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December 10, 2004
That Night in the Picture
"Why does your friend have a picture of your penis on her fridge?"
"What? Dad. Shut up."
"You sister said she went over to your friend Amanda's house and she had a picture of your penis on her fridge."
"No. I don't think she -- She might."
"How did she get a picture of your penis? Huh? You doin --"
"It's probably her roommate's."
"What's her roommate look like? Have I met her?"
"No. I'd remember someone taking a picture of my penis; they don't have one."
They did have one. I remembered her roommate taking it. Later that night I went over to her house and found it hidden in the freezer.
"You hide this when I'm around, but leave it out when my sister comes over? That's sick. I don't want my sister seeing my junk."
"I didn't know she was coming over. I was having a party and she showed up with a girl I work with."
"But you told her it was me. That's wrong. You should have told her it was someone else. I feel violated."
"I never told her, I told someone else and when she came people told her."
"People? How many people. It looks all small in the picture. It's embarrassing."
"I don't know how many people. It's been up there for months."
"Months?"
"Yeah, Phil put it up there as soon as we got them developed. You know how he likes dicks."
"Man. I didn't know he was gonna get all porno on me. I thought he just wanted a picture of the ring."
Phil. He took the picture. He was piercing people and taking pictures of his handiwork.
"Why isn't Ryan's nipple up here? He got pierced the same night."
"Have you seen him with his shirt off?"
"Point taken."
It was the 90s. People were getting pierced left and right back then. It was new. It was different. It was cool. Just like my friends and I (and to this day we remain so).
Phil had all the gear to pierce: some kind of forecept looking thing, pre-packaged, sterilized needles, alcohol, a willingness to see people denuded.
Ryan had been talking about getting his nipple pierced for some time. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. "Tonight." he'd say. "I'll do it tonight."
The night before he said, "Tonight."
"I can't do it." he'd say. "I can't do it." he said that night.
"Come on, man. Do it. It's just a nipple."
"Yeah, but it's gonna hurt."
"If you do it, I'll have him pierce my dick."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah." We shook.
I meant it to be an empty promise. I thought I was safe. I'd say it and he'd never go through with his end of the bargain. Or if he did get his nipple pierced he'd be satisfied he'd finally done it. We were talking about a penis for god's sake. My penis.
Oh, god. He's in the chair. He has his shirt off. It's not a fair deal. A penis for a nipple? No way. The pain. No. No way. He's didn't really take me seriously. I went out to the porch and sat on sofa I dragged down the street from the trash pile I found it in two blocks down and around the corner. I thought if I hid I wouldn't have to do it. If I hid with a glass of vodka I definitely wouldn't have to do it.
"It's your turn!" Ryan said bursting through the door. He was surprisingly more focused the potential mutilation of my penis than he was about finally - Finally! - getting the nipple piercing he'd been longing.
"Oh. You thought I was serious?"
"Yeah. Phil's ready."
"I've been drinking. I'll bleed everywhere and die. I can't die from a crotch wound."
"Dude, there's, like, no blood. And it doesn't hurt."
"My penis is pretty sensitive. I think it's gonna hurt."
"We shook on it."
"I know, but --"
"Dude. You better not have lied to me."
Shit. He pulled the 'L' card. My warped childhood taught me to avoid, at all costs, being called a liar. A fibber? Fine. A joker? A teller of tall tales? A truth stretcher? Fine. But a liar?
"Should I just sit here?"
"Yeah, and pull it out."
"I'm going to have to clean it off with alcohol first. It might sting."
"It's usually bigger than this. I swear." When no one was looking I tried to stretch it back out. It was shrinking under the stress. I guess there's some innate thing in us. An unwritten bodily rule: If there's danger, the penis is the first one to head for cover. He's the important one you don't want to lose. Things are better if he's there, if he's not cut/bitten/hacked/ripped/etc off.
"Ok. This might be a little cold --"
"Oh my god! That stings! It burns! What the hell are you doing?"
"It's just rubbing alcohol."
"What the hell? God, it hurts."
"I'll wait for a couple minutes if it hurts that bad." He went out to the porch. Everybosy was on the porch, or in the other room. I stretched again.
"Oww! ... Oh. That wasn't that bad."
"That was just the [forecept, pliers thing that squeezed tight so nothing moved around]."
"Oh. It hurt a little."
"Man, you're a pussy." Phil was the gayest, most flaming homosexual I had, to that point, ever met; this was a slap in my straight face.
"Ok. Ok. Just do it."
"Have you ever had anything pierced?"
"No. Just do it. My dick's been on display long enough."
"Ok. You wanted a [unimportant] guage, right?"
"Sure." He turned to get the needle and ring. I stretched again.
"Ok. Here goes."
"Ouch."
"There you go."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. That's it."
"Wow. The alcohol hurt way more."
"Hold still I'm going to get a picture of it [not some crazy kind of porno picture that I'll keep on the fridge and show to you little sister when she comes over to party]."
"Wait." Stretch. "Ok."
"Oh. Did I tell you, you can't have sex for the next 3 to 4 months."
Posted by calculatoronfire at December 10, 2004 02:37 PM
Comments
Piercing stories. I love piercing stories. It brings back so many memories...
Posted by: Fate's Fool at December 10, 2004 03:04 PM
I can't believe you write these things for free. You should charge a fee or make people give you stuff in exchange for a little escape from the boring shit we do.
Posted by: argyle at December 11, 2004 09:11 AM
I used to charge people to talk to me.
I felt I was overcharging, but they usually tipped, so I must not have been.
I felt like a real whore about it. It felt good. So now I take whatever people give me.
If you want to pay me, feel free. No. Better yet; feel like $6.50 an hour or so.
I guess the grass is always greener, or more urbanly put, the concrete is always greyer, on the other side of the fence. I feel my life is pretty boring.
If I thought I could make some money by telling people about the stupid stuff I wouldn't hesitate to do it (ie more stupid stuff).
Posted by: brian at December 13, 2004 10:34 AM
I just got pierced that one time.
It came in handy for a while. I showed people under the tables in the the cafeteria. etc.
I don't have it anymore, so don't even ask. Well, to the the jewelry.
Posted by: brian at December 13, 2004 10:36 AM