After a long period of deliberation and vacillation our two intrepid reporters finally took the plunge and ventured out to MetalMorphosis in Soho for a handful of genital piercings (three between two, and we'll leave you to to work THAT out)
At A Glance Author fuschia Contact fuschia@bme.anon Artist David Potasnick Studio Metalmorphosis Location London The day was awful...monsoon-like rain, and we hardly had time for a hearty breakfast for the condemned and armed escort FireofBlue, before it was time to turn up for our appointments.
Unfortunately we were most unimpressed with the place. The woman at the counter was extremely abrupt, and the only enjoyable bit in the waiting room was an unintentional laugh when she reminded us to "keep our bits with us" (meaning the release form presumably) to which Fuschia stated stoutly that she ALWAYS keeps her bits with her, and Stella wondered if she could send hers in to be pierced while she popped out for a coffee.
The appointment time had hardly arrived when the piercer, a large man, who to our trepidatious eyes appeared to be wearing a butcher's apron (actually a medical coat - Robin), appeared at the door and grunted "Come!" in sepulchural tones. Stella immediately turned into a scared antelope, and had to be pushed into the piercing room like an errant dalmation who has just realised what is about to happen to him.
The door clanged shut behind us and Stella was instructed to get undressed. By now, both of us were ever so slightly miffed at the lack of bedside manner, and if we a) hadn't already paid and b) weren't stubborn as hell, we probably would have turned right back round and marched right out lickety split.
"There's no need to be rude!" we grumbled and there was just the teensiest softening in the perforator's attitude as he efficiently coaxed each of us up on the coach in turn and did his stuff. Fuschia did wonder if the extreme height of the bed was like at Alton Towers - if you're not tall enough to scramble up unaided, you're not old enough and (in)sensible enough to have a whacking great needle shoved through your most sensitive parts!
Within minutes we were hobbling away, bandy-legged, as fast as any neutered alsatian, vowing never to return, FireofBlue sniggering at our sides.
We repaired to Paradiso for some consolatory latex-fondling, where we met Robin from LFS and a friend, and cheered ourselves up enlightening said friend on the numerous benefits to be had from an "eroscillator" (see earlier article) - not that our bayoneted bits would be indulging in such high-jinks for some time to come.
So how was it for us? Even without anaesthetic, the process hardly warranted more than a sharp intake of breath. Playing with needles at home, even very fine ones, hurts a damn sight more.
But we were walking and sitting very tentatively for the rest of the day, and probably a pervy mooch round London isn't the BEST way to follow-up on a genital piercing. If you saw one tall blond pervy-girl and one small dark pervy-girl walking like we had just got off a horse, accompanied by a smirking long-haired sadist - yes, that was us!!
And how was MetalMorphosis? Well, we won't go there again. They were clean, they were efficient... but considering we spent more than £100 and underwent an experience we will surely remember for some time to come... a bit of human civility might have been in order!