Doug Malloy’s 1 contributions to piercing culture- and less directly but still of note, tattoo culture- are immeasurable. A self described ‘Piercing Freak’, Doug could best be described as a Patron; someone who brought together devotees and gave them a space to explore their shared interests and who’s philanthropy helped launch a subculture.
Doug, who’s real name was Richard Simonton, wrote a brief autobiography detailing his evolution into body piercing titled ‘The Adventures of a Piercing Freak” 2 which was sold to adult book publisher Calston Industries in 1976 and deviates slightly from his original text. What follows is the published version, complete with introduction.
I’m fairly skeptical of a lot of Doug’s mythology- from his own introduction to an incredibly prolific amount of randomly pierced people to his ‘research’ into the origins of body piercing types, but it’s still a fascinating document of one of the culture’s most interesting characters.
Piercing various parts of the body in order to wear jewelry and other adornments is a practice that goes back to the most ancient times. In many cultures today, piercing is a revered tradition and sometimes part of religious practice. Of course, even in our modern culture, many women have their ears pierced for wearing earrings. And it has been a long tradition among seafaring men to have one ear pierced so that a gold earring can be worn. But with the current growing interest in sado-masochistic practices has come a concurrent interest in piercing. By no means is this kind of cult piercing confined to the ears, although a man wearing an earring in either his left of right ear may be identifying his sexual scene just as the position of his key ring on his belt loop tells us if he is a slave or master.
Many slaves these days have their nipples pierced in order to wear chains suspended from them. This not only aids in manipulating the nipples, but often weights are suspended from the chains, given the nipples the kind of stretching workout that can’t be achieved in any other way.
Likewise, piercing the foreskin or even the cockhead is gaining in popularity. In ancient times, real slaves were often pierced and ringed but their masters as a way of enforcing celibacy. The rings were only removed when the master decided he wanted his slaves to mate and breed. Today, S&M slaves have their foreskins pierced for much the same reasons. There is no more effective way to prevent a man from getting an erection than to have a gold ring holding his foreskin together. Again, weight are often hung from a pierced cock or scrotum to add excruciating delight to a heave S&M scene.
It should be emphasized that piercing is not a particularly dangerous or even painful practice, so long as normal rules of hygiene are observed. A surgical steel needle is the best instrument to be use and care should be taken to see that it is properly sterilized. To keep the wound open, it is common practice for a surgical steel or gold ring to be inserted immediately after piercing, although at times another kind of retainer, even cord, is used.
The opening should be kept clean and lubricated, with the ring or retainer rotated several times a day to keep the flesh from adhering. Normally, the pierced area heals in one to two weeks. After the initial healing takes place, if the slave wishes it, he can begin to slowly increase the size of the ring or stud, thereby increasing the size of the opening. Eventually, as you will see, even a small lock can be used in place of the ring that starts the process.
While piercing is as permanent as tattooing, pierced openings gradually close if not used regularly, so that if a certain amount of time passes without the opening being used, the hole will be almost undetectable. It should be pointed out that the pain-contrary to what people think- is not excruciating, nor does it last for long. But the possibilities for innovative play after the hole has healed are added to immeasurably. Just imagine yourself leading your slave around with a leash attached to his nipples or cock. You will always command instant obedience! And if your slave loves to have his nipples worked on, as most slaves do, he will be ecstatic when you add weight to the rings you’ve placed in his paps.
With all S&M relationships, caution should rule the master as well as the slave. Mutual trust is imperative in a good slave-master relationship and with piercing a part of the scene, the possibility of real damage is always present. A good master always respects the limits of his slave’s endurance and should never go farther than common sense allows. There are practical as well as erotic reasons for piercing. The following first person account of a piercing addict’s experiences of over forty years of piercing pleasure is one of the most interesting account you are ever likely to find.
