Hematoma Ch. 02

I bundled up against the cold outside. In Philadelphia, where I lived, it got cold quick with the shade from thousands of surrounding buildings. The sunshine warmed my back as I locked the door to my apartment behind me, but once I had descended onto the pavement, level with the iron-grated windows, I was plunged into cold shadow. The metal sticking into my face didn't help with the cold. The spots where it sat in my skin felt like drops of ice. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my black jacket, pausing only to watch the mist billowing from my mouth, and went on my way.

My appointment at Inkjet was for a body piercing. Or, two to be precise. After running out of spots to pierce my face and still look... socially acceptable... I had finally decided to move on to piercing the parts of my body that I hadn't yet inked. Namely my torso, which remained bare. I had paid in advance to have my hips pierced. Nothing fancy. I was paying a hundred for the work and the metal to go in it. There was always more with the tip – you don't become a repeat customer of someone with a needle unless you tip them well, for obvious reasons. But it had been a month since I'd gotten work done, that being the new industrial, and so I'd saved up a bit of my meager paychecks made by hauling boxes in the warehouse district.

I didn't get many funny looks. A guy my age with steel constellations in his face was normal by South Philly's standards. The black coat and white jeans were just everyday fashion on South Street, where punk stores stood on side roads and sex shops had open window displays. Maybe a couple scene girls visiting from New Jersey for a weekend of shopping would look at me and giggle. Maybe I'd glance back, not that it mattered much. I was absorbed in my own head, trying to keep my excitement at a low rung. I couldn't help a little palpitation as I thought of the piercing needle running me through. I pushed my hands further into the pockets of my jacket, balling them into fists. A tattoo parlor was a completely respectable place of business. I felt like I was going to a brothel.

The place itself was not unlike any other shop on the strip, though perhaps a bit further from the bridge than most tourists like to shop. Red brick outside, with a single wide window painted with their logo, embellished with the word "Inkjet". I noticed the shades were down partway. Wonder why I noticed this. It probably meant I was lingering outside too much.

A bell jingled over the door as I went in. I kept my eyes on the floor just at first, studying the ages-old white and green speckled linoleum. One hand still in the pocket. Don't be a pussy. I looked up to see Karen at the front desk fussing with her clipboard. Her dark red hair curled around her face nicely, lending a soft, feminine air to the harshness of her black clothing and heavy makeup. Her eyebrows, for as long as I had known her, had been shaved and tattooed on in a floral pattern, and the dimples in her round cheeks were studded with metal piercings. She looked up at me distractedly, but she smiled when she recognized her new visitor.

"Shay, you're early!" she said, getting up from her spinning chair. Her heels clicked as she walked around the desk to give me a warm hug, which she had to do on tip-toes. Karen was short and a little heavy. Even with her in four-inch heels, I was too tall for her hugs.

I half-smiled and pulled one arm around her shoulders. "Hi, Kar," I returned. "I figured I didn't have anything else to do today, so I may as well meet my new artist." At this I looked up, letting her remove her arms from around my neck. There was a faint buzzing noise from behind Karen's desk where another of her artists, whose name I knew was Tim, was working on his own client in a dentist's chair. The only remaining female employee, Frankie, was at her workspace drawing something for a tattoo. But I saw no sign of someone I didn't recognize. "So... where exactly is he?"

Karen seemed to give me a sardonic look and let her shoulders go slack. "Yorick is... He's in his room," she said finally, twitching her head towards a red-painted door covered in posters in the main room. "He doesn't normally stay out here with us pedestrians." There was a teasing note in her voice; I couldn't tell what she really thought of Yorick. She leaned in towards me and dropped her voice. "But he doesn't judge, so that's why I wanted to set you up with him. You know I know what you're like; there's no shame in it. I'd just rather you have an artist who's not going to weird out on you."

I kept my eyes on the door reproachfully. There seemed to be music coming from the other side of it, music that faintly disturbed the radio out here and didn't match it. "I don't think I've met him before."

"No, honestly, you probably haven't met him because he usually works the night shifts, when you're not here. He just recently started doing days to pick up the slack. He's one of my best artists and he's very professional. I don't think you'll be too disappointed," she reassured me, and led me behind the desk over to the door. Her silver-ringed knuckles rapped on the painted wood sharply.

