Sew Up My Snatch
Let's hear it for creative knitting
Published October 19, 1999 in Crave

"Isn't this a pretty pussy?"

See also...
... by Hank Hyena
... by m. i. blue
... in the Crave section
... from October 19, 1999

The fetish lecturer, a spike-haired, stiletto-heeled woman in her 40s, gently praises the shaved vagina of "Ms. B."

"Yes, yes, ummm... hummm..." agrees the appreciative S/M audience.

Ms. B. is splayed out naked on a medical table before them at tonight's Dungeon Fest demonstration.

"I believe it's the prettiest pussy I've ever seen," the lecturer continues, as she slips on her latex gloves. "Does everyone have a good view?"

The black-clad crowd scoots their chairs forward.

"I'm going to sew her labial lips together now, with a sterilized 16 gauge needle and fishing line -- we're using the largest possible needle, to get the best painfully-ritualistic effect."

Silence descends upon the group as the ambidextrous lecturer, Trish the Tailor, begins to shove the huge needle through the base of Ms. B's left labia.

"AAAAEIEEIAIEIAIE!" Ms. B. screams in hair-raising anguish.

Labial stitching is an intimate medical play fetish that's on the cutting edge of the modern-primitive scene. Women like Ms. B. are requesting that their sensitive snatches be sewn up, so that they can experience the endorphin ecstasy that arrives after excruciating agony.

Ms. B.'s pussy-sealing operation imitates the dreaded infibulation procedure that torments vaginas in traditional societies in Africa (primarily in Djibouti, Ethiopia, Kenya, Nigeria, Somalia, and Sudan). Human rights organizations working to end the misogynist stitch-ups would be grotesquely appalled by pain-hungry post-feminists like Ms. B., who voluntarily subject themselves to the torture their unfortunate sisters are non-consensually subjected to.

Infibulation shuts a young girl's vagina by sewing her vulva sides together with catgut or thread. Only a tiny hole remains for pissing and menstrual flow. The surgery guarantees female virginity; when infibulated women are married, they are unstitched for intercourse. Reinfibulation also occurs if the paranoid husband leaves town for an extended absence.

When questioned later about her ritual's correlation to the African model, Ms. B. professed absolute ignorance, but not surprise. She's aware that modern blood-rites have religious antecedents in primitive cultures.

"AIEAIEAIEEIA! EIAEIAEIA!"

The horrible howls of Ms. B. echo across the vast warehouse where the fetish event is being held. Her voluntary vagina-closing requires five cross-stitches -- this means her pussy-lips must be brutally punctured ten times, by the fat needle.

Every time Ms. B. diaphragmatically screams, the hubbub of the 400 attendants in the huge catacomb ceases, and they sit in stunned, amused silence. Other demonstrations -- whipping, Japanese rope-binding, fetish wraps -- pause as the participants admire the blood-curdling yells.

Small drops of blood emerge from Ms. B.'s puncture wounds. The hemoglobin seeps across the five stitches of her traumatically-swollen pussy lips. When the operation is finished, the sewed twat resembles a tiny, wrapped, pink rump roast.

"Voila!" exults Trish the Tailor. "Please, everyone, step closer, to admire my knitting."

Reverently, the audience approaches Ms. B., who sits up now, legs spread. Compliments and kind words are bestowed upon her; dozens of close-up photos are snapped. Ms. B. feels euphoric now -- she's floating in the incredible sense of well-being that accompanies an endorphin high.

"Have some needles, everyone!" shouts Trish the Tailor. "Enjoy yourself, but be safe!"

Generously, the seamstress distributes handfuls of shafts, ranging from acupuncture-thin #29's to behemoth #14's. A flurry of self-piercing commences; people skewer their arms, chest, nipples, and faces.

Eventually, Ms. B. gets dressed. Skipping her underwear, she slips on a plaid Catholic schoolgirl skirt. Gingerly, she minces around the fetish convention for the next two hours with her dominant "Daddy." Only once does she pause: for urination, which is a dribbling event due to the tight urethral constraint.

At a hotel late that night, Ms. B.'s "Daddy" carefully snips her crotch loose. The procedure is painful and difficult, because the stitches are buried deep in her inflamed labial tissue.

Eventually, the genitalia is liberated, and the fishing line removed.

Although it's not recommended, Ms. B. and her Daddy inaugurate the courageous vagina with a celebratory fuck that leaves a few spots of blood on the condom.

Ms. B.'s surgery is only one of the tender options available in the medical science rooms that are omnipresent in today's S/M dungeons -- masochists can be cut, sewn, pierced, blood-tested, dentally-picked, or colonically-irrigated by lab-coated play doctors. Penis-piercings that tunnel the glans are increasingly popular. Women enjoy "necklaces" -- fishing line sewn through the nipples. At Club Fuck in Los Angeles, a bloody bottom recently got his butt-cheeks sewn together and a "Doctor X" extracts bone marrow from a volunteer's legs.

Five days later, no evidence of the infibulation horror remains, except ten pale, minuscule dots. Everything is back to normal again, because when it comes to parts of the body being pierced...

Nothing heals faster than a pussy!

Hank Hyena is a columnist for SFGate and a frequent contributor to Salon. m.i. blue writes, performs, and produces shows in San Francisco. He has produced the weird and successful wordfuck and dadafest series and stories for Future Sex and Noirotica 2, as well as the informational pamphlet "How To Blow Up A Church."