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OBSERVATIONS
Allowing for various patient choices experience shows that one clitoris can be removed every six minutes, permitting a harvest of 10 per hour, or 50 in a working day. We at Surgiamp, using volunteers from our staff and the community harvested 500 clitorii as a foundation for testing and further research, over a period of two weeks. The DECLITORIZER worked flawlessly during this test. We are proud to say that over 50% of our female staff are now clitless and overjoyed with the results.
FOLLOW UP RESEARCH
One year after our tests we interviewed each patient and documented the results. Over 99 percent were fully satisfied. The overall feeling of these patients was that they were pleased to have joined the ever growing sisterhood of clitless women in North America.
One patient expressed concern that she still had feelings of sexual excitement in that area of her vagina, and the urge to masturbate where there was nothing to masturbate. From our notes during her operation we felt that we had not extended her clitoris fully into the vacuum tube. She was treated a second time with liquid nitrogen and this has cured her problem.
Other patient commentaries include these quotations:
"I was eighteen when you operated on me, and I had been having sex for four years. It was always annoying how my partners would finger my clit before entering me. That problem is gone and the sex has been infinitely better."
"For the first time in my life I can enjoy hours of sex without worrying about early orgasm spoiling it."
"I do miss the joy of climaxing while being eaten by my partner, but this is compensated by a deeper, stronger orgasm from my G spot."
"My only disappointment is that I was not born with two clitoris's so that I could have had them both done, and ended up with a pair of ear rings."
THE FUTURE
As a result of this success, our team is now investigating two more devices:
1 - a modified DECLITORIZER for the young woman with a smaller, less mature vagina and clitoris.
2 - a similar device which we plan to call the DENIPPLIZER, for those women who wish to proceed towards a full nullification.
OTHER INFORMATION GATHERED
This information is based on commentary made by patients during amputation procedure.
87% expressed delight with the clean shining appearance of the DECLITORIZER.
Some patients were nervous and hence had tight vaginas. The DECOITORIZER had to be forced in. Of these 90% expressed how wonderful it felt going in.
84% of all patients commented on how good it felt having their lips spread wide open.
54% chose not to have anesthetic, a surprisingly low number based on early judgment by our team. Of these many did scream when the clamp tightened on their clitoris, but when asked if they then wanted anesthetic, nearly all still said no.
72% were thrilled to see their clitoris stretched and appearing in the window. Most then continued to watch as it was stretched further. At this point 6 patients had second thoughts, but decided to continue.
89% were not aware that their clitoris had been severed until it was shown to them by the assistant.
69% chose to have their clitoris preserved in some manner. Of this group 58% chose preservation in our deluxe display bottles, and 42% chose bronzing in one of the two methods offered.
A small number of patients (number not recorded) did express unhappiness at being strapped to the operating table, but agreed once it was explained that the back would be cranked to an upright position so they could watch.
Off the 500 test cases, one women decided to back out as she was about to lay on the table. She did say "Your machine is so thrilling to look at, and I'm so tempted just to have it in me, but, but, I'm not 100 percent sure." We advised her to not go ahead. Near the end of the second week of harvesting she came back and had her amputation done. She had heard from her fellow workers how good it was.
Word spread through patients telling (or showing) their friends, and in the following weeks and our switchboard was inundated with requests which we had to turn down and put them on a referral list.
The flash of lightning and ear-splitting thunder came at the same time, followed a moment after by the unmistakable noise of a falling tree. That one was way too close. I was adjusting to some of the differences between the forest of high-rises and bustle of the city I'd left six months ago and the little town I now lived near, but these storms! I'd moved here to unwind, content to relax and indulge myself a little after twenty-five stressful years in finance. I'd been successful, to the point that I'd worked up to a partnership in a venture capital firm in the Big Apple, but my passion for making money had cost me two wives, the first having left me and taken our unborn baby with her, the second needing much more love than I had time to give. So there I was, forty-seven and unattached, living like a hermit in a fully-furnished small rented house. Was that pounding at my front door or something that had come adrift from the wind outside? The noise came again. There was definitely someone out there, and on a night like this! I switched on the front light and pulled a curtain aside to see. Unless I was mistaken, it was my neighbor whose house was about fifty yards from mine, a young woman who looked quite scared. I hastened to let her in. "Oh, thank you, thank you very much," she said. "I'm sorry to bother you. It's just that my lights went out and ... I tend to get a little frightened with storms like this." "Yes, it's a bad night," I responded. "Let me take your jacket and have a seat. You must have heard that tree come down. It may have taken out your lights." "Yes," she said, "it scared me half to death. I thought something had hit the house. I'm not used to weather like this." I nodded. The girl – she couldn't have been more than twenty, maybe twenty-two – sat huddled in an armchair near the door. "It might be a good idea to call the power company and let them know. It could be a bit dangerous walking around out there with downed high voltage lines. By the way, my name is Wil. What's yours?" I was glad to see that the frightened look was gone. "Jennifer," she answered, taking in my small living room. "I'm Jennifer Gunderson." "Okay Jennifer, can I get you anything, coffee or something else?" She started to shake her head, then changed her mind. "Call me Jenny. I'd love a cup of coffee if you have some." As I poured boiling water into my French press and added fresh-ground beans, I heard the girl on the telephone. She'd found my emergency numbers I'd scribbled on a pad. When I rejoined her, bearing a tray, I watched her sit back down, a worried expression on her face. "Something wrong?" I asked. "The repair guys can't come out until the morning. There are power outages everywhere." I smiled. She needn't have been concerned. I wasn't one to make advances to young girls. Chuckling, I pointed to the ladder that led up to the loft. "The cot upstairs is actually more comfortable than my bed down here, and besides, I like to hear the rain pattering on the roof. You're welcome to my bedroom." I put the tray down on an end table between our chairs. Shaking her head, she said, a rueful expression on her face, "No, no, that's not the problem. You don't understand." In a mocking tone, she continued, "Miss Gunderson in a strange man's house at night? We can't have that!" Mystified, I regarded her. Slim, wholesome rather than pretty with a friendly face and body with few curves, Jenny wouldn't be turning many heads. She did have lustrous dark hair that fell half way down her back. She reminded me of my kid sister with whom I'd lost contact years ago. Jenny laughed, then explained, "I'm the only elementary school teacher in this little farming town. It's incredible how people talk. I have to be very careful around here – go to Sunday school every week,

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