Pierced Nips

It was a rare moment of calm in the early morning of our household and I relished it, standing in my parent's bedroom, poised, and feeling very adult. I took a long gaze at myself in the full-length mirror. Wishing that I were taller was a minor discontentment--and I often stood in this position on my toes stretching my neck upwards to give myself the illusion that I was--but in all other regards I was happy with the black-haired girl I saw looking back at me. Hair, check. Eyes and lips, check. Nose, well, maybe a little big, but noses always look weird if you stare at them too long.

My gaze wandered downwards to the rest of me. Slender waist, ample curves at the bustline. It'll do. The red lace cami I had thrown on after the house emptied out was my favorite; I really had no excuse to wear it at that time of day except for pure vanity. It was more of a bustier, technically, with a built-in bra and higher to expose my tummy, and admiring it brought my attention to my chest and my hands naturally went to cover myself over the frilly lace fabric.

Jesus Christ, what was I doing? Was I so shy that I couldn't even look at my own boobs in the privacy of my home without being embarrassed? How was I ever going to go through with it if that's the way I was? Come on, Natasha, I thought. Let's not be a wallflower. You gotta toughen up.

So with a yank, down came the cami and out popped the boobies. I had to will my hands to lay quiet at my sides and not cover myself; I faked confidence as I looked at this topless girl. But come on. Yeah, I looked good. I was hot, even, I told myself. Right?

I let my hands wander up my sides and across the smooth skin of my breasts, embracing their fullness, then I flicked the soft, darker pink flesh of my nipple back and forth with a finger. A little thrill ran down my spine, both from the physical sensation and the suspense of it all. Would I really do it? Was there any way I could get up the nerve?

A sharp wrap at the door startled me, followed by an insistent voice. "Tasha! Let me in there!"

It was my sister Roza, late for school. The house wasn't empty after all. And she wasn't the only one in the family that enjoyed a clandestine sneak into her parents' bedroom. We lived in a modest flat in the working section of Minsk, built in the communist days. There were still those butt ugly concrete apartment buildings on each side of us, huge square bland things with an infinite row of metal railings and too-small windows, but our home was in an unusual two-story building that had charm, especially on the inside. Eight families were huddled together around a little oasis that featured green trees and there was even a patch of natural grass in the courtyard.

Where I was having my moment of vanity that morning--my parents' master bedroom--featured the same squeaky floors and cracks in the wall plaster as in my own cramped room, and was only slightly larger, but somehow it was a different place for us; magical, even. Our mother placed fresh flowers on her dresser whenever she could, and the room smelled nice and was a place of good cheer to me. I always went there when I wanted to dream. About the future. Or flying. Someday I was going to be a pilot, you see. Maybe in the United States, or Canada. Or in Switzerland, soaring above the alps like an eagle. I remember lying on the enormous bed as a child and kicking my feet and rolling across what seemed to be the endless mattress, giggling with Roza.

But my thoughts on that morning weren't so much about Roza and our family and giggling on the parents' bed, but only of Stas. I was a young woman--still a girl in some ways although I wouldn't have admitted it then--and I was absolutely head over heels in love. I was positively giddy about this particular boy and on most days he was all I could think about, especially now that high school was over and the distraction of tests and graduation parties and relatives wishing me farewell had faded.

It was the heat of summer and when I wasn't working the meager hours I begged for at the salon, I spent my time either with Stas walking hand-in-hand down the streets of Minsk, or dreaming about him in the cool of my parents' bedroom. Kind of like the teenage love song, right, always dreaming of my boy in my room? I was a little pathetic then, I have to admit now looking back. But I was innocent and full of romantic ideas.

But our situation--about Stas and me, I mean--wasn't to be endless; there was a reckoning coming. We had just two more short weeks together before he shipped off to the job his uncle with the Gazprom connection had landed for him. It was a choice assignment; the only problem being that it was way the fuck up near Finland or something, working in a far off oil rig in the middle of the ocean. So he was going to be gone months at a time, removed from my life for all intents and purposes, and even though we were young we still had the sense to know this meant a huge challenge for the relationship, and maybe even the end of it. Neither of us wanted to think about it or talk about it.

