I'm a normal bloke. Honest I am. I have a job, a wife, kids in their teens/early 20s, and the sex life of a 25-year-old.
At A Glance Author ochainn Contact ochainn@bme.anon When A week ago Artist Claire Studio The Bodyworks Piercing Studio Location Walsall, West Midlands, UK Why then, I ask myself, do we decide that a PA is the only present I want for my 48th birthday? More of that later, but the experience was everything I expected it to be.
We did the research - we looked on BME, read the stories, good and bad, we hunted for suitable studios in the UK West Midlands and found one just a couple of miles from us - The Bodyworks Piercing Studio in Walsall.
I called up a few days before, armed with my vast Internet-derived knowledge and made the initial enquiries; how much does it cost, is jewellery included, what time can I get it done? Sharon, the woman I spoke to, was businesslike but friendly. She answered all my questions honestly, confirmed the availability of a piercer for Saturday morning and we said our goodbyes.
OK look, I've had a nipple pierced - I'm not everyone's average dad. That was probably the single most painful experience I've ever had except for the time when I did a 30km forced march in the Army and ended up with a blister on each foot that covered the entire sole - the treatment for that was to have the blisters lanced, drained and injected with iodine. Fuck, but that hurt like having my feet slowly branded.
The nipple wasn't even a good piercing - it was crooked and way too deep, but I was just so glad it was done that I got the hell out of there and never looked back. I will, in time, take that ring out when I have the other nipple done properly, but for now I just love having the damn thing that I couldn't bear to go ringless for the time it would take to heal. Is that weird? I guess not, you get so attached to the things I suppose.
So why, given all this background, would I want a PA? Why have another hole in that most precious of male possessions, my penis? 12 months ago, I'd have shuddered at the thought of having a very large needle pushed into my dick, and yet I'd just got off the phone arranging an appointment to have someone do exactly that. Fuck it, psychoanalysts cost more than piercers...
Friday night and I'm nervous. Not about the pain, from all accounts this was going to hurt less than the nipple, but the change to my body. I've had it a while, see? Sure some parts could do with tuning up - more working out and exercise here and there - yes, there's the nipple ring too. That's like some badge, a rite of passage thing, remove it and it will heal and be as it was before.
But a PA? That's fundamental stuff I was messing with. Even if I did remove it later, I'll know - we both will - what I had done to it. You can't shrug something like that off. It's OK, I'm cool. This thing will happen. It's not going to make my prick bigger (definitely heavier though), but it will affect my partner in ways we (literally) can't imagine.
Yes - this was going to happen.
Saturday morning, I'm up at nine with one thought on my mind. I've slept fine - no nightmares about giant needles chasing me up high towers or any of that bullshit - and I'm calmer now. Apprehensive like for a job interview or something, but totally under control. I imagine myself getting home later and unwrapping the dressing like the Invisible Man and seeing how changed I am - pent-up glee like a child before its birthday party...
It's 10:30 and I shower again then we set out. As we approach the town centre, it strikes me that I never considered where to park the car - Saturday shoppers mean that I'm never going to get a space close to The Bodyworks and the nearest car park is uphill about 500 metres away. Fuck. I'm going to have to walk back to the car. Uphill. It turns out we can't park that close, so we go another hundred meters and find a space. We walk to the studio and I can hear myself babbling about inconsequential stuff. Shut up.
We're here. Up a short flight of stairs we meet Sharon, the woman I spoke to earlier in the week. She is attractive, tattooed and pierced herself, and more importantly, reassuringly professional. We go inside and meet Claire, the piercer. She too is attractive and showing tattoos and piercings. We are shown to the workroom - clean, light and airy on the first floor. The walls have body jewellery in cases and a workbench sports three model skulls and a plasma globe in a clawed hand. In the centre of the room is a medical couch where the action is to take place.
Sharon remembers me from our conversation. This reassures me - I'm not just some bloke walking in off the street, she knows what we're here for. She explains the procedure while Claire readies the equipment. We chat about the piercings my partner an I have already, and what she would like in the future, the three women could be having a chat over coffee.
