**Part I**
It all started, as so many of my stories have, in New Orleans.
Well, okay, technically it started somewhere in our minds, in that tricky little place where the fetishes live, which personally I like to picture like an illustration from *Where the Wild Things Are*. Piercings made him hot, really hot. So what was a girl to do except indulge him? James had never had anything done, not even his ears, while jewelry already dotted my landscape — ears, nostril, and nipples all glinted with silver. (There was also a scar at my navel, but that’s another story!) There are amazing piercing experiences and then there are bad ones. All of my amazing ones occurred at Elayne Angel’s legendary shop, Rings of Desire, in New Orleans. I’m sad to say that she is no longer there. She came back for a while after Katrina but didn’t stay. Last I heard, she’d opened a B&B somewhere in Mexico.
The road trip was a pleasant 6 hours. He’d been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, but when I was growing up on the Gulf Coast, it was practically my second home. “Oh! We have to eat here … we should stay out all night and go to early Sunday mass at the Cathedral, the choir is really good … this is hands down my favorite bar, there are good people here … come on, let’s go fuck with some drunken frat boys … they have the best croissants ever … this is where I thought I saw a ghost … you should never go to New Orleans without dipping your feet in the Mississippi … this is where Rachel and I got drunk with those squatters … come on, I know where I can play a pianoforte … this place has the best oils … YOU’VE NEVER HAD GUMBO???”
My stories and the laundry list of “the things we have to do” came out of my mouth almost as quickly as the wickedly strong libations flowed in. It was hot for June, even for New Orleans, and fragrant — richly spicy, flowery, and sweet all at once, with an occasional pungent whiff of sweat of rotting trash or urine — and oh! the smell of the earth after a rain! the feeling of the air! It caressed the skin, teased the nerves. I almost had to push the air out of my way to walk through it. That overwhelming humidity! I miss it sometimes.
We made our way down to Decatur Street the last evening of our stay. Past the cloak store at which I’d always stopped to window shop, past the industrial club I’d always gone to with Robert and Bill and Doug, past any number of lovable freaks and memories (and a few scary ones, too) until finally we were there — the shop where they always made you feel welcome, even if you weren’t at first glance a member of the body mod elite.
Angel is one of the most striking women I’ve ever seen. She’s covered in tattoos, piercings, and a scarification etching, but here’s the thing: when you see her, you see *her*, because *she wears the art*, hell, she *is* the art, the art doesn’t wear her. My baby immediately felt comfortable; I can’t imagine anyone not feeling comfortable around her immediately. In no time at all, I was in the stirrups, ready to go, ready to show him just how easy this was.
Do piercings hurt? Nipples are a bit uncomfortable, because forceps are used to hold them firmly while the needle goes through. I’m sure that some piercings can be quite painful, but mostly, piercings sting more than they hurt. I wasn’t really expecting any pain this time because of what I was having done, a vertical clit hood piercing. For those of you who don’t know, clit piercings are extremely rare. Most women aren’t built for them. The clit hood, however, is a very thin piece of skin, and most women can wear a piercing there. The needle only has to go through once, since the jewelry (in my case a curved barbell) slides through the hole and is capped with two beads, a smaller one on top and a larger one on the bottom that comes out the bottom of the hood. The barbell rests on top of the clit , but is somewhat protected by the labia so that there’s not a lot of pinching, pulling, or twisting unless, of course, you want to experience them!
Angel worked the hood back and carefully slipped the receiving tube underneath it. She talked me through the entire process, and I thought I was ready. When the needle touched the receiving tube and the receiving tube touched my clit , it was quite shocking! I gasped, a long, stunned, endless intake of air and sat bolt upright on the table.
Angel laughed, “That was nothing. I’ve had women slam their thighs closed on my head! You’re doing great!”
Then the jewelry was through, and it was done. It looked great from the beginning — not a drop of blood. The news got even better — most women heal from it in less than two weeks, some, she swore, in as little as 5 days. I couldn’t wait to play with it! “In the meantime,” I thought, “pulling my jeans back on has never been so fun!”