A PIERCING FREAK REMEMBERS
What makes me a piercing freak? Hell, I was born one. There’s always been something in my genes making me turn on to piercings. This is the story of my adventures. All of my piercings are for a purpose. They enhance my sexual equipment or, at least, call attention to my sexual desires. Some people get pierced for different reasons-vanity or bravado. Not me. None of my piercings have been stretched as some piercing freaks do. My holes are what they call “sleeper size” which serves my purposes just fine.These are permissive times. Wear an earring (or two or three) if you feel like it. To hell with convention.
When I was about three years old I first noticed that some people had unusual ornaments in their earlobes. I was so fascinated that I asked a lady visiting our house to remove her earrings and put them on me. My mother was horrified and told me to keep my mouth shut and never think, much less say, such awful things again.
In my pre-adolescent days I spent many evenings at the local library looking through old volumes of National Geographic to find examples of native piercings. I carried around a little notebook for quick access to my favorite piercing styles. Of course all natives were draped for the photographer, but in my fantasies I mentally undressed them.
About that time I found a glass-headed corsage pin that I stuck through the skin of my balls. Wow, that was a thrill, and it really didn’t hurt much. Besides, it looked good on my skin. Saturday night was bath night, and my corsage pin got the same workout I did. My mother couldn’t understand why it took me so long to take a bath.
When I was twelve years old we moved to a very small town. We lived next door to my mother’s older sister, a dominant, strong-willed woman. Her son, Lloyd, six years older than I, had had a terrible case of measles at age three or four which affected his eyes. Aunt Bertha was determined that her only son would have normal eyesight. There has always been an old wives tale that putting gold rings in the earlobes “strengthens weak eyes.” Aunt Bertha ordered a pair of gold ear sleepers for Lloyd from the Sears Roebuck catalog.
Lloyd was perched on the kitchen stool and the lady went to work on his ears. As my eighteen-year old, hairy-chested cousin was forced to submit to such “indignities,” I was getting such a tremendous thrill from the whole experience that I shot my little wad.
I was disappointed that the piercing lady did not immediately insert the gold rings. Instead she used a darning needle to make the hole, then followed that with a broom-straw “as a retainer,” as she called it. The following Saturday the lady came to check her handiwork. She apparently was satisfied, so the retainers were extracted, leaving little holes in Lloyd’s ears. Then the gold sleepers were permanently put in the little holes. What a thrill I got out of that experience. I wished I had been the one with weak eyes.
After Lloyd’s experience I got in the habit of looking at the earlobes of people I met, even before looking into their faces. Usually the earlobes told me more than the face. If the lobes had been tampered with, I wanted to know them better.
My high school days passed slowly. I continued to dream of piercings and other forms of body adornment but was too timid or shy to do anything except to fantasize.
My world suddenly expanded when I went away to the state university with the intention of becoming a marine biologist. I was physically big, muscular and strong, even rugged, and had been a championship swimmer in my high school days. At the end of my freshman year, one of the professors who liked me arranged for me to be on his team of shallow-water divers for the three summer months. We were to examine harbor pilings for marine worms which were eating the docks. We were also supposedly planting seed oysters shipped from Japan to start new oyster beds.
I was assigned to an area to be surveyed where regular divers were working, and they issued my diving gear: woolen underwear, rubberized canvas, dry-diving suit and helmet. I was to learn much that summer.
The pay was a fabulous $2.50 per hour “down time” which means when you are actually under water. “Up time” doesn’t count. I was a reasonably good diver, but I didn’t realize that the gurgling of the water around my suit would make me want to piss constantly. Maybe it was psychological, but the first week I was up more than I was down. In that old style dry-suit diving, it’s a terrible thing to foul your diving suit. You have to flush it out and it takes a couple of days to dry it, so any error would cost you money.
