The Beautiful Kind

OK so we all know what I want for the holidays - sex toys galore and girl fantasies and to be dommed for a day and all that, but how about you?

What would you like most for the holidays? What would be your ideal fantasy, toy, scenario?

Comment away, and who knows, maybe someone is reading and will get you a nice strap-on or stranger-at-the-bar fantasy scenario instead of something dumb like a sweater.

A candy cane for HisLittleSlut for suggesting the idea.

I have a friend who is into play piercing. What’s that? Oh, sticking needles into yourself for fun and decoration. At first I thought it was fucked up, but with a little more thought I realized it was a lot like tattooing, only less permanent. And sometimes a lot more attractive. GOD there are some hideous tattoos out there. The pic to the left is of my friend and her arm corset. And here, my dears, is my first fetish interview!

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How did you get into play piercing?
Years ago a friend of mine turned me on to www.bmezine.com. I spent a lot of time there looking at various real piercings, to get an idea of what piercings I might like for myself. Eventually I got a blog page there and through that blog page met someone who would later become a very good friend of mine. He and I would send each other interesting pictures of things we found on BME, and a picture of a woman with rings running down her spine with ribbon threaded through them like a corset really caught our eyes. We talked about getting some needles and trying it ourselves. Years went by and we never tried it, but I discovered that my roommate was interested in trying it as well, so we decided to go for it.

Is it sexual?
I think that no matter the person, the answer is yes. For some, the sexuality is right there on the surface. They find it kinky, it turns them on, etc. For me it is sexual, but in a more subtle way. There is a build-up and a release of tension, intimate penetration, relinquishment of control, primal communication between two people…

Does it hurt?
The act of pushing a needle into your skin causes pain which is on par with the prick of an injection. The act of watching the needle crawl under your skin and through the underlying fascial layers actually causes no pain at all, and then the most pain comes when the needle exits through the other side. Different parts of your body react differently to the needles. However for me, this pain is pleasurable, and I enjoy blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

Do you consider it self-mutilation or self-expression?
For me, it is self-expression. For something to be mutilation, it has to be degrading to the appearance or function of the body. Some people may personally consider play piercing (and other types of body modification) mutilation. To them, a piercing, tattoo, or other body mod takes away from the person. I enjoy the way the needles look in my skin, mostly because of what they represent. I think play piercings can be beautiful, especially when placed into the skin in an appealing pattern, or when you use ribbon to connect them.

What do you get out of it?
I’ve found that nothing in this world is simple, and that goes for play piecing as well. There are many layers to it. We are wired to withdraw from pain. By intentionally picking up a needle and pushing it into my own skin, I am subverting and thus taking control over very primitive drives. It is an exercise in control over oneself. I get an endorphin rush both from the physical act of piercing my skin, as well as from the psychological act of being strong-willed enough to overcome my own anxieties. It is very similar in some aspects to diving from the high-dive or doing anything else you’re afraid to do, but you do it anyway regardless of your fear. There is a build of anxiety and excitement and then at some point you just need to let go. I seek that feeling of letting go, of owning myself, and seeing how far I can push my own boundaries.

I have also allowed others to pierce me, and I have pierced others. When I am piercing someone, I enjoy having someone else trust me enough that they allow me to penetrate them so intimately and relinquish control to me. I enjoy giving them pleasure and being so intimately involved in helping them accomplish whatever it is they set out to accomplish -transformation, overcoming fears, etc.

When I first began piercing, I thought I would be unable to pierce myself. I imagined that I would get out the needle, clean my skin, put it to my skin and be unable to actually push it through. Yet when I finally was ready, my mind simply cleared into almost a meditative state. I had a profound sense of disassociation - it was as if I had stepped back into myself to let someone else take over. I felt like I was an observer instead of a participant. Only afterwards did I have time to think, “I actually did it. There is a needle in my arm. I did this.”

Where do you get the needles?
There are actually quite a few places online to get play piercing needles. Usually they are fetish medical supply stores (www.kinkymedical.net) or you can also get them through BMEZine’s online shop. They also come in different guages - the bigger the needle, the harder it bites you.

What did it look like after you took the needles out?
There were little tiny mini-drops of blood at each needle hole. The needles leave tiny dots which fade after a few days. If, however, you pierce through a blood vessel, it can bleed quite a bit more and leave a bruise. Usually no one can tell where I’ve had the needles. Different parts of the body may bleed more than others, especially vessel-rich areas like the face.

Did you do it yourself?
The work in the pictures was done by me, except for one needle. Midway through applying needles to myself I thought, “Wow, I would not want someone else do this to me.” The fact that I was anxious about trusting someone else to put needles into me made me realize that I should, therefore, allow someone else to put a needle into me. So I asked my friend (who was sticking needles into himself) to put the last one in. As he did, I could not help but look away like most people do when they get an injection at the doctor’s office. I was trying to lower my anxiety threshold by looking away. Next time, I plan to completely relinquish control to him and watch everything he does. My way of overcoming fears has always been to dive headlong into them and then tell myself, “See, that wasn’t so bad!” I also had the same friend straighten out the corset and tie the bow because that’s not easy to do with one hand.

