Every time we kissed, she grabbed the sides of my head and my new piercing would hurt. I had not expected to be kneeling, nudity-to-nudity, on a flannel-sheet-covered, four-poster bed, brushing wavy brown hair away from the deceptively innocent face of one of my favorite kinky porn vixens. I had not expected to hear her huskily praise my kissing and my beauty. I had not expected to see a pervy video starlet nearby, walking on the fingernail-bloodied back of a dome-shaved martial-arts student while he vigorously fucked the bitch he loved. Nor had I expected to go into Puncture earlier that pleasant Los Angeles afternoon and get a tragus piercing. It had been a day filled with surprises.

It had begun wholesomely enough, lunching on Mexi-veggie food with Mel, a Ph.D program escapee, discussing the special challenges involved in surviving ethically intact as women in the sex industry vs. the academic world, and laughing at which one we'd found to be more sexist. Then it was time to hook up with my evil goth compatriots and visit Puncture. Susie was getting a conch piercing. Ellen needed her lobes stretched. I was there so that the Three Dark Graces could be in one spot at the same time. Mel was our moral support.

I had not been to Puncture since September of 2000, when I had marked a personal rite of passage with a nostril piercing. My life, as usual, was in a state of dynamic change when I returned to the studio on St. Patrick's Day. I seem perpetually to thrive in the crucible that cooks my soul, where the dark and the light sides of the yin/yang collide and caress. Where my two great passions--my work and my relationships--meet. Big changes. Big feelings. Big risks. Big rewards. It was rare for the Three Dark Graces to find themselves together and at leisure. The urge to commemorate the moment and the important transitions occurring in my life was strong. Although all restrictions had been lifted for my business trip to porn valley, I remained the precious property of beloved Polymnos and thus a permanent body modification made without consultation and permission would have been highly inappropriate.

Modern PCS cellular technology came to the aid of the ancient urge to ornament and enhance my flesh; nervously, I explained the situation to Polymnos and asked his opinion. After a brief discussion, permission was granted with one condition, and I was soon wearing a silver ring with a red gem bead through a cartilaginous part of my right ear. A fashion statement to others. A symbolism-rich reminder and meditation point to me.

 

Once our bodies were thus celebrated, the obvious next step was milk shakes and burgers at the famous Mel's (not affiliated with our companion, alas). It was there that my next surprise occurred. It was there that the cell phone rang and Lena Ramon, who had been unable to attend the previous night's "GayVN Awards" as my date, invited me to a party as hers.

And thus I found myself at midnight kneeling, reclining, sitting naked with my hands full of tiny porn-princess flesh and hair, her pierced nipples between my lips, her lips between my teeth, my hands in her hair, on her ass and her pussy. A little spanking, a lot of kissing, a lot of pillow talk. And bruises on my shoulder where her slender fingers had attempted to massage the eternal tension from my form. Slender fingers that reached hungrily for my breasts while others lavished her with attention.

It had been a day of surprises. Delightful and meaningful pointers to change and growth. Like a child, perhaps, I view boundaries as something to be tested, something to be pressed against and relocated. I keep the temperature high in my soul kitchen. I wonder what delicious surprises its heat will produce for me next.

*