Next, it was James’ turn. He decided on a frenum piercing just a bit below the head. Out came the forceps. She gathered up a pinch of skin in her gloved fingers and stretched it out with the forceps. Then, she took a tiny flashlight and shone it through the skin. She showed us how there a little capillary in the way, so she repeated the process until there were no blood vessels in the way of the needle. It was over quickly, and he was pleased with the results.
His *was* bleeding a little, so Angel offered a solution to keep everything sanitary as we walked back to our B&B. She put a latex glove over his dick, affixed with a loose rubber band. All of a sudden, I burst into hearty guffaws of laughter — his dick put me in mind of the Chicken Helper glove!!! As soon as she was done, I gave a loud, involuntary, “BOCK, BOCK!” and they both snorted laughter when I explained myself.
“Bock, bock!” at the first bar, “bock, bock,” at the second bar. By the third bar, I was *far* too distracted with the feeling of my piercing to “bock” anymore as I moved back and forth on my bar stools, getting wetter and wetter. I realized how easy it would be for me to subtly masturbate in public, almost any time I wanted. What I wanted was a no-holds-barred deep dicking, and had I had a partner capable of it, I probably would have enjoyed one, never mind the pain and soreness. As it was, when we were settled in, James decided to do his first saline soak. (The saline soak is a main step in aftercare of any piercing.) After ceremoniously removing the “Chicken Helper” hand to fresh gales of laughter, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Imagine my surprise when he comes out of the bathroom, cup in hand, but instead of dangling his dick in the cup, he places his cup on the ground and lies on top of it!!!
“Um, baby,” I say “Hump it for me!”
He complied, laughingly.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to hold the cup like so,” I say, cradling an imaginary cup beneath my imaginary dick, “and to dangle your dick in the cup while standing???”
*He* is the engineer. It was funny to see him so red-faced!
We rolled out early the next morning and headed for my home town, a couple of hours away.
The friends we met there will always hold a special, bittersweet place in my heart, and on my breast, for they are they ones with whom I share a tattoo (but that, too, is another story).
My girl, Andrea, took one dismissive look at him, and I could see what she was thinking. “Who is THIS young Republican, and why are you dating him?” James has always been very clean cut, quiet, polite. I love him so, and have stayed with him for 20+ years because he’s a very good person capable of learning, and still teaches me things, even after all these years. He’s kind, and he has had emotional depths that he keeps hidden from most people.
We had mint juleps on the back porch (yes, very retro, very Southern!) and eventually the gang started to gather. As the sun went down, I took out my purse, and doled out the ecstasy I had bought and tested for just this occasion.
They had only tried inferior pills once before, the last time I had been down there the year before. THESE were the “REAL DEAL,” and it wasn’t long before my entire little tribe was groovin’ on ’em. Those of you who have done x know how wonderful it can be with friends, but those who haven’t? Imagine a place where for a few hours, everyone you love is the best version of themselves (disclaimer: those you DON’T love may or may not be the best version of themselves, assuming those you love are good people and those you don’t love are bad or annoying!) Everyone was completely open and loving, and wonderful. Things got silly really quickly. I saw Andrea “get” James. I saw them bond. Lots of great music was played. Our pupils dilated and candles were lit, and everyone was glowing, not only with youth, but with utter and complete contentment.
When the story of our recent New Orleans experience came out, there were immediate cries of, “Ooh! I wanna see!!!” So, I stripped down, sat bare-assed on the hardwood floor and spread my legs, explaining the whole experience. Someone grabbed a flashlight (because the only light was coming from candles) and it was thus, naked, flashlight on my spread, pierced genitals that my ex (hoo boy is HE another story!) and his new girlfriend walked in and found us. We didn’t stand on ceremony at our little commune; thus, there was no knock. They rounded the corner from the kitchen, and stopped understandably short. It wasn’t too long till his face was one of the curious and admiring ones pressed close to my pussy. (The girlfriend, however, was less than pleased).