Do you have a fetish you want the world to know about? Contact love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

Last night we went on a hot date to see a play called “A Length of Rope” at the very cold and hip Tin Ceiling.

Of COURSE we had to see it, for the title alone. But um, why was it called “A Length of Rope” anyway? It’s lost on me.

We were expecting it to suck, but the play actually kicked ass. My favorite part was the book on the desk (FETISH) and the liberal use of the words

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CUNT
WHORE
FUCK

Oh and I liked when one of the actors almost pulled her panties off on stage by mistake. She said, “oops,” and recovered so fast from the gaffe I wanted to give her a standing panty ovation.

We played out in the snow yesterday. Awww

The day after my abortion, my guy spent the evening rehearsing with a gay orchestra. I visited my elderly hospice patient. Next, I visited with my parents. On the way home, I stopped at a restaurant for take out. I parked in front of the restaurant, which was in a shmancy strip mall, went in to place my order, and told them I’d be back in 10 minutes.

I realized I didn’t bring anything to read, and my cell phone battery was dead. Shit, what to do? I never can understand those people who stare off into space while waiting. It doesn’t look like they’re thinking.

Aha! I would rub one out in my car to pass the time. It was dark out, but I was in plain sight to anyone who passed by. But it’s easy for a girl, no frantic flying elbow or salami gripping. I was wearing a coat, and just unzipped my pants and jammed my buzzing trusty Pocket Rocket against my crotch, honing in on my clit. Ahhh.

Still, it was weird to be pleasuring myself out in public like that. Doing it in bed at home was way more comfortable. For a while I just focused on the sensation, then started flipping through the sex fantasy rolodex in my head. I thought about the Japanese porn I saw the other day that had a guy in an ape suit rape a beautiful camper. I thought about a gang rape on a pool table.

Suddenly, a car pulled up and parked to my left. I discreetly watched the passengers get out. It was a lanky handsome high school guy with tousled hair and a cute young girl with a blonde ponytail. Immediately I imagined them at home on the couch later on, the lights dim, the girl sucking his straining young cock, his hands stroking her hair and gathering up her ponytail in his gentle grasp, fighting the urge to violently push down on her head.

Then a car pulled up to my right, and it was a man dropping off a woman to pick something up. He sat and waited in his car, much to my annoyance. I grabbed my cell phone and held it up to my ear, my vibe still mashed against my cunt. The cell phone wasn’t even turned on.

But I was.

I fixed my gaze onto the brightly lit nail salon next to the restaurant. I stared at the Asian guy working the counter, bored and staring off into space between phone calls. I noticed the three Asian warrior wall sculptures fixed above the nail polish and hair removal accessories. I saw the white Christmas tree glowing in one corner of the salon with green, red, and silver ornaments.

I was having trouble staying focused and getting the right build up. I thought, maybe I can’t cum here, now. Then I thought, you’re not allowed to go back in there to get your food until you’ve had an orgasm, missy.

I finally settled on another gang bang situation with a woman getting double penetrated, her asshole and pussy stretched. I imagined the guy fucking her ass blowing his load and pulling out, done with her, and another guy coming up and taking his turn, semen dribbling out of her swollen asshole. The other guy rubbing his thick cock head against the spent cream (I HATE when it’s called that, it’s so creepydirty), using it like lube, his cock popping easily in, the rude pumping…

I came.

Shaky, I zipped up my pants and hopped out of my car as the woman returned to the other car. I followed an older couple into the restaurant, my heart still pounding, my fingers scented with pussy. The man held the door open for me and I said thank you.

At the Festivus party Friday night, a wagering man did a card trick with me and told me if he wasn’t able to call out the card I picked, he would buy me a glass butt plug. Good boy to read my blog! Even though I was drunk, he fucked up the card trick and I won the bet.

I was understandably smug about winning and told him it would be the most beautiful thing he ever spent $60 on. He gulped at the price and looked a bit down, as he was clearly a poor student, possibly cougar material.

I said, “Will it make you feel better to watch me use it?”

That perked him up and he said, “Well yes, that would take some of the sting out of it.”

My guy stepped in and said, “That’s not gonna happen.”

I bitched, “You’re so territorial!” though secretly I was a bit pleased at my dom calling the shots. “Fine, then you have to buy it for me.” And dom daddy agreed! YESSS!

Here’s the glass plug I want. I’ll be sure and blog about its welcome home party.

OH and I almost forgot the best part - a couple people at the party seemed amazed at the concept of a butt plug and didn’t know what they were good for. An older guy in particular was giving me the third degree about it, practically boring holes in my skull with his feverish gaze (and I’ll bet he totally checked out my ass) and I was right in the middle of filling him in (so to speak) when the party host walked up and said, “You do realize you’re discussing butt plugs with my dad, don’t you?”

