Sue - Beating Myself
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Beating Myself
Submission Date: 2004-08-30 By: Sue [General Warning] [Minor] [Straight] [Clitoridectomy]
A young girl chooses circumcision.
It was when I was 14 that I went with my mother to stay with her parents. Her father was very sick with cancer and I went with her. We stayed two weeks. He was dying. I was let into his room to see him but was told to leave when it was obvious that he was about to die and had to wait outside. They let me back in when he was dead to see him. Shortly afterwards was the funeral with all the family. There were flowers, speeches and crying. All the time I had to share a bed with my mother. That was ok except for one problem. Every since puberty my sexuality had been growing. I had 'played with myself' as a child but had learnt to conceal it because it upset people.
Since puberty it had become more urgent and more frequent, but I had my own room and my own bed. I usually needed an orgasm at least once a day. At first when I shared a bed with my mother I did it quietly and slowly so that I did not make a noise; that was the 'Mmmm, that was good' type of orgasm. She slept through my relieving myself. As the days went on I became less cautious, after all she was asleep. I would take longer, enjoying the approach of relief, and then faster and faster until I cried out with pleasure; that 'Arrgh. Oh I needed that' type of orgasm. I needed it every night, even when my grandfather died. Mother said nothing at the time.
It was only when we got home that one night she came to my room when I was in bed. I hastily stopped masturbating when the door opened, but I was flushed and breathless. She spoke to me gently about how it was necessary to control my sexual desires and not let them take over for that was dangerous for a girl. She asked if I had problems with needing sex. I replied that it was sometimes difficult. Then said asked if I needed help because she had known that I had needed to masturbate every day. I was very embarrassed at being found out and blushed.
I explained that I couldn't stop myself, that if I didn't then it was like an itch that just grew and grew until you had to scratch it or a bruise that needed rubbing to stop it hurting. She asked if I had ever let my boyfriend touch me, which of course I had wanted but was too shy to actually have tried yet. I couldn't answer her but blushed again. Then she said that she didn't want me to end up like some 'other' girls who could not control their desires. I told her that I didn't want that either, which I didn't, but it was so difficult that I was afraid that I couldn't stop myself; could she help me? She smiled and said that she would see what she could arrange.
Nothing happened for several weeks. Then one Friday night she came into my room again when the light was switched off, this time very quietly so that I didn't notice until she sat on my bed. I was just reaching orgasm and suddenly stopped, leaving me very frustrated. She took my left hand and gripped it hard. "I have found someone who can help you," she said. At first I didn't understand, but then I was grateful that she understood and would help me control myself. She told me to be showered and ready first thing in the morning. Of course that night I really didn't try and stop myself until I fell asleep exhausted. Next morning I showered, giving myself a special clean up 'down below'. There was no breakfast and we had a long drive. I think that we ended up in west London. It was an old, large house in a quiet street, very dull on an overcast, dull day. My mother rang the door-bell while we waited. A youngish women opened the door a crack and
talked to my mother. I couldn't hear what was said, but the door opened and we went in. We waited in a high ceiling rather dingy office with worn out chairs. There were sounds of other people, but we waited alone for almost an hour. Eventually a middle-aged man appeared who I think was the doctor. He took my mother outside and talked to her before returning with her. Then he smiled and asked me if I knew why I was here and what he could do for me.
Of course I knew that I wanted help, but I didn't know what he could do for me. He explained very gently that he could reduce my desires by physically removing part of the problem. I was shocked. That was not quite what I was ready for. I told both of them that I was not sure that I was ready for something drastic like that. It gradually dawned on me what he was describing. Then he asked if I knew what he usually did for young girls. Of course I had no idea. He opened another door to his office.
This room was smaller, clinical white, with a strange smell and a shelf with covered basins on it. He opened one and invited me to look inside. At first I didn't know what it was; something small floating in liquid. Then I recognised it. It was something from biology books, a small human foetus. "That," he said, "is what I do for girls who can't control their urges." I turned white and felt sick. My mother was by my side. "That is what could happen to you," she said.
