Today was the day, years in the planning, waiting, agonizing over. Here I sit with three holes in my body that nature never intended, though I’m sure she would have if she could see just how cute this jewelry is.
I arrived at the piercing shop early, as I had intended. I wanted to be a few minutes early because I didn’t want to feel rushed when selecting the jewelry and I didn’t want to keep my piercer, who we’ll call Jen, waiting while I hemmed and hawed about these items that are essentially permanent, at least until I’m fully healed. After figuring out where it was legal to park (curb side parking sucks, yo), I sat in my car fiddling with my phone for absolutely no reason. There were no texts, no incoming calls. Only one other person on the planet knew I was there. I didn’t want to go in more than 15 minutes early, so I waited.
When it was time, I went in and was greeted with a “how can we help you?”. I told the girl, who was young enough to be my heavily body-modified and inked daughter, who I was and who my appointment was with. She took my ID and went off to gather some paperwork.
While I waited two 20-somethings came in for “walk-in nose piercings”. Walk in. As in, “Hey, there’s nothing on TV. Why don’t we pop over to the shop and get some holes put in our noses.” Yikes. I felt old. Old and busted. I wondered what the hell I was doing there at my age.
The receptionist came back and gave me a release to sign that said I understood they were going to put pointy things through my bits and, yes, I’m aware I might get an infection and, no, they aren’t responsible for any horrible after effects.
After exposing my breasts to Jen so she could measure my nips to determine which size bar I would need, I went back out to the shop to do the aforementioned hemming and hawing. This took significantly less time than I expected. I wasn’t able to get my first choice for my nips because I’m tiny and they don’t carry those in my size. I ended up, and I’m quite pleased with, bezel-set pink opal bars. They’re damn cute even if they don’t match my VCH jewelry as I had wanted. For my VCH I chose a traditional opal, again bezel set, because, as the salesperson said, you don’t want pointy things down there, in a curved barbell.
While I was shopping, Jen poked her head out from the piercing room and asked what I wanted her to set up for first. I had given this a great deal of thought on the overnight, because that’s what I do when I’m supposed to be sleeping. Did I want the mega scary nipples first or did I want the this-is-no-big-deal VCH first? As my ruminations hadn’t yielded any concrete decision, I told her to go ahead and set up whatever was easier for her.
I paid for my items and Jen escorted me to the piercing room, that for all the world, looked like an ob/gyn exam room which had been decorated by a goth chick. Jen said she had set up for the VCH first and invited me to strip from the waist down. Jen did not leave the room, as any female who has spent a number of visits at the gyno, would come expect. I stripped as instructed, while Jen busied herself with I-know-not-what because I was embarrassed and was doing my best to keep my back to her. A bit absurd when you consider that in a few short moments we would be eye-to-vagina.
Jen had me lay on the table and I internally stressed about whether or not I would be allowed to put my pants back on before I had to strip for the nipples. While she sanitized my bits, I also spent time wondering why in gods name I had elected to do all of this at one time. I posed this question to Jen and she posited that I must have been feeling brave. MmHmm, perhaps during the 60 seconds it took to make the appointment. Now? Not so much.
Jen, it should be noted, had zero bedside manner. She was extremely efficient and professional. She talked to me about everything. What to expect during the piercing, how to handle aftercare, what to do, what not to do, etc. I really wanted someone nice to pat my hand and say “Honey, everything will be fine. This will be over in a few seconds.” BUT given the choice between slow and sweet or efficient and experienced, I’ll take efficient any day. I had done a whole lot of research before I selected this shop and some more before choosing Jen specifically. I did not pick her for her personality. I picked her because she was über experienced with genital piercings.
Jen explained that she would tell me to take a huge breath right before she shoved a pointy metal skewer (my words) through my clitoral hood and then stated she would ask me to blow it out when doing the shoving. She did and I did. The pain was extremely sharp and relatively brief. After about 45 seconds, during which Jen was inserting the jewelry, the pain went from sharp to very similar to menstrual cramps, which I found odd, though not illogical.
Jen said I could get up and swap my top clothes for my bottom clothes when I was ready. While I was changing, with Jen in the room, though this fact no longer bothered me, I joked with Jen about lidocaine for the nipples and learned something very interesting. I was told that lidocaine changes the shape of the tissues and would therefor obscure proper placement. Jen went on to say that some topical anesthetics can cause blood poisoning if introduced to the system through the piercing process.
By the time I was finished changing, I had zero pain in my genital region. I could not tell that I had anything done. (Yeay, endorphins!) I told Jen and she stated emphatically, that I would feel great in a couple of days and that I should not think I had miraculously healed in that time. She assured me, again emphatically, that the VCH would take the nine weeks estimated to fully heal and that, no matter how it felt, I should assume it was not healed. “Mark your calendar.” she said to me “and do not become lax with daily cleaning simply because it feels better.” Whoa. Apparently, piercing aftercare is not a laughing matter.
Now naked from the waist up, after disinfecting, Jen marked the piercing placement while I sat upright on the gyno table. I laid down and wished for another piercer to come in and do the other nipple simultaneously. I had this fear that the pain was going to be so bad during the first, that I would chicken out and not get the second. Jen clamped my nipple and we did the whole breathe / blow routine again. Yowza is all I have to say. The nipple hurt quite a lot more than the VCH. Not fun. To my credit, I did not scream, I did not make any noise at all. I breathed. I breathed like a champ. Slow, deep, and even, just like she told me. After about 10 seconds I became lightheaded. I was not alarmed. I often become lightheaded during play and this felt exactly the same, so much so that I had to stop myself from saying “Yellow: Lightheaded”.
I told Jen what I was experiencing. She called for water and a lollipop and told me we would take a minute. I felt ridiculous sitting on the table, bare-breasted sucking on a lollipop, one breast newly adorned, one still in the “before” state. In about 90 seconds I felt completely fine and said as much to Jen. She said we would give it another minute, with an attitude that suggested she had heard that one before. She said that we could always do the other one “another time”. I disagreed, perhaps more strenuously than I realized, because she made a joke about how I had no intention of leaving without completing what I had come to do. I silently thought, You’re damn right! I do not quit!
In fairly short order, the second nipple was done and I was getting dressed. I chatted with Jen while I did so, about my expectations of pain vs what actually occurred. Jen shared with me that it is about the speed of the piercing. The faster the shove (my word) the more brief the pain. Jen informed me that there had been “some bleeding” (Well, yeah, you just skewered my tender pink nipple with a cold steel rod! Of course there’s bleeding!) so we would have to tuck some gauze into my bra for the ride home. We did so. I tipped her, thanked her for her time, bid her good day, and left.
On the ride home, the Motrin that I had taken prophylacticly before leaving the house earlier, began to wear off, as did my endorphin rush. I felt pain migrating around my breast tissue in the form of a mild ache, not unlike tenderness from having them grabbed roughly. I went over a bump and the VCH chimed in, feeling very much like the day after someone was over zealous with the hitachi. Not at all the serious pain I expected. Mostly, I just feel, now roughly three hours post skewering, that I’ve had a weekend of extremely rough play.
It looks like I won’t be needing that grain alcohol after all, and that’s just fine by me.