Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (12 page)

“Why, you, Sparkle, of course.”

Here it came. “Then please just enjoy the walk and no more questions.”

“Another surprise?” I asked, timidly.

“That would be a question, Secret, but yes.” (Uh-oh.)

When we arrived at where we were going, Secret said, “Ta-dah!” I looked around, but all I saw was the Subway sandwich shop. Seeing my perplexity, Sparkle turned me around until I was facing the door right in front of me. The sign above read: The Gauntlet.

“What’s The Gauntlet, Sparkle? Or do I want to know?” I knew I didn’t, but what the hell; sometimes I just like hearing myself talk. In any case, Sparkle was pushing me up the steps and into the shop.

At first I thought we were in your plain old run of the mill jewelry shop. There were a few cases in the shop that contained what looked like earrings and studs and the like, but on closer examination, the jewelry looked less like it was for your ears and more like it was for certain other body parts. I gave a long, hard gulp before I turned to look at my employer. He had his face right up to the glass of one of the cases and was looking intently at the merchandise.

“Um, Sparkle, what
exactly
are you planning on doing here?” All the while I was praying that it was just window shopping, but I knew deep down that Sparkle had other plans for us. After all, he never stopped at just the window.

“Now, Secret, Darling, I’ve been giving this some serious thought for a week now, and that conversation we had over brunch just, you know, made me realize that I really want a nipple ring. And don’t worry, you don’t have to get one if you don’t want one.” I listened as he said it, but for some reason I had a giant pit in my stomach. All the while I could hear music in the background like the kind you hear in a movie just before someone gets killed. Namely the cute, little virgin boy.

“Good, because I’m not getting one. Period,” I insisted, my hand slapping down on the glass countertop.

“Fine. I am. Now help me pick out a ring.”

Not having a clue as to what a good nipple ring should look like (I had never even seen one before that moment), I just picked out the most colorful one that was in the case. It was a green hoop, but, instead of going full circle, it had yellow metal balls on each end. I thought it was cute and said so. Sparkle had other thoughts on the matter. Cute, after all, was not what he was going for. Eventually, he ended up picking out a sterling metal bar with silver balls on each end. The clerk showed us some pictures of what it would look like once it was in, and, Lord only knows why, I actually thought it looked kind of hot; it was almost appealing looking in a sick and twisted sort of way. Still, it was pretty gross once you realized that there was going to be a hole in your nipple.

“C’mon, Secret, come back with me while they do it,” he said, dragging me back to a curtained cubicle. It was clean and sterile enough, sort of like a miniature dentist’s office without the spit-sink. Still, I could think of a half dozen other places I’d rather have been: prison, Iraq, Cleveland, etc.

Pretty soon, a short, extremely tattooed, shaved-headed, multi-ear-pierced man walked in and introduced himself as
Tree
. Tree was very matter of fact about what he was going to do and how he was going to do it. He said that the actual piercing was over in a split second and that the pain was very bearable and, to some, even enjoyable. This I personally found very hard to swallow, but, looking at Tree, I sensed he fell into the latter category, the one’s that found it enjoyable. He also said that in many cases the nipple ring added to the sensitivity of the nipple with the overall effect of a more pleasurable experience when someone played with it. Not worth the effort, I thought, but Sparkle had a smile on his face as Tree explained this.

Okay then, if you’re squeamish, you should probably skip this part and read ahead about a page.

(Hey up there, good for you! Anyway, it’s not
your
nipple getting pierced, right?)

First, Tree had Sparkle take off his shirt and lie down. Then he put surgical gloves on and proceeded to wipe the nipple with some disinfectant before he marked each side of it with a pen. The whole time he was doing this, I was getting more and more nervous. Sparkle, as per usual, was cool as a cucumber. He didn’t even look down to see what was going on. Though, of course, I,
gulp
, had ringside seats.

