During the late 1980's, I was in the Navy. This was before the days of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," and there were a lot of Witch-Hunts, when the Navy would send people in to try and stir up trouble, to try and actively root out lesbians.
At A Glance Author Jean Blue Contact Jean Blue@bme.anon Artist Liz Studio Gauntlet Location Los Angeles It's probably not surprising, then, that I chose to get out after my first term. I wanted to do something to mark the occasion, to show that I was free, that my body and all its posibilities belonged to me again, and not to the Government.
I don't know where I first saw a picture of a woman with pierced nipples. It was probably something passed around furtively in the berthing compartment, accompanied by giggles and "Owie!" Something that most of the girls looked at in shock, and wondered, "How could you do that?!"
I remember that I was fascinated by the idea, and would stand in front of mirrors, looking at my breasts, thinking about what it would look like to have rings there.
Somewhere, I found out about Gauntlet. About six months before I got out of the Navy, I went down, and looked around their shop. It was mildly frightening to me. Remember, this was 1991, before emeverybody/em had piercings of one kind or another. This was when it was... strange.
There was a young man working behind the counter. He was wearing a pair of leather jeans, and suspenders... and nothing else. His nipples were both pierced with heavy rings, and I just stood and stared at them for several minutes, while I asked him awkward questions.
He gave me a brochure which had pictures of various piercings, and I walked back out. The shop was well lit, and very clean, and that reassured me. I went home, and showed the brochure to my roommate, and talked about what I was thinking of doing.
She didn't understand. "Hell," she said, flipping through the brochure, "if you're going to do something this stupid, why not go all the way and get some rings in your cooch?" She flipped it around, and showed me the picture of a clitorus piercing.
Some people talk about revalations. They talk about the heavens opening, and angels singing, and clear moments that told them what the rest of their life was going to be like.
This was absolutely nothing like that. This was disdain on the face of a career Navy woman, a woman who, while I liked, I had absolutely no desire to ever be like. And in that moment, I realized that my roommate represented all of the things I was trying to get away from; all of the reasons I wanted out of the Navy.
"Yeah," I said, with a smile. "Why don't I?"
I got out of the Navy on August 3, 1991, at three o'clock in the afternoon. By four, I was at Gauntlet. I walked in without an apointment, and the available piercer was Liz. She was a small woman, very pretty, with lines of celtic knotwork tattooed on her shaven scalp.
She took me into her studio, and I explained what I wanted. I dropped my trousers and underwear in a pile, and sat on her examination table. She grinned at me, put on gloves, and spread me with her fingertips. "Well," she said, "You're certainly big enough for us to do a clit piercing... that's kind of intense for a first time, though, are you sure?"
Was I sure? I thought about my roommate, and about how my mother would freak if she knew. I grinned, and nodded. "I'm sure."
She had me put my knees on either side of the table. "Sometimes, when we do this, the shock makes people clench their knees together, which is absolutely the worst thing, since there's a needle down there."
I leaned back, my knees spread. I looked at the ceiling. I'm not squeemish about blood, but I don't like seeing my own.
"Okay," she said, "Here we..." I was hit by intense pain. I don't think it's any exaggeration to say that, for just one second, it was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my entire life. I was totally, completely unprepared for how painful it was going to be.
I was surprised by two things. First, how quickly she said, "Okay, there you go," and secondly, by how little the lingering pain changed. I sat up, and she gave me a mirror to look at it.
In my clit was a tiny gold ring, keeping it pulled slightly out from the hood. It was beautiful. After a moment, she bandaged it, and I put my clothes back on. The pain had faded to a dull ache.
I smiled at her. "Can I get a hug?"
We hugged, and I remember thinking how fragile she seemed, and how amazing it was that this tiny woman could have caused such pain, and created such beauty in my body.