Photo Credit: Bucky Beall

Many moons ago and what seems like a lifetime ago I had a genital piercing. The whole thing came about unexpectedly but I had an interest in getting my little buddy pierced for quite sometime. It all started after reading an article in Cosmopolitan magazine in which several women wrote in after having amorous encounters with pierced gentleman.

In short the women in the articles enjoyed their respective encounters and wanted to know how they could talk their boyfriends into getting their junk pierced.

Time passed but the article had peeked a curiosity in me and I began to do some research on such exotic piercing. It turns out there are two main piercings for men; the “Prince Albert” and the “Ampallang.” The Prince Albert is the more common of the two and really doesn’t do anything to enhance sexual performance or prowess. It consists of a hoop piercing under the head of the penis and coming out of the “pee hole.” In Roman times it was used to tie up slaves, much the way you would attach a dog to a runner.

The “Ampallang” is an entirely different animal. It consists of a horizontal barbell (similar to a tongue ring) that is pierced through the head (or directly under the head) of the penis, leaving a stud on either side of the head or shaft. This piercing is purely to increase females sexual gratification, as the studs are said to rub intensely on the inner walls of the vagina (vertical ampallangs are also said to increase the frequency of g-spot related orgasms).

I continued to do my research on such piercings, finding them quite common in a variety of different tribal cultures (in fact a woman in tribal Hawaii would not marry a man without an Ampallang type piercing). The more research I did the more compelled I became to have myself pierced. I even went as far as to make several different appointments with piercers but each time I chickened out and could not go through with the act.

The anxiety I experienced while driving to the tattoo and piercing studio was too great. I felt more than just butterflies in my stomach, I felt like I was driving myself to the slaughter house and I was never quite able to get to my appointments.

I decided to put the entire endeavor on the back burner and that is when fate intervened. While working as a bar back in a swanky South Beach nightclub one night there happened to be several tattoo artists and piercers working a private party in one of the VIP rooms.

I had made quite good tips that night and had also been coaxed into doing quite of few shots of Jagermeister by some overly gregarious chaps from London. Regardless of how it happened I found myself discussing my interest in getting an ampallang piercing with one of the piercers at the end of the night. The fact that she was absolutely gorgeous coupled with my liquid courage allowed for a perfect storm that washed away all sense of apprehension and anxiety from me.

The stage was set and I was finally going to go through with it. I decided to be pierced just below the head of my penis and the piercer (lets call her Wednesday) had to mark each side with a fell tipped marker to avoid hitting my urethra.

She told me to relax and on the count of three it would all be over. She told me to take several deep breaths and without my knowledge, she drove the needle home on the count of one, which in hindsight was a good thing because it was completely unexpected and didn’t hurt nearly as much as I had anticipated.

The next morning was another story entirely. I had a massive hangover and barely recalled the events that had transpired the night before. That was until I got up in the morning to take a leak. It was at that point that I noticed a the piercing and when I let loose not only did it feel like I was struck by a bolt of lightening it sprayed everywhere, and I do mean everywhere.

Last nights maiming came rushing back to me and as I dug through the contents of my pant pockets I came across a business card for Wednesday,. Her phone number was circled and a note said for me to call for “aftercare instructions”.

I phoned Wednesday who informed me that I had to urinate sitting down for the next week and could not have sex for the next month. She told me how to keep it clean and wished me well.

The next few weeks were a bit unpleasant but everything healed up nicely and my adventure began. The girl I was dating at the time became my first fan; she saw stars with a minimal of effort on my part and it was no fluke. From that point on each and every time we had sex she had the happiest of endings

Time passed and eventually me and my girlfriend went our separate ways but it was not for a want of physical attraction. We were just apples and oranges. But little miss apple must have told all her roommates about my modification because over the next several weeks each and every one of her roommates threw themselves at me, all interested in finding their own happy ending.

Suddenly I was big man on campus, girls began to talk amongst themselves and curiosity soon got the best of them. Without getting into detail I became quite popular among the circle of lady friends I had at the time. The scenario was always the same, out for drink, where they would ask me if it was true I hade my junk pierced, I would reply “yes” nonchalantly and later on that evening when the time was right they would demand to see it. After that it was off to the races..

That year was one of the best years of my life, as I became quite popular with the ladies. Unfortunately, all good things must end and my tale ends in near calamity.

I was on a visit home to Connecticut for the summer and was coming home from the Puerto Rican Day Parade in New York City on my motorcycle. Without getting into specifics I was involved in a rather grizzly motorcycle accident and ended up in the hospital.

At the time I was sporting quite a few piercings, nipples, tongue labret etc. I was in really bad shape having shattered my knee and had obtained more than my faire share of road rash.

I was being wheeled in for an MRI when the near calamity occurred. I noticed a fire extinguisher strapped to the wall when it dawned on me… I started to tell the nurse wheeling me in about my situation downtown but she misunderstood me. She told the other nurse ” this kid’s morphine drip is up too high, he keeps mumbling about his genitals.”

The other nurse was a bit more perceptive, she checked to see if I was injured down there and at the last moment the calamity was obverted. She found my ampallang and removed it mere moments before I was to undergo the MRI. I don’t need to tell you what a strong magnet would do to the metal barbell running through my penis, you get the drift.

The piercing closed up rather quickly and as I focused on my recovery from the near fatal motorcycle accident, my sex life to a back seat to a long convalescents.

It wasn’t until months later when I got together with a dear old friend who knew of my modification and was if I remember correctly a very big fan. We went out for dinner and drinks and when we got back to my place and got a bit more intimate the expression on her face said it all, as she asked “what happened to your piercing?”

I am no longer big man on campus and I do not have the gusto to get myself repierced. The last time was fate; I was in the right place at the right time with he right buzz to go through with it. Now I am consumed with butterflies every time I think about driving over to the piercing/tattoo studio to get it done.

I was thinking oft hosting an ampallang party, similar to a bachelor party but a bit more painful. It would be good to have a few brave friends with me for moral support, I’ll go first as long as I know others are to endure the same fate.

Maybe it was all to be a passing phase, I am getting older and these things do seem a bit childish, that is until you see the look off satisfaction on your partner’s face after giving her “the business”.