Matriarchal psychosis and its impact on genital mutilation, apparently...

Lil Pink Tiny Hood

It’s an interesting and thought provoking insight into someone when we see how he or she chooses to express themselves. In a society where conformity is often expected, infact demanded in many organizations and indeed families, those little things we do to make ourselves OURSELVES and break a little out of the mould can be as exciting to witness as a third party as it is to experience for the individual themselves.

As many of you know, I have 6 tattoos, each one recognising important and influential moments or people in my life, and until Monday afternoon, I had three piercings (not including ears). Well now we have upped that number to 4 and the beguiling, confronting, humorous and often ludicrously absurd tale that charts that new piercing; the term coined by the boy, the cherry on my cupcake, follows.

I will begin in a moment of Doctor Phil/Oprahesque anti-narcissism and honour my mother, who in a tyrannical email denounced my ability to love myself, questioned her role as a parent and, I am sure, though I did not see it, beat her breast in frustration and anger as she acknowledged the fact her daughter had voluntarily undergone “genital mutilation” as she so hyperbolically described it. I was a little stunned at the outburst as I had always prided myself on having a Mum who was liberal, open minded and not a product of her generation… well I guess the liberalness does not extend to a clitoral hood piercing, alas for me; now I bear the wrath of the medically trained matriarch who shall no doubt regale me with tales forever more of women whose clitoris fell off, fell out, combusted, exploded or possibly even got caught in a Stephen Hawkins inspired black hole anomaly and was from there after only visible using the Hubble telescope due to having a hood piercing.

Well my response to this onslaught was initially anger, as I believe is utterly normal when someone essentially tells you they think you’re insane, then the woman my mother raised, the one who has a baulshy in your face attitude and stubborn mindedness came to the for and I decided to do what to me seemed the only reasonable response; I outlined all my positive points, made a wonderful analogy about her having pierced ears and the mutilation of the aural area that would be considered abhorrent if we lived in a culture that regarded music as a higher form of human expression than sex, and I sealed the deal, iced the cupcake if you will, by attaching some choice photos I found online of women with clitoral hood piercings. I await her response…

Now, to begin this tale of clitoral mayhem; it began on a warm Sunday morning after a staff meeting, when my wonderful co-worker Nat and I wandered the city and decided piercing was in order. Finding a piercer she decided upon tongue and well, you all know what I chose. Alas she was denied due to being hung over (I suggested it was that she was a dirty skank but that did not seem to wash) and so I was left to intrepidly venture into the world of “extreme piercing” alone. So here I was, naked from the waist down, legs spread, a woman I had never met before MEASURING my clitoral hod and Nat holding my hand. There was much fumbling, none of it pleasant. They use small implements to get under the hood and well, imagine you had a hummer truck you were trying to fit into one of those “COMPACT CAR ONLY” spaces. Not comfortable. Well the fumbling seemed to be going on and unbelievably I was actually wishing she would just stick the needle in so I could get it over with. By this stage Nat had obviously become bored with the view of the piercing studio because now she to was at the “business end” overseeing the process…

But on this day fortune did not favour the bold, or those with a wish to undergo “genital mutilation”. The piercer whipped off her gloves and with a trembling voice apologetically told me she could not do my piercing because, oh dear, my hood is too small and she needs specialist tools… take a moment to laugh, it has been a common reaction.

Now we have all been brought up to believe that men compare and fret about penis size, wondering is it bigger than his, thicker, ‘stronger’; Nat informed me after we had received the bombshell news that I was indeed Lil Pink Tiny Hood that she had thought to herself “Mine is bigger than that”….. So now not only can women compare the size of their thighs and breasts we can compare hoods and give ourselves yet another thing to obsess about. It is possible to go and have a labial tuck if you believe your labia to be too large; maybe there is a market for clitoral hood stretching? I myself am more than happy with my lil pink tiny hood, and frankly it means that finally I have found a part of my anatomy that can be classed as petite! I have spent 33 years of my life with a strapping strong mesomorphic physique that no amount of dieting will make dainty, and I have embraced that, however at least now I know when it comes to clitoral hood jewellery purchasing, I can finally shop in the “petite smalls” department.

However, petite smalls aside I was going to carry on undeterred and the following afternoon, sweating nervously, I collected Justin from work and headed, via the gelato shop, to have another go at ye ole vertical hood.

