It was the summer of 2012. The summer my friend and I spent almost every single day tanning outside, our sophomore year of college was rolling around the corner, and we were both in our prime. What a time to be alive.
On this particular day, we were discussing piercings. This was not a foreign concept to us since both of us had multiple. Since our ears and noses had enough holes forced into them, we were considering nipple and clitoral piercings. Now, both of these piercings have their own… pleasurable benefits, but my friend and I were considering them solely on the fact that we thought they looked cute.
We made a pact: she would get her nipples pierced if I got my clitoral hood pierced (Here’s a hella NSFW link to a picture of a vertical clitoral hood [VCH] piercing). I agreed, but with the mentality that the likelihood of this happening would be slim to none.
I hadn’t done too much prior research on this particular piercing before making this agreement. In fact, the first time I found out this piercing even existed was early on in my freshman year of college. It was one of my first real college parties, and I was not at all the least bit sober. While both intoxicated, my friend whispered, “I have to show you something.” She led me to an inconspicuous corner of the dorm and pulled down her pants. She had a VCH piercing with a little diamond stud. I wholeheartedly told her that I thought it was “super cute.” Yes, I do believe this is a direct quote. She may have explained more about the process, but I don’t remember a lot from the rest of that night.
In retrospect, this sounds a whole lot like the beginning of a porno.
Anyway, I started researching after we made the agreement. This piercing didn’t go through the clitoris itself, but through the hood that covers it. Since everyone is built differently, whether or not you’re able to get the piercing depends on your anatomy. The way to figure this out is by sticking a cotton swab under your hood and if the cotton part fits all the way in, you’re good to go.
There are different types of jewelry that vary the amount of stimulation that your clitoris receives, but again, this is all based on your own anatomy.
Fast forward to a few months later. It was November and my friend called me up to let me know that there was $10 a piercing special happening at a local shop and it was the last day of the sale. I remember her saying, “It’s now or never,” and then I don’t remember the rest of the conversation because I blacked out while wondering why I ever made that bet.
I tried to psych myself up for the rest of the day and I was ready, thinking to myself this is gonna look so cute on you and you should go for a pink diamond or maybe something that dangles. Right before I went to pick up my friend from work and ride to our impending doom, I started freaking out and sweating through my cardigan despite the 60 degree weather. I went anyway.
I remember thinking, fuck, fuck, fuck the entire way there, but we were more than halfway to the establishment when I had made it up in my mind that I didn’t want to go through with it after all, but at this point we were literally in the parking lot.
When we arrived, we were told that we had just made it and we were their last clients of the day. I immediately cursed myself for having a lead foot and always driving at least ten miles over the speed limit. Fuck.
We signed our paperwork and a man with a beard and multiple gaping holes in his ears where giant gauges used to sit led us in. Fuck. This is happening. I’ve signed a paper. I have to do it now. I let my friend go first, just so I could have more time potentially back out.
I have to say, homegirl was brave. They gave her the option of either getting both piercings done at the same time or one by one. She opted to get both of her nipples done at the same time, stating, “I’ll pussy out if I let you do them separately.” I watched as two piercers leaned over my friend with their needles, told her to take a few deep breaths and counted down to her death. We were lucky the establishment was free of customers, because the obscenities that my friend yelled at the top of her lungs the second the needles punctured her skin were enough to send anyone running.
When they were done, she admired them in a mirror and proceeded to ask me for my phone. She wanted to take pictures of her new nips to send to her girlfriend and my camera quality was better (Thanks, @iPhone). I still run into those photos when I scroll through iPhoto on my laptop.
It was my turn.
The man with the Swiss-cheese-like ears explained to me that the piercing depended on my anatomy, and even though I already knew, I quietly nodded and proceeded to let him inspect my nether regions. He rubbed me down with some sort of lubricant or antiseptic and he told me to relax as he stuck a cotton swab under my hood. He said I passed the cotton swab test and stepped out of the room for a second to grab the jewelry.
Looking back, this also sounds like the beginning of a porno.
I tried planning my escape, but he was back too soon. Fuck. I was fucking nervous and he could tell. He kept telling me to relax and he was ready to stick a needle in my vajayjay. I could be paraphrasing.
He told me to take a few deep breaths. I imagined the immensity of the pain I was about to experience. Fuck. He counted down. Fingers crossed I faint so I don’t have to feel this. I felt something cold. Fuck. I felt a quick pinch. FUCK. I tensed up, he told me to relax, and it was over. What?
It didn’t even hurt. He held a mirror up for me to see and I said, “I love it.” I meant it, which was strange coming from me, a Capricorn, but I did.
I remember my friend and I went to a party right after that and I told everyone about my naughty piercing, even the strangers. Why keep something I like so much a secret, right?
There was minimal pain with the recovery; it was just sore for a couple of days. Cleaning it was just as simple; I soaked it in a warm saline solution that I mixed in a shot glass. Please use your imagination to picture this process.
About three days after I crucified my clit (Sorry, @God), something horrible happened. I was having a great day; doing laundry, binge eating, drinking water, as one does on any given day. The urge to pee suddenly consumed me.
I ran to the bathroom, pulled down my yoga pants and before I had the chance to relieve myself, I heard a small ding. It was the unfamiliar sound of metal hitting porcelain.
I looked down, thinking that I dropped a quarter in the toilet. As a frugal Capricorn and a fake tattoo aficionado, I was not about to let this quarter flush down the toilet. Much to my disdain, it was not a quarter, but my fresh new piercing. Fuck. I stood up and there was another ding; the unfamiliar sound of metal on tile. It was the other end of my piercing. The part that kept everything together.
What the fuck? Swiss-cheese-ear guy betrayed me.
I hadn’t peed yet, so the toilet was free game. I screamed as I reached into the toilet to retrieve the bar with the little blue stone.
Fuck. How am I supposed to put this back in?
My period had promptly started the day after I got my piercing, so going back to the parlor for someone to put it in was out of the question. The only person who could save me was me.
I ran back to my room, yoga pants around my ankles, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls on my way there. I hella disinfected the bar, found a handheld mirror and got to work. I won’t go into details, but after about the longest hour of my life, I got it back in. It’s been three years, and none of the bars that I put in there have fallen out since. Maybe I’m more qualified than Swiss-cheese-ear dude to put in VCH piercings.
All of my friends know about my sparkle cooch, at least I think all of them do. And if I haven’t told them myself, they’ve heard from someone else. A lot of my friends tease me about it, especially when I miraculously receive free things. One of my friends was bitter that my barista friend had given me a free coffee and asked me if he had heard my “jingle jangles down there.”
First of all, it doesn’t “jingle jangle,” second of all, no. I’m just really cute and this is how I get most of my free offers. (AKA I beg them not to charge me until I wear them down).
A few of my friends called me a slut right after I got it, and I decided that I didn’t need that type of negative energy in my life. I slowly disposed of those friends throughout the years. Let it be known, that I got the piercing purely for my own admiration and for no one else.
Three years later, here I am. I don’t regret this piercing like I have with most of my other ones. I look at it every now and then, and still think it’s cute. I’ve shown it to more people than I can count on my fingers and I can confidently say that I enjoy walking upstairs.
And, God, I hope my mom never finds out about this.