43 And Getting Younger

The nipple piercing happened today — despite some delays. I arrived at the shop to find that the piercer wasn’t due for a couple of hours. Whatever could one do in the Highlands for a couple of hours? Jack went out and played on the Strip — cruising the leather and used book store, wandering into the head shops looking for some Pagan stuff, lunching on a bison burger washed down with mead (made from local honey), enjoying the locally grown black sunflowers on the bar (while lunching), lusting after the guy playing beach volley ball on the tube, then off to check out the record store, and even pet a cat (yes of the feline variety — sheesh) in a clothing store. 

Then it was time. Back at Acme, I met with Neal, talked about where to put the barbell. He checked and found that there was little scar tissue, and could even see where the first had been. Then it was time to lay down and do the deep breathing. He kept telling me to relax, and I had to tell him to stop. Telling me to relax just makes me nervous. “Not on this breath but the next,” he said. Then the pain. It’s not blinding, but it’s intense. It took him longer than before — thanks to the scar tissue — and there was extra OUUCH for my buck. Still it’s worth it. Now I’m thinking I should go back and get the other one done as soon as this one heals. Hmm, Jack’s got new kink apparently. Just to be clear, that’s not my shoulder in the picture. =

I’m listening to “In Taberna,” as I finish up this post.

The Ink of a Life

 

I was in the locker room freshly showered from my workout, when I noticed a guy wiping a bright blue patch on his biceps. I walked over and told him it was cool. He just started it last night. It will eventually become a sleeve. Then we started talking about tattoos and the artists who do them. Our conversation led me to realize just how loyal people are to their tattoo artists. Seriously, you can give me a different optometrist every year. I barely remember the guy who pierced my nipple. I don’t care if it’s him or one of the other guys in the shop when I go back, but I want the same guy taking care of my ink all the time. The Unitarian in me forces me to say that I use the male pronoun because my tattoo artist is a man. All the piercers are male. I have nothing against women tattoo and piercing artists; they are just outside my frame of reference. But I digress.

There’s a lot of trust that goes into letting someone get near you with an electric needle and a pot of ink. I want someone who has some experience; these things are permanent after all. I want to see pics of previous work, but testimonials are overboard. I also want someone who looks awake, has some ink showing, and above all has a cache of rubber (or nitrate) gloves on hand, and I want to see bio hazard containers for the spent stuff. Clean floors are a must, and don’t let me see anything that resembles blood. Keep containers of disinfectant in plain site. Oh, and those certs from the health department are nice to see too.

Looking over my requirements, I think most are about the safety of the job – for both me and the artist. Getting a feel for his or her talent is more intuitive. I’ve walked out of tattoo studios because they didn’t feel right. I’ll do it again if I don’t jive with the place. As the song says: It’s my body and my body/Is nobody’s business but my own.. So, it up to me to make sure that I’m doing things as smartly as possible.

Fuggi Regal Fantasima

 

There’s a wonderful refrain in  Auntie Mame: “You’ve got to live, live, live. Life’s a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death. ” I couldn’t agree more. A few years back when I began cleaning up the train wreck that I called my life, the phrase came to me and served as both a mantra and a goal. I still hold it with me. While I believe in the existence of an immortal soul, I know that I have this life. I must live it to the fullest of my capacities and capabilities, and I have to enjoy myself. The only sin is not living one’s life.

So, I’ve decided to do something I thought I didn’t want to do. I am going back in for the nipple piercing. I haven’t made up my mind if it will be today or later in the month, but it will happen. Yes, it hurts. Yes, the after care is a pain — for a while. Yes, my leather duster rode right against it to give me ecstatic pain. But damn, it looked kind of hot, and once it was healed enough, playing with it was a new sensation in pleasure. Funny, how I recall both aspects with some fondness.

Oh, and yes, I’ll be getting one of those nice leather arm bands too. I guess Jack has found himself and is smirking with revenge.

WTF!?!

On Wednesday I came home from work and when I undressed something fell to the floor. It looked like a small nail. I wondered how that got into my clothes. Then I realized my nipple ring had come out. I found all the parts but managed to drop the ball that hold it in place down the drain. None of the earrings I had would work, so I was on the phone to the piercer. I couldn’t make it in before the weekend. Long story short, the hole is pretty well sealed at this point, and I’m going to have to have it redone. However, I might just let the left go, and have the right one done — starting afresh as the best course of action. I’ll talk to the guy tomorrow and see what his professional opinion is.

It’s odd that I had thought that I was done with piercing. It’s amazing how Jack proposes, but the Gods dispose.

Bits & Bobs

I’m into my second week of working with a professional trainer. It’s different. The nicest part is that he’s doing the counting. And it’s also very nice to see him in a different light than I have before. So, I’m almost ready to fledge out and start working with the free weights on my own. I’ll keep to some of the machines for simplicity, but I’ve found a different part of myself. I think that’s the best thing about my new found love of the gym — the parts of me I never knew existed. And maybe at the end of the day, that’s all any of us can really hope for.

