At one point in my lifetime, sticking a large needle through my very own flesh would be akin to committing suicide, or some other equally horrendous and unthinkable sin. I can vividly remember a bad tetanus shot experience in the first grade, which resulted in severely bruised muscles, and a two-week period where I could not move my right arm.
At A Glance Author anonymous Contact anonymous@bme.anon When Three months ago Artist Brian Studio Mind Altering Tattoos Location La Crosse WI If this remained the case, I wouldn't be writing this now. You see, at some point in my middle childhood, I became fond of earrings and other shiny metal objects protruding from adults' bodies, and from there I don't know what happened. I remember waiting in line at Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio for a roller coaster with my Aunt, and seeing a beefy dude with "earrings" in his nipples. It was intriguing, but it took many long years and me loosing a bet to my girlfriend before I finally got something—my nipples, as it happens—pierced.
In college, one has a tendency to sometimes overdo things. My girlfriend thinks I am partially crazy now; the good thing is she likes it. So, on All Hallow's Eve last year, a night when the spirits of the dead come back to visit the living, I decided to get my dick perforated like a 7 by 11 piece of printer paper. I had visited Mind Altering Tattoos before, somewhat contemplating this very thing and wanting to check 'em out (also because I am slightly fascinated by this piercing thing), so I put on my jacket and made the twenty-or-so block hike to their studio. I walk in, feeling simultaneously very out of place and very enthusiastic, and tell the desk girl that I was there to get my dick pierced.
Funny thing—she gave me an odd look, as if questioning my sincerity, before calling back to Brian to ask him if he could fit me in. A nice guy, Brian is, and was very polite in asking me which part. I stammered something about the ridge around the glans, and he gave an acknowledging nod and said something along the lines of "Ohh, sure—dydoes." I inquired as to three originally, along the topside, but he told me that so many at once increased the chances of infection, as well as the pain levels. Okay, I'll do it in steps, I said, willing to agree to most anything just to get the show on the road. I signed the forms the cute red-haired girl gave me (after reading them, of course—wink wink nod nod). Then I had to wait for about ten minutes while Brian lit up a smoke, and then he led me back.
By this time, my apprehension had drained to a much lesser level. I talked briefly with the desk lady, and she was very congenial and pleasant to speak to, if not the most knowledgeable person about mods in existence, and examined the place to help calm my nerves. They use an autoclave, which I knew was good, and had the obligatory tattoo posters and displays all around. Twin couches and a coffee table littered with tattooing magazines constituted their waiting area, looking out at the "busy" street on which the studio is located. It was warm in there, so I took off my jacket and by chance saw a largish collection of KISS memorabilia on a small overhang above the window; I wanted to say something derogatory, but considering I was about to willingly get my member stabbed by one of these guys, I held my tongue.
Brian led me into a very clean and spotless white tiled room, with a dentist's chair off to one side and a huge mirror dominating the opposite wall. In the middle stood a little stainless steel cart, with a large variety of sterilization bags and latex gloves. He washed his hands again, so I could see, and immediately put on a fresh pair of gloves. The command to drop my pants—while politely phrased and beautifully worked into the framework of our conversation—caught me a little uneasy still. He probably saw my hesitation and mentioned that the door was shut. I shrugged, unzipped, and pulled my blue jeans down. It was a strange, pseudo-epiphany-like movement—when my dick was briefly hanging there, in open space, for all in the room to see, my fears melted away just like that. To have had so much nervousness and apprehension and anxiety and all of that good stuff worked up, and to have it simply evaporate into the air, was the strangest feeling. Nevertheless, there I was, and all that was now left was eagerness. I lay down on the reclined dental chair.
Brian was very methodical about the placement of my "snake eyes." I watched as he measured with all sorts of tools I had never before considered using to measure my penis, and marked with a purple marker the spots where the 14 gauge ½ inch SSS barbells would go. We talked the whole way. As I mentioned before, I had originally wanted three, but as we conversed and he told me about his mods south of the border, I decided that eventually I'd like five—spaced evenly around the circumference of the glans, of course. Brian remarked that he thought it a kick-ass idea. I was buoyed by his comments, but by now, he was finished marking and preparing the needles.
My fear threatened to return, but only for a moment. The needles looked bigger than they actually were, but I was very excited to get this done. The purple lines and dots looked good, so I said go. He clamped the area, which was a weird feeling, and not one wholly un-painful, told me to breathe in three times, and that he'd go on three. I took a deep breath to try to still my rapidly fluttering heart, breathed once, twice, thrice, held—
All I will say is there was pain. Not quite agonizing; I handled it easily. However, there was a very noticeable twinge as the needle pushed through. It was not an intensely hot sensation, like the nipple procedure, but more of a very sharp, very lengthy explosion. It actually went quite quickly, but as it was happening, time seemed to stretch almost infinitely.
Over and done with. The sharp quality drained away rather quickly, leaving a dull, almost sensation-less feeling. It was odd, but I had never pierced my dick before so I wasn't questioning anything. Moreover, lots of adrenaline helps. The barbell went through, and viola! I was wounded. Brian suggested a break, said I took it well, which I thanked him for, and went off on some tangent of our earlier conversation about the piercing room. Or something like that. I tried to relax.
The second was worse. It seemed even longer, and unfortunately for me, my adrenaline was mostly gone by then. Ouch...umm...ouch. The next barbell was in, and I was done. Yippee for me, I said, as I looked at my painful glinting metal pieces in the monstrous mirrored wall. After Brian snapped a quick photo for his portfolio, I pulled up my pants, thanked him, and shook his hand. Be nice, because, after all, he is the only one to have ever stabbed my penis. Something most won't ever get to say.
I said a quick goodbye to the cute counter lady, and as a reward, she flashed me a gleaming white smile. In it I could read just a hint of curiousness... Of course, after what I had just done, that could have been my imagination...