But before we ended our days as a committed couple, and maybe even in denial of this end, Stas was pushing me hard towards something that I was struggling to embrace. You see, he had turned 18 almost a year ago and with the newfound freedom from his parents' control he went out and got multiple piercings: three in one ear, twice in the other, once in his tongue, and he was considering a septum piercing, which is the one in the nose. It was becoming popular with boys then. He was flirting with adding to his tattoos also. He was insistent that as a show of our love for each other--of me for him, he meant more specifically, I can see now--that I get something done to my body as well.

It was silly, looking back on it, but I allowed myself to become swept up in the wave of his passion for body art, and even though I still had reservations I had agreed just two days ago to face my fears, overcome my caution, and just fucking bone up the courage and do it.

What was "it" you might ask?

I decided I would get my nipples pierced! It was something I had thought about in the abstract for years, and having just turned 18 in June I was also free of my parents' control. I had the money saved up from working my part time job at the salon and there was nothing stopping me from this act of independence; and love and devotion to my boy, I told myself.

I even told Valery, my best friend one year older than me, and once she had wind of the idea there was nothing stopping the wheels from being set into motion. That girl will make the earth turn when she gets loose in it, I swear. And she's fiercely loyal; that's why I love her dearly for all her faults.

But after promising that I would do it, on this morning--the morning of the supposed act itself--I was having second thoughts. I didn't know if I could bear the pain of the procedure. And being a shy girl, the idea of taking off my clothes in some shady tattoo parlor and having a strange woman grabbing and pulling on my breasts and sticking me with a needle was terrifying.

The banging resumed at the door. "Tash, come on! I don't wanna be late."

As was typical in those summer months, my mother and father had both gotten up and out early that morning for work and Roza needed to get off to her extra school. She was making up classes that she had skipped too many times this past year. I should have been grateful for those spare moments of free time that summer after I had graduated and had no school duties myself--and I should have been more gracious to her--but for some reason I turned my emotions into a nasty snipe as I sighed and pulled my cami up to cover. I yanked open the door.

"Why don't you use the kids' bathroom? You're still a kid."

Roza looked at me with a frustrated expression as she rushed past me, noticing but not remarking on my outfit--she was in too much of a hurry to fight back. I'm sure she wondered what right her sister had, only two years older, to talk down to her this way. Her sister who had just graduated, with the fabulous boyfriend with all the piercings that she talked about all the time.

I watched Roza in silence as she leaned over my mother's dresser, fussing over the different brushes and creams that she liked to steal from her. "Borrow" she always said. Like the bedroom itself, our mother's things had a special attraction for us as well and we were naturally drawn to them. My emotions softened as I stood by, watching her carefully apply the eyeliner and mascara to her face, realizing that as I found some place to go in this big world that I might not see her so much.

"Roza," I tried in a softer voice.

But she didn't look over. I paused, staring down at my feet. Okay, now she was pouting. It was on me to clear the air.

"Sis, look, I'm sorry. Hey, kid, I'm proud of what you are doing this summer, catching up on your classes."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, now I'm late. Do you mind?" she said without emotion, wanting me to leave her alone.

I sighed. It was tough to stay close to her. She was in her high school rebel phase, and seemed to resent everyone right now. Her parents, her sister, even her closest friend who I know she had a big fight with, even though she didn't want me to know. She had gone through a temporary boyfriend of sorts, now dumped, that had led her down the wrong path this past year, that's why she had failed her classes and had to spend the summer in school. She was smart, though. And one thing my parents wouldn't let her do--either of us, actually--while we were still in high school, was to get any piercings. That was a strict rule. So she was unblemished, and very natural and pretty.

I turned to go back to the kitchen.

"Are you going to do it?" she asked.

Roza knew that I was thinking about the piercing, and that today was D-Day. In a rare moment of closeness with her, I had confessed to her my plans that night after I caved into Stas's idea.

"Yeah, I guess. But I'm not really sure. Valery says she knows a place. It's out of the way, but this woman is supposed to be very good."

