Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Female solo clitorectomy minour ; this is a work of speculative fiction
very loosely based on eygptian customs.

   The Jihad against the infidel is the lesser jihad; the greater one is
the internal struggle, of good against evil, within each individual soul.
When I was stupid and naïve I thought it strange to refer to a
thermo-nuclear war that wiped out more than half of the human race as a
lesser anything.  But when I was twelve I fell in love, with a sixteen year
old on the brink of manhood, and he joined the pacification missions in
America promising me that he would conquer a vast estate so that I could be
head of a prosperous household, and our children could inherit kingdoms. 
Often we wrote one another, we wrote of life and humor, and love and lust.
I told myself I wrote of the last two in order to raise his moral, and
remind my hero of what he was fighting for, but I enjoyed such words, they
made my heart beat fast, and as I imagined him wiping out the vile
sodomists of the US army to secure a home for me I felt a tingling in my
most secret place.

   I resisted all evil urges for years, two almost three, hoping to enter
marriage pure.  But more and more did they disturb my sleep and distract my
days.  I found myself clenching my thighs when working a sowing machine,
making excuses to climb trees or ropes, and outright rubbing myself when
half asleep.  But I struggled and maintained my purity.  Until one morning
after sinful dreams of kisses and caresses I awoke convinced everyone could
smell my lust, and so I ran to the shower to scrub the offending area and
as I scrubbed I felt a warm creamy explosion inside my body.  I told myself
it was just a mistake, and that now I knew what to avoid, but that night as
I wrote my man a letter I made myself feel it again.  I held out for seven
days but I longed for the feeling and thought on it.  When I was supposed
to be in a munitions plant preparing nerve gas canisters for our brave
warriors again it distracted me and I locked myself in the bathroom.  It
was then I understood truly how desperate the greater jihad was.

   I knew I could not resist on my own, So I asked an iman who referred me
to a doctor, who specialized in female complaints.

   The waiting room smelt of poppies, and I soon learnt why as the doctors
secretary provided me with opium to calm myself, more modern painkillers
being unavailable.

   I felt as if I were dreaming as I headed into the doctors office; "You
are single?" he asked me.

   "I am engaged" I replied

   "So does your father consent to this purification?"

   "He does"

   And then he instructed me to remove my clothes.  As I did so I
remembered my many dreams of my fiancé and felt my flesh coming alive. 
Through the opium haze I managed to feel ashamed, but he was merely said "I
can see why you are in need of my services; fear not with the war many
women are.  Allah wishes women to appreciate men who fight for Islam, and
Shaitan corrupts that wish well."

   I opened my legs to him and he started rubbing his fingers over my
secret place, coating it with opium numbing and arousing it both at once.
"Some have argued that Mohamed forbids removing the whole of the clitoris;
for he says we are just to trim at the tip in order to allow kindness to
exist between husband and wife.  But infidel scientists studies the
clitoral nerve, and indeed the clitoris is just the tip, it extends deep
inside the body, where maybe the husband may awaken it, but A woman alone
may not" Or at least I believe that is what he said, pain distracted me
from his final words.

   The pain was horrible the next day and worse when I thought of anything
arousing, smoked a lot of opium and occupied my mind memorizing Qu'ranic
verses on inheritance and property rights.

   My parents took away my opium the day after, worried that I would become
addicted (almost all women past a certain age are drug addicts but I was
young yet) so I devoted my mind to my work, fully and completely not daring
leave any free for libidous thought.  I worked my finger to the bone,
letting pain block pain, and still found ways to work better, both on my
house chores and at the nerve gas refinery.

   Weeks passed like that and turned into months.  When I received word
that my fiancé had secured land in California and wished me to come and
head his harem, I felt a familiar excitement and was horrified lest the
pain strike me, but though my nipples grew hard pain did not strike.  I
controlled myself the rest of the day and as I lay in bed that night I
caressed myself and imagined it was him, and though I enjoyed the caress
and the fantasy of love I felt no hunger for it to focus at my secret
place, nor did I feel any urge to explode.

   I thought then with pride on my mans triumphs in the lesser jihad, and
thinking of my how I improved myself as a worker and a daughter I realized
that I too triumphed in the greater one.

   The next morning I boarded a ship for America, as the ships eunuch
escorted me to the women's quarters I wondered of the harem I was to head.
Perhaps their was a little jealousy, but mostly it was practical concern
over how I was to teach decadent American woman to be proper wives and
mothers.
   Fan mail and hate mail can be directed to Solomon_unloved@hotmail.com