James also pulled his out, and everyone oohed and ahhed. Then he said, “Hey, I need to soak! This is gonna feel GOOD!” Andrea gave him a cup and some salt, and disappeared into the bathroom.
“OH MY GOD!” we hear from from the bathroom, “You guys have to try this!!!”
Next thing I knew, three men have their dicks in cups. It got very naked all around. This wasn’t unusual for us. I’d instigated nakedness and all kinds of group shenanigans a couple years before then.
James and I were a bit out of commission, still we managed a very hot cuddle puddle that went on for hours. Andrea and I always had a strange relationship. She was a beautiful redhead and damaged (not casting stones, who isn’t) and I found out years later that despite the fact that I’d decided to live a sexually open life, she seduced and swore to secrecy every man I fucked while she and I lived together. It was all so sad, so pointless, so hurtful, when I wouldn’t have cared about her being with any of them she chose. I didn’t know then that she felt competitive with me. I was low key in love with her; you couldn’t help but to love her, and there was another trip to New Orleans that she and I took in which she flirted relentlessly with me all weekend, but only in front of men. I was bewitched with her, but she was really just using me to pick up on guys.
So, there was some strangeness there, strangeness that I mostly ignored because I’d fallen in love with this whole group of 20-something people. We collectively blogged about our lives in the very early days of the net. Blogs were called web journals then, and we were approached by a producer at one point who asked if we’d be interested in our own reality show. I shit you not. “Hell no,” was the answer, by the way. I’d never had a group of friends like this at that point in my life. At one point, our group rented all four apartments in the rambling old house. We held infamous parties. The house even had a name, as do all good party houses. I was fresh out of a spectacularly failed early marriage; so was Andrea. We were ready to burst forth into joyous single life. I grew bold during our late night drinking and conversation sessions, getting naked at the drop of a hat. I am a master instigator of shenanigans, and one of my talents is getting people who want to be naked and sexual but are shy naked and sexual and comfortable. I’ve since done this with several other groups of friends, but yeah, we had lots of amazing times.
There was another couple, Joni and Tim. She had long, flowing blonde hair, and was completely and joyously kind and innocent and had never been with a woman… until me. Tim was gruff and brilliant, a nerd and a musician and an engineer, and seducing him for the first time and fucking on the hood of his car (with permission) back behind our shared house is honestly one of my favorite memories of that time. Andrea was dating my friend Matt, someone I’d been fucking during my marriage in a desperate attempt to break free from my extremely shitty husband. In a very real way, Matt saved my life by showing me the possibility of a different kind of life. There was also my ex, who I’d fallen in love with on first sight, and he was in love with Andrea but eventually ended up fucking both Andrea AND her mother, who was allegedly a lesbian, but that’s another story.
So, yeah, things were kind of a shit show up until I met James, but I digress.
This cuddle puddle was just wonderful. We were in Andrea and Matt’s gigantic bed, all six of us (the ex’s new girlfriend pulled him away from the fun after he’d shown a little too much interest in my pussy lol). My favorite kind of group play is just like that was, light, happy, everyone petting and snuggling each other. I went down on everyone except for James, with his poor, healing pierced penis, and he got to go down on both of the other girls, and we watched the couples fuck, and it seemed surprisingly wholesome somehow. We were so, so silly, and sensuous, and so young. And even though things eventually fell apart, I will always love them, that crewe.
The next morning saw mimosas, bloody marys, and lots of helpless giggles.
What about the mid-air orgasm? Don’t worry … it’s coming, just as assuredly as I did!
Yes, that picture is me. No, I don’t have the piercing anymore. But it was good fun for years. :)
[Imgur] ([https://i.imgur.com/TsAyVb1.jpg](https://i.imgur.com/TsAyVb1.jpg))
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/mfrha6/in_memory_of_the_midair_orgasm_part_i_group