One of the regular divers, Kurt, only a few years older than I helped me out. He told me to send to the city for a man’s rubber urinal which holds the cock and balls and attaches to a rubber tube down your leg to a bladder strapped to your calf. It arrived and it also worked. I was able to stay down for longer periods and enjoyed my work for the first week. However, the thing irritated my cock and balls so much they became a bloody mess. I used all the Vaseline I could find, but the oil base dissolved the rubber sheath that encloses the whole genital area. I became very discouraged. My world seemed to collapse. It had seemed like such a good job.
It finally dawned on me that the other divers must have had the same problem, thus there must be a solution. I told Kurt about my problem, and he assured me there was a solution if I was willing to submit to a small operation. He called me into his bedroom in the bunkhouse, undressed, and showed me the gold ring he wore through the underside of the head of his cock. It went through the urethra and angled back toward the frenulum. It was a thick ring about 5/8” in diameter. The regular divers didn’t use the typical rubber male genital bag requiring straps and buckles. Instead, they pierced their cocks with the gold ring and attached a very small rubber nipple over the tip of the cock, with the ring inside. The nipple was internally secured to the gold ring. The nipple cup fit snugly and was attached to the rubber tube making it urine-proof. The entire scrotum and cock were kept free and ventilated without constant chafing.
DREAMS COME TRUE
My head was in a whirl. I was groggy with delight. To be pierced for a useful purpose was too good to be true. My fondest dream seemed to be coming true. I asked Kurt if he would do the piercing for me. He said he would, but he would prefer to have me ask Ole, and older Swede who had more experience. He was sort of the elder statesman of the group, and Kurt felt it would be politic if I asked him.
The afternoon Ole came home, I popped the question to him. “Ya, I’d pierce your cock,” he said in his thick Swedish accent, “tonight, if you want it.” I said, “Ya, tonight, I’m sure I’ll be a better man for it.”
During dinner in the mess hall I hardly ate. Ole puffed on his pipe, one pipe full after another. How could I stand it any longer? Finally he stood up, knocked out the ashes from his pipe and said, “Come on, kid,” and I followed him to his room.
In my enthusiasm I had not realized that Ole had been drinking all day. Ole motioned for me to sit on the only chair, and he sat on the bed. I took my cock out for him to look over. I’ve always been big for my age (then nineteen). I was reasonably well-hung and circumcised at birth. Most of the Swedes went uncut with their ring keeping their foreskins retracted. Kurt wandered in and saw Ole examining me, and they discussed the placement and procedure.
After considerable deliberation and discussion Ole went to his dresser and brought out a tin tobacco box. Out came a medium sized, curved sail needle threaded with heavy black thread. Kurt held my cock while Ole went at it. I was on cloud nine and shot my wad before Ole actually touched me. I had to excuse myself and get cleaned up before continuing.
The next few minutes were sheer disaster. Ole’s hand had the shakes and his vision was blurry. The first point of contact with the needle was a long way from target. There were several misdirected jabs, and I got less and less enthusiastic about the whole idea. Finally Kurt stepped in and offered Ole a beer. Ole gladly accepted and stood aside while Kurt went about the business of piercing my cock. With Kurt’s steady hand and expertise, the whole project was neatly finished within a few minutes. There was no great pain, just a steady pressure from inside, and soon the point of the needle was visible, at the perfect place for it. Pushing a little more, the whole needle came through, and Kurt “rattled” it (worked it back and forth) to stretch the newly-pierced hole.
After the “rattling” process the needle slipped through easily and brought with it the doubled thread. Kurt made a large loop and knotted the ends. He told me to move the thread from end to end several times a day. The only discomfort was a slight sting when I pissed. It was amazing how quickly the piercing healed. It seemed like it was less than a week.
About ten days after the piercing, and the next chance we had to get into town and visit the jeweler, Kurt went with me and bought the gold ring to fit me. It was a little ring that I wore for many years. It really became a part of me. Since then I’ve replaced it with a new ring, but there will always be a ring of some sort down there.
