Pierced

I couldn't do this. This wasn't me. I didn't want to be dominated this way.

I found the street. I could see the bar up ahead. It's lights were on. That made sense; it was the height of the night there. But a business. It surely wouldn't be . . . but there it was. The tattoo parlor had its lights on and an Open sign was blinking in the window.

He was standing behind the counter when I entered—smiling. A new piercing, one at a nostril. Piercing fourteen.

"Come into the back room," he said, holding his hand out to me. With his other hand he lifted a stainless steel tray holding needles and forceps.

I whimpered, hardly managing to croak out, "Steve . . . I don't want—"

"Yes you do, you want. It's what I do. Come with me. We begin."