I'm not sidelined - we all know what's about to happen, and Claire calls me to the bench. I drop my joggers and boxers and hop up on the bench and lie down, wondering what to do with my hands. In the end, as I feel Claire lift my penis and roll back the foreskin, I rest them on my chest palms down, fingers drumming for want of something better to do.
Claire tell me the receiver is going in and I may feel some discomfort. I do. Not being one for poking stuff down my third eye, I really do feel discomfort. Not pain though. More movement and lining up and Claire tells me to get ready. Fingers drum faster and I increase the depth of my breathing. I know this is going to hurt - and it does. I feel the pressure and the needle goes through. It didn't hurt that much - nothing like the nipple or the feet - it was brief and and somehow intense, but more "ouch" than "aargh!!".
I relax for a few seconds until Claire's ready to insert the ring - it's hurting again, but it's an echo of what went before and then the ring is in. Now for the ball, Claire informs me, and the third echo arrives - much fainter than the others. I'm done.
My breathing's up and I'm sweating a bit, but lever myself onto an elbow to take a look at Sharon's invitation. I see a little blood, which Claire says is okay, and I see a ring. IT'S FUCKING HUGE!! I never asked to see what they were going to put in me beforehand - what was I thinking? OK, it's not that huge, but it is my dick it's threaded through and it looks huge.
What followed was pure comedy; I'm not the most well hung of men and Sharon and Claire proceeded to wrap my freshly-pierced penis in lengths of dressing. Meanwhile the object of the dressing is retreating - sulking, no doubt, after the indignities heaped upon the poor fella. Lengths of surgical tape are wrapped around the dressing until it's is secure and the final touch - a surgical glove - is fitted over the whole thing.
At this point, the whole thing looked so ridiculous that neither my partner or I could keep a straight face any longer, collapsing in hoots of laughter, releasing the last nervous energy remaining. Anyone who's seen Nick Park's animation "The Wrong Trousers" will appreciate the phrase "Have you seen this chicken?".
So that was it - I had not only a Prince Albert, but my boxers were now stuffed with enough dressing to cause women to cross the street to check out the bulge. After instructions on after-care, cleaning and what to do if anything unexpected happened we paid the girls and left, I was surprised that the discomfort of walking was minimal.
A couple of hours after arriving home, it was time for the first important test - taking a piss. I unwrapped the packaged to what seemed like an awful lot of blood in the dressing, but in reality there was probably only a dessert spoonful. I pissed sitting down, mindful of the advice from Sharon that I'd be spraying a lot more than before. She was right, but not the lawn-sprinkler I was expecting, just a little wider than before.
Having passed that test, I readied the sea-salt bath and dunked the appendage into some very hot salty water for a soak. Carelessness in removing my steaming member a few minutes later meant I knocked the ring against the edge of the container and provoked some fresh bleeding. Guys, I don't care how macho you think you are, blood dripping from the end of your dick is something that will bring out a moment's panic in anyone...
Sharon had said that further bleeding was likely, and that it was nothing to worry about - my head told me that it was ok, but my heart-rate increased regardless. A minute or so later, the bleeding had stopped and the mummified member was back in the boxers.
That was the last blood I saw - it's now two days later and things are looking fine. I'm not mad about the feeling of something poking down my urethra, mainly because of the strangeness of the sensation, but I'm getting used to it. My partner loves it and has allowed me a couple of supervised hard-ons for testing purposes. There's also been a couple of unauthorised ones, but everything's holding up under pressure, so to speak.
If you're reading the BME site perhaps considering a PA for yourself, I'd say this: make sure it's something you and your partner (if any) are sure it's what you want - discuss it between you, and if either is unsure, don't do it. Do some more research, and get as much information as you can find about the good experiences and the bad and allow yourself(s) to reach an informed decision.
If you decide to go ahead, fair play to you. So far, my experience has been nothing but good - yes, it will hurt, but not as much as you might think. The result will be worth the few seconds discomfort.
And if you're in the UK West Midlands, look up The Bodyworks Piercing Studio in Walsall to get it done - I can't recommend them highly enough, both for the quality of their work and their professionalism. Claire and Sharon - we love you guys.
Ochainn.