Hopping off the train, I had 40 minutes to get from Museum station to where I needed to be, Bourke Street. Cutting through the park, I was nearly blown away several times thanks to the bizarre weather. Clinging to a signpost waiting for the red man to go green and let me cross, I couldn't help but chuckle watching grown men trying to look unaffected while their ties were slapping them in the face. Women were holding their skirts down, and I was trying my best not to go blind from my hair whipping me in the eyeballs.

The walk to Taylor Square wasn't an issue, but I was once again faced with the issue of Asian men getting prettier and prettier to the point of obscenity as the street wore on. Cursing my laziness for not tidying up my brows, I slid my gigantic bug sunnies down to cover the entire top half of my face and chugged on.

I reached Taylor Square with 27 minutes to spare. Spotting Totally Pierced hidden amongst tea rooms, shoebox apartment entryways, and suspect alleyways, I turned right around to look for the nearest and cheapest looking pub. There was Kinsellas, a notoriously gay-but-straight-acting club, and the Courthouse Hotel, which was once a courthouse many moons ago -- true story. I thought I'd go for the Courthouse, since there were more TAB-gambling-looking folk wandering around outside. Greyhound races on the telly in daylight hours? I am so there! I skolled a JD & coke, smoked a fag or two, then went on to Totally Pierced.

As with my labret, I found myself stepping inside and facing off with the not-so-secretly flaming piercer, Scott (he's the one on the left), who looked like he had spent the entire day standing in the one spot, adjusting some paper clamped in a clipboard. Last time, he was very quiet, which had me a little worried. When I get something pierced, I would like a relatively talkative and cheery piercer -- at least before and after the act, so I secretly vowed to make this man talk, and by hell or high water, he was going to laugh at least once AND MEAN IT.

I said hi, told him I was his 6pm appointment, and promptly asked to use his facilities. He gave me a key and verbal directions to the toilet, a maze including walking down and around an alleyway, unlocking three doors, walking down a long stairwell into underground parking, saving a princess, and striking down ogres with a mace. I didn't even get past the damned security gate, so I walked back and told him not to worry. He said he forgot to tell me to jiggle the key a little, I said it wasn't a problem. So he handed me a friendly little liability and permission form...

HAVE YOU CONSUMED ALCOHOL IN THE LAST 48 HOURS? ...yes... NO.

PIERCINGS/LOCATION: Nipple x2, standard bar.

NOTES: Re-piercing, originally pierced 1999.

Walking me around to the piercing table, there was a stool fit for a midget's midget to lay my handbag, sunnies, shirt and bra on. Wasting a little time while he prepared the instruments, I balanced everything precariously on the stool and then decided to just put it all on the ground, since the last thing I want to happen is for all my junk to fall just as he's piercing me.

Scott's a funny one, that guy. Apparently, he was the same guy who pierced Misha, and he acted just as coldly with her as he did with me. While he was on his knees drawing guiding spots on each nipple, I told him he re-pierced my labret just over a year ago.

'Oh yeah, I remember you.'
'You do?'
'I remember scar tissue, honey.'
'Oh. Cool.'

Laying back on the table, I watched him prepare the clamps and asked to see the needle. When I had my nipples pierced the first time, I was pierced with the common cannula method, which was a standard piercing needle surrounded by a larger plastic tube. You were pierced with the needle and the tube, the needle was removed to leave the tube, then the jewellery was threaded through the tube and the tube removed. Now, these were roughly 3 inch long needles as thick as the jewellery you were going to wear, and threaded through with the jewellery in one swift action. While they were readily available in the days of the old cannula, a lot of piercing parlours weren't using them as it's a more accurate piercing and leaves very little room for error. Modified veterinary needles, I was told, much to my second-long panic. They were like thick mini-spears, and I couldn't help my eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when I saw how thick the needle actually was.

'Show me the bar I'm getting in next to the needle?'
*shows me*
'Oh. Okay, as you were.'
*nervous in the back part of my knickers*

He clamped my left nipple and told me to breathe. Asking me if I wanted to be talked through it, I asked him to just do it. He said he was going to go over the old scar tissue from my first piercing, so it may hurt a little more than usual. I told him I hadn't had them pierced in years, so it'll just be the same as a first piercing. He asked if I had increased sensitivity in my nipples after the first piercings, I said yes. He chuckled and said that I will definitely feel a difference.

A difference?! HOLY. FUCKING. GOD. I have been through a lot of physical pain in my life, but that one definitely took the cake. The searing pain of this shot my ouch-o-meter scale right into the fucking sun. Granted, it was a lot shorter a process than the first time, but it made up for it in burning agony, shooting through every muscle in my body. I could easily have a billion babies and it would be a big, warm cuddle in comparison.

He threaded the second ball on to finish it off, cleaned it up, removed his glove, and moved his little tray over to the other side to tackle the last piercing. He said I could take my time, and he got me a glass of water. We talked for a while as I recovered, discussing my tattoos and the red-flag of just-before-quarter-life crisis. He was quite talkative, and all it took was to hurt me. Half-success!

Clamping my right nipple down, he said he had marked that one to go through the scar tissue, too. He raised the needle to rest against my nipple, and he asked me to breathe again.

'Okay?'
'Okay. WAIT! Oh God, okay, do it! Wait! No, hangon, hangon, hangon. Shut up. Oh God, just do it! Wait, oh God. No. No. Okay, do it. Quick, just do it! Wait! Okay, GO!'
'Are you sure?' *Scott is laughing his arse off*
'Yes. NO. Is it okay if I pike on this second one? The first one really fucking hurt!'
'Sure. You can always come back another time if you want it done.'
'Yeah, I don't think so. I'm big on symmetry, but I'm big on not dying, either.'
'Okay, no problems! Hey, you had one done, you're not exactly a scaredy-cat. Actually, three in total. See?'
'Fuck. I am so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry.'

Trying so hard to calm me down, I didn't realise at the time that I had achieved complete success with Mr StoneColdPiercerMan Scott -- not only did I get him chatting, but he actually laughed, even if it was totally at my expense. It was a victory to be celebrated much later, however, as I was in too much of a tizzy to concentrate on that. He got me a glass of water while I continued to apologise profusely for wasting his time. While he was putting everything away and explaining aftercare, it dawned on me that this was actually the first time I had piked on a piercing or tattoo, ever. Initially a little disappointed, I easily forgot the guilt, my thoughts deviating to the throbbing pain in my left bresticle.

It took everything I had in me to not protectively cup my left boob walking to the pub for another JD & coke. With every step walking back to Museum station, I could feel the foreign metal, and it still really fucking hurt.

Actually, the pain subsided for a while as a second-hand bookstore gobbled me up right off the sidewalk and refused to let me go until I bought some books. I easily forfeited waiting in some snooty Oxford Street take-away shop to spend time finding John Steinbeck's The Pearl, Thomas Keneally's Schindler's List, A Portrait of Jack Kerouac, and the screenplay for Requiem For A Dream (I secretly heart reading screenplays) for my personal library.

My poor tit. I'll be cradling it for the rest of the week, so please cease and desist all bap-punching until I'm healed. Please refer any urgent punchage to my vaggal area.

Note: I hate piercing aftercare. I feel like a leper attending to my nub. BUT. Big thanks to Scott at Totally Pierced for not making my experience any more traumatic than it had to be. The water was spectacular.

Moral of the story? Don't ever ever ever ever pierce scar tissue.