That didn’t phase me - dads are such perverts. I told him butt plugs were often associated with sub activity, and that there were lots of sensitive nerve endings in the anus and that it provided a super intense feeling, and that if you wore one while getting fucked, it made the experience different, made you feel more filled up and tightened up/changed the shape of your pussy for your partner. And I didn’t even get to the part about a guy wearing a plug while fucking or jacking off - THEY have the prostate gland that can be stimulated and can make an orgasm 100 x better.

Last night I attended a Festivus party. About 30 atheists were there. Besides the fire juggling, card tricks, supercute ferrets and adorable kittens with diarrhea, there was also ample talk about butt plugs (a separate post to follow), fetishes, and wheelchairs.

There was also a gift exchange around the Festivus pole. The deal was to bring something you got that you didn’t want and re-gift it. My guy brought slide whistles. Other gifts were a baseball cap that read “Jesus is my homeboy,” assorted cheap and noisy plastic toys, an embroidered “WELCOME” sign, and a gas cap.

MOST unfortunately, my cock ring gift fell into the hands of the most conservative couple there. I saw them open the bag, make a fear grimace, and then they left the room. They left the party altogether 10 minutes later. I secretly hoped they would go home and curiosity would get the better of them and they would try the cock rings out and a new world of kink would open up for them, but I later found out from the party host that they stashed the cock rings in an antique candle wall sconce in the dining room.

I didn’t do my homework ahead of time, so I was caught off guard with the “Airing of Grievances” part, where you get to share what bothers you about other people and life in general.

So now here is my (still incomplete) list of grievances (the complete list looks like Gone With the Wind or War & Peace):
crocs
hummers
litterbugs
smokers
republicans
lil’ smokey sausages
kittens who poop
animal abusers
bullies
sylvia browne
my job last year
canned green beans
95% of all Italian food
politicians
diamonds
people who leave messes in stores
bibles in hotel rooms
urban sprawl
hunting
angels
precious moments figurines
DUDES
baseball caps
Thomas Kinkade painter of light crap
airlines
linoleum
white cabinet knobs
country decor (rustic is OK)
people who feel compelled to display “welcome” signs or mats
ugly cliff huxtable-like sweaters
the color yellow on white people
orange, brown, or bright red lipstick
anything mainstream
people who drink red bull
people who wear clothing that advertises a brand
leopard print
camoflauge and how i never spell it right EVERY TIME
reader’s digest
people who ask you how much you make but then won’t tell you what they make
women who don’t want to say how old they are
those pre-packaged foods like juice boxes and go-gurt
striped polo shirts
anne rice books
men with ponytails
Celine Dion
meat eaters
people who don’t recycle
faith healers
manicures
clowns
balloons
heavy metal music
television
guitar hero
video games
weapons
wimps
the left behind series
the fact that gelatin is in EVERYTHING
embalming and big, silk-lined mahogany caskets
loafers with tassels
fanny packs
clip on cell phones
green peppers on pizza
homophobia
pro-life people
people into dogfighting
marley & me
Dr. Phil
hypocrisy
chicken soup for the soul
sexual repression
montel williams
commercialism
sexism racism
stupid people
lack of healthcare in this country
social injustice
immaturity in people over 25
whiners (but bitchers are ok)
people who talk on their cell phone in stores or restaurants
cruises and resorts that involve pina coladas
America’s love/hate relationship with breasts - what’s so horrible about a woman’s nipples?!
high fructose corn syrup
pleated slacks
tramp stamps
RENT the musical
Free Hugs
twitter
scientologists, mormons, jesus followers, and other cult members
sheep (the people kind)
bad spellers
people who confuse your vs you’re
perfume counters at the mall
leather couches
fur or leather coats
jean jackets
capital punishment
white wicker furniture
tearing down old buildings
McMansions
lake of the ozarks
wal-mart
95% of all moustaches
high heels
boob jobs
beauty pageants
people who think pot and prostitution should be illegal
applebee’s
beer pong
talk radio
prairie home companion
parents who name their kids tyler, madison, keegan and ashley
hawaiian shirts
oil spills and what we’re doing to the oceans and forests
bush meat trade
war
jodie foster only now coming out
when the country gets obsessed with the death of anna nicole smith or something
the pope
tori amos
highway construction
Danielle Steel
people who don’t floss
rodeos
horse dog or car racing
golf
all sports

Am I the only one who is THRILLED about the television writer’s strike? I mean, who FUCKING cares about Lost, soap operas, American Idol, god I don’t even know what’s on TV these days - 30 Rock? ummm, Psych? ER? Is Three’s Company still running?

Look, if you watch TV, your IQ points go down one point every 10 minutes. I can only hope TV dwindles down to flashing patterns, and people start reading out loud to each other or fucking or filing their nails or ANYTHING more productive than zoning out in front of the noise box.

These writers need to stop writing for TV and write some erotica or dwarf fantasy shit or something. Hell, it worked for Tolkien, right?