There was no answer.

Karen crossed and uncrossed her arms huffily, and banged a fist on the door. "Ricky, open up! Your client is here!"

"The door isn't locked," said a muffled voice from the other side.

"Oh, you fatheaded...!" Karen hissed, and she pushed the door open roughly. "At least say 'come in'!"

"Come in, then," the voice said coolly.

Once the door was open, the music playing inside was clearer, and very loud. I recognized the song playing. Sex Pistols. Over Karen's shoulder I saw only a red room and a pair of black boots propped up on something, but she turned to me and smiled forcibly.

"The doctor will see you now," she said sweetly, then added in an undertone, "If he gives you any shit, tell me."

With that, she clicked back to her desk and I was left alone in front of this open doorway that seemed like a gateway to a torture room.

"I did say come in, right?" said the voice inside. I looked at my feet and nodded, mostly for my own benefit, before ushering myself inside.

The room was small, no more than ten by ten. The only light source was a floor lamp that seemed capable of moving to many different positions quite easily, but was currently pointed down at the white linoleum floor. This floor seemed to be the only part of the room that wasn't completely crimson. What little of the walls I could see, between various music posters from every era, was painted red with a ceiling to match. There was a red leather doctor's table long enough to lie down on in the center of the room. And in the corner was a matching red velvet armchair, and this was where he sat.

What hit me first was that he was sitting quite relaxed as if napping, with his boots up on the end of the doctor's table like a foot stool. He was wearing a white muscle shirt and plain black jeans, his hands casually folded on his stomach. Long black hair spilled over his shoulders and, despite how dark the room was, his eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

I had only a moment to take all this in before he lifted his sunglasses and glanced at me. "Go ahead and close the door, then," he told me.

He's demanding. That annoyed me. But I reluctantly obliged, unzipping my jacket as I did so. The door snapped shut and trapped me inside with the music, which turned down to a quiet hum as I listened. Boots clunked onto the floor behind me, and a click lit the room up beyond the floor lamp. I turned to see Yorick on his feet, one hand halfway up towards a hanging bulb that was gently swinging. He turned to me with a bored look. A smile spread over his face, completely devoid of piercings. In fact, any bit of skin I could see was clean. No tattoos. No metal. From what I could see, he didn't even have earrings in. How was this guy a tattoo artist? His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"So," he began. "You're Shay?" His voice was deep and purring.

I slipped my jacket off, lowering my eyes. "Yeah... um. Nice to meet you." Once one arm was freed I held out my hand. He took hold and shook it rather firmly. Black nail polish. "Karen said you were doing my work for me today."

"That I am," said Yorick. He turned away from me and picked up a piece of paper from his clean workspace, along with a small clear box. I recognized the piercings I had selected and purchased a month ago inside. "So you're just here for your hips?"

"Yeah," I mumbled.

Yorick looked up from his paper and smiled again. He replaced the paper on the desk, setting the piercing case aside and reaching for a blue box. "All right. Let's get that shirt off now."

"You don't want me to just lift it up?"

"It would be easier if it were off," he said.

Reluctantly I put my jacket aside on a nearby stool and slipped off my shirt. I found myself folding my arms over my chest as I turned back to Yorick.

He looked up in the act of pulling on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, the cuffs snapping on his wrists. I watched a grin spread over his face. "What, are you a woman? Put your arms down, it's not like I've never seen a man's chest before. Unless you think you have something to hide."

I put my arms to my sides sullenly, thumbs digging into my pockets. Yorick walked over with a felt-tip pen and a small square packet. He unwrapped a swab and wiped my stomach. The sanitary aroma of iodine struck my nose. It made me think of hospitals. The spots on my skin where he'd wiped turned pale orange. He stared thoughtfully at my midriff for a second before undoing the top button of my fly and tugging my jeans down a few inches.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, yanking them back up.

He shook his head and tugged them down again. "Keep them here, please. It'll be easier to pierce and more comfortable afterwards when we pierce here, otherwise it'll be rubbing your waistband all day. Relax."

Right... Normal shit. I don't know why this person made me so nervous. Just because I couldn't stop thinking about how I had to bite my tongue to keep my noises coming out... I watched the path of his hand as he poked me with the felt-tip pen. He then had me turn around, now facing a floor-length mirror beside the door. "How's that look? Too high, too low, too close together?"

