Piercing Myself Shut


Real Life Chastity

Genital mutilation can be a hot topic in the news. However, that is an entirely different topic when it is against someone’s will. My logic and reasoning for piercing myself shut does not involve cultural heritage. Still, I did not do it for attention, even though it wound up getting me more attention than I was looking for. I did it to be chaste.

As I try to explain it, I realize that most people still will not get it. Chastity belts are something people think of from the medieval era. Piercing your vagina closed s sort of like an updated version, I guess.


First Vaginal Piercing

My first vaginal piercing was done when I was 18 years old. Dating a guy that was 28 at the time, I used it as an excuse to not have sex; oh, whoops, says we have to wait a while to have sex, so sorry. Of course, you know that backfired after not too long, but I did it again anyways, like a crazy person, thinking I would get a different result.

The next time was when I was 19 and moved down to Florida. Being on my own, away from friends and family, I didn’t want to just hop in the sack with anyone, so I pierced myself again as an excuse. As tempting as that sounds, I can’t really have sex because of this…


Logic Thought

Logic thought only of the being chaste part, not that some guys only get further turned on by the fact that I was not a slut. “Oh, you can look, but you can’t touch right now”. Otherwise, I might…

When I had my cliff diving accident, which basically shattered my pelvis, they had to take me in for an x-ray when it happened. Wearing only my swimsuit, the techs were scratching their heads, trying to figure out what the abnormality they were seeing could be. Granted, this happened in West Virginia. It took them a few moments, with a few different people consulted before they asked.

“Any idea what this could be? We’ve been trying to figure it out.” Then, trying my best to hold in laughter, keeping a total stone face, I explain.


Vagina Pierced Whore

Watch their eyes grow big as the lightbulb clicks on in their heads. Whispers are heard from people who have been listening from the hall. “Oh, that gal there sure ain’t from ’round here, lil different up there.”

It’s a vaginal piercing. Get over it. Now, I had to heal a couple years.

That was God’s way of saying no sex. Careful what you wish for. You just might get it, and usually not how you wanted it to be.


No Penis Enters

Shattering your pelvis means no penis can enter. Bones had to come back together. Being paralyzed and spending time in a wheelchair.

Something about being in a wheelchair makes friends run away. While they were out dancing at bars, I got to live in a fantasy land and write while teaching myself how to walk again. It’s a bottled-up sex drive.


Numbness Takes Over

Part of the healing process involved learning about numbness. Some parts don’t work the way they used to, and trying to get those skills back is a process. It’s not an instantaneous go out and bang the world.

Well, if I’m not having sex, and it’s a little numb down there, why not throw in a few more vaginal piercings? So that’s kind of how that logic worked. 

I got close to an artist when I was healing, so it was all free.

A year or two after my accident, I had a vaginal lump, and the doctors wanted to do surgery, which resulted in a scar on my right labia. Being self-conscious about it and being friends with a tattoo artist, I asked him if he would be willing to cover up that scar with a tattoo for me. Never taking his vibrating hand off my clit, I learned his skills.


Not At Home

Usually, the cleaning process would involve a spritz, followed by a wad of paper towels wiping the excess ink off the area. However, his tongue was so soft, and delicate, like he was scared he would lick the ink off. Let me clarify that he did not lick the tattoo, as that would not be the totally hygienic thing to do, and you should not do that at home.

Felt like lamb’s ear, his tongue on my clit. That was the first time he went down on me, which was terrific. I had been waiting for years.


Official Side Piece

Ever since I was 18, I imagined what it would be like to have his head between my thighs, and when it finally was, he did not disappoint. But, you know that it did not stop there. I was the official side piece, openly that his main squeeze knew, and his friends called me his.

Once we started hanging around each other often, finding excuses to slip away when nobody was looking, the artwork became one of those excuses. “Oh, hey, didn’t you say you wanted that piercing?” No choice but to take my clothes off, as it’s purely business now.

No, we were not messing around at all, swear. I just had to get naked to get this vaginal art, and while he was down there, he may have serviced me a little bit, but really, it was all business. If he’s an artist, and I’m getting artwork done, what can you say if we’re alone?

The curse of a side chick is that you’re not the main, no matter how many years he strings your ass along. So, was I supposed to stay? Even though he had said for years that his dream was to tour the country with musicians and do tattoos. When the opportunity to join the Ozzfest tour in 2002 came about, I went, but he stayed, unwilling to go.