In the meantime Kurt modified my rubber urinal. He cut it down to use just the very end of it, just enough to cover the end of my cock. From the inside of the rubber cup he attached a rubber band to hold the head of the cock in the cup with a small hook inside my newly-installed ring. It was all very, very, clever and a delightful sensation.
There was no further discomfort. It was a perfect solution to the problem. There is also another happy side to this encounter. I like to fuck as well as the next guy, and on Saturday evenings when we went into town we never had any trouble finding partners. 3 The divers had a reputation for being great sex, we fellows with gold rings that tickled. I’d get laid three times a Saturday night without half trying. That gold ring was wild!
Later I learned that such a piercing was called a “Prince Albert” – named after the husband of Queen Victoria. The historians say that Albert wore one to retract his foreskin to keep it from becoming “foul-smelling” when he visited the Queen. True or otherwise, it makes an interesting story.
The following summer I got an even better paying diving job. By now I was more experienced and on Saturday nights I was capable of laying at least five guys. The same gold ring was still working wonders for my reputation as a lover.
Around Labor Day I was offered a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious eastern universities. It was the time for a change, and I was ready for a new adventure. My professor, who had gotten me the diving job, suggested that I would be happier as an anthropologist than a marine biologist, and he arranged for the transfer. It’s a big jump but somehow I bridged the gap and was soon accepted.
My roommate, Jake, was a senior, and I was a junior. He kept me from making any big social mistakes, and we got along fine. Sometime during the first semester Jake mentioned a meeting that was going to be held in one of the frat houses with a representative from the Cyprian Society. I agreed to go with Jake who, I should add, was Jewish.
About 30 men attended this meeting. The speaker outlined the objectives of the Cyprian Society. It was formed right after World War I to offset the indiscriminate circumcision of male babies who didn’t have a choice or a chance to fight back. I hadn’t realized there was such strong feelings on this subject, especially among the Jews. They bitterly resented that they had been ceremoniously circumcised.
Then the speaker dropped a bombshell. He advocated piercing the sides of the glans of the head of the cock to put in special little studs. These studs would heighten the sexual pleasure by increasing the friction during intercourse and offset the thickened and less sensitive skin of the circumcised cockhead which came with the loss of the foreskin. Later that evening Doctor Rosenthal (a very young M.D., and the representative who spoke) privately showed me his glans piercing. Not to be outdone, I showed him my own piercing. That was a switch! The young doctor creamed his jeans, and I took it in good stride. After all, I had had some previous experience in such matters, more than he realized.
There were several more meetings. Some guys stopped attending, and some new ones joined. I was the leader, naturally, and first one to sign up for the piercing. Jake signed up also, and we were given an appointment for the following night. Jake was sorry he had ever suggested going in the first place, but I wouldn’t let him back down. I was thrilled beyond words. Jake was worried, so I calmed his fears and told him that I’d go first.
The piercing wasn’t as painful as some may think. It might be, if it’s done slowly, exerting a steady pressure. The “operator” who worked on me was a medical student I had never seen before. He was an expert and knew what he was doing and went right ahead with it. The most important part of such a piercing is the placement. To achieve the maximum sensation, the wearer (me, in this case) holds his cock in his hand and rotates it ninety degrees to the right exposing the left side of the shaft. The piercings are done with hollow needles which have a flattened side like a hypodermic needle without the syringe attachment. The operator selects the exact center of the side of the shaft, then pierces it through the glans edge, at exactly ninety degrees to the edge of the glans, with the needle entering from the bottom groove. The needle is pressured from the surface of the shaft until the needle emerges on the top side. It requires several minutes for it to travel through the spongy material of the glans. Both the left and right side of the glans are done together with the needles forced through at exactly parallel lines of travel so the piercings on each side are at exactly the same angle. This results in a matched pair.
Within a few minutes both penetrations were accomplished, and I was none the worse for the wear. I had exactly parallel surgical needles sticking through the sides of my cock, somewhat like a man-size pickle fork.