It’s set. The interview is tomorrow. I’ve got the clothes pressed, my hair cut, my beard trimmed by a pro, and my wingtips have a fine, but not toofine, shine on them. And the only jewelry I’ll be wearing is the barbell in my nipple — I would strongly expect it to stay hidden through the interview. I’m slightly nervous, but I’ll do okay. I’m approaching this with the attitude of “You’re not out of my league, but I might just be out of yours.” We’ll see. And they can look for me at my favorite Third Place for a Tanqueray and tonic on my way to the Meat Muffins tomorrow. =

Basil and the Bears

I say Basil is a Twink
Who gave a Daddy Bear a Wink
Up they went to Daddy’s garret
Where young Basil proved his merit
Now he’s wrapped in chains and things
Even a commitment ring
Now you know the truth of it
Please quit having squeamish fits
Be on your way and have now fears
Of how Young Basil was done in by Bears

My original poem was duly inspired by the work of the late Mr. Gorey.

OUUCH!

It’s done. I’ve been to the shop (Acme Ink Body Piercing), and my right nipple is now pierced with a barbell. Let me get the question many people ask taken care of first, and I’ll even be quite blunt about it: fuck yes, it hurt. I have a fairly decent toleration for pain, but this one was all but past my threshold. I’m okay with nipple play, and I’ve had more than one partner bite; this was a new experience. No, I didn’t scream, but I did grunt – loudly. Am I glad I did it? Yep. Will I go back? I’m not sure. While lying on the table I was sure that I no longer want a lorum, but now…. I’ll decide later. Let me say that I think women who have the little guy in the boat pierced are absolutely the bravest creatures on this earth.

The procedure took longer than I expected as everything was autoclaved – including cotton swabs and sets of rubber gloves – before he began. I had to sign a paper that went through the serialization process to prove it has been properly cleaned. The biohazzard area is well defined; I tried hanging my shirt there, but Neal, the piercer, pointed out it wasn’t a good idea at all. He wore a mask and explained the process step by step. He was clear about what to expect – even while marking the path of the barbell with genetin violet. He had me practice deep breathing, and at one point told me to relax and concentrate on my breathing – and slowing my heart rate down. I was a little nervous – okay more than. I knew it was coming, “not on this exhale but the next.” Still it was an experience I won’t soon forget.

Before Neal called me back, I had a wonderful conversation in the waiting room with a woman who was with a friend. Let me explain that Acme is in an old doctor’s office, so there’s a waiting room, and each artist has an exam room where he (or she) does the decoration of your choice. The friend was ahead of me getting a nose piercing. It was nice to have someone to chat with while waiting – especially since she didn’t have any judgement about the art. She has several tattoos herself, and just doesn’t like needles enough to get a piercing – other than her ears.

And I didn’t come gayly home and take to bed either. I went in the music store, bought socks at the running store, went for an ice coffee – very nice on this global warming day. I feasted on authentic enchiladas verdes, tres leche cake, and Jack’s Pumpkin Ale while watching an episode of Lair. It’s been a pretty decent day.

Folstom Street

I’m the Silver Star Sodomite who makes no secret of his preference for leather not lace, and I’m open that the only way I like vanilla is with lots of bourbon sauce. Sounding, candle wax, and creative uses for my silk ties aren’t for everyone. I’m down with that. Frankly, I agree with Bernard Shaw that we shouldn’t do unto our neighbors and we would have them do unto us as their tastes may not be the same. I think this mix makes it a much more interesting world, and I’m happy to give everyone the space and respect that I expect.

This weekend is the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. For those who don’t know Folsom, as it’s often called, is the culmination of the of San Francisco’s Leather Pride Week. This year’s poster draws some inspiration from Leonardo di Vinci’s Last Supper. http://www.flickr.com/photo_zoom.gne?id=1448963784&size=o

Matt Barber, Policy Director for Cultural Issues with Concerned Women for America has made the following statement:

“‘Gay’ activists disingenuously call Christians ‘haters’ and ‘homophobes’ for honoring the Bible, but then lash out in this hateful manner toward the very people they accuse. In their version of The Last Supper, Christ, Who gave His life for our sins, is despicably replaced by sin itself as the object of worship.”

I don’t know maybe it’s my Pagan sensibilities, my twenty years in visual art administration, my own BDSM preferences, or the genuine concept of peace, love, and understanding I get from my membership in a UU church, but the poster doesn’t disgust, disturb, or dishearten me. It’s art pure and simple.

If memory serves, di Vinci was illegitimate, counted Machiavelli (whose Il Principe found its way to Index Librorum Prohibitorum) among his friends, and is generally considered to be homosexual (with speculations that the Mona Lisa is actually di Vinci), so it’s not likely that the original Renaissance Man is counted among the Church Triumphant.

I can only hope that none of the Christian Right come across Passio from Dark Alley Media in their browsing to keep the Internet clean.

I also want to give a special shout out to Ravenstone for bringing this to my attention via the OUUCH list serve.

Gule of August

In all the world, there’s nothing like coming home to find that one’s new cape has been delivered. However, it’s August, ninety degrees, so it won’t be put to good use just yet, but fall is not far off. The Great Wheel turns. Time advances, and life goes on.

Something to come with the fall will be the nipple piercing that I’ve been threatening for sometime now. That brings to mind something else I’ve been thinking about of late. I’m seriously considering a lorum. It’s defined by Wikipedia as…”a male genital piercing, placed horizontally on the underside of the penis at its base, where the penis meets the scrotum.” (cf. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lorum for the full article). I’ve always thought they were cool on other guys, and I think it’s time I pony up as it were. Yes, I’ve given it all a lot of thought. One doesn’t go making holes in Mr. Wolf-wolf without some serious thought and investigation. But the lorum will probably wait and be my Yule gift to myself. The nipple is waiting only for cooler weather. I have a belief that piercing in hot weather is more susceptible to infection.