FUCK.

Thank you for your readership.

We now return you to the regularly scheduled program of fetishes, kink, indecency and my own special way of expressing my perverted streak.

Next up: play piercing, gay hanky codes, fisting his wife, psycho men, and much, much MORE.

You know how junk mail comes with those postage paid envelopes? Usually I just mail them back empty or with other junk mail stuffed in it. Well I have an even better idea now. I’ve been sending them my fact sheets from Planned Parenthood on CARING FOR YOURSELF AFTER AN ABORTION, as well as those dumb holiday letters reviewing the year that friends and family send with their Christmas cards.

My aunt sent a really good one that I passed on to some bogus housing title company. An excerpt:

While I’ve had a rough past year, I survived and am feeling quite victorious and am truly looking forward to a great 2008! If nothing else, this year has helped strengthen my faith in God and taught me to trust in being patient about accepting His plan for my life.

As you probably know, Steve and I were married in June 2006 and we had a wonderful first year of marriage. It was very odd, but right at the time of our 1st year anniversary, I began to realize that I had made a mistake in getting married. I suppose we’ll be filing for divorce sometime next Spring…

Sheesh, doesn’t she know you’re not supposed to send these letters out when you’ve had a bad year?!

I’ll bet given the choice, the junk mail people would prefer to receive the abortion care fact sheet over my aunt’s holiday letter.

I woke up on the morning of my scheduled abortion and my beau joked, “Today is your big day!”

Honestly, I was looking forward to it. I had felt like shit for the past month, barely able to function from the nausea and loss of energy, and was eager to get it over with. The clinic actually made me wait a couple weeks longer to get it done, so the egg sac would be big enough to locate. I was going in 8 weeks pregnant.

My man dropped me off and then went to play a few rounds of golf. Just kidding. We passed through security (no protesters again!) and they searched our bags. We sat in the waiting room. He graded papers. I knitted. There were more men there with their partners this time, but at least three of the dudes were sleeping. I heard several different languages being spoken.

I got called in to pay for the procedure ($240), then got sent out to wait again. It wasn’t long before they called me back in along with five other girls. They were all in their early 20’s; four were African-American, one was Eastern European. Herd-like we followed the nurse to a locker room where we all changed into hospital gowns and these awful paper bag slippers. Those slippers were the worst part of the experience.

We were given a Valium and Ibuprofen. Then we were told to go to a waiting room/holding pen, where FUCKING MONTEL WILLIAMS was on TV again, berating some 15 year old for smoking pot (2nd worst part of the experience).

The Eastern European girl was terrified. She mentally latched on to me and said in a tiny broken voice, “Are you scared?”

“No. I’ve been pregnant before and I’ve had a D&C, and this is not as big a deal as people make it out to be.” I was trying to reassure her; hopefully I didn’t trivialize her fear.

“Why you get abortion?” she asked me.

I shrugged. “It’s just not the right time for me. I haven’t been with my partner long enough and we want more time to get to know each other.”

She said, “I’ve never done this before. I don’t believe I am here.”

I felt so bad for her. She was like a little injured bird sitting there hunched over (3rd worst part of the experience). The other girls filed in and had a seat. None of them seemed particularly worried.

Then a chipper volunteer came in, a woman in her mid-4o’s. She introduced herself as Maggie and said, “I will be here to help each of you through it. Yes, it does hurt, but most girls walk out of here thinking it wasn’t as bad as they thought it was going to be. No matter what you’re feeling right now, it’s OK.” Oh good, we have an abortion buddy.

Eastern European bird girl started to cry, and Maggie went and sat next to her and held her hand. Fucking Montel Williams blabbed away in the background.

“Now tell me,” Maggie said, leaning forward earnestly, “What’s your name, and what are you going to do for birth control?”

Three of the African-American girls had the same first name, let’s say LaTonya. LaTonya1 one said she wanted to get her tubes ties. She had one kid and was 21. Um, good luck with that.

LaTonya2 wanted to get a Nuva Ring. “Good!” Maggie approved.

I piped up. “Doesn’t that cause blood clots or something?”

“Yeah, right!” Maggie pshawed.

“Well my friend went into the ER one time with a blood clot in her brain and she was using the Nuva Ring. She almost died.”

“Well the blood clot was caused by something else, not her birth control,” Maggie decided dismissively. (I have no doubt my friend will be commenting on this post.)

Brandy wanted to get an IDU. “An IUD?” Maggie offered.

I said, “What’s the difference between an IUD with hormones and without?”

Maggie said, “The one with hormones works better.”

I said, “But I heard that can cause spotting for months at a time and make you break out.”

“Where do you get your information?” she asked sneering a bit.

“I do a lot of research and that’s what my gynecologist told me,” I answered.

LaTonya3 said she wanted to get her tubes tied, too. She was 24 and had two kids. I told her she’d probably need to ask around to find a doctor who would do it, that I had a friend who was young and wanted a vasectomy and it took him seeing three doctors to find one who would snip him kidless at age 24.

