At A Glance
Author	Caferacer
Contact	caferacer_2001@yahoo.com
When	Ten years ago or more
Artist	Victoria
Studio	Naughty and Nice
Location	Provincetown MA

After about a year of having this link safely stored on my browser, I guess it's time to add my story to the files.

The year was 1990 and Axel Rose had yet to grace the cover of Rolling Stone magazine sporting his nipple ring. In my town a man having both ears pierced was disconcerting to many. What they thought of multiple rings in both ears was never mentioned to my face. Well, one older African American woman once told me it was "just wonderful". I had by this time developed the "don't fuck with me" look that worked quite well. It wasn't my clothes, or my size, it was just a set to the eyes and body posture that kept the homophobes and jocks away. I wasn't gay, but since when does that really make any difference?

It was an innocent trip to Newberry Comics in Boston that did it.

Perusing the shelves I came across the RE Search "Modern Primitives" issue. "Modern Primitive" what was this? I believe there was literally a shaft of light from above when I opened the book to a photo of Fakir Musafar. This was what I was looking for, even though I never really knew I was looking.

As a shy guy that grew up in a little town that wasn't Boston or Providence, exploring those pinching, aching feelings that drifted out on the periphery of your senses was not easy.

There laid out in the slick black and white photos was the life and learning of a man that shamed me for my passivity and frightened me about the things one could get into on their own.

As it happened, though not totally comfortable in my own skin, I was comfortable around those who were. My family for years vacationed on the very tip of Cape Cod, mere miles from Provincetown. I figured that was a good place to start.

Massachusetts was not the birth place of Puritanism but was founded more or less by them so it should be no surprise that according to the law any piercing was for the ears only, as for tattoos, well that was straight out.

So I made the rounds of the shops, given blank looks, shakes of the head, and from one Teddy Bear a "that's disgusting". Oh well.

I finally entered the fine establishment known as "Naughty and Nice".

Behind the counter was a young cowboy. Literally a cowboy, flannel shirt and boots, straw hat. He was actually from Wyoming or something. I approached and timidly asked my simple question "do you know anything about body piercing?"

"Sure." I was half turned around to leave the shop when I realized what he had said.... Was he for real? We talked for a while.

Tex was his name (Tex?) and he was a real nice guy. Soft-spoken, honest sensitive to my need, he gave me his card and told me to call. I did a little more reading, thought about it and when I knew what I wanted I gave him a call.

"Naughty and Nice"

"is Tex there?"

"Sorry Tex isn't here"

"when will he be back?"

"Who is this?"

Just some small town jerk who thought he was onto something.

"a guy he was going to pierce"

"Oh, Tex went home. He's sick. Really sick"

Oh shit!

"oh, do you know who else might help me?"

At this point, I really meant help it in the 'Help!' way, not the help someone in Wal-Mart offers.

I really felt that if I didn't get some one to stick some high-grade stainless steel in my tit I was gonna be sick. Fish hooks and sewing needles were not doing it, nipples are tougher then they look.

"Sure, Do you have a pen?"

I got Victoria's number. We agreed to meet at the shop in Provincetown. It was a three-hour drive on a good day so I talked a friend, Joe, who really owed me into coming along to share the driving.

Victoria met me, and we walked together to the shop.

She waved to the clerk and took us to the back room.

Now as I said, I was very comfortable around those comfortable with them selves. Not so for little Joe. As the drummer for a "hair band" in a little town, Joe's horizons needed broadening. Needless to say he was not ready for the Back Room. Floor to ceiling of the finest Gay Porn available as well as an impressive collection of Tom of Finland books. As Joe lurked in the corner trying not to look at anything, Victoria laid out her "works". Everything got dunked into a pan of new benadine even the sharp stuff that came new out of the package. Then arrayed on a sterile drape. Dr. Lister would have been proud even if the Board of Health would take us to jail.

Victoria had a gentle voice and a steady hand and as I teetered on an old stool naked from the waist up she gently grabbed my nipple with a pair of surgical clamps and sent the needle in. Oh My. It WAS the agony and the ecstasy. Both nipples shot high and proud, my dick was on the way.

Then she really did it; she passed the needle though and pushed in the ring. Sweet Jesus! I was gone. I was rushing off to somewhere else. A flip of the pliers and it was done. My left nipple was now and forever linked, linked to this sweet blonde, linked to Tom of Finland, linked though the ages to the "primitives" and beyond. Like John Hurt in "Altered States" I felt my body rush forward though the ages back to the 1990's and the back room.

Victoria embraced me like kin and congratulated me knowing this was a rite of passage for me and treating it thus. I walked her to a friend's house while we joked about how we all could have met in Boston and saved a lot of time. I ended up driving home that day, not only because I was so amped but also due to the fact Little Joe was having a "spell". Maybe it was the fish sandwich he had at lunch or maybe it was the porn but either way he was in "no shape to drive". Thanks!

Funny, they warn you about the pain. They advise about infection and cleaning. But no one ever prepared me for the next six weeks. Infection? HAH! Erection. Nearly constant from the day Sweet Victoria drove the needle in. After it healed it was like a light switch, all my lover had to do was grab hold of it.

Years went by. At one point the ring fell out. I had lost the little ball and the ring was just gone one day. I knew I "keloided" well so had no worries of the hole going away. I have two silver rings hanging in holes made when I was 9. Where and why they are there is another story.

Then one day a couple of years ago I needed it back. So I bought a ring at the mall. (At the mall?!?). Oh how times have changed. Got out some anti-bacterial ointment as a lube, smeared the hole and drove it home with a pair of needle nose pliers. Sweetness! It all rushed back. The primitives, Victoria, Tom of Finland, what a rush. Now my son asks "Why do you have a ring in your bee?" (His baby word for nipple, from his breast feeding days) What do you say? "It is a symbol. A symbol of my becoming. It represents my connection to ancient peoples and a passage into manhood I made, not at puberty by the fire circle, surrounded by my peers and elders, but in the back room of a gay sex shop with a woman named Victoria." I told him "cause I like it. it's special to me". "It must have hurt" he replies.

"it did honey, it did" but not nearly as much as if I had never done it.