I looked at the blue dots on my stomach, marking the bones of my hips. Tiny little target marks.

"It looks fine," I mumbled.

He stood up and turned me around again, ushering me forward. "Onto the table then, there's a good boy."

This really did feel like going into a bordello, I thought to myself as I awkwardly sat on the edge of the table and lay down. Or a massage parlor with a happy ending. I could imagine the same feeling of guilt, as if I were a wayward husband seeking pleasure with a fake name. Those feelings of shame had subsided with Emily, but now with this new, pretentious artist, I felt rotten. I felt dirty. I watched from the corner of my eye as Yorick pulled up a metal tray on wheels beside me and started unwrapping things. I kept my hands still by my sides, palms touching red leather.

"So, Shay, have you ever gotten a body piercing? Any that I can't see?" Yorick asked.

"No," I replied. "Just my face."

"Well, it probably won't feel too different than your eyebrow, you'll find. Same technique." A clatter of metal on metal, a clicking noise. "Hip piercings. Weird place for a guy to get them, in my opinion. But I'm sure they'll look good. You seem to have fine taste in metal. Where shall we start?"

I was busy thinking of when I'd gotten my eyebrow done. Momentary pain, but wonderful. I felt my eyes flutter. "The left, please," I said quietly.

"All right then." A gentle brush of cold steel made my skin twitch. First the clamp... I was not ready for this. I hadn't prepared myself. My stomach clenched as Yorick slid the clamp into place and prepared to squeeze. My breath came short and fast. The metal hesitated.

"Shay?" Yorick patted my stomach, giving me a bit of a start. I looked up, vaguely aware of sweat forming at my hairline. "I'm going to need you to relax for me. It's not going to hurt as bad as you think. You know that."

I closed my eyes and laid my head back, my teeth grazing my bottom lip. "I'm not... afraid of it hurting," I muttered.

"Then relax."

The clamp found its mark, clipping my soft skin in a vice. I breathed in sharply. Light pain... Enough to give me the first stirrings of sensation... I felt my stomach twitching. Just a little at first... Go easy on me... And then make it hurt...

"All right now, Shay. I'm going to need you to take some deep breaths."

I nodded vaguely and swallowed.

"So breathe in..."

I inhaled. Cold air flooded my body. My mouth opened. I felt my bottom lip quivering.

"And breathe out..."

My breath came out slowly. My hands were gripping the sides of the table. Please just do it...

"And breathe in again..."

The needle came without warning, as was intended. For a teenage girl getting this done, the technique was intended to lessen the pain. For me, it heightened every sense in me with its surprise. Its stinging drove through me ferociously, tearing skin from flesh in its path and leaving cold metal pressing against my heated insides. I clenched my teeth, my breath catching in my throat. My eyes squeezed tight, my spine trembling. Fuh... Not too much, not at first... that's it...

"See, already done, look at that. Relax. You're fine," came Yorick's voice reassuringly.

Don't baby me... You have no idea what I'm feeling right now... Don't lessen my pain.

The hole in me twitched as Yorick threaded the piercing onto the needle. It dragged through my new orifice smoothly, the bead at the end tugging one side of the hole. I hissed through my teeth. The sensation was sending little waves through my belly like electricity.

"And there's one," said Yorick smoothly. "Just one more to go. You gonna be all right?"

"Yes," I said through my teeth. I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to leave my little bubble. My body had begun to filter endorphins through me. The pain was subsiding, just a light throb in my skin... Please, do the other...

The clamp pulled at the flesh of my hips, gripping my skin for another needle to go through. My hands tensed again. Yorick's fingers probed my belly, only serving to add to the sensation. I felt the tip of the needle prick my skin as it settled where the clamp was. Cold. Frigid metal. Bury it in me...

"All right, breathe in again..."

I felt my body shivering as I inhaled slowly, my spine arching slightly away from the now warm leather.

"And out again..."

Just like before, the needle drove through without warning. I felt myself twitch with its presence, felt every millimeter of it rend my flesh open into a perfect, cold little hole, stinging sharply. Adrenaline ran through me like an electric current. My breath came out in a muted groan. My fingers trembled.