Tree then took the metal nipple bar, which he had been sterilizing in an oven up until that point, and placed it next to a metal stick sitting on a table by the short bed that my friend was lying on. It appeared really sharp at the end and it turned my stomach just to look at it. (Last chance to skip ahead up there.) Then he told Sparkle to breathe normally, which he did. (I, needless to say, was fairly close to hyperventilating.) He then grabbed the nipple and lifted it up a bit. Sparkle grinned at that, sick fuck that he is, and, before I knew it, Tree had
shoved
the metal stick right through the nipple and out the other end.
OW! OW! OW!
I was thinking as I sucked in my breath and shut my eyes really fast. When I opened them back up, the stick was just sitting there on Sparkles’ chest, skewering his nipple. (If I was feeling any lingering effects of the Bloody Marys up until then, I wasn’t any more.) Tree then took the nipple bar, which had one ball on one end and nothing on the other end, and threaded it on one end of the stick before yanking the stick all the way through the nipple, thereby pulling the bar through as well. He then put the remaining silver ball on the other end of the bar and, voila, it was all over. (Though clearly not forgotten. Ever. As much as I’ve tried.)

Sparkle, for his part, barely moved a muscle the whole time and never so much as let out a gasp or a shriek. I, however, was in shock. I couldn’t even believe that I just witnessed someone get a stick rammed through their nipple.

Then Sparkle asked, “So, how’s it look?” Honestly, I had to admit, it looked sexier than hell on him. It sort of detracted from his nelliness. Too bad you had to go through the actual piercing to get the end result.

“It looks great,” I professed as Sparkle got up slowly and stood in front of the mirror to get a gander at it. I could tell immediately that he loved it, seeing as he simply glowed as he stood there, grinning from ear to ear. I, too, was staring at it and, once I got over the experience of witnessing the
operation
, I also had a smile on my face. It did look great, and I said so, yet again. Sparkle gave me a peck on the cheek and said the words I was dreading to hear, but was expecting just the same: “Great, now it’s your turn.”

“No fucking way am I going through that,” I said, shaking my head back and forth.

“C’mon, you just said it looked great, and it only took a minute and it didn’t hurt at all. And it’ll be this great experience that we can share together. We’ll be Nipple Sisters!” He was exceedingly convincing (or I’m an even bigger idiot than I thought).

I just stood there for a minute and stared at his face and then his nipple. Then back at his face and then back at his nipple. And then over at Tree, who was waiting to see if he could inflict his pain on yet another victim. (Tell me something, do you have to have a degree to perform this rite?) Then back at Sparkle again and then… and then… “Okay, fine; I’ll do it,” I said, feeling like I’d just lost complete control over my life. And, yes, if you’re counting up there, for, like, the millionth time since I’d met him. Meaning, I was soon to have a hole in my nipple to match the one in my head.

“Yippy,” Sparkle squealed (so much for looking butch). “He’ll take the green one with the yellow balls.” (Can you say
sucker
. He knew it all along.)

And before I could think of an excuse to get out of it, I, too, was lying on the short metal bed with my shirt off and two black dots painted on my poor, little nipple. Then one, two, three, I, too, had a sharp metal stick sitting comfortably on my chest and through my nipple. And, finally, I, too, had a shiny, metal nipple ring through my nipple.

“You lied, Sparkle,” I said, teeth grinding together.

“Lied, Secret?” he asked and pointed innocently to his chest.

“That hurt like a big, old mother fucker.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I guess you’re right. But if I told you that beforehand, you wouldn’t have gone through with it, now would you?” The asshole had me there. “Stand up and take a look,” he commanded. I stood up very, very slowly, not wanting to move my chest even a millimeter. Then I was standing in front of the mirror and looking at the new addition to my body. Again, I hated to admit it, but it did look rather sexy just hanging there. Plus, with the metal pushing through it, my nipple was now twice as big as it was before. (Bonus!) “See, that wasn’t so bad, Secret.” I just stood there and stared blankly back at him. Actually, it was more traumatic than bad, but I was getting over it quickly and, pretty soon, the adrenaline rush was making me somewhat euphoric.

Tree then gave us a quick lesson in nipple care: how to clean it, what not to do with it, and what to expect in the healing process. I barely listened to him; I was too dazed from what I’d just done. Luckily, it was all written down and Sparkle was paying attention. And when it was finally time to leave, and we had to put our shirts back on, that’s when I started to panic. I just knew that putting that shirt on over my nipple would be painful as hell. Thankfully, it wasn’t, but the next few weeks should prove interesting, I thought. Then, just before we were about to leave, I looked at Sparkle and said, “Nipple Sisters, huh?” He smiled at me and took my hand, squeezed it once and led me out of the shop, newly sobered and newly pierced.

