While living in Tucson, I decided that a vertical hood piercing would be a)titillating; b)a way to secretly thumb my nose at younger co-workers who actually believe that libido vanishes at age 30; and c)another great way to wear fun jewelry.
At A Glance Author Not what you think Contact Not what you think@bme.anon When A year ago Studio Halos on Speedway Location Tucson, AZ I've been asked why I got a hood piercing by the few friends in whom I've confided my midlife experiment. After all, I'm a reasonably attractive woman but I won't be appearing in the Victoria's Secret catalogue any time in the near future. What, my truly conventional friends demanded, could push me into a deviant subculture? How could I possibly mutilate my body? And I didn't dare tell my Southern Baptist sister, because I didn't have a black dress for the funeral!
Was I turning into a self-mutilator, asked one appalled friend? Did I need therapy for body image issues? Couldn't I just have settled for a facial and a pedicure? It was so out of character - not out of my character, mind you, but out of the character they'd constructed from my generally quiet and reserved demeanor, that they were "concerned" for me. Let's not over-analyze this: It's not what others see in you; it's what you see in yourself. I believe that I'm someone who is perfectly willing to step outside the boundaries others construct; I just step out unobtrusively.
After checking several websites, including BME, I thought that a vertical piercing looked most appealing. I waited until I was in the right frame of mind (determined) and went to HALOS on Speedway in Tucson. I'd been told that they had the best reputation in town for sanitation and professionalism; my informants were correct.
After the obligatory identification check, I was told to decide what type of jewelry I wanted. HALOS had an excellent selection ... and a room full of customers! Now which of the hundreds of barbells (10 gauge, 12 gauge, 14 gauge, surgical grade steel, titanium, niobium, curved, straight, spiked, beaded with gems)was the right one? I finally managed to ask the counter clerk what she recommended for a hood piercing without being overheard. A barbell. Of course. Straight. 14 gauge. Peridot bead. Internally threaded to reduce the risk of infection and of loosening.
I waited until the evening's contingent of University of Arizona students marched out, proudly displaying the toned and tanned backdrops to their new belly rings. The giggle factor dropped dramatically. Time to get serious ...
I stepped into the immaculately clean studio and the piercer (male) described the procedure, possible complications, after care instructions, and asked if I had eaten within the last four hours. Now it was time to "drop trou" and find out if my pain tolerance was up to the challenge.
The piercer had me sit on what appeared to be a modified dental chair with a disposable paper cover, placing my legs on either side, and then marked the spot ("X" and "X-rated") with a felt marker. After checking the barbell to be sure my choice was an appropriate size, he cleaned the area and used Pennington (triangular) forceps to clamp the hood tissue. The clamps were less substantially less uncomfortable than my dismay at being bare naked and spread eagled in front of a guy young enough to be my son.
When instructed to take a deep breath and exhale, my natural instinct has always been to suck as much air as I can get into my lungs and hold it. It's effective if you are headed for the deep end of the pool but not particularly effective as a relaxation technique ... The extra oxygen did add a little volume to the delicate squeal that erupted when I realized that the deed was done. I think it was more an expression of relief, because the nanosecond or so of pain paled in comparison to my dental Novocaine experiences.
In less than 30 seconds, the receiving tube was gone and the barbell with peridot ball was firmly in place. Done. It took me longer to get up from the chair than the entire piercing and jewelry insertion process. I took a quick look at the proffered mirror and left the studio with a container of Satin soap and a can of Ocean aerosolized saline. Somehow, staring at the result of my adventure seemed to be best reserved for a little more privacy.
The piercing felt completely healed in three days, but I observed the aftercare precautions as directed. After all, when you are regaled with "piercings gone bad" stories by ER docs, you don't aspire to join the ranks of those who ignore fundamental principles of hygiene to lose both the new piercing and an insurance co-pay, as well as the dignity that evaporates the moment you don a hospital gown.
The slight tightening sensation of healing tissue with thousands of nerve endings(pleasant) and the knowledge that I was "adorned" made the process worthwhile. Libido does not disappear after 30; it just takes a different and more interesting path. It's true what they say: you can't get just one piercing. Stay tuned for my next cross-country piercing adventure ...