Sue - The Artist
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This story is from the Eunuch Archive: www.eunuchworld.org
The Artist
Submission Date: 2005-06-06 By: Sue [Clitoridectomy] [Straight]
An artist makes the ultimate sacrifice for her art.
My masterpiece was nearing completion. I had completed some smaller, similar pieces and these were now in private collections. This was to be my entry for the Turner prize. Something that would definitely shock, but that was also beautiful.
All I needed to complete it were one, perhaps two, more contributions.
Here in San Francisco I hoped to make my final collections. The Embassy Club is well known for its lesbian clients. I wore my shortest skirt and tightest top. It was mid-week and fairly quiet, not too many people about to recognise me later, should anyone want to. I found a dark corner to sip my drink and observe the other clients. I wanted someone on their own, not too old. Eventually I spotted a dark haired women, mid-twenties, good figure, perhaps a little too well built. She was looking at me. Our eyes met. She was interested. So was I, but not for the same reasons as her. She walked over to me and sat down. Good. We talked. I was a stranger, on my first visit, and lonely. She was single at the moment. We understood each other. She invited me back to her apartment. This was better than my hotel room for what I had in mind.
Her apartment was well laid out, but with the signs that someone else had left recently, taking their things. There were gaps in cupboards and shelves. We got down to business quickly. I was eager to examine her pussy lips, but not for what she wanted. Wow, they were huge. Like some strange painting of an orchid by Georgia O'Keeffe. Great mounds of wrinkled flesh, a huge cream cake of a hood. I gently got my tongue underneath to explore. Yes, just what I wanted. A clitoris like a mini penis. It would be one of the centerpieces of my art work. I wondered if the current owner would ever visit a gallery and look at her organs and recognise them.
I went to make a coffee. Strong and black. She sipped it, slowly, resting on the bed. Did she taste anything different? No, it was just hot. I waited while she closed her eyes and fell asleep. I found some plastic to cover the bedding and some old sheets. Opening my bag I took out the implements that I had used many times before. A clamp, sharp blades, needles. I looked greedily at her organs and quickly clamped them. While I waited I washed up; no point leaving evidence. On my return she was ready. A single, slow cut from top to bottom and her hood, clitoris and labia were mine. I dropped them in the preserving solution, then stitched her up. With my trophy in my bag I left by the back door and walked back to my hotel.
I replaced the solution with fresh and worked quickly so as to preserve the colour. These were in mint condition, still slightly pink. Over the next few days I replace the fluid with resin, being careful to keep the shape and texture.
My masterpiece was now almost complete. I looked at the materials. Some of the contributions were larger than others. The majority were small and black. These were collected from circumcisers in various southern African countries. They were black because they had not been well preserved, but they provided quantity. They were small, like black, shrivelled peas. Some I had painted in bright colours, reds and pinks mostly. Their former owners, young prepubescent girls, wouldn't miss them. Some I collected myself. These were in better condition and larger; I didn't do girls. My final contribution was in the centre. There was however one gap at the tip. I had decided to make it my contribution as an artist to her art.
It had been difficult finding someone in the West to perform the surgery. Luckily I had met a French doctor who was willing to perform the sacrifice for me. It was not easy for me. Not the physical loss, so much as the fact that my most private place would be seen by thousands of people. It frightened me and yet attracted me. The surgery was soon arranged. A small private hospital. A local aesthetic, I hated the thought of being unconscious. It was very surgical and clean; not much pain, more discomfort. He was very professional as if he did this every day. Perhaps he did.
A last it was complete. Hundreds and thousands of dots and lines, black, brown, pink and red. A huge painting of a penis made from women. I called it "Envy". I hope that you like it.