"Ouch. I couldn't do it." Roza shook her head. She flashed me a smile. "Well, good luck, okay? I want to see what it looks like tonight."

"All right." I nodded, pleased for the small moment of connection with her before she tossed down the makeup and ran past me to grab her backpack from the hook on the door on her way out.

It became quiet again, and I had only a few minutes alone in the flat to think about my piloting dreams and what life would be like for Stas up on some floating oil rig as a distraction before a knocking came at the door to the flat. This was the arrival of Valery.

"Are you ready, big girl? Ready to get your big boobs stuck with a needle?" She teased me as she walked right in without waiting for me and plunked herself down at the kitchen table. She reached to rip a chunk of bread from the shallow wooden bowl and started munching on it while she talked. Years of being close friends and sleeping over at each others' flats had made us as comfortable as family members together.

"Oh my God, Val." I was stunned by the nonchalance of her comment and the coarse action that it described. "What the fuck? Why did you have to say it that way? Are we really going to do this?"

"Oh yes, we are. But it's you, not me. And you sure as hell gotta go through with it now. Stas is counting on it; you promised him you would, right?" My face must have shown my hesitation because she added, "But don't you worry, I've got it all figured out."

"I don't know, Val. I mean--"

"Hush, girl. You are going to do it. And you will be a badass." She gave me her reassuring look. Valery was always the one that had things figured out for any project or scheme that we tried. Then she shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe you're getting your nips pierced. Shy little Tasha, always playing by the rules, staying within the lines! Who would have thought? Anyway, it's a perfect setup. The woman that runs the place is the best. You've got the money, right?"

I nodded nervously. I had been saving up for a few weeks, even getting some extra hours in to make this happen, but I just didn't know about this whole thing. I tried to put on a confident face. I must not have been convincing, because she added, "Oh come on, what are you worried about?"

"Well, the pain, for one."

"Eh, it's just a jab. It's over in a second."

"Easy for you to say." I pushed her shoulder and teased. "Chicken."

"That's it? You aren't worried about anything else? Just one second of pain is what's holding you back?"

"Well, it's embarrassing. You know I'm uncomfortable showing my body."

Val didn't buy it. "I don't know why, girl. You've got an awesome figure. And it's only a bit of skin, anyway. This woman has done it a thousand times, I bet. After you get it done you'll be flashing everybody to show off, anyway," she teased.

"No, I won't!"

"Sure you will. Isn't that why you are getting pierced right in your fucking chest? Like you'll be pulling your shirt up all the time and bouncing your tits. 'Look at me, the badass with the big boobs and the nip piercings!' Right?"

I gave her a playful shove. She knows I would do nothing of the kind. But I appreciated how she knocked me out of my natural reserve. So with the generous input of Val's energy I was carried through my period of uncertainty and soon we found ourselves gathering ourselves up and heading out on the adventure after all.

It was a long walk across town but a pleasant one; we even stopped at a sidewalk cafe along the way and spent a carefully allocated portion of our money for fancy coffees; we felt very adult and thrilled in it. A few tables away from us sat two business women, maybe late twenties or thirty-something talking seriously; they were attractive and wore expensive outfits and held themselves professionally as they gestured making points to each other in conversation. I was jealous. But like Val said, I also felt a little badass knowing that in a few hours I would have piercings that women like that would never have; it would be a source of inner strength for me.

The morning cool hadn't been driven away yet before the summer heat set in, and we traveled leisurely the rest of the way through downtown and over to an old section of Minsk called Trinity Hill. A bunch of artist studios were cropping up there those days and it had a trendy reputation. The city had been rebuilt so many times, with a recent wave of new houses, but tucked among them you could still find the occasional four-hundred-year-old building. I loved wandering this part of the city and I always found new things in some forgotten corner each time I did. I didn't know it well enough to know exactly where we were, though, and looked at my phone often.

As we walked the streets, I found myself self-conscious. Getting my "big boobs stuck with a needle," as Val had phrased it, was on my mind really heavy. And I couldn't get over the feeling that everyone on the street was watching me, checking me out. It was like they already knew my plan for today. A businessman in a suit walking towards us ogled my body for what I thought was too long, then a couple of construction guys in yellow vests stared openly. But those guys always go nuts over anything that has two tits, right? I wondered if testosterone and jackhammers somehow went together.

