The next girl came on pulling a string of razor blades out of her vagina. Things went as smoothly as could be expected until one of the blades got stuck. As she attempted to remove it, a large drop of blood hit the floor. Did she cut her finger or her vagina? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t want to look too closely. I was reaching the edge of my particular envelope with this act, and began questioning my reasons for being there. A young girl was harming herself to satisfy my need for experience. It wasn’t even my experience; it was hers. Watching Tuna Fish Ice Cream was not the same as Tasting Tuna Fish Ice Cream.
(I found out much later how the trick was done, easing my conscience, at least a little. Here’s how: thread together several razor blades and stack them inside a matchbox, then insert the matchbox just inside your vagina. With a little practice you can pull the string of blades out smoothly without showing the matchbox. For the piece de resistance, place a small baggie filled with goat’s blood alongside the matchbox. At the appropriate moment, pop the baggie. The rest is all in how you sell it.)