At A Glance
Author	anonymous
When	A year ago
Studio	Golden Rule Body Piercing
Location	Silverdale, WA

So, I got my left nipple pierced.

Are you shocked? If you know me, you might be (or not), but this is not really big news. In the grand scheme of body mutilation, a nipple is small potatoes. Really small potatoes. Hardcore fans of body mutilation (or modification, as it is now called) will say, "Oh, yeah, you only got them pierced? I had mine removed with a rusty file." What's funny is how people who have their ears pierced think that nipple piercing is somehow more painful. "The nipples are so sensitive," they say. Excuse me, but the last time my wife so much as breathed on my ears, I had to change pants. Just because an ear piercing is done in a mall by a teenager who can barely disguise her disdain for your cutting in on her valuable thinking-about-stuff time does not mean it won't hurt. My ears hurt both times. It felt like the piercer very gently, but quickly, forced a ballpoint pen through my ear lobe.

The nipple piercing was a different story altogether.

I had already decided to get my nipple pierced, but I hadn't exactly pinned down when or where. I was having a shitty day at work, so I naturally decided that this would be the day to experience a unique pain. I found a place in the phone book called Golden Rule Body Piercing, and I discovered that they were close by. I decided to go check the place out on my lunch break. I was expecting a fluorescent-lit, dingy hole in the wall with the Hell's Angels poster boy smoking a Camel while tattooing his own neck. Instead, Golden Rule was a light blue, two story house - very unassuming except for the gigantic sign in the front announcing the establishment's name. I walked inside to find three large glass display cases filled with a variety of rings, bars, etc. I asked a very normal looking guy many questions, and I quickly made up my mind that I was going to do this.

The owner led me through his house to the piercing room, which looked like a very cozy, clean and professional exam room. He put on rubber gloves and lined a silver tray with implements. Now, I was getting nervous. This was almost too medical, and the potential pain seemed greater in this environment. Forceps and the piercing tool hit the tray with a tinny clank, not a warm and fuzzy sound for sure. He wiped my nipple with a Betadine swap, and my heart began to race. Betadine, clamps, rubber gloves--these are the sounds, sights and smells of a hospital ER or delivery room. I was beginning to expect SERIOUS pain. Then two things happen that made me lighten up. First, he used the exact same pen that I use at work to dot the holes he was about to put in me. I don't know why I find this humorous - perhaps because I couldn't imagine his job and my job would have anything in common. Then, as I sat on the examination table, I noticed that the window I was facing looked out onto a coin shop and its patrons. They could see me just as well as I could see them. I imagined that when he pierced my nipple, one of the patrons next door would see it, turn pale and surrender the contents of his or her stomach upon rare and valuable coinage. This image alone made the whole experience well worth it.

Now, I was ready to be pierced...or at least my nipple was. My brain wasn't so sure. Mr. Piercing Gun had me lie down on the table and begin deep breathing. I immediately flashed back to childbirth classes and hoped that maybe, finally, something I learned there would come in handy. "This will feel a bit...uncomfortable," he said as he reached for a clamp (not the good kind) and attached it to my nipple. He was right; it was not a fun sensation, not anything close to good nipple torture. At the same time, it did not exactly hurt. The feeling was reminiscent of a blood pressure check. I hate that Velcro cuff with its insidious blood-stopping powers. That feeling doesn't hurt, but it does ever so thoroughly bug the crap out of me. This was like that (or vice versa--whatever, you know what I mean). Fortunately, I had the actual piercing to look forward to.

Now, I was curious about how this process worked. How exactly did the tool penetrate the flesh and put the ring in at the same time? How much blood would come out? Would he have to exert himself to pierce me? Would he actually hit both of the pen marks he drew?

If I weren't such a total waste of protein when it comes to blood and flesh wounds, I might be able to answer these questions for you. However, I did not watch one single second of the procedure. I was afraid that if I watched, I would know EXACTLY how much it would hurt. Instead, I rationally chose to be surprised by the pain. I don't know why, but this works for me. I figured if I imagined the worst possible pain (like shaving my gums with a cheese shredder or passing a Lego set), I would surely be better prepared for the impending agony.

"Alright, take a deep breath and hold it...." I've heard these words before...just before my wife pushed a baby's head out of her body. Using the time-honored techniques I learned in childbirth classes, I found my focus point (a customer in the coin shop) and drew my breath.

"Now, breathe out."

Like a faulty tea kettle, I blew hot, nervous air through my puckered lips. I tried to knock over my focal point with my breath as I felt this intense pressure - like someone was trying to push my nipple through a keyhole. Just as I had finally emptied my lungs, he stepped back and said, "Okay."

Okay?! "You mean, you're done? That's it?"

Wow. No searing pain. No visible blood. No crying for Mom.

"There's a mirror behind the door if you wanna check it out," he said.

I thought surely that bandages would hide my new jewelry for at least a day or two. But I looked in the mirror and saw a silver hoop perfectly placed in my nipple like it had been there all along. I was amazed. It looked...beautiful. Why hadn't I done this before? Oh yeah, I'm a big chicken.

I buttoned my shirt while receiving care instructions (clean it daily, don't let your cat near it, etc.), but I didn't want to get dressed. I wanted to show everybody. I felt a newfound pride in my not-quite-so-bare-anymore chest. Surely everyone would want to see how good it looked. Maybe if I let people see it, they'd give me free stuff. Maybe my boss would let me have the day off because I was so cool. Maybe strange women would wink at me or ask to touch it. Maybe men would give me a thumbs-up or a high five respecting my obviously extraordinary tolerance for pain.

Maybe I should just button my shirt and go back to work before I'm late...which I did. However, my bad mood was completely gone.