Tiny fourteen-carat wire retainer rings were fitted down inside the hollow needles, and withdrawing the needles pulled the retainers into the piercings. The withdrawal procedure sometimes brings a flow of blood. The operator shakes some alum powder on the holes to stem the flow. Usually the bleeding is of very short duration.
The operator bathed my cock and dusted it with some antiseptic powder and put several layers of gauze around the cock. I put my pants on and watched Jake get his turn. He took it like a man, maybe because I had set a good example. Me, I’d have had it done every day if I’d had the chance. Total time, for both of us, was about forty minutes.
The piercing usually takes three to four weeks to fully heal. After six to eight days it forms a hard spot around each penetration and becomes somewhat thicker than normal but never particularly painful. The operator said, “After the piercing, forget it for a month. However be sure to bath it daily and dust it with antiseptic powder.”
Within three to four weeks the lumps slowly dissolved, and when the area of the glans was normal again it was time to think about some kind of studs. Dr. Rosenthal had some gold studs available in various lengths, with solid screw ends to fit the individual. Both ends were the same diameter and really very handsome. At this writing it’s years since this happened, and I still treasure those little gold Dydoes (as they are called by aficionados of the art of piercing). I’ve removed them many times but always put them back where they belong. As someone once said of them, they are my “constant companions, and always give that added sensation, a little something extra in my sex life, that delicious little something for the many who had everything.”
I graduated just before the outbreak of World War II, and our age group was one of the first to be called up: The Cyprian Society got lost in the shuffle. For my graduation present my aunt gave me a gift of cash. I went to Hawaii as a beach bum. One of my beach bum friends, Moki was the first person I’ve ever seen the navel piercing. Wow, that was a whole new dimension in the scheme of sexual attractions.
My two previous piercing encounters were for useful purposes, but this one was strictly advertising. It let the opposite sex know you were interested and man, how it worked! Rolling down your trunks was like pulling down her panties! Many beach bums wore these navel piercings. Tattooing was also part of the required image to be accepted socially, even among girls.
When I had a little cash windfall I went into a tattoo parlor and asked the prices at the best-known establishment in Honolulu. I was shocked at how much it cost for a modest size design, too rich for my blood. One of my beach bum friends had a mail-order tattooing machine. It was in constant demand, but the quality of work was awful. I couldn’t see getting one of those tattoos, and I couldn’t afford the good ones. Unfortunately I never had gotten one.
Moki did take me to a Chinese jewelry shop on River Street where they got their navel piercings, A navel piercing is quick and easy if your navel is formed that way, so you can get behind, at, or into the opening. Some people cannot be pierced there because there is no real opening.
After a little Chinese negotiation we agreed on a complete navel piercing job for $2.50, and I laid the cash on the counter. I looked around for a back room with a curtain, but there was none, so I stood there at the end of the counter while the little Chinese merchant squatted down on a small stool and with a very dull, old-fashioned straight razor, scraped off the hairs from my belly, without benefit of shaving cream or lather. He then took a length of straight gold wire and filed it to a fine point. He put his left little finger up into my navel opening and found the center spot and slowly pushed the pointed wire through the fleshy overhang. Soon he felt the point touching his finger. With a pair of fine jewelers’ pliers he fashioned a nice little gold ring just the right scale for my belly button. It was all done in about ten to fifteen minutes and at very little cost. It was sore for a few days, but the salt water was a natural cleansing agent.
After V-E Day, I went back into anthropology to work at a Ph. D. The subject I selected (naturally) was “male initiation rites in Borneo” which gave me a wonderful opportunity for further study of piercings.
On my return from Borneo and New Guinea, I stopped off in Tahiti to compile the data I had collected. It was there that I met Reggie Jones, a delightful soul who greatly enriched my life. Reggie, an Australian, was a seaman on tramp steamers in the copra trade when he was young. Reggie had jumped ship and stayed in Tahiti. He married a native girl, and they had seven sons. When I knew him he was sixty, and I was thirty. Reggie taught me about Tahitian sex lore. The natives wear a pareo, a square of cotton fabric draped around their hips and never in such a way to bind or constrict the genital area. They wear no cloth between the legs since it would prevent the cooling breezes needed for comfort.