Just then another women knocked and came in. "We are waiting for you," she said. The doctor showed us back to his office and then left us. There was another long wait before he returned carrying another covered dish. "Do you want to look at this one?" he said. I was fascinated, despite my revulsion. Inside was a prefect, small foetus next to it's sack. "Oh!" I cried out, for it was moving slightly and I could see a heart beat. "Yes," he said "they sometimes come out like this when they are fresh. This one is from a girl just a year older than you are." Suddenly I picked it up and held it in my hands; a little girl. As I watched the heart-beat slowed and stopped; it had died in my hands and yet only a little while earlier it had been alive, warm and safe inside a woman. I was overcome with emotions of anger at the girl who could do this just to gratify herself. There was sorrow, grief and shock as well. Nothing had ever touched me so deeply. I cried. "What do you do with it now?" I asked. The doctor smiled again. "It will be disposed of" he said mildly. I returned it to the dish and imagined this poor baby flushed down a toilet. I turned to my mother. "I'm ready," I said, "please take this away from me so that this doesn't happen to me."
After washing my hands and going to the toilet we went upstairs. There were several rooms, with a low sobbing coming from one of them. We went into an unoccupied room with a bed. He asked my mother if she wanted to stay, which she did. Then the doctor asked me to take off my dress and knickers and lie down on the bed. My feet were placed in holders at the foot of the bed and I was made comfortable. "Now," he said "we need to decide what and how much to remove."
"All of it," I said. I was determined to make an end of it, to beat this addiction before I did something that I would regret. "No, no," said the doctor. "This isn't like that. We just plan to help you control yourself, not completely remove everything."
"Yes," said my mother, "this is to help you, not to punish you."
"Now," said the doctor, "I want you to show me how you, err, touch yourself. I need to understand where you are most sensitive." This was really difficult. "Would it help if we left you for a few minutes" said the doctor. I smiled my thanks and they left me, leaving the door ajar. I worked on myself hard, with thumb and forefinger each side, sliding my hood along my head until was hard. I felt the thrill of excitement as it built up. They came in, but by this stage I didn't care if they could see me. I wanted this to be last time, letting it really build up tension before releasing me forever. "Good girl," said the doctor, "that is better than any sedative to relax you."
Afterwards the doctor asked my permission to examine me. Very gently he touched me where no-one else had ever been, pulling back my hood and examining me beneath a warm, bright light. "There is a strong frenelum attached to your hood which will have to go" he said. "Then we can trim your hood and labia and reduce, not remove, your clitoris. You should still be able to enjoy sex in future with the extra vaginal stimulation, but your desire will be diminished to a level that you can control." He then touched me there with something cold and metallic. It was a shock as I thought it was a scalpel already, but it was only a device to hold me open. "Sorry," he said, but the shock had made me contract; I could feel my head shrinking. "It will help if you could make it recover a little," he said, "because it makes it easier to operate." I had lost all interest by that time and nothing would make it grow again.
"That snail will never show its horns again," my mother observed. He then injected me four times, in the clitoris, hood and labia. I was recovering from my orgasm so just relaxed and looked at the dead flies on the ceiling. He left for a minute; I dozed with my mother holding my hand. When he returned I felt a tugging 'down there' but that was all. It took less than a minute, then he was stitching me up and placing a large stick on bandage over the area, finally he gave me an injection of antibiotics. Afterwards I sat up and got dressed. "May I look?" I said pointing to the covered bowl. When I opened it there was blood of course and floating in it a brownish, shrivelled piece of flesh smaller than my smallest finger nail. I prodded it. That was it, the thing that had been trying to take control of me; now I had won. I picked it up and pulled it out; it was less than an inch long. Then I squashed it flat, like a piece of chewing gum and dropped it back into the bowl.
My mother helped me downstairs and into the car. I slept on the way home. That night I needed pain killers and could hardly move the next day. My mother told my dad and brothers that I had a virus, so they kept away all day. Next day I was well enough to go to school, but missed the sports for the entire week. It took three weeks to heal up completely. I tried a tester to see what it was like to touch myself; it was OK, nothing special. From then on I had no problems with myself. I slept well and worked hard, becoming more outgoing and less shy. Later, boys I could handle, but not need them to handle me; it was a good feeling to be in control of my desires rather than the other way round. I went to university and was a virgin when I married. I don't let him look at me 'down there' in case he notices the scarring. Despite what the doctor said I can't orgasm anymore; I guess that he took away too much. Instead I share my husband's pleasure. Life is great and I don't miss what I lost.