I often find myself wondering why my life cannot take a normal and even path, and once again funny and amusing incidents occurred on the way to said piercer. Justin, himself an aficionado of the genital piercing, being the proud owner of a Prince Albert, informed me I needed to purchase panty liners as there could be a small amount of bleeding post pierce. Now to digress a moment here, I must devote a few lines to Justin and his lack of inhibition when it comes to all things “genital”. Now as those of you reading this who know me personally, you will know I am not averse to getting my tits out. There are few of my friends who have not seen my boobs at some stage or another, its not that I do it for any other reason than to me, they are just bits of fat with a discoloured bit of skin at the end (although I must say I do have great tits:P!) and therefore I have no qualms about getting them out, be it to alleviate the issue of tan lines at the beach (I hate tan lines), as a drunken dare, or a sober one for that matter or just cause I need to get changed and well what the fuck who cares…. Well Justin seems to take this approach with, as he fondly refers to it, his ‘junk’. A man who has posed naked with every statue/monument between WA and SA, his infamous Guinness Boot Camp flash to the opposing teams, and the stories he has regaled us with about attaching his mates keys to his “junk jewellery” and taking photos of it so they can realise where their keys have been after they wake up from a drunken night out… To be able to attach a small teddy bear (you know those ones that McDonalds was giving away for awhile) to your genitals and have it hang from your short leg to freak people out with is truly an esoteric venture and kudos to him for having, obviously, the testicular fortitude to be able to pull it off (no pun intended). Anyway, back to the main story.

Into Target we ventured and you would not believe how amusing it is too see a guy, clutching a gelato cup, saunter up to a middle aged woman and confidently ask her where the panty liners were. Her face was reminiscent of a Dali melting clock moment, she stammered and stuttered and blushed then pointed vaguely in the vicinity of “feminine hygiene products” (that classification in itself deserves a whole blog devoted to it and the negative connotations it evokes; the implied notion that womens natural state is unhygienic and needs cleansing, reminiscent of biblical and mythological tales where femininity, female power, female sexuality and the vagina were viewed as evil and to be feared, for men were so weak they were unable to resist…… that doesn’t make the guys pathetic apparently, it makes us evil! OH there will no doubt be a blog about that, and soon!!)

So panty liners in hand we descended into the abyss that was the piercing studio. I was as nervous as all hell, more so about the fact I could not understand how it wouldn’t be excruciatingly painful, and so Justin suggested calling Jo because she had been through it and would be a comforting presence for me. Now a bit about Jo. Jo is a tiny wisp of a thing I had met only two days earlier. She is one of those breath of fresh air types you meet every once in awhile, someone who, even when drunk, says things she then follows through on…. I myself am a strong believer in never saying something for the sake of it; always mean it, something I have found a HUGE proportion of the population does not subscribe to. Why do so many people feel the need to say shallow and empty platitudes? Isn’t saying nothing better than lying to someone of being “socially polite”? However, Jo I have discovered is one of those people who subscribes to the notion of say it only if you mean it, which immediately elevates her above a large proportion of the population in my eyes, and hence I can only ascertain is why I went “OK” when it was suggested she come and give me moral support while I was half naked and nervous as hell and having only met her briefly two nights previously.

So here I was, legs spread, naked from the waist down, yet another person I did not know measuring and investigating my apparently undersized hood, another work mate by my side and Jo offering words of encouragement occasionally interspersed with “I’m glad its not me” (NOT SO ENCOURAGING OR COMFORTING JO!!!)

So, finally it happened. The clamp was in place, the bar had been chosen and after two deep breaths, the hood was pierced…. Now I would love to say that it hurt so little I barely felt it, that it was the least painful of all the piercing, not including ears, that I have had done, and to a degree it was in terms of pain longevity, HOWEVER, for about two seconds it was excruciating, and the layers of missing skin on Justins forearm is testament to that fact. Someone just thrust a sharpened piece of metal through an extremely delicate part of my person, OF COURSE IT DAMN WELL HURT! But not for long, so it was manageable!

After all was done, the jewellery was in place, I was handed a mirror to have a look, and oh my, it looked nothing like I thought it would and I fell in love with it straight away! So much so that I insisted Jo come and have a look, which she did, followed by Justin, it was like having a new baby that you want to show off to those who come to visit you! For some reason the fact of my partial nudity in the face of everyone else being fully clothed did not affect me, the fact I had had a stranger poking about in my bits was inconsequential, because I had the cutest little gold bar wrapped around my clit and it was awesome!!!

But it is one of those strange existential moments when you suddenly snap back to reality and think, “Hang on, I’m exposed here” and your modesty returns. After all I had been through in the past two days, the number of people who had peered, poked at and skewered my bits all were forgotten when my vulnerability came to the fore once more. I had been spread eagle moments earlier but when I came to get off the bed and put my pants back on, I asked everyone to leave the room for I felt shy putting on a panty liner and my panties in front of them.

So according to my Mum, the events I have just detailed would be indicative of self hatred, of her shortfalls as a parent, well to that I say, stop being so egocentric Mum! Not everything I choose to do it a representation of my upbringing with you! I chose to get this done, I wanted to get this done, and damn hell I am so happy with it! It is now three days later and I am in no pain, there is no swelling, I am slightly bruised but that’s about it. I cant wait til she is healed enough to take her for a test run! Right now I am a little daunted! How different will it be? Will it hurt? Will I need to change my technique? Will the boy need to change his technique? The unknown, the mysterious, the slightly scary fact of not knowing what is in store… it is like being a virgin all over again, anticipating with baited breath my first sexual experience, and for someone of my age to be able to feel almost like a virgin again, well hell, it was worth getting it done and getting my Mum off side just for that alone!!!

GET PIERCED!
xxx