I had thrown a light T-shirt over my cami and my brain knew I was well-covered but I had a hard time resisting covering my chest with my hands, even though I knew this drew more attention to me, not less. I tried to imagine the piercings, as I had done a hundred times in the past few days. What would it feel like to have it all done and walk around in public? Would people I meet be able to see the piercings through my clothes? Would they know but just pretend to ignore it? Or would they give me a little wink to let me know they were in on my secret?

The place Valery found was called The Matrix and it was a little studio that did tattoos and piercings and other body art. I had never heard of it and had no idea what it was going to be like but I have to admit it sounded cool. Their sign off the main street was all artistic and edgy with black lightning bolts, pointing down a crooked alley; then we had to ascend to the top of a rickety metal stairway. If I had wanted to pick an out-of-the-way shop to do my piercing discreetly, I couldn't have chosen any better, I thought, satisfied. I smiled at Valery and was glad she planned things; I took a deep breath before pulling open the door and entering the shop behind her.

But to my surprise it wasn't empty at all. Far from it, in fact. Eight or ten customers plus staff bustled in the shop's three little rooms: a main entry way with a cashier desk and several glass displays of all sorts of jewelry and adjoining that in the back half were two smaller rooms. I couldn't see into them well because on the surface of every wall and even the ceiling was artwork and an amazing collection of random stuff--graffiti and pictures and photos and long jewelry draped and fabric and rope and old swords and all kinds of crazy things. Loud music pumped throughout with a steady beat and it wasn't even noon yet. I felt like I was at a club, and the clientele would fit into that scene as well: spiked hair, leather jackets, piercings, rugged faces with scars, and body art on display on everybody of course. Every body, literally.

How they had assembled all of this in such a small space I could only guess; it was like a museum and it must have been the product of years of labor. Against the wall in the main room next to the checkout counter I saw a chair, facing outwards, and my heart sank as I realized this was where the piercings happened, right there in the open. My stomach churned as I thought of stripping down and having my body on display in the main room of this store while teen girls and moms browsed for rings in the display cabinets. There was no way I could do that, promise to Stas or no promise. I'd have to find a different place.

Valery saw where I was looking and must have guessed my thoughts after seeing the look of apprehension--or even terror--showing on my face, because she calmly took me in hand and guided me towards the back. She pointed to a room and nodded, as if to say, don't worry, it's going to go down back here, girl.

But I don't think the scene we came upon in that back room was as calming as Valery intended because there was a man standing there, facing away from us, his shirt off and very muscular, hands wrapped around the back of his head with fingers interlaced. Swirls of colored tattoos embossed the entire surface of his back; it was quite an amazing design. I stood there dazed trying to make out what all the images were but there were just too many to understand at a glance. He must have been a regular customer of The Matrix.

The reason I thought it was less calming than Valery expected was that the middle-aged woman who had been standing before him--on the other side from us, at the back of the little room--crouched down with a flourish and yanked his pants to his ankles. By sheer accident our timing was perfect to walk right in on his newly bared ass. Then the sound of the tattoo drill started. I learned later they call it a "pen" which I think is a poor euphemism; the thing is a really just a fucking drill for your body. And this girl was about to drill a tattoo into this guy's dick it seemed.

My eyes flew to Valery's and we both dropped our mouths open wide in surprise as we looked at each other. I silently mouthed an "Oh my God."

"Can I help you?" It was the flat and bored voice of the spiky orange-haired teenager I had seen earlier behind the counter, back in the main room. Maybe she wasn't pleased that we had walked in and were gawking at Mr. Tattoo-every-part-of-his-body-including-his-cock. Or she gave zero fucks and was just going through the routine of her job. It was a good excuse anyway to turn away from this dick scene we'd walked in on. My field of view changed from bare man ass back to Orange-Hair's multiple large metal hoops in her lower lip. Nothing in this place was normal. It was quite the experience for a shy, reserved girl to have on a summer morning.