When my fiance suggested nipple piercing, I should have said, "Whoa, not so fast, bucko!" What I also should have done (and I highly recommend this) was strike a deal that HE get a nipple pierced first, and then and only then would I get a nipple pierced. At that point, if he wasn't still in tears on the floor and cryin' for his mama, then he would get his remaining nipple pierced, and...you get my drift.
As a side note, I have to sheepishly confess that I have what some would say is a rather over-the-top hang-up about undressing in front of people. Even as a very young girl, I wouldn't let salesladies at department stores watch me try on clothes in the dressing room. Only my mother could be in there with me, and things haven't gotten much better since then, because now I don't even allow my mother in with me.
Given my neurotic modesty, I was quite obsessed about what options I would have in regard to the piercing procedure, and we were at least able to find a woman to do it. Before the actual piercing, she massaged my left nipple between her fingers for about 5 minutes to get the skin warm and pliable. So I'm lying on the table, looking her in the eye while she's chatting on and on to me about various subjects, and all the while she's essentially playing with my nipple. I'm pretty damned far out of my comfort zone at this point.
She placed the needle against the side of my nipple and told me she was ready to begin. She said piercing doesn't hurt some people much at all, and the best thing for me to do was just relax. What followed was a pain so horrific and white-hot that I screamed. Every fiber of my being told me to give her a good upper-cut with my left fist to make her torture cease. After what felt like five minutes of having a nail driven through my nipple, I was in so much pain I could hardly catch my breath. My fiance, who got to just sit off to the side and watch the procedure said, "Wow. It really hurt that much?"
We, or to be perfectly clear, * I * decided not to have the other nipple pierced.
I went from loving to have my nipples touched and played with, to protecting my victimized one from contact with any person, place or thing. The jewelry-type bar was always catching on things and pulling, because I would forget about the damned thing, or accidentally yank it while, say, removing my sports bra. And just when I thought the hole was healing up nicely, I had to remove the post before an MRI. Well, wouldn't you know it, once the post was removed from my nipple, I couldn't get the damned thing back in.
No matter! We were off to the piercing parlor again. How difficult could it be, I reasoned, for her to simply insert the post back into the existing hole? Certainly far less traumatic than the last time! But the woman who did my original piercing had switched shifts with her husband at the last minute. I listened to him take a call from a woman who wanted two clitoral and eight labial piercings. Yes! You heard me! All for herself! And you would have thought by Piercing Guy's phone demeanor that he was taking her order for coffee. So I figured: What's the big deal about my little nipple? I agreed to let him reinsert the post.
"You?" you ask, incredulously. "You? You who cannot show any private body part to a stranger are now allowing not only a stranger, but a MAN-stranger to do this?"
Well, yes. And what I didn't realize until the needle started going in was that he wasn't reinserting; he was piercing a brand-new hole. And there was no nipple preparation, no pre-pierce conversation, no warm-up, no nothing. I kid you not: as I screamed, I grabbed hold of his forearm so hard that he bolted away from me in retreat and sought safety against the far wall. I had actually left marks on the guy's arm.
I was yelled at, scolded, lectured and made to apologize. I was so ashamed of myself that I let him continue with the piercing. Incredible, I know! Just think what others have gotten me to do by making me feel guilty. It's true!
Imagine my fiance's and my surprise when Piercing Guy personally escorted us out of his establishment. As the door swung shut and locked behind us, he said, "No charge!" Now that's what I call good customer service.
Two weeks later, after catching my nipple on one thing or another for about the hundredth time*, I took the post out permanently and fast-pitched it across the room.
*After re-reading this post, I was thinking that most of you are asking questions like, "Just how does this girl's nipple get in the way of everything? I mean, can't she do one damned thing without her nipple banging into something?"
Well, no, I really can't. See, the women in my family were blessed with very large breasts. I honestly can't even sit down to dinner without dragging a nipple or two through the food on my plate.
If you have any other questions about my nipple(s), please let me know. I'll do my best to answer.