WARNING: Contains some graphic writing.
I can still remember that sound—the faint ‘pop’ the skin makes as its being punctured by the needle. Even though four years have passed since that day, it stillmakes me wince every time I think about it. But it’s not the sound of the penetration that wrought such long-lasting trauma, it was the excruciating pain that followed…and I had the stupidity to do it twice.
For a lot of people, nipple piercing may not be any more than a fashion statement expressing some sort of kinkiness or crazy side, and for others, well, body piercing and the accompanying pain may be some sort of fetish or art. But as for me? I don’t know. I’ve thought about this very question countless times and I’ve never been able to come to a resolute answer. What’s worse, my reasoning at the time was, ‘why not?’
However, when I think about it, ‘why not?’ isn’t entirely so vague, especially considering the condition my life was in at the time. I was supposed to be working a badass job as a photojournalist out telling the Navy story, but most of my days were spent behind a desk punching numbers into a computer. It was so boring the work days bled into the next, each without distinction from the other. I despised this job because it was the one thing I pledged not to do with my life. Furthermore, I wouldn’t be going on any more deployments because I needed surgery to fix damages to my recently-dislocated shoulder. I had no consistent love life, nor any prospects on what I wanted to do in the future—I wasplanning to attend Berklee College of Music to study guitar and be just like Steve Vai, but after crunching numbers for the cost of tuition alone, that was officially off the ‘To-Do’ list. And to top it off, the people I used to hang out with on the weekends all returned to Japan while I was deployed to Cuba.
I was stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do. So, in a sense, I needed something. What? Who knows? Considering the aforementioned factors, I’d suppose it was some sort of radical life experience. Something to look forward to; something to talk about later on.
I yearned to have a life that I would eventually reminisce on one day and say, ‘yeah, I did that…oh, and that, too…and that as well.’ I think a lot of people want the same, though. I mean, how many times have you heard stories of people going to retirement homes and listening to the elderly’s stories and some of them living in regret in old age? I know I’ve heard it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be one of them.
I decided I wasn’t ‘living’ and at that time I had this small revelation, a close friend of mine from Chicago was visiting his family in California for a few days and stopped by in San Diego to catch up. We decided to celebrate our reunion by getting tattoos, but I was nowhere near ready for my second tattoo design (as an artist, everything needed to be flush). But I had to get something, so after much deliberation and consideration while keeping in mind the military’s strict dress code, I figured nipple piercing would suffice. It’s a little wild, can be temporary, and would definitely be something to remember.
We went to a small tattoo shop called Bay Ink Tattoo in Bay Park that looked like a converted Spanish Villa. It was in a relatively hip, clean neighborhood and had good online reviews, so I figured it’d be fine. We went in and sunlight from outside flooded the wooden floors. Three black leather sofas lined the walls decorated with countless tattoo designs, works of art, and display cases with piercings and small sculptures.
As soon as we walked in, my heart began to sink. The nerves were already getting to me. I felt sick. I was mostly worried about the pain. Surely, they’d have some sort of numbing cream, right? I mean, they are professionals. I told the girl at the front desk what I was there for and after a short wait, I was beckoned to the back room, which was decorated with about 15 tarantula tanks. I was so nervous my stomach was churning.
The guy came into the room, but I avoided eye contact. I only saw his tattooed arms and the piercing gun in his gloved-hand. I took off my shirt and lied on my back as instructed, the cold leather immediately adhering to my bare skin. As the piercer sanitized his equipment and opened a new needle, I blurted out, “you’re gonna numb it first, right?”
“That kinda defeats the purpose,” he retorted snidely.
I’m ready to die, mentally bracing myself for some serious pain.
“Ready?”
“Fuck no, I’m not ready for this,” I thought to myself. “Yeah, I guess,” I answered in a shaky voice.
He positioned the gun around my right nipple, and I felt the cold steel sting as it touched my skin.