Then it was my turn. I told Maggie I planned on using condoms and spermicide, that I had been on the pill for 15 years and went off it to take a break. “And now look where you are!” she exclaimed triumphantly. Um, good point.

“But I don’t think it’s healthy to ingest artificial hormones for years and years, it’s kind of unnatural.”

“Well do you know what they call women who use condoms and spermicide for birth control?” Maggie said, then gave a pregnant (HA!) pause before announcing smugly, “Mothers!”

I shot back, “But this way the man shares in the birth control and for that matter, why the hell can’t the man take a pill and deal with weight gain and break outs and mood swings?!”

Everyone laughed. Maggie declared, “Well that’s not going to happen. You should just go back on the pill.”

Poor terrified Eastern European bird woman didn’t even get a turn to say what she was going to use (I’m guessing she’ll never let a dick near her again and I found myself trying to imagine her having sex in the first place) because the nurse called her name. Maggie went with her.

This left the rest of us to chat among ourselves. LaTonya2 said she had been there the year before for an abortion, and that her sister just came last week and paid $1000 because she was 5 months along. We were all horrified by this, and one girl said, “That far along? You should just have it!”

“My sister be trippin’,” LaTonya2 explained.

Another girl said people were telling her to consider adoption. She sputtered in disbelief. “I ain’t carrying a baby nine months and then giving it away!”

Another told of how she came last week for her pre-appointment, but she had left her ID at home and had to go back and get it. The abortion protesters cheered and clapped, and she assured them, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

Next they called my name. YESSSSS. I didn’t want to wait around.

I went into the exam room and got up on the table. The nurse prepped the supplies, and I asked, “Is my doctor male or female?”

“Female,” she replied.

PHEW. I knew they had four or five doctors and one of them was some dude who had been doing it for 30 years, and while that’s all well and good, I just didn’t want some old guy doing my abortion.

The doctor came in and she was totally cool and young and pretty. Pill pusher Maggie came in and stood by my head and held my hand. They asked if I had any questions and I said, “Does it really take only two minutes?”

They said yep.

“Just tell me everything you’re doing.”

I assumed the position with my feet in the stirrups and the doctor put a speculum in my vagina to get access to my cervix. I don’t think the valium had really kicked in yet, but I knew they were going to inject a local anaesthetic into my cervix. (They offer an IV sedation for extra, but I didn’t want that.)

I offered to donate the material they gathered to science, but they told me there wasn’t enough there at this stage. It would just be discarded.

Sure enough, the whole thing took about two minutes. I felt my cervix being stabbed and/or a sharp pain about five times, and it did fucking hurt (4th worst part of the experience), but I had a death grip on Maggie’s hand. As soon as they injected my cervix I felt the medicine go straight to my head, whoosh, and I got a little zooty then. I mean I could feel things and ask questions, but some of the words came out wrong.

“Boy am I glad you’re here!” I gasped to Maggie, who looked down at me kindly. I couldn’t believe she took time out of her day to help women out like this. I felt grateful for her presence, even if she did seem more concerned about preventing future pregnancies than a woman’s health and well-being.

The doctor widened my cervix and inserted an - I kid you not - hand held turkey baster, and sucked out the unwanted contents of my uterus. No whirring machine, no scraping instruments. “The dentist is worse than this!” I said between winces, and “Hell I’ve had a baby, I can handle this!” I was a brave girl.

The doctor pulled away and said all chipper, “That’s it.”

“That’s it?!” I exclaimed. I did it.

Then I asked my bravest question yet. “Can I see what you sucked out of me?”

I had looked online beforehand and had seen all the gruesome bloody shots and mutilated body parts, but I wanted to see it for myself, with my own eyes. I was seriously dreading looking, but wanted to bear witness. I was expecting a pan full of blood, some stuff that looked like raw liver, and maybe a gross little alien bubbling in the gore croaking out, “Mama?”

“Sure!” the doctor said, and she came around the sheet draped over my legs and showed me the little plastic tupperware container that held the abortion. And do you know what it looked like? Half a cup of egg whites with some brown bits in it. It wasn’t even bloody.

“That’s it?!” I exclaimed in astonishment.

“That’s it!” She swirled it around so I could see better. I looked harder, expecting to see at least a leg or something.

“But where’s the fetus?!” This was blowing my mind.

“Right now it’s too small to see with the naked eye,” the doctor explained. “What you’re seeing is mostly the egg sac.”

“And this is what it normally looks like?”

“At 8 weeks, sure.”

“Well HELL! If THIS is what they put on those abortion signs, people would be thinking ‘omelette,’ not ‘baby killer‘!”

I thanked them for their help, put on my maxi-pad, and the nurse walked me to the recovery room. I was still stunned, but read my book. A couple other women were also in the recovery room in reclining chairs looking exhausted.

A nurse came by and offered me a heating pad, Sierra Mist and cookies. Nice!

