Body Art

Once, sexual taboos and female physiology almost made me commit a desperate act.

I was sick and tired of being with men whom I wanted to feel something with but, for a matter of inches, could not. I could never tell the kind of man I usualy dated what I needed them to do for me. I tried with one man, but I felt so foolish and ashamed, especially after the odd look he gave me. Prick.

Well, that was it. These were the thoughts that coaxed me along the road to the body piercing shop for the last time. I’d been there before about three times, trying to build up nerve, asking questions of the owner, Gareth.

He was a curious one. He always listened intently, answering carefully, as if trying to read between the lines without scaring me. He often regarded my clothes with a kind of wistful stolen glance. I’m probably the only women he’s ever seen sans leather or denim. (What kind of self-respecting secretary would give in to her desires and wear those fabulous things to the office?!)

On that last trip to the shop, I’d have to say that the weather contributed to my commitment. It was early spring, and already there had been a burning sun, then a swift storm, then bright sun again – all in one morning. If nature could be so intense, why not me?

The little bell rang as I entered, instantly causing the blood to drain from my face. My determination had put me on a high, though, and I looked Gareth in the face when he turned. Did he smile? He was happy to see me! It was then that I realized I was attracted to him. Me, who had always dated men who wore ssuits by day and linen by night! Somehow, over the last three trips there, I had begun to find a sensuality in his fine Welsh features, exposed nobly by his clean-shaven head. Even his discreet, simple nose ring had become a familiar and sweet sight.

He dropped his head, but I could still see the smile. He fiddled for a second with some metal thing, then said, “More questions?”

“Maybe,” I said, convinced that he knew I was ready.

“But you haven’t asked me the real questions. Y’know…”

He slowly shut the venetian blinds. There wasn’t much need in a residential area, but it still relieved me a bit.

“Questions like: How much does it hurt?” he continued.

“I’ve asked you that.”

He didn’t answer. It was true. He’d never told me anything about the pain involved in piercing a clitoris. My feet had grown roots; I couldn’t move. Gareth came over and gently pulled me to the chair. He sat down opposite me on his stool, leaning forward like an instructor.

“Questions like: Does piercing really make sensitive areas more sensitive? Like say, a dick.. um… penis, or a nipple, or something else?”

God! Why was he always so careful with his language around me? It was so frustrating!

“Well, does it?” I finally asked bluntly.

He didn’t want to answer. “Yes, but look, why do you want that?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me…”

“Don’t your lovers do it for you?”

“Jesus!”

“Damn, I’m no good with words. I mean, find the guys who can do it for you. Don’t be too scared to say what you need. How will you explain a clit-ring to one of those stuck-up guys of yours anyway? They’ll feel it. They may not see it, and they may not ever touch you there with their hands, but they’ll feel it!”

During his appeal, he reached for my arm. The way our business relationship had suddenly turned personal was too much for me, and I lost my calm. “Don’t touch me!”

He pulled back so fast, he almost fell over.

“Sorry! Sorry. Damn.”

I felt badly, but a line had been crossed. “Look, are you a body piercer or not?”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Well, then… get set up.”

He took an extra long time, all in silence, but he finally sat back down, his piercing needle in his hand. I could see past him outside a bit. Half the sky was clouding over and we heard faint thunder in the distance.

“Well?” he said.

“Well,” I snapped, “get started.”

“Do you think I can pierce you through your clothes?”

I must have still looked helpless, because he reached forward and cautiously undid the bottom button on my dress. I became fascinated watching him undo the next three. His face was intent, serious, yet he looked at me each time for confirmation. He reached down and gently removed my shoes, extending a beautifully curved and muscled arm. I wanted him to touch me.

He settled in and undid the last three buttons, exposing cheap, lace panties – a kind of bare honesty. Without judgement, he eased them down over my hips, his entire palms caressing my skin all the way to my ankles. He left them there and just gazed at me. His eyes rose to look at me as he set his hands at the tops of my inner thighs, stroking the hair of my vagina softly with his thumbs.

“You know, I can’t pierce it unless it’s hard. Do you want to do it, or should I?”

This was getting worse and worse. He didn’t wait long for an answer, though. I was too confused to move, but I felt his thumbs get closer together, stroking harder. I thought, – oh, God, when he touches it, I’ll faint! – But when he did, a thrill rushed throughout my whole body. Half my mind was screaming, – No, this is wrong! – The other half kept repeating, – Thrill! More! – I feasted on the confusion as it elevated my senses.

The storm outside grew worse, though the sun was still out. It was as if the two worked in harmony. Inside, Gareth kept stroking my clit, curling the downy hair around his fingers. My passion was rising. I knew he was watching my eyes. When they closed, I heard the stool roll back.

“I… I think it’s hard enough now,” I whispered.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll have to use something else.”

I felt something warm and wet on my clit. It moved so flexibly around and around, then feverishly up and down. It was so shocking, so sensational.

He started stroking my wet folds deeply with his tongue and I felt something hard. It made me gasp and with each stroke. I looked down, and he wanted me to see, so he paused, and flashed a gleaming stud in his tongue. Once he knew I’d seen it, he resumed stroking me with his tongue, the stud and his thumbs. He groaned softly in his effort, enjoying what he was doing to me.

I felt the orgasm come from far away. My silence alerted him and he fell into a rhythm. In the last moment I thought I could wrap my legs around the world and make love to it. The rush was so powerful that I called out to him and gasped and thrust my hips forward. Gareth caught me and held me firm. He was shivering and I could feel his penis through his army pants. He kissed my neck, my ear, my hair, and I started to undress him.

I hand never really touched a cock before. It felt so right and so hard. When I touched the tip, I felt a tiny drop of sticky moisture. Nervously, I whispered without thinking, “Make love to me, please. Come inside me!”

He sighed loudly and brought us both to the floor. I felt his hardness enter my still wet and swollen vagina. I felt every inch, every ridge of him. I had never known this is lovemaking before. Every part of my body was still so sensitive, I thought I felt the tingling of another orgasm approaching.

He thrust in time with the pounding gales outside, holding me tight, his face buried in my neck. I wanted to see him, to look at his beautiful face, so I kissed him. Each time I nudged his head back a bit more until he was looking at me.

He started to thrust harder and faster. I could feel my slick inner walls gripping him each time. As his eyelids dropped, he thrust so fast that I threw my head back in ecstasy and let out a scream. He reached orgasm at the same time, calling out my name over and over.

The thrusting slowed as our hungry but spent bodies milked every last drop of ene
rgy from within us, and we lay still for some time.

After a while, Gareth rolled over and pulled me on top of him. I smiled and he kissed me.

“You’re a hypocrite,” I sa
id.

“What?”

“You tried to convince me not to pierce my clitoris, to make it easier on my partner – yet you’ve pierced your tongue, probably to turn your partners on more.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. I’d never get my dick pierced.”

“No?”

He snorted. “No way. And you should never get your clit done. I’d never get my tongue around it.”

I smiled at his promise of more afternoons spent like this.

“What about my tongue?” I asked.

His eyes twinkled as he looked away.

That was two weeks ago. My co-workers are starting to wonder why I come back from my lunch breaks so flushed and radiant. Somehow, I think it’s made me attractive again to old lovers around the office. They stop by and chat and tease me as they never did before. I am bolder than I had been, and one day I made a sarcastic come-back to one of their little comments. The guy stuck out his tongue at me in a friendly gesture of mock irritation. With a twinkle in my eye, I did the same.

Copy Right, Desolation – 2003

No portions of Body Art may be used without expressed, written permission.