Conditioning by Úna Flanagan

He remembered the first time he'd had it done. The rows beforehand, the secret saving of his pocket money and finally the defiance of going into the shop and getting his ears pierced. Just the one and he'd've been labelled a poofter and he didn't want that label at school. He'd never worn the earrings at school anyway, but the minute he got home, out they'd come from their hiding place. The ritual of it was new at first but he got better at putting the earrings in and keeping the areas clean. It did feel a bit poofy, but it was a necessity for him to decorate his ears. He'd wanted to do more but knew that his parents would blow a gasket.

That was 10 years ago. Since then, Matt had been back to the shop hundreds of times, looking, touching and buying all sorts of rings for different parts of his body. At last count he had 16 rings in place. The selection was the key. He couldn't really admit how much he loved choosing the different shapes, sizes and colours. Then the delicious agony of the decision over which solo or group rings to wear on any given day.

He loved the fact that no matter how many of his rings were visible, there was always a selection unseen — it made him feel powerful, as secrets always do. And sometimes that security had steadied him. It certainly hadn't done him the harm that his father had predicted.