I first became interested in getting a genital piercing while I was taking an experiential psychology class as a senior at Georgia College & State University. We were discussing fetishes and one of the readings was a journal article on genital piercing. Most of my fellow classmates were shocked and appalled. I was excited. The article's last page was a collection of drawings of various genital piercings. I was drawn at once to the pictures of the dydoe and the apadravya. I knew before I put the article down that I was going to get my penis pierced and soon.
At A Glance Author anonymous When Five years ago Artist nomad Studio touch of magic Location georgia I borrowed Modern Primitives from my professor and was fascinated by the whole subject. I showed my wife the journal article and we both read Modern Primitives–infecting us with an urge. I had always wanted the piercings (mainly nipple and septum) I had seen on punks in Atlanta and New Orleans, but I never seemed to do anything about it. But would this new idea of metal in the meat of my manhood spur me on to finally get of my lazy ass to find a place to get it done?
No. It took the piercer coming to me. Touch of Magic is actually a new age headshop ( or what passes for one here in Middle Georgia) complete with crystals and candles–blunt wraps and bongs. If you need a glass pipe in my town it's either Touch of Magic or Smiley's Flea-market. Well, one day I'm there loading up on rolling papers by the foot and salvia fifteen times extract when I notice a new display case of body jewelry. I ask the manager what the case is all about, and he said a guy named Nomad had set up for piercings in a back room of the store. He was in the back as we spoke finishing up a stripper's nipples.
Nomad had the biggest lobes I had ever seen; they were about an inch and a quarter in diameter. His nostrils, bridge, and tongue were pierced. He showed us his zero gauge nipples. He was talkative and different and I immediately liked the guy. I never saw a portfolio. He was shaky on doing an apadravya but he assured me he had done a hundred dydoes when he lived in Detroit. I took his confidence to heart and was satisfied he could perform the task. Still, I thought my wife would want to watch him do it as well get some for her. I told him we'd come back.
The first time we came back my wife had both of her nipples done, and I just pierced one. A few days later my wife had her vertical hood pierced and I got two dydoes.
We entered the back room of the shop. While Nomad got his supplies together, I took off my pants. My palms were sweating; my mouth was drying up. I laid back on the table with the tip of my dick poked through a hole of a blue paper towel. Nomad made his dots to mark to placement–right at the top of the head. He announced that he'd be using a standard fourteen gauge needle and jewelry. The announcement meant absolutely nothing to me.
The next step, he said, was to clip the corona with clamps. I didn't know this wasn't normal procedure so I just nodded my head. Nor was I aware that most piercers use a rubber-band to hold the clamp shut. Nomad just squeezed until the clamps clicked shut. The pain was as intense anything I've ever experienced. Nomad told me to take in a deep breath and hold it. "Now exhale." The needle popping in and out my meat was nothing compared to the cruelty of the clamp. The jewelry slid in smoothly after the needle, and I was halfway there.
My wife asked if I was okay. I guess I must've been paler than normal. I said I guess so, but I'd be better when we were done. My voice wavered weakly. I thought about just getting the one dydoe–calling him off before he clamped down a second time. Then for the second time the clamps clicked shut and I came off the table and had to be told by Nomad that I must relax before he could finish. Again, the second needle was lost in the pain of the clamp. After Nomad proceeded to wipe away the blood and clean me up. I dressed and paid. Nomad said I should wash with Dial Antibacterial Soap and clean any "crusties" with a swab.
I was swollen (which looked great but . . .) and I bled a good bit in my sleep the first three nights, but by day four I was feeling great. A little too great. I never gave the poor dydoes a chance to heal. I played with them. I let others play with them. I changed jewelry to accommodate big half inch balls on the shaft side and whipped them out up and down Bourbon Street for spring break. I had sex and oral sex without condoms. I took them out while still unhealed to have anal sex and then force them back through afterwards. I basically punished them until one day I realized I could see the metal through the skin. I could also see the tracks at the holes where the jewelry was rejecting. I tried to baby them then, but it was too late. I had them about three months total. Now all that's left are some really beautiful rejection scars.