“Am I really doing this shit?” I thought.
“Here we go. One, two—” he said.
There was no three.
It felt as if a spear was driven through the whole of my chest. A temporary numb feeling rushed up the back of my head, soon followed by the most excruciating pain of my life. My arms and legs all stiffened like rigor mortis as the agony boiled through every phalange and follicle of my being. I lost all control of my appendages and my hands seemed to collapse into some sort of muscular stiffening.
“You okay?” he mockingly asked with a slight breath of laughter.
“Do I look okay?!” I snapped back.
He went and got a cup of water from the water dispenser nearby as I lied there in a contorted state. Prying the red stress ball from my left hand, he tried to cram the paper cup in its place, which was immediately crushed and spilt all over the floor. I knew he couldn’t have been happy about that, but at least he was kind enough to get another one and feed a little to me. I felt pathetic.
Roughly 10 minutes passed. I was slowly regaining control of myself while coping with the hurt when it was time to do the other side. I didn’t want to go through this Hell again, but I had to finish.
Repeating the steps prior, we both got in position. This time, I was a little more mentally prepared. I knew my pain threshold had been pushed and I could take it. Just think about how coo—HOLY FUCK THAT TIME HURT WORSE!!
That asshole didn’t even ask me if I was ready! It’s like the leftover pain from the right nipple multiplied with the new pain from the left and before I knew it, ‘rigor mortis Steve’ was back. But what added insult to injury was the guy got up and left soon after. Aren’t they supposed to make sure their clients are okay, you know, for medical reasons? I was having some serious bodily contortions. I struggled to glance down at my chest to see the new bling and I swear he must have used a 20-guage needle and piercing. My nipples are already small enough andone was slightly lop-sided, but it’s not like I was about to ask him to redo it, was I? Whatever. I went through with it. It was done. Mild regret? Yes, at least until the cute girl at the front desk said it was sexy. Thatcaused pride to swell up in my pain-riddled chest.
Four years later, you wouldn’t know I went through this unless you were there. Actually, less than three months later, that shoulder surgery I mentioned before came around, and of course I had to take the damn things out. After months of careful maintenance and precautionary lifestyle changes for fear of them getting caught on some rouge piece of clothing, that weird chapter of my life was over. Even after they were out, I was still habitually putting on my t-shirts slowly, giving plenty of space between cloth and skin.
Was that fiasco for nothing? Nope. Although there’s no other evidence than a photo and my story, I have one more crazy life experience that a lot of people don’t have, and I actually like to share it with people because it’s hilarious and never fails to make them smile. Being able to create that connection with people was something I was never good at, so in a way, my nipples became the very thing that brought me closer to others (if that couldn’t sound any bit weirder) and took me somewhat out of my anti-social shell. That in itself is important to me and honestly, something I wasn’t expecting to gain from this crazy decision I made before.
I am always looking to improve upon my character and become a better person, and I may have just gotten impatient as life had become idle. I believe that there is no perfect or ultimate stage of being in which we are the master of everything, but the act of pursuing this imagined state of perfection is what creates the preconceived image of what we strive for.
However, looking back I realized that I may have been going about my search for new experiences in the wrong way in this case. As I’ve already had a respectable share of events before this, from joining the U.S. Navy to living in a foreign country on the other side of the world, they’ve generally contributed directly to personal growth, but in the piecing case, it wasn’t until well after the fact that I saw any benefit.
Simply put, I wanted to have a life full of experiences and constantly be moving to the next level or better version of myself, so I chose to do something dramatic to supplement the lack thereof I was experiencing at the time. Although, in my conquest for crazy experiences, I’ve learned to think a little more clearly about the consequences of my decisions. I’ve found it’s more rewarding personally to continue sharing my experiences as I have them with others because I hope to inspire them to also jump headfirst into this kooky whirlpool that we call life. Remember: some experiences do contribute to personal growth, but not all.
-Skye Kühr