“The Crowned Jewel”
“The Crowned Jewel”
There are bad ideas, and then there are legendary bad ideas. For twenty-year-old Jason, the line between the two had always been blurry.
It all started on a late Thursday night in his cluttered studio apartment. A breakup, a bottle of cheap tequila, and three hours of internet rabbit holes had led Jason to a burning conviction: he needed a change. Not a haircut or a new wardrobe. Something bold. Something royal.
“I’m reclaiming myself,” he muttered, watching a how-to video titled DIY Piercing: What They Don’t Want You To Know.
Stripping down was the strangest part. There was something clinical and ritualistic about it. He peeled off his hoodie, kicked away his jeans, and stood in just his boxers, staring at his reflection like he was about to fight it. His skin looked pale under the harsh bathroom lights, a few faint scars from old skateboard crashes reminding him this wasn’t his first dumb decision — just the most intimate. He hesitated, thumbs hooked at the waistband of his underwear, then pushed them down. Naked now, with tools laid out on the sink like a surgeon preparing for something stupid, Jason suddenly felt very aware of how quiet his apartment was. Just him, his regrets, and a needle.
That’s how he found himself, half-naked in front of his bathroom mirror, wearing blue latex gloves and glaring at a curved sterilized barbell like it had personally wronged him. His laptop sat on the toilet lid, paused on a diagram of male anatomy that looked more medical than reassuring.
He exhaled sharply. “It’s just skin and… other stuff. People do this all the time. Professionals. But still—people.”
The needle in his trembling hand gleamed under the flickering fluorescent light. Jason had read forums. He’d seen diagrams. He even bought proper tools, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and numbing cream. It wasn’t like he was going in blind.
Well. Not entirely.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he lined up the needle on his cock. His hand wavered. He was sweating in places he didn’t know could sweat. His Spotify playlist softly shifted to something ethereal and ambient, like his phone knew he was about to transcend into another realm — or need music for a hospital ride.
"One… two…"
It was on “three” that Jason screamed loud enough for his upstairs neighbor to bang on the floor.
It hurt. It really hurt. Worse than the forums said. Worse than his breakup. Worse than the time he broke his ankle skateboarding off his cousin’s garage roof. But… miraculously… the needle went through. Sort of. Not clean. Definitely not symmetrical.
Panicking but committed, he fumbled with the jewelry. It was like trying to thread a needle while on fire. Eventually, he got it in — backwards, slightly crooked, but it was in. His junk now had hardware.
He stood there, hunched, panting, a towel between his legs like a defeated warrior in a very confusing battlefield.
“Finally I did it” he thought, after months of contemplating he pierced his on penis, his first piercing. a Prince Albert.
Still, weeks later, once the swelling went down and he could walk without wincing, he looked in the mirror and smirked. The pain had faded. The memory hadn’t.
It was reckless. It was stupid.
But oddly, he didn’t regret it.
