What it was like having my nipples in the hands of a (male) piercer.
I sat on a cold, leather bed, looking awkwardly around, awaiting this guy named Mark to come back in a tiny room at the end of the hall in this tattoo parlor. My boobs kind of hung there, the way they alway did when they had no support. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. In fact, I didn’t know I was going to end up there until that moment when Mark told me to take off my shirt and bra. It was sort of like the first time you have sex with some one new. Mark was the new guy and I was lying on his so-called bed waiting for him to return from the bathroom. It was weird and awkward and I didn’t really know where to put my clothes. But as he came back in the room with a box of sterling silver jewels and a smile, I knew there was no turning back. I was getting my nipple pierced.
I hadn’t put too much thought into it, but I had toyed with the idea of getting my nipples pierced before. I liked the idea of this hidden rebellion that only some were allowed to uncover and I also had a small insecurity with my boobs. I had no boobs; that’s kind of where my insecurity stemmed from. I always had shortcomings in that department; I’ve had the same size breasts since I was a freshman in high school. I’m twenty-two now. So I figured if they weren’t going to grow, I was going to pierce them. What better way to overcome my insecurity?
So there I was, watching Mark sterilize the needle at a desk in front of me. He barely spoke, which made things all the more awkward. When he was done, he got up close to me and reached his hand out towards my right boob. As he went to grab it, I jumped back. Now, I’m not the kind of girl who thinks every man is attracted to me, nor did I think Mark was doing anything inappropriate, but it still was odd to me. I was very comfortable with my sexuality and a great list of people had seen my boobs, including the people I had slept with, my best friends, doctors, and family members, but this felt different. I was either related to them, being cared for by them, or sleeping with them. Mark and I were nothing more than business associates, making a simple transaction.
When he finally cupped my right breast in his hand, I smiled at the awkwardness I felt. He made the marks on the sides of my nipples and explained to me how this piercing process was going to work. Breathe in. Breathe out. I breathed in and there it was, the sharp pain. The needle had made full contact and I no longer concerned myself with how well I knew Mark. As I breathed out, the needle came out cleanly on the other side. At this point my eyes were clothes, and although I could still feel Mark’s finger pressed up against the barred jewelry in me, I didn’t care.
As he explained the cleaning process, I stared down at my new, bejeweled nipple. My boob was still small but it was a badass boob nonetheless. Mark cleaned up the bloody residue and after he let me stare at myself for another minute or two, he told me I could put back on my shirt. At that point I had forgotten it was off. In the beginning I had been so worked up about taking my clothes off for some one I barely knew, but now I hadn’t a care in the world. He didn’t seem to mind though; I’m sure he’s seen many more impressive boobs in his lifetime.
Nevertheless, I walked out of the shop feeling rebellious and empowered. For a smidgen of pain, I had given a guy I didn’t know – although he was a piercer – a 20-second peep show and I had given myself a reason to love my boobs.The fact that a man handled them was an after thought.
**NOTE** : the image used is a license-free image and is not an original image from the author.