"You can disrobe now," said the until-fifteen-minutes-ago stranger, and off came my skirt.
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact anonymous@bme.anon Artist David Studio Fatty's Custom Tattooz Location Washington, DC How I came to be in this situation, paying someone decent money to put a hole in my flesh, I'm not sure, but I'll attempt to describe it - although, I suspect, my description won't be fundamentally different from the other experiences posted here.
It all began well, at conception, I suppose, but let me jump ahead. Since my pre-teen years, I've enjoyed cutting and branding myself in times of stress, but, besides three sets of ear lobe piercings, I didn't begin exploring slightly-more culturally-sanctioned body modifications until I was 24 and had my upper right arm tattooed.
At the time, I was in a long-term relationship with someone who knew and was concerned about but in some ways supportive of my penchant for knives and matches. However, he thought tattoos and piercings were for poseurs. Of course, when I showed him my new tattoo, he loved it and designed other ones he thought I should get. Also, of course, once I got started, I didn't want to stop, but, fearful I would run out of skin fast, I disciplined myself and didn't get my upper left arm tattooed until I was 26.
With the desire to go under the needle still strong, I decided to switch to piercings and had my right nipple done a few months later. Jump ahead a couple of months with the urge unabated, and we're almost at present day.
Trying to pass myself off as young professional in a conservative office, I began considering other piercings that would be concealed by regular business dress, and genital piercings, in my line of work anyway, certainly fell into that category. I was initially drawn to the triangle piercing purely for aesthetic reasons and didn't consider its functionality. However, the more I read about it, the more I wanted it. For various mental, emotional, and physical reasons, orgasms do not come (no pun intended) easily for me, and I thought the triangle might help me to see the vagina as something other than disgusting and increase stimulation during intercourse.
Having decided where I wanted it done (if I was anatomically-correct), I had to decide, well, where I wanted it done. I'd seen Perforations mentioned on the web a few times and in a positive manner, and its website indicated that it had recently relocated to within a few blocks of my office. The pieces were coming together; could they be too good to be true?
The only unsettled matter, then, was when I wanted it done. Scanning my planner for the perfect day, I found many reasons (or were they excuses?) why I couldn't get pierced anytime in the near future: a pantyhose-required event, a long bus ride between unsanitary restrooms, a 5K marathon, et cetera, that might compromise the healing. Then, the invitation to my now ex-partner's wedding came in the mail; it seemed like a sign of the changing times, and I picked up the phone to schedule an appointment at Perforations for as soon as possible.
"The number has been disconnected," and Perforations seems no longer to exist in its former incarnation, which explains why I can't remember ever walking past it to-and-fro work. Was this a sign that the triangle was not to be for me - or a test of how badly I wanted it? I lamented over the phone to a friend, who reminded me about the tattoo parlor that had opened up the street last year. "Yeah, but do they do piercings?" I moaned. "They do," was the message I got about ten minutes later. My friend had gone to the parlor, met the head piercer, and looked through his portfolio; he hadn't asked about my particular piercing, either because he had no idea what it was I wanted or because he was embarrassed in a buying-tampons-for-a-friend sort of way. In any case, I decided to check out Fatty's Custom Tattooz the next day.
Now, when I'd gotten my nipple pierced, I had done absolutely no research into the type of piercing or the place I had it done; I simply walked off the street into a shop in San Francisco while on vacation, got pierced, and flew back to DC. "Everything will work out fine," is something of my motto in life and hasn't failed me yet (I'm mean, surely, if a place is in business, someone must be checking up on it, right? Right?), but I thought perhaps I shouldn't tempt fate and decided to scope out Fatty's first.
