I stopped at the mall on the way home from work yesterday to get my ears pierced--my reward for facing my fear and coming out to the children. The girl in the chair before me was about seven years old. She sat up very straight and solemn while the piercer daubed disinfectant on her new jeweled studs, nobly bearing the pain of her new mark of femininity.
My piercing was done by Jasmine, a stylish and unflappable young woman wearing cute strappy platform shoes...I complimented them, and she thanked me, and said they were hurting her feet, but that she had to wear them, because they were cute.
I asked Jasmine my two questions:
Is it a problem that I have almost no earlobes? No, we do 3-month-old babies, we can always find a way.
Is there anything different about piercings for men...placed differently, or whatever, because this is for cross-dressing, and I'll want to be wearing big danglies soon? No.
Then she showed me my choices for my starter kit. I picked the 4 mm gold balls, but while she was in the back of the store fetching them I imagined sleeping on them for 6 weeks, and asked her to switch out for the 3 mm gold balls, which she cheerfully did, and then click-CHUNK, click-CHUNK, and I was pierced.
I'm in such a tizzy about my new gold balls...now I'm wearing a little badge of my femininity all the time, for all to see. I feel hooks on fine chains threaded into my earlobes, pulling me forward into...whatever is to come.
After dinner I dressed and walked the tourist-mobbed streets of Ogunquit for over an hour, watching how men and women looked at me and looked away. Men's eyes really are drawn to boobs, aren't they? They can't seem to help themselves. On an empty side street I was practicing letting my hips swing free and I heard a raucous male voice behind me call "Hey hot mama!" I didn't turn around, and knew I should be outraged...and grinned all the way back to the car.
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