Yesterday, at Antonio’s behest, I went and got my tongue pierced (again).

FUCKING OMG OW OMG.

I can handle pain, and the actual piercing procedure doesn’t hurt that much…  Really, it doesn’t.  My piercing place pierces with a 12 gauge too, which is thicker than standard tongue piercing.   But still, it’s not bad at all.

But the clamp they use to mash your tongue into paper-thin surrender before they pierce? FUCKING OW.  And the swelling and pain and tenderness now? FUCKING OW.

Today, I kept trying to get all slavey about it, and told myself I did it for him because it feels good for him and he’ll be pleased when he feels it. (Which will be in less than a month, omg, I’ll be out with him again on June 4th!!!  *squeal*)

But, each time, that slavey feeling lasted about 4 seconds before I went back to sucking on ice and feeling sorry for myself again. So I’ve decided to blog about it, in hopes I can refocus and love the pain, baby, LOVE THE PAIN.

Also, to love the supreme irritation that is the inability to talk properly, inability to eat properly, and inability to drink copious amounts of malt liquor to ease the pain.  (Something about bacteria?)

Because really, Chloe, dammit, it IS about service. He loves the way the single piercing feels, and thinks the more the merrier.

He wants more of those feel-good beaded barbells in my mouth?   I get more of those feel-good barbells in my mouth. Simple as that.  He wants, he gets.  That’s the point, innit?

When he asks me, “Where does your mouth belong?” I can assure you the correct answer is not “Yammering away in your ear, Sir!” I know the purposes of my mouth. I know how those purposes rank, too. And I know the new hardware is about improving its most vital purpose to him.

So it’s awesome.

(It hurts though. And my mouth feels violated and swollen and angry and hurty and I want the pain to go away now, kthnx.)

Love the pain. Love the pain. LOVE THE PAIN.

Better yet:  love the man, love the pain.

Okay, I think I got it now.