How Nipple Piercings Blurred the Line Between Platonic Female Friendship and Sexuality
Having a naughty secret together was so sexy at first.
I love looking at the intricacies of my own body while I soak in the bathtub. Some of my favorite details are the small indentions on both sides of my nipples. Those spots are the only evidence of where my nipple piercings once were. My pierced nipples always felt like a sexy secret I mostly kept to myself — sort of like the feeling of wearing lingerie under my clothes, but with a slight edge.
The only reason I let them close up was that I had to have an MRI done. The machine’s giant magnets would have ripped the barbells right out. By the time I remembered I’d need placeholders to keep them from growing back, it was too late. I removed the barbells, and they closed up within a few hours.
Touching these spots on my nipples reminds me of the day I got them pierced. Remembering that day also makes me remember a woman I used to know.
I still remember the first time I saw her.
We both lived in the same dorm on our college campus. Before I knew her name, I was attracted to Sara —even before I’d heard her voice. I was in my late teens, and I had recently realized that I was bisexual. She was one of the handfuls of women at that time in my life who I crushed on — hard. With Sara, it was a little more intense because we became close friends. We had some classes together since we were both the same major. Our shared love of foreign languages and our similar music taste made conversations easy.
Her beauty intimidated me.
I still remember fantasizing about her with my hand down my pants as I lay in my squeaky dorm room bed. I was thrilled to find she lived not only in the same dorm but on the same floor as me. It gave me a rush knowing when I was bathing in the communal showers, she might be wet and naked in the stall right next to mine.
In my fantasies, I wasn’t intimidated at all.
These were the first sexual fantasies that clued me in on something strange — I enjoy being submissive with those who present masculine and dominant with those who present feminine. Sara was definitely feminine. And I enjoyed imagining seducing her on the top floor of the library, in a quiet, secluded corner behind the last row of shelves.
I imagined straddling her as she laid on her back in a beanbag chair. I pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her hard as she sighed softly. Unbuttoning her top slowly and kissing each part I revealed, I cupped my hand gently over her mouth to stifle her moans because, duh, we’re in a library. My fantasy gave me a lot of masturbatory material that semester.
The day we got our nipples pierced together, the days of my fantasies had long passed.
It was after graduation. We were eating in a restaurant together. I wasn’t quite as enthralled by Sara, but I still found her incredibly sexy. The feelings, both romantic and sexual, were still there.
But mostly, we were just friends. I intended to keep it that way since I had a boyfriend. Everything seemed normal until she suddenly dropped a bomb on any other plans I may have had that afternoon.
“I’ve been thinking about getting my nipples pierced,” she blurted out randomly.
I tried to keep my cool and maintain eye contact without imagining how her perky tits looked under her top the way I had thousands of times before.
“What’s stopping you?” I asked.
“Well, I guess I’m just kind of scared to go alone,” she said, her face flushing a bit.
“Aww. I’d be glad to go with you for moral support if you need it. Actually, I’ve thought of getting mine done before too. Maybe we could do it together. The piercings, I mean.” I said, trying not to sound too flirtatious.
I’m not sure why I was trying to hide it. The last time we had been in a bar together, Sara had been grinding on me on the dance floor after we’d both drunkenly screamed our hearts out together at karaoke. Part of me hoped she had brought up the piercing idea strategically. She had dropped plenty of hints that she wasn’t entirely straight — and she knew I wasn’t.
“What if we went right now! Do you have anything to do today?”
“No, I don’t have anything going on. This isn’t where I saw this day going, but I’m always up for an adventure. Let’s go!”
Before I knew it, we were sitting topless together in a tiny air-conditioned room. A tattooed man with biceps and thighs that could crush my head like a grape was there too. I quietly hoped that he’d be more gentle with my nipples than he probably was with gym equipment.
I tried not to stare at my friend, but it wasn't easy. I also tried not to feel insecure about my own lop-sided breasts. Also difficult, even though it shouldn’t have been. After all, some of the breasts I love looking at the most are stereotypically “imperfect.”
I had a feeling we both enjoyed light pain sexually.
We’d had conversations that hinted at it before. I enjoy it so much so that I wasn’t nervous at all about the piercings. My pain tolerance is high. I was excited by the prospect instead of being afraid of the pain. Sara, on the other hand, seemed terrified of how much it might hurt. This method had the opposite effect that we both hoped.
The surge of adrenaline running through her body made the moment the needle pierced her nipple hurt a lot less. I didn’t have that adrenaline rush, however. When the needle broke the skin of my nipple, I jumped, astounded at how much worse it hurt than I’d anticipated.
But there they were. If you had told me that morning that my nipples would have metal barbells through them 8 hours later, I wouldn’t have believed you. I felt sexy as hell, and I could tell by the look on her face that my friend did too.
Once it was over, we put our tops back on, received our instruction sheet on how to care for our new piercings, and then we blushed, smiled, and parted ways.
Having a “naughty” secret together was so sexy at first.
It was strange knowing we both had an excuse to ask each other about our nipples from there on out. We not only had a reason to text each other more often, but I felt a sexual charge of energy each time Sara sent a text saying, “Hey, how are your nips healing up? ;)”
It was fun and arousing to discuss how our new piercings had changed the look and sensitivity of our nipples.
But also, beyond that, I realized that every time I looked in the mirror — or even just at my own boobs — I found myself thinking of Sara. I imagined whether or not she would be as pleased as I was at the sight of the silver glinting on my nipples as I moved toward her.
My boyfriend didn’t seem to care about my new piercings one way or the other.
If anything, he thought it was weird. He only saw the whole thing as sexy because he viewed our piercing experiment as an avenue for him to get a threesome with us. That was a bummer. There’s a reason he’s an ex.