Having just come from work, I was somewhat embarrassed by my conservative exterior, but I trotted up to the counter and expressed my interest in getting a piercing. "Do you know what you want?" asked the woman. "A triangle," I announced. I had read a lot about it on the Internet but was hoping she could give me some additional information, since there were somewhat conflicting accounts. She assured me that genital piercings were relatively easy to heal, but, if I wasn't anatomically suited for the triangle, vertical and horizontal clitoral hoods were popular as well. I flipped through the head piercer's porfolio; while it had other genital piercings, his photographs of a recent triangle were currently being developed. At this point, I felt I didn't have anything else to say but "Can I make an appointment?" which I did for that Saturday. Another guy behind the counter explained that it was considered a custom piercing, so the price would be between $80 and $90, depending on the jewelry, and it would take longer than other piercings. He also assured me that David was the best in the area and very experienced. I don't normally keep myself shaved, or even trimmed for that matter, but he said it didn't matter. I plunked down my $10 deposit and went to dinner with my friend, where we talked about female genitalia, to the disgust of other patrons, I'm sure.
Saturday came. I decided to trim. The literature they'd given me at Fatty's said that one should eat a full meal beforehand, but my appointment was for 12:15, and I'm not a big breakfast eater. Also, if I got nervous, I didn't want to feel the urge to use the bathroom or anything. I wasn't nervous about baring my snatch to a stranger, because I figured he's a professional, but, again, those feelings that the pussy is disgusting had me in the shower for ten extra minutes, making sure I would be nice and clean.
My friend wanted to observe as well, so I got him and headed over to Fatty's. I was a little early, as the store opens at noon, but I met David, and we began to fill out the paperwork. He asked me how much I knew about the piercing and explained to me exactly what it was (I don't want to spread misinformation, so I'm not going to attempt to recreate the mini-lesson in anatomy he gave me). Now, again thanks to the Internet, I'd already concocted a triangle piercing experience in my mind. I knew that some women weren't anatomically correct for one, but all the experiences I had read had the piercer examining the woman and proclaiming her fit or unfit. Well, David instead showed me two pictures and asked which one I more closely resembled; this young man obviously knew more about female anatomy than I did, which was a little embarrassing, but reclaiming my "pussy power" was one of the reasons I'd wanted to get this piercing. As he explained, one woman's outer labia were very tight across her inner labia (and thus she got a vertical hood piercing), and the other woman's inner labia were more exposed (and thus she was able to get a horizontal hood piercing). I really didn't know which one I more resembled and asked my friend to come over and take a look at the photos; luckily, he picked the second woman. So we finished up the paperwork for a 12-gauge CBR, and David got to work preparing his room and scrubbing up. (At one point, I'd thought, "Get the hell outta' here now," which was when a woman was spraying down the counter and David said we would move down there when she was done; for a second, I'd thought he meant we were going to do the piercing down there, but then silly me realized he meant that's where we were going to finish paperwork.)
After awhile, David called me into his room, and I hopped up on the table, my friend in tow. David shut the door and asked if I was allergic to iodine, which I was not, "a very good thing," he said. He pulled out the stirrups, and I pulled off my skirt and popped my feet in (I must admit, the gynecologist's stirrups are much more comfortable; they have furry covers and seem more sturdy - which reminds me, what's my gynecologist going to say when I show up with two piercings?).
Luckily, when David saw me, he said I looked suitable for the triangle, so we were on our way. Now, again from the Internet, I knew roughly what to expect, but, as I do at the gynecologist's office, I tried not to be too in tune with what was going on around me, as I feared my brain would concoct the pain before my body actually registered it. So I basically just looked up at the ceiling and breathed, while David told me what he was doing (e.g., cleaning the area, finding the spot, marking it, et cetera). At some points, he would need my feedback, so I had to tune in to what he was pinching or else risk getting pierced in the wrong place (there was a different sensation when he pinched the nerve bundle than when he pinched behind it), all between the comforting "thwak" sound of him changing gloves constantly. In the piercing room, he was completely professional and personable, talking and making small jokes, which put me at ease (I wasn't nervous, but, again, I was trying to fade out as much as possible, in preparation for the big stick); outside, the other employees were talking about what kind of "bagels and schmear" they were going to get for breakfast and then what they were going to take out from the Thai place for lunch (which had me wondering how long I had been lying there). David did a lot of checking, marking, rechecking, and remarking; he apologized that these piercings take so long, but "measure twice, cut once" sounded fine by me. I knew we were getting close, because it felt like the forceps had come out and been clamped on; David said it would feel uncomfortable, but I didn't really feel too much. He checked and adjusted a few more times, and then things began to feel very uncomfortable indeed. I didn't think I could bear the forceps feeling like that while I waited for the needle, when I realized - oh, that is the needle I'm feeling. I'm pretty sure I kept my lower body still but grabbed the table and didn't let out a peep (my friend corroborated this account). Just as others have described before me, it was a very intense pain (worse than the nipple piercing, I think) but only for a short duration, and then it was warm, and I really couldn't feel him insert the ring or close it. I could vaguely feel him pull on it when he asked, but the adrenaline was definitely kicking in, and I just wanted to lie on the table and reel for awhile.