To anyone else, I often thought, this must feel so mundane... I'm not even sure if this is a common feeling for other masochists... To feel the act of piercing as sex. I let myself fall into this figurative fantasy in my mind, the penetrating steel in my body becoming cold flesh inside my own... Stinging, gentle fuck. Ripping me open. Tearing inside me. Puncturing my insides. Fuck...

Yorick's voice came to me abruptly. "And you're all set. Have a look and tell me how it turned out."

What...? You're done already?

I sat up shakily, propped up on my elbows. Yorick was wiping my new metal-filled wounds with an alcohol pad, making the newly torn flesh sting. My hip bones were now defined by a double set of steel beads. These piercings... They hadn't hurt as badly as the industrial bar from the last time. It was a tease. I was left wanting... needing more.

"Well?" Yorick prompted me. "Tell me what you think."

My mouth felt dry. I was still in the haze of pleasure from my stinging new holes. Pain still lingered in each puncture. I didn't want it to be over.

"Now, you'll want to take care of these the same way you took care of the rest of your piercings. You know the drill. You probably have the cleaning fluid at home, you use the same stuff. If you don't, we sell bottles here, as you know-"

"I want to get one more," I interrupted.

Yorick looked up at me in midsentence. His brow furrowed slightly, his face almost... puzzled? Amused? I couldn't tell... "One more?" he repeated. "I finished your work. You're done for the day. You paid for two hip piercings."

I felt my upper arms quaking as they held me off the table. "I want another one," I said firmly, my voice hollow. My mind was racing, my heart thudding against my ribs. "No, two... I'll pay, it doesn't matter, just do one – two more."

Yorick shook his head and turned to his tray, putting used needles in a plastic bag. "I'll make you an appointment for another time. Talk to Karen–"

"Karen said you don't have any other appointments today," I said harshly. "And if I'm paying you for it, what does it matter? Just give me two more. Please."

Yorick opened his mouth as if to argue back, but stopped. Finally he sighed and ran a latex-gloved hand around the back of his neck. "What piercings?" he asked resignedly.

Inside my body begged, pleaded for a harsher punishment. I wanted one that would actually hurt, that would make me cry with pain. My eyes ran over my own body, flicking nervously here and there. Navel... too feminine. Too much skin for it to hurt. My clavicle... No, I didn't want that now. My tongue...? I had never wanted a tongue piercing; the lip one had already made it hard to talk normal... Finally I felt a manic grin plucking my lips up as I realized where I wanted the needle next.

"My... I want my nipples pierced..."

I saw Yorick's eyebrows dart up for a second. Is that weird, to want this man to pierce my nipples...? No, I'm just a client. Surely he's done it for other people. He glanced at my chest for a moment, then gave a gentle jerk of his head. "Ring or barbell?" he asked.

He's going to do it... I felt my heart pounding. "... Rings."

"As you like."

Yorick stepped out of the room, the painted door swinging shut behind him. I was left alone with the throbbing holes in my belly. Dry blood had gathered around the base of each steel bead embedded in my new puncture wounds. I wanted so badly to pull on them and make myself cry out... I wasn't that stupid. Let them heal, Shay. Then you can torment your body all you like...

The click of the opening door snapped me back to myself. Yorick was carrying a plastic packet, which he opened and spilled out onto his tray table. Two open rings and two captive beads. I watching him open another iodine swab.

"All right, let's see here," he said with a sigh. His hand came to rest heavily on my chest, pushing me back onto the table. The swab went over each of my nipples. Cold. There was a moment of hesitation. "Man, these things don't want to perk up for me, do they. You're awfully soft." Latex fingernails pinched and plucked at my flesh. Then it turned to flicking. I winced, shuddering. That felt weird as fuck... "Sorry about this." Nothing to apologize for... They've got to be stiff to pierce through... I lifted my head enough to watch my nipples peaking under his fingers, the skin tightening in protest to its teasing. "Just lie down, you'll see when it's done." Obediently I let my head fall back again.

The clamp came down again, right side. My eyes squeezed shut, my body tensing up again. Even just that heavy pinching felt good... I wanted him to pull, to twist, make it hurt with just that. But no, I still needed that needle in me...

"All right, try not to breathe..."