When I was twenty-one, I left an extremely abusive relationship with my first girlfriend. This happened around the holidays, which made the whole episode all the more manic and depressing. Early that New Year’s Eve, I wandered past the piercing place where I’d previously gotten a navel ring and an upper ear piercing, and I was filled with an urge to feel metal invade my flesh again.

I decided this time on a nipple ring, to commemorate the fact that the ex had always had a great time continuously and publicly pointing out that my left breast was slightly smaller than my right. I can still picture my left nipple in the clamp and the strange guy pushing the needle through. There was a bit of pain, mixed with an odd pleasure. I started that New Year off with a bang.

My most recent addition adorns my outer labia. This piercing came at no particular point in my life, out of no particular drama or trauma. I just thought it was time for another little friend. I arrived at my favorite piercing place, where I had an appointment with the store’s owner. I spoke to the woman behind the counter about what type of jewelry I would need.

Together we picked out a stainless steel ring with a tiger’s eye bead and struck up a nice conversation about my other piercing. The owner was running late, and as I sat on one of the big, black, leather couches waiting for her, it occurred to me that this piercing would be different than the others, more intimate and the procedure was certain to be more awkward.

As I waited, I watched a few of the other customers. There were two younger women; one who looked like she stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, the other could have escaped the display window at Banana Republic. I watched them both walk into one of the piercing rooms with a male piercer and walk out with a tongue and an eyebrow piercing, respectively.

I waited around for about half an hour, when the owner called to say that she would not be able to make our appointment and did I want to reschedule. The woman behind the counter told me this and added nervously that she could do it herself. The guy who had pierced the J. Crew/Banana Republic chicks piped in, saying that the counter woman was an able piercer and that he had trained her himself. “Okay,” I said to the nice woman, “why don't you do it.”

We both entered the piercing room and were immediately ensconced in the pristine whiteness of the walls and floor. There was a sink and cabinet on the left and an examination table jutting out from the wall on the right. A bright light hung over the examination table, giving off a slightly eerie glow. The woman told me to take off my pants and she left the room as I disrobed. This is where it got sort of weird.

As I sat on the examination table without my pants, I couldn’t help but think I was about to get a gynecological exam or that I was about to have sex, and my lover was in the bathroom getting ready. When she returned, she smiled at me shyly and went to work covering the various piercing implements with pink latex gloves. I glanced over at a small table next to the sink, where a mug scrawled with the name Camilla sat. I asked her if that was her name. She said it was, then turned around, carrying the implements on a tray.

“This is my first labia,” Camilla confessed, before asking me to scoot further down on the table and spread my legs. Camilla took a rubber-gloved hand to my vagina and spread my lips, then asked me what side I wanted the ring.

I told her I had imagined it on the right and she adjusted the ring around a small section of my right outer labia, then held a mirror between my legs so that I could see what it looked like.

“Is that where you want it?” Camilla asked.

“Maybe a little down further,” I answered.

She adjusted it and showed me my reflection again.

“That looks great,” I said.

I laid my head down on the table as Camilla took out a Sharpie. I could feel the felt tip as she made tiny dots on my skin as a guide, where each side of the ring would meet my flesh. I kind of wanted to watch her get me ready, but I was a little shy. Then, I could feel her swabbing me with a cool liquid.

“I’m just cleaning the area now,” she said.

I was suddenly embarrassed, hoping that I was clean and praying that I was not getting wet for the oddness of the situation was somehow arousing.

I could feel Camilla fitting the clamp around my labia.

“Okay, you know the drill, take a deep breath in,” Camilla said.

The deep breath did not prepare me for what I felt when the needle made it’s way through my flesh; a level of pain that could not have been administered by my nipple, navel or upper ear and a height of pleasure that sent a current of satisfaction up and down my right side. I gasped aloud from the pain and moaned under my breath from the pleasure. Then I was very still.

“You okay?” she asked.

I shook my head, embarrassed to look at her.

“I’m just going to put the ring in now.”

I could feel the tug as Camilla pushed the ring through, slightly expanding the small tunnel that had been left by the needle. She fastened the tiger’s eye bead with pliers then quickly went through the aftercare instructions with me. As I sat up, I could hear her rattling off a series of things I was supposed to do to keep the piercing clean. I couldn’t really make out much of what she was saying. I was still bottomless and I felt exposed. I looked at Camilla, who suddenly seemed to have an angelic glow about her. I felt bonded to her in a peculiar way.

Camilla ended the instructions, adding, “Well, it’s all here on the sheet. And you can always call me here if you have any questions.”

She took off the pink latex gloves and threw them in the garbage can. “Good luck to you,” she said nervously shaking my hand, before leaving me alone in the room to dress myself. As I picked my jeans and panties off the floor, I tried to decide what it was I had just experienced and came to the conclusion that it was a kinky sort of hybrid, part medical procedure and part sex act.

I stopped by the counter on my way out, where Camilla was helping a few other catalog/window display escapee girls, I stopped their exchange with no apology and took hold of her hand, deeply pressing a tip comprised of the crispest bills I could find in my wallet into the palm of her hand, before I made my way out into the city night.

+ Originally appeared on Lesbianation.com