I hung out in the spa for about 15 minutes, then went and got dressed and discarded those fucking awful paper bag slippers. They sent me home with a bag of antibiotics and three months worth of birth control pills. (I’m not supposed to put anything in my vagina for a week. OK, maybe THIS was the worst part of the experience.)

I came out to the waiting room and my guy looked up at me with concern. “Boy do I have a surprise to tell you,” I said in amazement. His eyes widened. He was getting a little wary of my “surprises.”

We were there for a total of two hours. I thought I’d be down for the count at least for the day, but I felt fine. Afterwards we had sushi and went shopping. My guy wanted to stop in at Sports Authority to look at exercise equipment, and I said, “I’m not really comfortable going into a sports store.”

His reply to that? “Well, I’m not really comfortable going to abortion clinics, so come on.”

Dunno if it was psychological, but I felt instantly better. That evening I got my taste for coffee and booze back. I finally started cleaning the house after neglecting it for days.

And hey, here is what one pro-life website has to say about the aftereffects abortion:

Abortion procedures vary according to the stage of pregnancy. Each procedure is painful for both the mother and her unborn baby. After an abortion, many women experience one or more of the following consequences, some of which may take several years to surface.

Physical:
- Excessive bleeding, may require blood transfusions.
- Perforated uterus or damage to other organs.
- Chronic and acute infections.
- Intense pain.
- Incomplete removal of baby or placenta.
- High fever, convulsions, shock, coma.
- Increase in miscarriages, ectopic (tubal) pregnancies, premature births, and stillbirths.
- Irregular pap smears; breast cancer.
- Infertility.
- Death.

I haven’t taken so much as an Advil, and I stopped bleeding the next day.

I want to hear from other women who have had abortions. What was it like for you? Did you look at what came out of you? Please post comments (you can use an alias) or email me at love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

Makes my abortion seem pretty trivial in comparison, doesn’t it?

Stay tuned for the exciting climax of Abortion Week tomorrow!

I will write

All.

About.

My.

Awesome.

Abortion.

The short of it: they’re fucking nuts.

Check out the Army of God site for proof.

I didn’t run into any at my pre-abortion appointment (I hear they gather at the clinics on Fridays and Saturdays during better weather, and I went on a Tuesday and it was gloomy and cold), but when I went with a friend 15 years ago, they were out in full force and completely freaky and disturbing. I wonder how effective they really are - how many pregnant women change their mind and have the baby instead, when confronted with gang bangers screaming bible verses.

A friend of mine shared this experience with me:

I recently accompanied an African-American friend of mine for her abortion. The anti-abortion activists, for some reason, believed I was the potential mother and she was the friend. Of course it was the little white girl who was pregnant, not the bodacious black one with child-bearing hips and a volcanic bootie shake.

She lost the knob to reposition her car seat and had to look for it while these possessed, white, wide-eyed freaks surrounded by their toddlers and preschoolers approached, serenading me with crackly voices. “Jesus loves your unborn son or daughter. Jesus will show you the way.”

Some twangy, out-of-tune stringed instrument, a banjo?, played a distorted Kumbaya tune, and the background to their concrete stage consisted of larger-than-adult-sized pictures depicting fetuses that never developed skin, had dislocated limbs, their bodies traumatized from their grand exit.

A woman with long, curly red hair, holding a baby who faced those grotesque signs yelled out at me. Their voices were disturbingly in unison, all about Jesus. I wanted to shout out “What’s Jesus doing for the mothers and babies dying in Africa of AIDS? What’s Jesus doing for the parents of babies in East St. Louis?” I didn’t. I pictured the burning crucifix in the movie Carrie. I pictured the psychopathic antagonist in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I saw the white coats of doctors who perform abortions stained with blood from bullets. “Jesus will show you the way!” the wide-eyed freaks shouted. “You will regret this the rest of your life!”

It doesn’t matter what the issue is. I never want to be on their side.

I went to see the Body Worlds exhibit at the St. Louis Science Center the other day. Talk about Heebie Jeebies! I had to keep reminding myself that I was surrounded by dead bodies - they looked fake to me, like huge Visible Man models.

Naturally there is a lot of controversy surrounding the exhibit. One example:

In an ethical analysis, Thomas Hibbs, Distinguished Professor of Ethics and Culture at Baylor University, compares cadaver displays to pornography in that they reduce the subject to “the manipulation of body parts stripped of any larger human significance.”

Um, I thought pornography was anything people get off on. Guess Hibbs finds the exhibit arousing. I have to admit it was interesting to see all the cocks and balls stripped of their skin (hey, they’re ALL cut!) and pepperoni nipples and little muscle buttholes. Seriously, I haven’t seen that much cock since the last orgy I attended.

The most curious thing was how they had the fetuses curtained off from the rest of the exhibit. I guess they think people can handle seeing a man holding his own skin or people in elaborate dance poses sliced into three chunks, but fetuses in jars might be a bit too much for the general public to stand.

