hard. My skin was retracted for the second time that evening, and the final time in my entire life. Tip so red it looked unreal, unable to ever be covered again. A dab of vaseline and a re-taping of my diaper later, my limbs were freed of their velcro bindings. I was too tired to do anything anymore. Daddy picked me up out of the tray, and trying to quiet himself, held me in his arms. He was hurt too. But he spent his time trying to comfort me. Thank you, dad. I love you so much.. I woke up trembling, heart trying to beat out of my chest, a nausea permeating my whole body. All these years later and I still think about it. Crying a lot softer than I was back then, I weakly turned to my right. Dad was still asleep, since it was deep into the night. I made my way a little closer, and held onto him. Mostly asleep as he was, he smiled as we made contact. I felt safe I love you dad.