The Titty Painter

His cousin went instead. Someone to watch over me. He watched as I hooked up with a titty painter. Can you imagine that the guy who painted tits for a living was willing to pay for a couple more piercings?

He said he wanted some for a guy’s pleasure. So we researched which were best for a guy, and he paid for that to happen in Phoenix, AZ. So that brought me up to a total of a half dozen piercings at that point, and all the rest would happen in New Orleans. Done by a member of the Atone Pain Tribe, a guy with a double zero Prince Albert that ripped.


Prince Albert Piercing

For those unfamiliar with a Prince Albert, that’s where you pierce into the urethra, and the metal hoop is out of the tip of your penis. So, when it pulled out, it ripped through the center of his cock, resulting in a forked penis that matched his forked tongue and the horns implanted. That’s a guy I did not actually have sex with, but his girlfriend had no problem with him showing me, as she is the one who brought me to him that night.

We were hanging out on the bus with Drowning Pool, both met Dimebag Darrell of Pantera for the first time and towards the end of the night, she casually commented, “my master would want to meet you.” So it was only a short walk to Rampart, where his shop was, and that night he gave me three at once, two inch-and-a-half long surface piercings and a triangle, which was like big u-shaped piercings under my clit.

The very last one, the tenth one, was done by the same guy, but it was after we went to film at Phil Anselmo’s House of Shock in Metairie. I remember somebody asking me when is enough going to be enough? The tenth one was a ten-gauge through my taint that tore out.


Home to Master

I remember looking down in the toilet, seeing a piercing ring, and it not really registering. It wasn’t until I went home to my own master and had sex that I realized I was missing something. He became paranoid and thought that he fucked the ring up inside of me, even after I told him I remembered seeing a ring in the toilet, but it was kind of funny.

My master at that time was involved in movies, and I am not at liberty to say how or why or with who. Don’t ask me. Let’s just say he did film.

I was taken to his house the morning we did the Lil Wayne video. It’s a long story, and we don’t have time for all of it. Let’s just say this dude was kind of a hermit, didn’t really leave his house or trust people to come into his house very often, but he trusted the people his friends brought in, me being one of those.

He wasn’t like a shut-in or anything, as he would go to concerts, and as I mentioned, he worked in film. It was more like because he was constantly around people in the movie industry, he didn’t want to deal with many people any time that he did not have to. Best I can explain.


Going to Work

So, his friend brings me over to his house, gets me all drunk and announces that I will work with him. I’m thinking he did construction or roofing or something, so I was like, Nah, not interested. I didn’t know that work was the Lil Wayne video, and he was not at liberty to tell me, wanting it to be a surprise and all – though it may have been more of a surprise to him that I didn’t know who that was.

In my defense, I was fresh off of Ozzfest. That’s rock, not rap. My blinders had been on, as I was on tour, and that’s what you breathe and eat whether you like it or not, no matter how bad or good the catering.

You know, Cash Money? Um, I like money. I’ll take cash money, sure.


Attempt to Impress

They looked at me like I was stupid. I’m like, whatever. Try to impress.

Those shenanigans are another story for another time, as let’s just say them boys ain’t ever seen the type of piercings that I had back then. It’s always fun to see the facial expressions of minds being blown.

The point of the story was figuring out who my master was, learning to be chaste, and uh, we got a like side-tracked on that one. Just like we’re about to go a little bit more. It all goes back to the Dada party.


The Dada Party

I didn’t know what a Dada party back then was either, so don’t feel bad. Dada, as I learned, is an art movement. People say it’s dead; it’s not.

I got invited to this Dada party and was told I was not allowed to bring anyone with me. No matter how hard I tried or how many people I asked, nobody was available to go with me either. That whole part of it was shady as hell to me, like me purposely being veiled.

Show up to the bad part of town as a single girl dressed in no-fear stripper gear, patent leather, six-inch heel boots, and leather collar. 

Shady building looks more than run down, and you don’t know what’s lurking on the other side of the door, but you sure as hell don’t expect a person to be covered in bloody dollar bills, pulling them off of his body to hand the red and green paper to you, “here, have some blood money.”


The Naked Buffet

Turn to the buffet. Naked women are covered in cheese and meat slices. As people dine, more and more of their bodies are revealed.

Grab a piece of cheese. Think nothing of it. Regret it later.

Was that planned? That was the excuse. Don’t eat the cheese.

“Oh, you’re not feeling well. Don’t you know better than to eat cheese sitting out that long on a naked body? Time to go to your master.”


