It began with a simple labret, a year and a half ago. It has since turned into a definition of my own sense of self. After my first surface piercing, I found myself wanting more. I wanted something that wasn't popular, something that I hadn't seen very often. I wanted it to be sexy, something that people would see and want to touch. More than that, I wanted to start a set of surface that was comprised of symmetrical pairs. My only problem....where to begin.
At A Glance Author GunmetalSpikes Contact gunmetalspikes@hotmail.com When Six months ago Artist Russ Foxx Studio Foxx Works Body Modifications Location Alliston, ON A point of pride with me has always been my stomach. Toned and flat, I've always loved that one part of my body. The idea to pierce my lower abdomen popped into my head one day as I was changing my pants in the locker room at work. It would be something that people wouldn't see unless I wore very, very low-rise pants. Right along the curve of my hip bones, about two inches below my belt-line. Pelvic surface piercings.
The following Sunday, after some consideration, I walked back into Foxx Works and asked my piercer to make it happen. He set up, passed me a waver, and pulled out two of my "new best friends". I'd put the idea of the set up that I wanted to him a few times before, and he'd developed that nick name for the needles he used on me.
We screwed around with the positioning of the bars for a few minutes, me stretching into all sorts of uncomfortable positions to get them just right, being marked and re-marked. Finally, they were lined up, in my eyes and Russ'.
Caring for these was going to be a bitch. I knew it from the start, that there would be snagging for weeks, not to mention the lint they would attract from my pants as they wept. Russ ran down the finer points of after care with me, placing special emphasis on baggy pants. It'd be worth it, though. I could tell just from the dots on my skin that these were going to be beautiful.
I laid down and Russ put the clamps on. No easy feat, considering that there's really no loose skin on this girl's stomach. He pierced through my flesh and pain assaulted me. It was incredible, more painful than anything else I'd had done so far! The skin on my lower abdomen, usually such a sensitive, erotic zone, had turned traitor. I hissed between gritted teeth and Russ slid the bar through. By the time that both were done, I had to take a minute and stay on the table, waiting for the throbbing to stop. When I was ready to stand, he helped me to my feet so I wouldn't catch them on my pants.
As before, as soon as I glimpsed them in the mirror, I knew they were worth the pain. Russ snapped his picture and I bounced out the door, on my way to dinner with my boyfriend at the time. Once I reached the restaurant, I pulled him aside to show him my new piercings. I though he'd like them as much as I did. He liked what I had up until that point.
What resulted was a huge fight that culminated in the end of the relationship. The boy was angry that I'd pierced his favorite part of my body without asking first. I was pissed. Ready to scream. He told me to take them out right then and there or it was over.
"Call me when you're human." Was my only response to that ultimatum. I called a friend to rant about my frustrations, and she told me that she would've done the same thing in his position. The relationship had only been three months old, and one of my closest friends was telling me that my boyfriend was right to try and lay claim over my body! Moreover, she proceeded to tell me that it was time to grow up and stop getting pierced. Yes, both the friend and the boyfriend were mod virgins.
Because I've magnified my individuality more visibly than most others, I've lost friends. Because I've modified my body in ways that appeal to me, I've had people call me names and ask me inane questions over and over.
People have asked me intelligent questions about my mods, and those who do, I'll talk to. Those who have mods themselves are the most likely to engage me in conversation, and I don't mind the stares that I get, or the fact that people will sometimes want to touch them and ask if they're real.(Do they think that I've glued the balls on my skin or something?) I laugh when people at the bar stare and point at my set-up, which is now nearly complete.
It's the reason that some people I know won't talk to me any more. It's the reason that my boyfriend broke it off with me, but damn if it hasn't been worth it.