***

Sparkle and I started back to his house, but not before we headed into the Double Rainbow to get us some comfort food. Nothing like a good scoop of double chocolate anything to ease the pain, of which, strangely, there wasn’t any. There was a dull throbbing coming from my chest, but it was all, thus far, very tolerable.

Walking through The Castro, ice cream in hand, I felt like the world should’ve been oohing and aahing at our accomplishment. It was like we had undergone some magic ritual and no one was there to bear witness. At first, I was a little disappointed at the lack of adulation from the masses, but then I realized that I hadn’t been alone back at The Gauntlet. In fact, Sparkle and I had shared something special. And then, all of a sudden, I felt really glad for what I’d just done. As stupid as it was, it was also a very adult decision and something my mother would have a cow about if she ever got a gander at it. And that, of course, made me doubly happy. Double Rainbow happy, in fact.

“To the Nipple Sisters!” I proclaimed and lifted my ice cream cone up to the clear, blue sky.

“To the Nipple Sisters: Secret and Sparkle!” My friend followed suit and raised his cone as we headed up Castro Street looking for a cab to take us home.

It didn’t take long to catch one, either. Cabbies know that we gays are good tippers, and they flock to The Castro. Disposable income is certainly one of the perks of being queer, you see. At least for Sparkle it was, not for me (not yet). And before we knew it, we were back at his less than humble abode and firmly ensconced on his sofa.

Being newly pierced had taken a lot out of us. (Well, the petering out of the adrenaline and the wearing off of the booze was more likely the culprit, but still.) So we just sat there, didn’t say anything, and grinned for a solid ten minutes. That’s when Sparkle noticed the flashing red light on his answering machine, letting him know that he had a message.

He popped up, hit the play button, and plopped back down on the couch. And wouldn’t you know it, it was my new friend Slim. And guess who he was calling for? “Hi, William. (Sparkle’s new moniker hadn’t yet reached the masses). This is Slim. Thanks for the lovely afternoon. Oh… and, um… by the way, if you happen to know how I can get in touch with your friend, Bruce, I’d love to give him a call sometime. Major yummage there. Anyway, give me a call. Ciao.” And then click and silence.

Looking over at Sparkle, my face must have said it all.

“Go give him a call, Secret,” he said, motioning over to the phone.

“You think I should?” (Duh.)

“Of course you should. There’s nothing like an easy fuck. And we wouldn’t want to break Gay Rule #5, now would we?”

“And that would be…?” (Get a pen, here comes another one.)

“Never look a gift ho in the mouth… or maybe that’s never come in is eye. In any event, you shouldn’t pass on a sure thing” (Good point(s).)

“He is awfully cute. But, just out of curiosity, what exactly does he do for a living?” I asked, knowing that I would call, but still wanting to know what I was getting myself into.

“He owns a bookstore, Classics, it’s called. They specialize in hard to find books and rare additions. They also host book readings. Apparently, he does very well for himself, according to Tim. (Finally, potential!) I was at the phone quicker than Tammy Faye Baker could say, “Pass me the eye shadow.”

“Hello, Slim? This is Bruce. William relayed your message,” I said into the receiver. My heart was racing and I had trouble breathing, so, luckily, the conversation ended up being on the short side.

“Well?” Sparkle asked, after I’d hung up.

“I’m meeting him at eight at that little oyster bar in The Castro,” I answered, a little panicky and excited at the same time. My first gay date (and he wore nail polish and a midriff shirt). Oy. If my mother could only see me now. (Then again, maybe not.)

“Well, it’s five now. Why not take a nap here, borrow some clothes, and leave from my place. It’s a lot closer than from yours, and, besides, you look way better in my stuff.” He had a point. Of course, considering what he spent, his clothes
should
look damn well better. The cost of one of his outfits equaled about half of my wardrobe, and all he ever wore were jeans and t-shirts.

Sadly, however, I couldn’t sleep because of the dull ache in my nipple, so Sparkle and I just sat on the couch and watched some television. When seven o’clock rolled around, I asked him if I could take a shower. He said sure, and, just as I was about to get in, I remembered the nipple ring. Naturally, I couldn’t recall Tree’s directions for cleaning it. Plus, I really didn’t want to touch it. I mean, sure, it looked cool and all, but the thought of putting my fingers anywhere near it kind of freaked me the fuck out. Would it hurt like hell moving the ring around to clean it? Would it be gross to move a piece of metal through a part of my body that, just that very morning, was in one piece?