I love my dick so much, I bought it jewelry
Filed under : Filthy Stories
Written on April 2, 2015
Having already told you about my first real body piercing, I figure it’s time to discuss my personal favorite body piercing. Don’t worry, there are no photos of my dick in this post.
It was December, 1998. I’d been hanging out with this guy Kevin, who was a mutual friend of Cheyenne, and who worked at an AM/PM convenience store on the night shift1. Now, this was a kid who simultaneously knew how to party, and also had no concern for keeping his job. When you hung out with Kevin while he was at work – just about everything was free, except the cigarettes. He lived in an apartment down the street, so sometimes I’d go with some mutual friends of ours to AM/PM, stock up on snacks, he’d give us the keys to his place, we’d all get fucked up, then we’d wander back in for free munchies. AM/PM inadvertently bankrolled quite a few of our parties during that time.
Sometimes, Kevin would call me an hour or so before the end of his shift and ask me to swing by to hang out, keep him company, and help him carry supplies back to his place. On one such night, I floated a hair-brained theory to Kevin. He was talking to me about piercings – what he had planned, what I had planned, things like that. I told him “when I got my tongue pierced, there were a lot of girls saying ‘oh! I’ve never kissed a guy with a tongue ring before!’ and that was my ‘in’, y’know?” – he nodded, and I continued – “…so, I wonder, if I got my dick pierced…” and he started laughing, “riiiight. riiiight…. WHAT IF!? haha”.
What if? WHAT IF? That was the question. What if that’s what would happen? Would it be worth shoving a needle into your dick for that?2
I don’t believe in fate, but… Not a minute after we had that conversation, these two hot chicks strolled in. As Kevin was ringing them up, he put me on the spot to try and settle this debate – “y’know… my friend back there just got his dick pierced”. They both lit up, smiling, turning towards me. Almost in unison, they said “OMG! CAN WE SEE IT?”.
I had to let them down, and tell them the theory Kevin and I had been discussing. Their response was “ohh.. that’s too bad. It sounded really sexy”. When they walked out the door, Kevin slammed his hand on the counter, pointed at me and said, “YOU! ME! We’re doin’ this. You get us a ride. I’ll pay”.
I asked Cheyenne if she’d give us a ride, and she was all about it. Well, her exact quote was “I can’t wait to see you two walk out of there holding your crotches and realizing how stupid this idea is”. Whatever, skeptic.
I had arranged a ride, and set a time, but Kevin couldn’t make it. So, I said “alright, let’s plan something next week” and he seemed upset about waiting. About a day or so later, he showed up to my apartment and said “I did it man!” – I didn’t believe him, of course. He dropped his pants and there it was. He’d gotten a 14-ga ring, which just looked silly. This thin little wire going through the head of his dick. I was relieved, now, that he had gone first. I realized I’d need to get mine pierced at a higher gauge, so it had a bit more heft and “appeal” to it. Cheyenne also thought it looked stupid, and she felt quite proud that she was right about this being a stupid idea.
The following week came, but it’s not like I had “get my dick pierced” money. This was, after all, when I lived in the shit-hole. My friend and sometimes-roommate Bethany said she wanted to get her nipples done, and would gladly bankroll my dick piercing if I got her a ride. Cheyenne to the rescue!
Since my “dude with the needle” at the time was Glen, I had to go to his new shop : Halo (the website says Glen and Kelsey, who founded the shop, are still there). I asked if anyone was available to do a Prince Albert piercing – which turned out to be Kelsey – and asked if it was “a bad idea” to start with something thicker than 14ga. Kelsey said “not at all. we recommend piercing it at 10ga and stretching from there, if desired”. Poor Kevin. He went to some “found a coupon in the New Times” piercing shop instead, and they gave no such advice.
When I sat in the chair, and pulled out my very-frightened penis, Kelsey asked if I ever felt pain or tightness near the head when I got erect. That was literally not a thought I’d ever had, but I was concerned — “what .. kinda… pain?” — she said “you’d know if that was the case”. She marked the spot directly where the head met the shaft and grabbed a q-tip. She told me she was going to use a topical anesthetic, which should ease the pain of the piercing, but that it was only effective on 80% of patients. A minute later, she flicked the head of my penis – “did you feel that?” – “uh.. yeah” – “well.. you’re not in that lucky 80% then”. Fuuuuuuuck. “Can we wait? Does it.. take a little more time to activate or… like…” – “no, sorry. it takes a few seconds to take effect and I gave it a minute. Do you not want to do this?”. I heard a voice in my head – a memory of what Glen said before my nipple piercing a year prior “if you’re avoiding a piercing because you’re worried about the pain, you clearly don’t want the piercing”. So, I told Kelsey – “no, let’s go for it”.
She inserted the holding tube and holy shit was that uncomfortable. She said “usually the holding tube is the worst part of this process”. I figured “well.. it wasn’t that painful, so… maybe I’ll be okay”. I was told to start breathing calmly and slowly, and we’ll count to 3. Piercers have this trick – they never pierce on 3. They’ll pierce on 2. Or a second after 3. Or on 1. But, never on 3. She pierced on 2, and said “….3….” while removing the holding tube.
If you’re wondering what the single most painful 0.5 seconds of your life feels like – go have someone shove a 10 gauge needle through the underside of your dick, without any kind of anesthetic, while 100% sober and fully awake. I think I even yelled out “YyyyyyyyOW!!!”. Cheyenne says she heard it in the lobby. Once the jewelry was in, she wrapped a few surgical napkins around it, and then unrolled her rubber glove over the entirety of my undercarriage to hold it on. She said “when you get home, you’ll want to clean it with a sea salt soak. But, make sure you’re sitting down, as you might pass out the first time”.
Ignoring her advice an hour later, I unwrapped this mess around my business and saw in the mirror in front of me a bloody, angry penis. And I fell over and nearly slammed my head on the tub. The first few times giving it a sea salt soak were pretty fucking painful. They said I could “use it” as soon as I felt ready, which for me ended up being almost a month.
So… what if, right? Well, for the first year or two, I had gotten used to just whipping it out as soon as someone started to utter “can I se…”, to the extent that there were rumors I just wandered around with my dick hanging out. That’s silly. Only when asked. Over the years, I’ve changed my policy on that, and it’s rare that I’ll show it off unless it’s ..uh.. “camera ready”3.
There have been more than a few times where a woman wanting to see it has led to more, but they were in situations where I could’ve just as easily started making out with them but I was too shy or scared to otherwise make a move. These days, it just feels like a neat little “magic trick” of sorts – it’s more fun if they don’t know in advance about it. I wear a 4ga ring now (I’m holding it in my hand in the header photo for this story), so their first reaction is usually “WOW! that’s BIG!” — and, yes, I know they’re talking about the ring — they’ll start to correct themselves, and I’ll jokingly say “shh.. shh… you said all I wanted to hear”.
I’ll leave you with this short little “skit” about how it’s affected my life…