Of the three people in the room, I think I had it the easiest: David had to do the actual work, my friend had to sit there and see female genitalia displayed clinically with a needle through it (maybe all boys who like girls should have to watch this piercing, as he said he learned a lot), and I just had to lie back and enjoy the ride. David handed me a mirror, and I came back to earth: that's right; I had a beautiful silver ring between my legs (oh yeah, and the surgical marker as a souvenir). He told me he recommended no sex of any kind for four weeks; this was going to be hard, but I knew it was for a good cause. When we came out of the room, he gave me after-care instructions and went over them with me. Also, he told me to come back in three weeks for a checkup; he would also take a photo for his portfolio then.
I walked out, slightly bowlegged but with a huge smile on my face. I kept thinking about how cool the piercing looked. Standing in the check-out at the CVS in Dupont Circle, I was hit by another endorphin rush (if you're familiar with Dupont Circle, you know that a worse CVS has never been built); smiling, with Dial anti-bacterial pump soap, distilled water, and non-iodized sea salt in hand, I didn't care that the cashier had run out of singles or that a customer had cut in line.
For the four weeks of healing, I showered religiously when I woke up, before I went to bed, and after jogging (which I was able to resume immediately), following David's instructions as best I could. With the nipple piercing, I'd had a big "crusties" problem, but, as David explained, this area is naturally moist and might not "crust;" in this way, the triangle was a lot easier to heal, because I never felt any ripping when I rotated the ring. Still, I swabbed the area with sea salt dissolved in distilled water, after standing in the shower with one leg up and letting the water run over it for awhile. Then, I would lather up the ring with Dial and rotate it ten obsessive-compulsive times to each side. Next, leg up again in the shower stall again, I would rotate the ring ten times to each side with the water running over it, trying to keep the soap out of the snatch. I also would bring a squirt bottle of the salt water solution to clean myself if I had a long day at the office and was feeling a little itchy. For the most part, there was no discomfort, other than being horny and unfulfilled (whether it was from the new addition to the genitalia or the abstinence, I couldn't tell, but it was a strangely pleasant change, as I've never considered myself a particularly horny person). I don't know if I bled a lot from the piercing, because, maybe due to all of the excitement down there, my erratic period came the day of the piercing, and I thought I'd read somewhere that one shouldn't use tampons during the healing and thus wore pads. Somehow, I managed to get through the four weeks without wearing my wardrobe staple of black tights; as much as I could, I wore skirts without underwear or pantyhose and then switched to boxer shorts at home (trying to keep my two furry cats off my lap).
After four weeks of being a good girl, I've been getting myself into trouble: segues into the subject of genital piercings seem to come naturally to conversations with my vanilla friends, who then express interest in seeing my triangle, and I'm always more than willing to oblige; in this sense, I rate the piercing as successful in helping me to get over my anti-pussy complex. The jury is still out on whether it helps with orgasms: I don't have them just walking down the street, and I still don't have them during intercourse, but at least I still have them; maybe I should have been more scientific and had a control case with whom I slept pre- and post-piercing.
If you're looking to get a piercing in the DC area, I'd recommend David whole-heartedly. He was completely professional, extremely knowledgeable, and quite personable (what more could you ask for in a piercer?). I never did get around to going back for my three-week checkup, but I'll probably get some more work done at Fatty's in a few months and will tell David how much I love the piercing then.
In closing, I would like to take a moment to offer a heartfelt thanks to BME for the service it provides. Had it not been for BME, I would never have known there was more than one way to pierce the female genitalia, so to speak. I don't know where else the general public can have such easy access to this important information. Viva BME!