BEHIND THE BALLS
Many males, at the age of twelve to fourteen, pierce the thin web of skin behind the balls and halfway between the legs, sort of an equidistant triangle- seen from the floor looking up. The hole is usually large enough for a pencil, and the purpose is to hang a leather thong through it. Hanging on the thong is a shell or rock, or anything heavy enough to dangle from a three or four-inch thong. Even a lead sinker did very well in a pinch. The French colonists called this unique piercing a guiche meaning “opening in something.”
When Reggie told me this, I started panting. Here we go again! Reggie showed me his adornment. I had to have one to “keep up with the Joneses.” The following day after our night of fishing, we went into the Chinese general store, and Reggie bought a ring for me. That afternoon Reggie looked me over and was amazed at my other piercings.
Then he showed me where the guiche would be most practical for my purpose. I slipped off my pareo, leaned over, hands on thighs. From the rear, Reggie did the honors. He placed the ring in properly and squeezed it gently but firmly. So quick and easy, no aftercare, no real preparation for its installation.
Today my guiche piercing is permanently placed and the bangle removed if not being used. It’s not pencil size but a modest 5/8” interlocking ring. I never remove my guiche ring because it never interferes with tight underwear. One of the real pleasures of life is a guiche if you’re able to wear the tropical clothing for which it is intended. Walking the bangle bangs against my balls and legs and gives me an added delight, a constant reminder that I’m a fully developed, sexually adequate man.
In the course of the years I’ve been involved in some exciting experiments. Once in Florida we decided to extend my original through-the-end “Prince Albert” to connect it at the same angle to a hole coming out the top of the cockhead. The trans-piercing was no problem and healed soon, but it was never a pleasure to wear a stud or a ring through it. There was a constant irritation so the piercing was abandoned. However, it is still “on call” if wanted for later action.
Once a piercing freak, always a piercing freak. I pity the poor lonesome sonofabitch who locks himself in the closet. He is missing so much. Piercing can be a real joy to do and have done by another who appreciates it. The loners are short-changing themselves. Under the right conditions piercing is one of the greatest indoor sports
Early in the game I had my nipples pierced, but the chap who did it was inexperienced and nervous. His work was sloppy, one ring slanted to the left, ant the other cocked to the right. The following day when I looked in the mirror I removed them and never had them repierced. I admire these men with big round, fully-developed nipples, but mine were such little pimples that I really had little to work with. Some men want their piercings at the base, the surface next to the nipple shield, while others want it at the center, midway between the tip and the shield. To each his own, I’ve seen them both ways, including top to bottom variations. Usually a piercing buff wants his nipples pierced as a starter, right after his left ear is pierced, but most beginners are inexperienced, and today I see the bad result of many impulsive piercings.
It seems so simple and easy to poke a hole in the side of the scrotum, but to what purpose? Yes, you can hang an earring there, but what will that gain you? The hole will spread and heal eventually, but it will be no real pleasure sexually. Scrotum piercing can be done by real experts who know their trade. But be sure that’s what you really want.
In closing, once a piercing freak, always a piercing freak. I pity the poor lonesome sonofabitch who locks himself in his closet. He is missing so much. Piercing can be a real joy to do and have done by another who appreciates it. The loners are short-changing themselves. Under the right conditions piercing is one of the greatest of the indoor sports.
- Who was Doug Malloy? ↩
- Adventures of a Piercing Freak ↩
- In another version the text reads: “There is also another happy side to this encounter. I like to fuck as well as the next guy, and on Saturday evenings when we went into town, the girls were very anxious to meet us.”- This was likely changed in the Calston Industries publication due to being marketed to a Homosexual audience. ↩