I've enjoyed reading the experiences in BME, and have intended to write this story for some time. A quiet weekend on call has finally afforded an opportunity. The story begins a number of years ago...
At A Glance Author Dr. Zempf When Two years ago Artist Fogg Studio NEXT! Location Vancouver My heart sank when I read the message on my pager telling me to report to the emergency department. It was the early 1980's, and I was interning at an inner city hospital. Our usual clientele in the emerg consisted of varieties of addicts, beaten-up or broken-down, many with a foot planted firmly in the grave. To my pleasant surprise, the patient awaiting me was an attractive young woman, who appeared, fortunately, not too unwell. After taking her history, I suggested that she disrobe, in order to conduct an examination. "I hope my jewelry doesn't get in the way" was her reply. I didn't take her meaning, as my expression must have betrayed. A slight smile crossed her lips as she looked at me and pulled off her sweater, over her head. Her nipples were pierced with fine rings, interlaced with an elaborate array of gold chains. The effect was totally arresting. I stammered some reply, then summoned up the shreds of my professional aplomb to complete the consultation. She was th e first person with body piercings I had met. I never saw her again, and I have never forgotten her.
I had read of body piercing some years prior. In a misguided attempt to liberalize sex. ed. in the early 1970's, our high school "Health" instructor gave us free reign in presenting a brief talk on some aspect of sexuality. No doubt he expected variations on "Reproduction in Amoebas", or some other less-than-titillating topic. I managed to find a brief article in 'Psychology Today" on penile piercing among south Asian men, which I gleefully presented when my turn came to speak. The horrified expressions of my classmates, combined with the instructor's threatening glower were deeply satisfying! My first exposure to female genital piercing was in a well-thumbed edition of "The Story of O". As I recall, in the novel, piercing is presented more in the context of ownership rather than enhancement, and it didn't sound too attractive. My encounter in the emergency department changed that perception.
Memories of the pierced girl lingered in the back of my mind, but it wasn't until the 1990 publication of "Modern Primitives" that I realized that body piercing was more than an isolated form of expression. Hitherto, my personal ethic had been somewhat opposed to body modification, but the beauty and undeniable erotic appeal of the piercings it illustrated, led me to reconsider that prejudice. Still, I remained far too repressed to pursue this interest. The callow intern was by now a graying "authority figure" in the small coastal community where I practiced.
An infrequent visit to Vancouver gave an opportunity to visit a used bookstore, and, by chance I was drawn to a old copy of PFIQ. Inside was an article on how to do a Prince Albert. I hurriedly purchased the magazine. A vague fantasy grew more insistent.. to follow my inclinations and have this piercing. The arrival of Internet service eventually gave access to BME and a world of shared experience. Sweeping repressions aside, I made my plans. The procedure seemed straight-forward, and all the necessary supplies were available at my clinic. A receiving tube could be made from hobbyists' brass tubing and a Dremel; the ring could be purchased in Vancouver...
A gray November morning found me at NEXT! on Granville Street making jewelry enquiries to a rather imposing gentleman by the name of Fogg. He jovially feigned shock when I told him that I wanted a PA. Cautioning me of the "cheesecutter effect", he recommended a 10g. ring which, to my naive eye, appeared enormous. Digesting his sage advice, I left unpierced, but undeterred. A less intimidating 14g. ring was eventually acquired. Finally, alone on a quiet evening with the sound of waves lapping, and surrounded by flickering candlelight in my bedroom, I prepared. A dab of EMLA on my frenum, and a squirt of Xylocaine jelly into the urethra, would minimize any painful distraction. With the homemade receiving tube held in my urethra, I pressed a 14g. needle into the dot marked on my frenum and slowly pushed. A feeling of wild exhilaration accompanied the view, with the receiving tube removed, of a needle protruding from my meatus. The ring followed through smoothly. Thank you PFIQ - it worked! In the morning, still awake on a combination of adrenalin and endorphins, I went sailing. A brisk nor'wester was pushing towering cumuli across the dawn sky. My boat sped along, the wake burbling, as it does when the sails are well trimmed. Alone at the helm, I felt fulfilled and at peace.
After my wife's initial shock at this new addition had dissipated, we found the PA to be a definite boost for sex. (She eventually had her hood pierced.) Fogg's advice was correct - 14g. is too thin to be completely comfortable. Fortunately, stretching the PA was fairly easy. I initially used knitting needles, which come in variety of gauges and are easy to disinfect. Actual tapers, however, are much more satisfactory, especially for larger stretches. A little EMLA on the taper also took the edge off the discomfort. The PA really became functional for sex at about 8g. and eventually it was stretched to 4g., which my wife also appreciated.
Many other writers' experiences have commented on the compulsion of body piercing. Although I thoroughly enjoyed the PA, the attraction of the apadravya's appearance began to grow. Not wanting to take on this rather more complex piercing solo, I eventually found myself back at NEXT!, feeling wholly out-of-place amidst a group of youthful female prospective piercees. Fogg was much as I remembered him, alternating between gruffness and sardonic humour. Whatever notoriety attaches to his appearance in the KINK series, his knowledge and manner as a piercer is irreproachable. His group lecture to our "tribe" was informative and thorough, and the baroque furnishings of his piercing room were pleasantly distracting. A few of the girls had their navels pierced, showing admirable fortitude, while surrounded by the excited chatter of their supporters. Displaying perhaps more cowardice than chivalry, I offered to let the young woman having a hood piercing precede me, and stepped out. S he eventually emerged, gliding by with radiant smile. A middle-aged woman in business attire, with a less comfortable looking gait, strode out of a room to her girlfriend's admiring salutation of "Yo' da man!". Finally, I was summoned, and was measured following a rather tenuous erection. By this time my self-administered local anaesthetic had worn off, and the aromatherapy and gentle classical music in the background were a less than complete replacement. What I remember most vividly is the sound of my ragged breathing as a 12g. needle pushed through my glans. The deed done, I chatted with Fogg for a while, then went to dinner with friends.
Healing the apadravya was much slower, and sometimes more cranky than the PA. The stretches were much more intense, definitely benefiting from proper tapers. One over-enthusiastic stretch was associated with some low-grade urethritis, which settled promptly with topical antibiotic cream. With about 2-3 month intervals between stretches, wearing internally threaded barbells from Anatometal, I eventually reached 4g. The apadravya is aesthetically very pleasing, though less stimulating to me than the PA. My wife finds its sensation much more intense, though. In retrospect, I'm glad I defied my inhibitions. And thanks to that pierced girl...