Margaret Cho wrote a fabulous post about this very topic a couple years ago. An excerpt:

There are few women’s bodies in the exhibit of hundreds of specimens. When the corpses are female, they are active participants in the exchange of womanhood. There is a large barrier put up between the main exhibit concealing the small aisle focusing on the uterus and fetal development. A large disclaimer is placed next to the entrance, explaining that the corpses on display, pregnant women and their embryos, in different stages of development, were all people who had died of natural causes or accidents. It fell just short of saying, “No women or children were killed for educational purposes.”

That is so dumb. We didn’t need that assurance coming into the Body Worlds show, because we assume that the human beings on parade gladly gave themselves to science for our edification. They are not victimized by our gaze or our curiosity. However, the gender of the specimen changes, and all hell breaks loose.

How awesome is it that I stumbled across a gay blog that featured this Fetus Soldier Christmas ornament?

Ad copy from the site:

Protect our troops - from the womb to the war. What if the fetus you were going to abort would grow up to be a soldier bringing democracy to a godless dictatorship?

Plastic replica of an 11-12 week old fetus holding a firearm in its precious little hand, with an assortment of other military paraphernalia, encased in a translucent plastic ornament, with a patriotic yellow ribbon on top. If only a womb were this safe, attractive and reasonably priced!

Show that you support the “culture of life” by buying and proudly displaying one of these patriotic unborn Americans.

And look! I can buy plastic fetuses cheap at this Archie McPheesque sac(religious) store!

All this talk of abortion reminds me of a girl I dated years ago who was fucking around with two guys and got pregnant.

She told both of them about it and they both gave her money for an abortion.

She got the abortion.

AND a new stereo.

The real kicker is she claimed to have two uteri!

Me: I really, really want a jar of whimsies for Christmas.
Him: I’m not getting you a jar of whimsies.
Me: Oh come ON, all I get for Christmas is an abortion?!
Him: Hey, I’m not even gonna make you pay for half. Plus I got you a sock monkey calendar.
Me (sulkily): But I want a jar of whimsies, too.
Him (exasperated): Why do you want something so FEM?
Me (histrionically): Why do you want me to be GAY?
Him: You ARE gay, you want to stick your tongue up women’s pussies.
Me: Yeah well you’re holding me back, Mr. Straight Guy. I guess I’ll have to eat all the Miracle Whip and stick your baby in the empty jar instead then.
Him: Now THERE’S your whimsy!

Celebrities who are pro-choice:
Christina Aguilera
Jennifer Aniston
Bea Arthur
Ed Asner
Kevin Bacon
Alec Baldwin
William Baldwin
Meredith Baxter
Shari Belafonte
Maria Bello
Polly Bergen
Thora Birch
Amy Brenneman
Betty Buckley
Lynda Carter
Stockard Channing
Margaret Cho
Jill Clayburgh
Kate Clinton
Glenn Close
Cindy Crawford
Sheryl Crow
Alan Cumming
Tyne Daly
Blythe Danner
Kristin Davis
Ossie Davis
Dana Delany
Laura Dern
Ellen DeGeneres
Ani DiFranco
Illeana Douglas
Fran Drescher
Kirsten Dunst
David Eigenberg
Hector Elizondo
Emme
Eve Ensler
Giancarlo Esposito
Melissa Etheridge
Morgan Fairchild
Edie Falco
Frances Fisher
Calista Flockhart
Jane Fonda
Bonnie Franklin
Janeane Garofalo
Indigo Girls
Annabeth Gish
Whoopi Goldberg
Lauren Graham
Maggie Gyllenhaal
LisaGay Hamilton
Ben Harper
Ed Harris
Salma Hayek
Marg Helgenberger
Isabella Hofmann
Helen Hunt
Amy Jo Johnson
Kathryn Joosten
Ashley Judd
Catherine Keener
Carole King
Swoosie Kurt
Christine Lahti
Sanaa Lathan
Sharon Lawrence
Lisa Loeb
Amy Madigan
Natalie Maines
Wendie Malick
Joshua Malina
Camryn Manheim
Frances McDormand
Ewan McGregor
Marilyn McIntyre
Sarah McLachlan
Moby
Demi Moore
Julianne Moore
Alanis Morissette
Kathy Najimy
Mary-Louise Parker
Adrian Pasdar
Pink
Martha Plimpton
Doris Roberts
Paul Rudd
Susan Sarandon
Campbell Scott
Kyra Sedgwick
Martin Sheen
Cybill Shepherd
Sarah Silverman
Fisher Stevens
Gloria Steinem
Julia Stiles
Sharon Stone
Charlize Theron
Uma Thurman
Kathleen Turner
Ted Turner
Sarah Weddington
Audrey Wells
Bradley Whitford
Alfre Woodard
Thom Yorke

Celebrities who are pro-life:
Mel Gibson
Britney Spears

Naturally I have my boo-hoo moments when it comes to terminating my pregnancy, as I’ve got the raging hormones and all, but for the most part after the initial shock weekend, my guy and I have been dealing with it the way we often deal with serious life issues (such as the death of his wife) - we joke about it - the darker, the better. We find the outrageousness therapeutic.

In the comments section last week, Bobbo the Clown suggested that we keep the fetus and make it do barrel rolls and use it as an anal dildo. That might have come off as wildly inappropriate to you, but I for one saw the humor in his way of thinking and found it fitting, given the absurdity of the situation.

“Fetuses” are kind of funny the way “penises” are funny (not sure of the plurals on these). Here is a knit fetus coin purse:

And here are fetus pins:

I thought it would be nice to make a little fetus necklace. I hear it’s about the size of a kidney bean right now. Ask the doctor to save it and I could shellac it and put it on a chain. That way it could always be close to my heart. Furthermore, it would be fun to mass produce them, and give them each a name and story. I could always use fetal models from a pro-life store:

but geez they’re expensive. It’d be WAY too much work to keep producing them with real sperm and egg, though we could set up a lab I suppose. I guess I can make my own out of clay (”oh fetus fetus fetus, I made it out of clay“).

Anyway, I keep thinking of fetuses named Joanie and Stan and so on. Here are a couple examples:

Tiffany was conceived during “break up” sex. Her father left for college to major in chemistry and her mother will stay in town and attend a community college. That is, unless she drops out!

Barney was the product of a drunken act of indiscretion on a pool table after closing time at the bar. His father is the bar owner and his mother is already two states away in Indiana. Go, Hoosier baby!

Proceeds from the sale of the necklaces could go towards opening up another clinic here in Missouri.

So yeah, that’s what I’ve been sitting around thinking. Some of my friends think I’m nuts.

First, I looked online for Missouri abortion services and called the Planned Parenthood clinic in town to make an appointment. I was shocked to find out that, lucky me, it’s the ONLY clinic in the state still giving abortions! For instance, there used to be one in Columbia, but it was shut down due to financial pressure from the state. That means if I lived in Kansas City, I’d have to drive across the state or leave the state to get one. Also, Missouri has a 24 hour rule - you have to talk to a doctor at least 24 hours before you can get your abortion. So you have to make at least two appointments, depending on your circumstance. I could have also crossed the river to Illinois to get a same day abortion. (I found out Connecticut is one of the easiest states in which to get an abortion.)

The woman on the phone asked me which kind of abortion I wanted to have - surgical or medication. Now, medication sounds tempting, but it’s actually more complicated and less effective. You go in to the office and take the first pill, then take the next pill a few days later at home, and it can take several days for you to pass the contents of your uterus. With a surgical abortion, it takes about two minutes. I also had to listen to a recording of a male doctor tiredly reviewing both options and the risks. Oh and they told me not to bring a large bag with me to the clinic, to prevent baby bombs from getting smuggled in.

Thankfully at the clinic there were no protesters around. I’ve heard some pretty crazy things about them - a friend of mine volunteers as an escort walking women into the building. I checked in with the woman in the entrance and went through a locked door. Then I went to the front desk and grabbed a clip board and filled out paperwork. The waiting room was filled with somber, lower income women. Some had a male partner with them, but most had a female friend or relative. The woman next to me spoke Vietnamese. A couple that spoke only Russian had to return later for an interpreter. I waited and turned in my form and paid what I owed for this visit - $130.

I took a urine test and waited. Before the ultrasound, they asked if I wanted to know if there were twins. I thought that was strange. An incredibly beautiful woman wearing bright orange scrubs performed my ultrasound, sticking a probe up my vagina. I asked her why they asked if I wanted to know if there were twins. She said one time a woman who had every intention of getting an abortion found out she was carrying twins, so she opted to keep them. “Really?!” I exclaimed. “Yeah, if you can’t afford one baby, why would you keep two?” she wondered. I guess twins are extra special.

Anyway, so she picked up on the heartbeat and confirmed there was a little living thing inside me, about 7-8 weeks old. That was weird for me, I kind of figured there was just a lump in there that was making me feel like shit. So after that I went back out to the waiting room, and then got called in again for blood work. Then waited again.

I met with the doctor, who was a cool woman. I asked her various questions (such as 1. Where do rich people go to get abortions? - she didn’t know, 2. Can you just go to a doctor and get one done? - possibly, but probably not, 3. Why is there a 24 hour talk-to-a-doctor rule? - it’s meant to be a roadblock).

Then I met with a counselor, who asked if I wanted to see the ultrasound pic. I was curious, so I said sure. That was the hardest thing about the whole appointment, to see the little blurry paisley. (The 2nd hardest thing was in the waiting room they had a TV going and it was on the Montel Williams show and that red-taloned psychic crone Sylvia Browne was telling him about his past lives - he was a sailor! The 3rd hardest thing was when the nice white trash woman wearing crocs who was there with her daughter chatted me up in the waiting room.)

All that waiting and seeing people only took 2 1/2 hours total, and finally I got to the end of all the tests I had to perform in order to get the abortion. I made an appointment and went home.