Nitty Gritty Details On The Skin Bridge

MORGANS PROFILE HEADS

22 minutes until my surgery appointment and I was sitting on a stalled subway car half an hour away.

Toby, the 4th Nor’easter of the season had casually rolled into town the night before and was churning out snowflakes the size of your head faster than a fairy blows glitter.  The fresh morning was colder than a witch’s tit…snow was everywhere…everything seemed closed and New York City was eerily quiet…and I was late.  Late for an appointment that I had literally begged my surgeon for.  An appointment that I otherwise would have had to wait another 3 months to get done.

I got off the A,C,E at 96th street and trudged across the serene landscape of a sugar-coated Central Park. Kids played in the snow laughing…dogs leaped into the air to bite snowflakes…and I swooshed along the path rocking out to Belinda Carlisle on shitty headphones that made everything else sound like the 80’s too.

I arrived like a ninja and quietly checked in under my breath the same way a kid asks for condoms at the corner store.

My eyes roved.  The waiting room was full of the typical misery.

I hung my coats and gear and scarves and stuff and took a seat.  The newly initiated were standing instead of sitting, hunched over and clutching the backs of chairs for support….counting the seconds until they were called…time stabbing their crotch with every ticking tock.  The agony was etched into their faces like the wrinkles of 1000 year old woman.

I chuckled under my breath with a sort of twitchy nostalgia.

Although I was the real sucker…I was coming back for seconds.  Not like I had a choice in the matter, if I didn’t get this skin bridge cut open soon it was going to gobble up my entire pussy.  I turned off my phone and sat there nervously trying not to think about what was coming up or the recovery after.

Miss Lang??  I followed the nurse into the procedure room and looked around un-impressed.

“Strip everything from the waist down, lay on the table and put your feet up in the stirrups” the nurse recited as she arranged a myriad of utensils on a rolling, shiny, silver-topped table that looked like it was the long, lost child between Studio 54 and iRobot.

The doctor performing the operation was not Dr. Ting himself but rather his assistant doctor.  I had absolutely no clue what her name was even though she’d been at almost all my appointments with Dr. Ting throughout the process and always made me feel comfortable with her warm smile and earnest attention to how I was feeling.  I liked her a lot.

Her face was framed between my thighs as she explained what she was going to do in simple and concise terms and I watched in the mirror as her index finger traced a 2 inch line down the center of my lower labia.

I gulped.

That skin bridge was basically a big wall in front of my door and she was going to knock it down and unlock my chastity belt.   I was very happy it was a female carving the final touches and nuances into my womanhood.

Alicia, another nurse I was familiar with held my hand as the doctor shot local anesthetic into 6 or 7 different spots into and around my vagina.  The warmth spread slowly and then there was a slight shudder as my vagina went offline.  I could no longer feel any pain down there.  My neck and shoulders relaxed and I took a deep breath, realizing I had been squeezing Alicia’s hand like i was hanging off a cliff.

My mellow was disrupted by what I can only describe as the doctor pulling and stretching the skin of my labia and then quickly releasing it and letting it snap back like a rubber band.

My eyes popped wide.

I realized that while this might be devoid of physical pain, I was going to FEEL everything she was doing down there.

I gulped.  She tugged.

Pulled.  Yanked.  Sawed.  Peeled.  Poked.  Prodded.  Sliced.

I’m sure she was executing flawless maneuvers of extreme grace and precision but it felt like she was sawing through my labia like a fat financier sawing through his porterhouse.  I could feel the blood running down my ass and pooling up on the pad under me.  Once your brain sees something happen in your own private universe called the Imagination (or in the movie Delicatessen)…it’s tough to kick that thought out of your head…like trying to toss out a belligerent drunk who can’t take a hint.

She assured me I was doing fantastic; a harmless lie that I eagerly believed.

“OOOHH KAAAY!   The first hard part is over!” she said as if making a public service announcement.  I took a deep breath and relaxed until I started tuning back into the public service announcement and realized there was going to be a second hard part….and possibly a third.

Her voice was strange and far away and I wished I had taken a lot more drugs earlier that morning as she explained how she was now going to cauterize the wound on my freshly sliced inner and outer labia.  My mind was stuck in another imaginary ring of hell…visualizing an amateur, electronics enthusiast soldering mice-tails to a circuit board or the guy in Braveheart who seals his wound closed with the side of a burning sword.

The air sure smelled like all of it anyway.

My rhythmic breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth was now foul and contaminated with the smell of my own burnt pussy flesh.  My mind was racing around trying to compartmentalize each thought of pain…or sliced steak…or putrid burning flesh…and turn it off like a light switch.  But it was as useless as an asthmatic trying to blow out a re-lighting, joke candle on her birthday cake.

Another public service announcement was happening…apparently I was still doing really, really great and something..something…something about now sewing it all up and that I should tell her if I feel anything strange.  Feel anything strange???   That had to be rhetorical.  The one-liners were cascading through my inner monologue but I decided it wasn’t the time to be a fucking comedian.

She made sewing type movements that I could feel deep below the skin with an occasional zing of pain from an active nerve that didn’t know how to bow down to pain killers.

I was trying to count the dots on the foam-board ceiling and started muttering to myself to relax, relax, relax….relax….just relax little cat….relax relax relax.   This was my meditation session and my mantra word was ‘relax’….it zoned me out for awhile and I took a semi-peaceful vacation in the fluffy clouds of Magrathea while the war raged on the hills of my vagina.

The needle dipped through a complicated little knot and she lifted her arm up in one fluid motion like a conductor bringing her orchestra to the finale.  The thread slid, the knot caught, the stitches tightened and the center of my right labia leaped up an inch.

I gasped right on cue…and the doctor smiled.

Something told me she had a side-bet with the nurse on whether or not she could make each patient gasp like that with the final knot.  If it were the movies, the nurse would have handed over a $20.

“DONE!” she chirped.

I completely relaxed with a heavy sigh.

“Wow.  That was fucking intense.” I told her and laid my head back with another long sigh.

I watched her remove the surgical blue ‘splash’ guard that was taped around my vagina that was now blood red and coated in all sorts of stringy, things and what might have been skin pieces.   She cleaned me the best she could and handed me the mirror with a smile.

The world faded and the mirror focused on the battlefield that appeared clean and organized but still bore signs of fresh carnage.

Everything lined up.

The cut was correct and went all the way down….my vagina and asshole were now officially neighbors.

They waved.

My eyes wandered back up to my labia…sheeeeesh.  They were cut and burnt and twisted and you could see the different colors of meat and flesh the same way you would gauge to see if your Filet Mignon was overdone.  I could see the neon sign now, “Hungry For Hot Pussy?”

The doctor must have read my mind because she quickly assured me, “Don’t worry, this will all heal nicely and leave you with a unique and authentic vagina with just the right amount of natural imperfections and curves.”

She was nodding her head slightly and I looked at my imagination again and fast forwarded to the future and I could see what she meant.

I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and handed her back the mirror.

This was gonna hurt tomorrow.

….More pussy updates coming soon.

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