Later that year, I bought her nipple shields for Christmas.
If you’ve never seen one, nipple shields encircle the nipple itself to make it more prominent while mostly covering the areola. I’d never felt so horny wrapping a Yuletide gift.
The large shields would have been highly noticeable under a bra or shirt — they were in the shape of bright red gift bows with white polka dots. The designers intended for the wearer to be topless or wear a sheer shirt over them. I never saw her wear them, unfortunately. But I’ll never forget the look on Sara’s face when she opened them — a combination of surprise and mischief came over her. I found some of my old fantasies about her racing back to my mind to play.
Breasts aren’t inherently sexual, so why do they make a lot of people horny?
Before the piercings, I had spent my life enjoying looking at women’s breasts — a lot. Because I honestly thought that everyone looked at them. I genuinely thought that everyone had those thoughts. In my mind, thinking these things didn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t straight. A particular scene from the film “But I’m a Cheerleader” comes to mind.
I’m even turned on by looking at my own tits — which I rarely admit as it embarrasses me. When I was in fourth grade, I wrote in my diary about my plan to make my boobs bigger — naturally without surgery. The details of that plan are even more embarrassing. I won’t go into them. But it happened. I say all this to say that I’ve always been kind of obsessed with boobs.
It’s not as if I never saw breasts in a non-sexual context as a child.
My mom still walks around the house naked after a shower to this day. Any nude body is just naked. That’s it. Nothing more.
However, other very overt messages told me something about my breasts was inappropriate.
Long after I documented my plan to grow my boobs, I was still walking around the house naked after a shower — just like my mom does. Until one day, my mom said, “You need to start covering up after your showers. You’re making your dad uncomfortable.”
First of all, ew. Second of all, what?!
But I was still young enough to be insecure about her comments. So I obeyed.
Since then, unsurprisingly, I bought right into cultural conditioning that has me fetishizing breasts. Here I am, a person who shouts “Free the Nipple” from the rooftops. Here I am, the first person who will say, “breasts aren’t inherently sexual, so women should be able to walk around topless — men can!” And yet, here I am sexualizing my friend’s breasts in a tattoo parlor? What the hell? I feel like a predatory creep!
But my embarrassment made me curious. I read more than I already have about how breast obsession is also called breast partialism and that it may have spread through society through social thought contagion — sort of like memes. Partialism is sexual arousal in response to a specific part of the body, and not necessarily genitalia. Butt partialism and foot partialism are also common. Many believe that partialism occurs mainly due to our media and culture and that it’s learned behavior. Anyone can learn it — regardless of gender — including me.
So, then I wondered if what I had learned was wrong and if maybe I should unlearn it.
Is it possible to want to normalize breasts as non-sexual body parts while also appreciating their capacity to enhance sex for all involved? After all, getting my tits touched and sucked feels good. I can’t deny that. Is it possible for me to marvel at breasts’ capability to sustain life while also being aroused by them?
Ultimately, I decided that yes, it is possible. Because if I’m even bothering to ask these questions, then I’m already capable of allowing multiple things to be true at once. As long as I’m not sitting in the piercer’s chair and non-consensually groping my friend, I’m not doing anything wrong.
I’m glad I finally came to that conclusion because, eventually, years later, my friend and I became roommates for several years — and roommates only.
By the time we lived together, we mostly only talked about our piercings with annoyance.
“I hate when my towel snags one of them when I’m getting out of the shower.”
“My bra always snags it when I’m late for work. SO annoying.”
Still, these conversations happened during the occasional sweet moments when she’d jump in my bed, and we’d listen to CDs on my alarm clock radio and talk all night. Despite both of us having boyfriends, different ones this time, I still had a raging crush on Sara.
Unfortunately, I made it weird. I was a complete asshole to all of Sara’s boyfriends. They treated her like trash, and I thought they deserved whatever I could dish out. Truthfully, I was jealous, something I’ve only realized in hindsight.
Eventually, Sara was in a long-distance relationship with a Trump supporter with a DUI. He had to periodically breathe into a breathalyzer during the two-hour one-way drive to visit her.
One night, despite hating her boyfriend, my boyfriend and I went with Sara and him on a double date to a mutual friend’s birthday party. Her ex was there. She got way too drunk and got upset. Later in the night, she drunkenly walked into the party’s only bathroom where I was drunkenly peeing and hoping no one would come in since the lock didn’t work.
She chose that exact moment to tell me she used to have a crush on me too.
Sara said she’d been really into me back in college. I thought of the times in the communal showers in the dorm when we were probably so close and yet so far. Somehow it felt even more true now. She went on and on about how she couldn’t believe how long ago it was. I wondered what things would have been like if maybe I had shot my shot instead of wimping out.
Eventually, we had a falling out. Most of it had to do with my inability to separate my feelings from our friendship. It got to an unhealthy point on my part. I personalized almost every decision Sara made — including her eventual decision to move out to go live with her boyfriend, who had just become her fiance.
They moved across the city. We stopped talking. We used to see each other at bars and live shows around the city pre-COVID and avoid eye contact — even once at a burlesque show. Now she’s just somebody I used to know who may or may not have nipple piercings. And I’m honestly okay with that. I’m okay that she’s just someone I think of now and then when I look at my breasts.
You don’t have to want someone back in your life to remember them fondly. You also don’t have to have sex with someone to experience unforgettable intimacy together. And if you’re a lady who loves looking at titties, there’s certainly nothing wrong with you. You appreciate the variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and textures present in breasts — givers of pleasure and sustainers of life. What could be more beautiful than that?