Who’s My Master?

Who told me that? “Who’s my master?” It didn’t dawn on me.

“Get in the cab. See where it takes you. You’ll figure it out.”

I was so happy to be called home. Of course, it wasn’t my home, as in I lived there. Still, the place next to Independence Studios at Poland and Kentucky was a famous little off-the-wall place until Hurricane Katrina. 

It didn’t matter how many thousands were stashed in the walls of that house, as the bulldozers did not ask any questions.


What’s that Floating?

He told me he had to canoe over the ten-foot barbwire fence and thought he saw a mannequin floating in his yard by the roof of his house. Instead, it was the body of his neighbor. 

After all that drama, there was no more need to get new piercings, as fate had a new form of chastity. Time for another surgery. Let’s make it a couple surgeries, where one slices through the left side, and the other slices the right side from the clit to the anus, which is worse than any episiotomy scar. Let’s have body image issues.


The Piercing Fetish

Heal up from all that trauma and surgery scars, and here are the ex-boyfriends calling me up after years. “Uh, you still got those piercings?” 

When I explain that I had to take them out during surgery, that the doctors literally cut through the holes, so they’re not going back in, their responses are always the same: “you gave me the piercing fetish.”

What I think is the most hilarious is when I see these guys that I have not seen for a decade, and they stop me dead in my tracks. Then, proud as peacocks, they open their wallets and pull out my card (my card has my vagina on it) in pristine condition. “I keep your pussy with me, just in case I need to pull it out….”

I love being in people’s spank banks. Not everyday does a person wake up feeling sexy, but when you see stuff like that, get little reminders like that, it’s like, well… I mean, I did not swear off piercings altogether, you know, and I might be open if I can convince the right artist to do it like maybe the one I already talked to about it…


Sexy, Not Scared

Don’t be scared. Be sexy. That’s what I’ve always been told.

He’s scared of backlash after the documentary. I’m trying to talk him into the idea of it, though I am more curious to hear his idea on the art. That documentary had nothing to do with me, so sorry about all that.

While he might be scared to not want to piss anyone off or have them cast judgment upon him, calling himself the black sheep, I had to laugh at him, saying I thought I was the black sheep down here. 

Sometimes, you just have to stop caring what other people think, as the judgment has already been cast, so give the people what they want. So if you want to think of me in a certain way, you can, if that helps you sleep better at night, but I don’t really care what you think of me.


Piercing My Vagina

People can think down about me for piercing my vagina several times. They can conclude that I’m some sort of jezebel from it. Nobody really cares to hear the whole logic of why I did it unless you’re reading this all the way to the end.

While I might tend to downplay my art, as I ultimately do it for me, and not other people, it does really suck to be judged. Been there, done that, and that’s why Tony and I bonded, as people judged him for having so many tattoos, and being a big, burly type of drummer. To this day though, some of his final words haunt me, “my biggest regret in life was thinking that I was never good enough,” as tattoos hide several scars.

That illusion is hard to shatter, and he knew that I knew that. A big part of me was always striving to do better, always striving to be the best, and plenty of people constantly tell me that my best was never good enough, so this nasty cycle continues throughout life. 

He used to tell me that if he didn’t know that he could nail something, give it 110%, then he was not even going to bother to attempt it at all.


Chaste, Not Straying

The second to the last guy I was with was Vietnamese, cluing me in about all things in the Asian culture that I was oblivious to, said that he suffered from his parents being disappointed that he was not a prodigy of some sort, as he always felt pushed to do better than average. 

Here’s another one trained to not feel good enough, and we bonded. Mind you, it was not enough of a bond to keep him from straying elsewhere. Hence, the idea of piercing myself shut is like waiting for someone who makes me not want to stray, as I already know that I have the best.

The reality of me doing that boils down to mutual agreement and attraction. What is the point if that guy I am longing for is with someone else? The best may have already left, and what would be the point unless he planned to come back?

It’s more like waiting for someone worthwhile. Of course, not everybody gets it, especially with the online hookup culture that everyone is so fond of these days, but for those of us paranoid about hooking up with Monkeypox and whatever is out there, Nah. 

I prefer to be like the tree, solid and dependent by myself, so hand me the best dildo that you go, and let me go solo, until it’s time to board.


A Purity Binge

It’s like a purity binge. Don’t have sex. It makes it better when you do.

Try out new dildos. Ride it solo mission. You might have more fun.

Of course, you can always come and have fun with me!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *