so much frickin pain I thought I was literally floating in outer space. Hot dammit, that thing hurt! The wildly tattooed guy got his rocks off inflicting me with his special brand of distinctive pain. I am sure his dipstick was stiff the entire time he was piercing me. My girl radar has always instinctively known these types of man things. Heck, if I was a little more of a harlot, or had a few more frosty adult beverages, I may have had my wa y with him right there with my hubby and the strangers watching. As beddable as tattoo guys are, they are really not my brown bag of treats. Only a badass tattoo girl could pull off a noble stunt like that. My lot in life at that intersection was that of a fair to midland flirtatious woman with a mighty sore boob. Although, looking back, I may have missed out on a golden opportunity for a spectacular evening of pain induced fun.
The piercer was cute in a devilishly tattooed way. I am super sure he had to pleasure his crusty lobster as soon as we left. That little ink store probably had its closed sign up for three minutes upon our exit. I could have only hoped that the evil guy washed his little sticky fingers before his next victim darkened the doors of his beachside torture chamber.
I was brazen and somewhat frisky with my new metal object punctured through my tender skin. I went under the guise of having a free spirit, but inside I was quite a hot mess—only held together by an underwire bra and gobs of Advil. After the over-the-counter pain meds kicked in, I was able to somewhat withstand going to a nightclub. The place we sauntered into was a dirty hole in the wall. We had officially become the dregs of the earth on our short-lived getaway.
Severe impaled- udder pain was hot on my tail on for weeks, with no relief in sight. The simple task of skipping through the frozen food section of the supermarket brought tears to my eyes! By the time I got to the ice cream, I wanted to dash out of the store doors, as if I was running to a clearance sale at Macy’s. The frosty food section gives even normal gals nips severe frostbite. My milk jug felt like it had a five-pound icicle hanging from it. There is no way to even imagine the sensitivity one endures when a tender ta-ta is punctured with a piece of metal. Throughout the ordeal, I decided to make a pit stop at the mall and buy a few grandma-inspired padded bras. Those fandangled missile holders resembled small pony harnesses. I was on the hunt to hide my conspicuous object from any innocent bystanders. Plus, I did not want to clue anyone in on my freaky side!
There was roughly a week that I ran around like a five-dollar tart showing everyone my classified trinket. I displayed my ring with pride as if it were a tiny medal of honor. At every house party, I had to drag my friends into bathroom and show off my left boob. A few of my girlfriends followed suit and followed me down the unhappy boob trail. I temporally turned into the Pied Piper of pain.
That nipple ring did not raise my charming factor one bit! Although, I must say my foolish-girl quota did climb a few notches. I had beaten my boobs up pretty good in my lifetime. First, I had implants in my twenties and then that silly ring thing. Why did I ever think that I could improve upon nature? Sexiness is an uncontrollable light force that filled me up inside and radiated outwardly. So why the hell did I think that I needed that shit to prove anything? Just the essence of being a woman had given me all the gear I needed for this lifetime.
I did not need that frivolous nipple ring to prove a single thing. The only lesson I learned from my pissed-off nipple fiasco was that being true to myself is what truly made me dazzle. For what it's worth, it did not even make sex more exciting—like some of the rumor spreaders had promised me—wenches. I hit the ceiling when Trent even brushed against my skin ornament. That damn nipple addition caused me a ton of trouble. Trent said to me,
The piercer was cute in a devilishly tattooed way. I am super sure he had to pleasure his crusty lobster as soon as we left. That little ink store probably had its closed sign up for three minutes upon our exit. I could have only hoped that the evil guy washed his little sticky fingers before his next victim darkened the doors of his beachside torture chamber.
I was brazen and somewhat frisky with my new metal object punctured through my tender skin. I went under the guise of having a free spirit, but inside I was quite a hot mess—only held together by an underwire bra and gobs of Advil. After the over-the-counter pain meds kicked in, I was able to somewhat withstand going to a nightclub. The place we sauntered into was a dirty hole in the wall. We had officially become the dregs of the earth on our short-lived getaway.
Severe impaled- udder pain was hot on my tail on for weeks, with no relief in sight. The simple task of skipping through the frozen food section of the supermarket brought tears to my eyes! By the time I got to the ice cream, I wanted to dash out of the store doors, as if I was running to a clearance sale at Macy’s. The frosty food section gives even normal gals nips severe frostbite. My milk jug felt like it had a five-pound icicle hanging from it. There is no way to even imagine the sensitivity one endures when a tender ta-ta is punctured with a piece of metal. Throughout the ordeal, I decided to make a pit stop at the mall and buy a few grandma-inspired padded bras. Those fandangled missile holders resembled small pony harnesses. I was on the hunt to hide my conspicuous object from any innocent bystanders. Plus, I did not want to clue anyone in on my freaky side!
There was roughly a week that I ran around like a five-dollar tart showing everyone my classified trinket. I displayed my ring with pride as if it were a tiny medal of honor. At every house party, I had to drag my friends into bathroom and show off my left boob. A few of my girlfriends followed suit and followed me down the unhappy boob trail. I temporally turned into the Pied Piper of pain.
That nipple ring did not raise my charming factor one bit! Although, I must say my foolish-girl quota did climb a few notches. I had beaten my boobs up pretty good in my lifetime. First, I had implants in my twenties and then that silly ring thing. Why did I ever think that I could improve upon nature? Sexiness is an uncontrollable light force that filled me up inside and radiated outwardly. So why the hell did I think that I needed that shit to prove anything? Just the essence of being a woman had given me all the gear I needed for this lifetime.
I did not need that frivolous nipple ring to prove a single thing. The only lesson I learned from my pissed-off nipple fiasco was that being true to myself is what truly made me dazzle. For what it's worth, it did not even make sex more exciting—like some of the rumor spreaders had promised me—wenches. I hit the ceiling when Trent even brushed against my skin ornament. That damn nipple addition caused me a ton of trouble. Trent said to me,
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